Bessa

Duty

Grey wool clouds hang heavy in front of the midday sun.

A crisp breeze ruffles the hem of my skirt to bite its breath along my ankle line when I throw another bucket of dirty water on the pile of rubbish outside the front door.

When turning around my neck still holds an ache to it. The Wild refused to retract its canines until my heart settled itself down in my chest. As soon as I took that calming breath out, he released me from his grip with a lick to my neck.

Touching the spot, it feels tender, but also highly pleasurable to the point I have to remind myself all morning to stop touching myself there.

I asked the Wild if he, "loved her too?" He shook his head with a flash of fang only to mark me again. I want to believe him, but I have my doubts.

We fell asleep together, his teeth in my neck, my doubt clinging to me.

The Savage watches as every inch inside the shell of our new home is scrubbed clean. A bucket was found with his tools, her hands never were on it. The soap that I'm using was made by his mother, I like the smell, it's clean and fresh.

He keeps looking into the empty cupboards that I haven't cleaned yet. His face is worried, I can tell by the look of him. Reopening, opening them back up as if trying to see if he really understands nothing but empty space.

Hunger this morning has started to gnaw into the middle of my stomach, it's gotten worse as the day moved slowly on. Drinking water doesn't make it go away, it just makes me pee more.

"There is nothing there, stop opening the cupboards up." When he goes to open them up for the fifth time.

"I don't think you understand what you've done, Bessa. All the food is gone." Panic weaves in the structure of his voice, I feel it deep inside the tone of him.

"I don't think you understand what you've done," saying the words back, I try to stop the break in sound, it doesn't work.

His face shifts to mirror the misery that rests inside me.

A big hand closes the cupboards before the beat of his heart is pulled away from my space, he sits on the floor that's been scrubbed a few hours ago. The walls were tricky, I've never cleaned logs before, the windows needed a good cleaning.

"Didn't she clean the house for you while you two played pretend?" His jaw flexes.

"She wasn't here to clean the house." I'm already up stomping my warpath to him before he finishes his sentence.

"You're right, she was never here to clean the house, that's my job, isn't it? You have a mate to clean for you and whore to feed, lucky you." The bucket of dirty water finds his body, drenching him with the stink of his own home.

He's up, fast.

I don't stop walking backward until the curve of my spine hits the log wall. Our space between us grows smaller until I feel the firmness of his body press into mine.

Liquid warmth, soft and smooth travels within the cavity of my chest when his hand grips the back of my neck, pulling my face to his.

"That's the last time you throw water on me, Bessa." It's said calmly, steady and with meaning that I should be wary of doing that again to an Alpha born.

My turn for silence, the intensity amplifies from his touch when the tip of his fingers touch the edges of the mark through silk on my neck his Wild gave me. I don't make a sound, but I shake.

"Tell me you understand." The temperament of his voice is barely restrained. The strong, patient beat of his heart is felt against my chest.

Blood rushes everywhere, my inner thighs quake.