Sam is asleep on my chest before I find a way to tell her that this is a very bad idea. It's my own sluggishness. And shock that this could actually happen to me, of all creatures.
For five minutes or so, I don't move at all. It's hard to even think. My brain is darting everywhere, from the bedroom to the grave, and then it starts shutting down. I can squeeze out only three options:
A - Pick her up. Take her to her own bed.
B - Get up carefully. Tuck her in. Leave her on the couch.
Or C, Stay and rest. Live the dream, suffer the consequences.
Being the sucker that I am, I lean toward the arm of the couch, shifting Sam with me, subtly enough not to startle her or snap her out of whatever "cabin in the woods" spell she's under.
Funny. I thought I smelled like death, like an actual decaying body in a hot, airtight space. A scent that had been confirmed, mocked, and shunned by two other wolves, and I consider them my friends. I wasn't aware that the mystery potion "did" anything but make me suffer. And make others suffer around me. The smelly and alone potion.
Sorry Rosemary, even in the underworld, I don't think there's a market for that...
After a beat or two, I lift my dangling legs, sneak them beneath Sam's blanket. She adjusts herself accordingly, right into me, around me, without really waking up.
The scent of her hair is the only reason I don't mind breathing right now. Even after a shower, I feel like that glop is still oozing out of my pores.
Why am I putting Sam through this? Why am I letting her get under my skin? She does it so effortlessly, like I have no skin.
Why? Why? Why?
Because I'm a shitty, wannabe alpha male with no backbone. I have too much of a conscience, or not enough of one. And I'm a glutton for punishment. I can't scrape together the will or desire to disturb her or deny myself this one treat.
All right. Fair enough. I get thrown a bone every now and again and shouldn't complain. Still, I'm hungry. I'm never really sated. What I have is not fulfilling or healthy in the long run. I know that. I've always known that. I've stomached the scraps out of a fear of starving. I've been in that position too and won't survive it again.
I'm not talking about food or sex. It's about satisfaction. Inner calm. Personal fulfillment crap. Like I even know what that is!
But with Sam...
I still have no idea, but she has, at the very least, kindled the curiosity...
***
I'm whisked from a hazy half-sleep by a sharp, sudden sense of doom.
At my jolt, Sam shifts beneath the blanket. Her leg sweeps up mine. Her arm drifts downward. She's about to close in on something she really shouldn't, not right now, not unless...
On the coffee table, her phone lights up and catches my eye. She has quite the pile of messages. It's normal for me, but I doubt the people in her life expect her to be sleeping at one in the afternoon.
It's a gloomy, rainy day. The shades are closed, and the room is dim and gray. I'm not surprised Sam and I slept for six straight hours, entwined in each other, keeping each other warm and secure.
I'm about to close my eyes again, but, somewhere amid the lingering death stench and the light but addicting smell of Sam's hair, body, pheromones . . . an ashy, herbal, sulfuric smell wafts by. Then it hits me. Why I'm awake. Where that sense of doom came from...
YOU ARE READING
Condemned
Werewolf[ Werewolf / Paranormal Romance ] Sam is monster bait, plain and simple. She's trying to play it smart, but she's a tiny college cheerleader, friendly and easygoing. She is watched, admired, stalked, backed into a corner in one way or another, and o...
