to make her smell like me. I opened my mouth and sank teeth playfully into her thigh. She gasped above me.
I could smell the subtle and clean smell of detergent on her clothes, could taste it, but the scent I focused on drawing into my lungs smelled of that damp soil, of pine trees, of rich earth and patchouli. I dug my teeth in a little rougher, growling my frustration around a mouthful of jeans.
"Kassandra," she said and I rolled my eyes up to her. She touched my face and the scent grew stronger, less tainted. I turned my face toward her wrist. Yes, that's the smell we wanted.
I froze feeling my heartbeat pounding against the side of my neck.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said. "It's your wolf, Kassandra, just go with it. What does it feel like she wants?"
My eyelashes fluttered closed. Her scent spiraled in the air around me. What did I want? What did she want?
"Smell," I said and Rosalin began taking off her shirt.
I wrapped my hands around her shins, digging my nails into her calf muscles. "No."
With a nod, she did what I asked. She left the shirt on. I climbed up onto the couch. Rosalin lay back and I gave her a distrusting look. It seemed so natural just to lie down with her, to lie next to her and smell her. I tried to argue with the wolf, but Rosalin moved her wrist to my face again and the wolf followed that smell. Where the wolf went, my body followed.
I pushed myself up off the couch in one fluid motion, breathing heavily, scrambling to my feet and nearly tripping over the coffee table.
She watched me with those compassionate honey eyes.
"Why are you scared?" she asked. "It's only natural."
"No." I hugged myself. "Rosalin, no, I'm not ready."
"Your wolf seems more than ready."
I felt her as she paced inside my mind. The wolf didn't try to slam into any metaphysical bars.
She didn't want out. She just wanted the comfort of another wolf. She didn't understand why I didn't agree with her. It confused her. It didn't confuse me. Rosalin might have been another wolf, but as a human, she was still a stranger to me.
I asked, "What if I wanted to join the pack?"
"Is that what you want?" She gave me a disbelieving look.
I opened my eyes. "No," I said, "but it'll probably be necessary."
"Oh," Rosalin said, "because you suspect. . . "
I nodded. "Yes."
"Sheila would be going against pack law if she didn't at least meet with you," she said. "I can take you in and introduce you, if she gives me permission, but you're going to have to play it like you're seriously considering joining."
"I know. If that's what it takes, Rosalin, I'll do it."
Chapter Thirteen
My cell phone rang from its place on the nightstand. I rolled over, blinking at the bright little window on the phone's face. I flipped it open.
"Arthur," I grumbled sleepily, and rolled my eyes toward the clock. "It's almost four o'clock in the morning. What the fuck?"
"Guess again, Lyall." Instead of Arthur's voice, someone else's gruff voice grumbled in my ear.
I sat up in bed. "Deputy Sheriff Witkins," I said, wondering why the hell he was calling me from Arthur's phone. The only explanation I could think of was not a good one. "What happened?"
"There's been another murder," he said, then asked me if I remembered how to get to the Nelsons'.
"For the most part," I said, leaning over and finding a pen and legal pad in the top drawer of the nightstand. I put the pen in my mouth, taking the cap off, speaking around it. "Give me the address."
"Go about two and a half miles past the Nelsons'," he said, "When you pass Cole Road, you're going to make a left onto Southeast Twenty-sixth Street. My men have got their lights on."
I kicked back the covers, tearing off the sheet of paper with the directions on it. "Deputy," I asked, "may I speak with Arthur?"
"Yeah, but make it fast," he said. "The scene is getting cold."
I bit back the retort that the scene was always cold by the time they called me in.
"Hey, Kass," Arthur said.
"If
I could smell the subtle and clean smell of detergent on her clothes, could taste it, but the scent I focused on drawing into my lungs smelled of that damp soil, of pine trees, of rich earth and patchouli. I dug my teeth in a little rougher, growling my frustration around a mouthful of jeans.
"Kassandra," she said and I rolled my eyes up to her. She touched my face and the scent grew stronger, less tainted. I turned my face toward her wrist. Yes, that's the smell we wanted.
I froze feeling my heartbeat pounding against the side of my neck.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said. "It's your wolf, Kassandra, just go with it. What does it feel like she wants?"
My eyelashes fluttered closed. Her scent spiraled in the air around me. What did I want? What did she want?
"Smell," I said and Rosalin began taking off her shirt.
I wrapped my hands around her shins, digging my nails into her calf muscles. "No."
With a nod, she did what I asked. She left the shirt on. I climbed up onto the couch. Rosalin lay back and I gave her a distrusting look. It seemed so natural just to lie down with her, to lie next to her and smell her. I tried to argue with the wolf, but Rosalin moved her wrist to my face again and the wolf followed that smell. Where the wolf went, my body followed.
I pushed myself up off the couch in one fluid motion, breathing heavily, scrambling to my feet and nearly tripping over the coffee table.
She watched me with those compassionate honey eyes.
"Why are you scared?" she asked. "It's only natural."
"No." I hugged myself. "Rosalin, no, I'm not ready."
"Your wolf seems more than ready."
I felt her as she paced inside my mind. The wolf didn't try to slam into any metaphysical bars.
She didn't want out. She just wanted the comfort of another wolf. She didn't understand why I didn't agree with her. It confused her. It didn't confuse me. Rosalin might have been another wolf, but as a human, she was still a stranger to me.
I asked, "What if I wanted to join the pack?"
"Is that what you want?" She gave me a disbelieving look.
I opened my eyes. "No," I said, "but it'll probably be necessary."
"Oh," Rosalin said, "because you suspect. . . "
I nodded. "Yes."
"Sheila would be going against pack law if she didn't at least meet with you," she said. "I can take you in and introduce you, if she gives me permission, but you're going to have to play it like you're seriously considering joining."
"I know. If that's what it takes, Rosalin, I'll do it."
Chapter Thirteen
My cell phone rang from its place on the nightstand. I rolled over, blinking at the bright little window on the phone's face. I flipped it open.
"Arthur," I grumbled sleepily, and rolled my eyes toward the clock. "It's almost four o'clock in the morning. What the fuck?"
"Guess again, Lyall." Instead of Arthur's voice, someone else's gruff voice grumbled in my ear.
I sat up in bed. "Deputy Sheriff Witkins," I said, wondering why the hell he was calling me from Arthur's phone. The only explanation I could think of was not a good one. "What happened?"
"There's been another murder," he said, then asked me if I remembered how to get to the Nelsons'.
"For the most part," I said, leaning over and finding a pen and legal pad in the top drawer of the nightstand. I put the pen in my mouth, taking the cap off, speaking around it. "Give me the address."
"Go about two and a half miles past the Nelsons'," he said, "When you pass Cole Road, you're going to make a left onto Southeast Twenty-sixth Street. My men have got their lights on."
I kicked back the covers, tearing off the sheet of paper with the directions on it. "Deputy," I asked, "may I speak with Arthur?"
"Yeah, but make it fast," he said. "The scene is getting cold."
I bit back the retort that the scene was always cold by the time they called me in.
"Hey, Kass," Arthur said.
"If
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