Wild Side (Dark Side Series: Book 2)

Thirteen

This chapter comes with the recommended listening of "Descending" by the ever-so-talented Butch Walker (whom you may remember from chapter 32 of Dark Side)!

I've just heard that Dark Side will be my third featured story (following Run Cold and Deluge). Thank you, everyone, for supporting my writing! Please enjoy this chapter as a show of thanks!

The kitchen we sat in was small, well-cleaned, sterile- although after trailing blood everywhere someone was going to have a bugger of a time getting all the drips off the tile. The ceiling light shone bright overhead, and I knew just how small and wretched I looked beneath it: grungy and bleeding, my blistered arms limp on my lap as I struggled to think over the burns.

"Caelan," I began, reaching for the water instead of the box. "Look at me. I'm not—"

"I see you just fine," he murmured in quiet confidence. "If it could wait...I thought this would be...." He settled for a distracted smile, reaching at his feet for something. "I worked real hard on wrapping, Miss Davins."

The paper was rather neatly done. After another second of my indecision, the man pulled away the tape on one corner to get me started. With a resigned sigh, I used my slightly less terrible hand to peel away a thin line of dancing reindeer. The lettering on the packaging read  "...Claritin?" I asked, dropping the box back to the table. 

A rattling hiss with all the fury of hellfire broke the silence. Caelan grunted.

"Son of a bitch! I'm trying to be nice to you, you mother—" 

I turned.

The werewolf was wringing one hand through a string of curses. In the other he gripped a black cat by the scruff of her neck. Toes extended, she kicked and dug her hind claws into his thigh. Her teeth were bared, ears flat. The moment my eyes lifted he dropped the surly Maine Coon on the table and slid his chair about two feet back.

"Surprise!" he said in a gruffly cheery voice, rubbing pinholes of blood off his palm.

Stringy tail lifted, the cat stalked toward him with an arched back, then abruptly swung around, tottering toward me. Uneven yellow eyes met mine, and the pain for a brief moment found itself buried beneath deep delight. "Igor!" I exclaimed. The cat's tattered ears rounded. The scars on her back and belly from a dog attack were joined with several new patches of dusty fur and puckered skin. She padded closer, nose twitching, tail erect and ticking, taking her time to shake off the rage of being held by her least favorite werewolf. It was only a minute before she'd knocked the allergy medication off the table with a vigorous swipe and bumped her chin against mine as she curved past the water bottle. I reached out to stroke her soft fur—soft being a generous term for my perpetually unkempt feline—and pulled her into a loose hug.

Caelan sat beside me with that puzzling little grin I'd glimpsed on rare occasion. He gave us the stage, speaking only when the cat had climbed onto my chest and emitted a sound akin to grinding gravel.

"Haven't ever heard it purr," he observed, leaning in but not too close, for her sallow eyes were fixed on him.

"She," I cooed, supporting her rump as she draped her front legs over my shoulder and leered at him. What was a little agony for the sake of cuddling a pet I'd thought long dead?

"No," Caelan waved his bitten hand at me. "That unfortunate creation is half Balrog."

"How did you take care of her?" I asked, looking down at the partially opened box of Claritin with a bit of admiration.

"Surely you mean how can I afford to keep paying for the damage this hellion causes?" He frowned at the cat. She rumbled right back at him. "You're lucky I managed my financial situation before dropping off the radar."