Callie's Guardian: White Tigers of Brigantia (Book 1) by Lisa Daniels (71)

Chapter Four

Even though Isabelle had plenty of opportunities to return back to her home, to leave the farmhouse which had inadvertently turned into a clan versus clan battlefield – she hadn't.

Danniven, or Danny Lubanov, took over the farmhouse, helping to construct it into decent shape again with the rest of his clan.  They patched up holes in the wall, bought a new carpet, and discreetly disposed of the bodies.  Someone in the future was definitely going to find the plot of land with the buried werewolves, and think that they had stumbled onto a serial killer's graveyard.

In the meanwhile, Isabelle stayed by Milev's side.  She had helped pull out the bullets from his body, and cleaned up his wounds, replacing the bandages only twice, as his accelerated healing compensated for the ugly injuries.

He didn't owe her anything.  But she owed him, she suspected, her life.

Had he not dived on her like that, those two bullets might have sprayed into her.  And she didn't have werewolf resilience.  She would have fallen like a rag doll onto the ground, and bled out in moments.

Without the beard and the rest of his face fuzz, she saw his jawline and cheeks in their refined, elegant state, and admired his face, the sculpted beauty of it.  Under the sheets lay a muscular, tall body with a tuft of golden chest hair growing over his pecs, and he slept quite peacefully.

Isabelle watched him, all sorts of confusing emotions floating through her body at the moment.  Trying to find her place and sense of purpose in the world floated all awry. 

She'd had some time to consider, and observe the mannerisms of the werewolves she suddenly found herself playing house with, due to her refusal to leave Milev's side until he had made a full recovery.

The meeting with the hunters, with Ben, Kevin, Martha, and all the others with their tales of pain, hatred and rage, faded into the distance.  She saw poison in their words, which she once so blindly lapped up.

Maybe there were a lot of horrible, cruel werewolves.  No more so than humans.

Danny Lubanov kept her up-to-date briefly on what was going on with his alpha abroad, when he noticed her asking questions, specifically about the human woman who had mated with said alpha.

He also told her that it was perfectly safe for a werewolf to be with a human, provided they didn't bite you in feral form. 

“This is my human,” he had said, showing her a picture of a woman called Tia.  They had sat around the kitchen table together, enjoying a generous helping of lasagna.  Milev still wasn't well enough to move, but he had a plate brought up to him with the delicious meal.  “She will come tomorrow to see me.  She has already landed and is traveling to a hotel.  She will move with me to Canada, or be near the northern border of North Dakota.  We want a future together.”  He acted so proud of this, of showing off Tia to her on his phone.  When she asked about Arina, Danniven happily told her about his childhood – less enthusiastically about the massacre of her family. 

“We saved her, but lost track of her for many years.  Markus never stopped looking.  He loved her all that time.  Even from such a young age.”  A heavy sadness weighed in Danniven's eyes, enhancing the shadows beneath them.  The dark-haired werewolf with the amber eyes seemed to hold a mountain of regret, and Isabelle sensed it prudent to not dig too far into whatever memories haunted him.

“Thank you for telling me this,” she said, playing with her fork on the near-empty plate, unsure of how else to express herself.

“No problem.  One note.  I think maybe you should try date with Milev, when he's better.  Since he saved your life and all.”

She laughed.  “Am I that obvious?”

Danny nodded.  “Very.  But it's okay.  You have questions.  Questions you've not always thought about before.”

She sighed, knowing the truth in the werewolf's statement.

And now, she sat by Milev's side again, watching him, and thinking.

She hadn't bothered trying to contact her hunter friends.  They likely thought her dead at this point – not that she could blame them.

They had let her down, and it was a damn werewolf who made up for that disappointment.

A werewolf who stole her attention, her time, her thoughts.  He is magical, she considered wryly.  And he's somehow taken up a lot of space in my head.

Was this attraction she felt?  Did she actually like him?

Maybe.  Maybe she did like him.  And maybe it was more than that.

Something about him appealed to her at a base level.  The primal, residual feeling he invoked with his scent kept drawing her back to him, though she knew it took more than a pleasant smell to keep her lingering by his bedside.  Somehow, over the course of the week she'd been stuck in this house with him, tending to his injuries, keeping him company during his waking hours, Milev Spirova had slunk into her soul, and refused to let go.

He did sort of save my life at the risk of his own.  That's one sure way to sneak a little closer to a woman's heart.

She watched him with a fond smile, and imagined what it might be like dating him.  They likely couldn't rush into it.  She still needed some time to process her changing heart, to feel comfortable in his presence, and to not give in to spikes of fear every time she thought about the beast within.

Milev's eyes fluttered open, and he saw Isabelle sitting at his side.  He gave a lazy smile, followed by a yawn.

“Hello, beauty.  Still around, I see.”

“I'm waiting for your lame ass to get better,” Isabelle replied, knotting her fingers in strands of dark blonde hair, strangely shy now that he had awakened.  He adjusted the mauve bed covers so he could face her better. 

“Shouldn't be too long.  So, perfect chance to say this now.  Remember my bad timing with my words when you were trying to get us out of the basement?”

Isabelle nodded, caterpillars wriggling in her stomach.  “Oh, yes.”

“Will you be interested in a date, then?  Because I like waking up and seeing you here.  Makes me all warm and gooey inside.”  He stroked the underside of her chin.  She blinked, and shivered, before pretending to consider his proposal.  Her mind preferred drifting elsewhere, to imagining his fingers touching her in other places, running over her bare skin.

“I suppose.  I might not be completely opposed to the idea.  Just because you saved my life and all.”

“Am I not attractive, then?”  He shifted himself closer, so that his chest was parallel with her knees.  “Is it because I don't have a beard anymore?”

Isabelle closed her eyes and sighed, before saying between clenched teeth, “You're attractive.  Happy?”  Truthfully, she found him too attractive.  Something insisted on doing an awkward dance in her stomach, leaving her with a growing pool of arousal between her thighs.

He opened his mouth in a triumphant smirk, eyes dilating.  “Oh, yes.  Very much so.”

His hand slid into hers, and the gesture made her start in surprise, before she examined his warm, large hand in fascination.  She knew how much strength that arm contained, and yet he rested his palm ever so tenderly on hers.

Isabelle's past experience with men amounted to a pitiful few excursions, and one night of humiliation and shame. 

This is either the stupidest thing I can ever do, or the bravest.

Isabelle shifted his hand up to kiss him on his knuckles, heart twitching at her audacity.  The golden shimmer of his eyes illuminated the space between them, and a low growl formed in his throat.

“You smell good,” he said, though his voice sounded strained.  “Like summer.  And maybe pineapple.”

“What?”  She stared at him, and laughed.  “If you say so.”  She brought her nose to his arm, and inhaled deeply, trying to discern his scent.

“I don't know how to describe you.  You're kind of... fruity?”

“Like a mango, I hear,” he replied, grinning.

“I see.”

The tension in the air became palpable, tight as ropes.  Those pheromones were really starting to influence Isabelle's mind and body, and she gasped when he brought her hand to his chest, so she could feel his beating organ inside.  His heart beat rapidly, almost as fast as a hummingbird's wings.

“You know, I have been recovering quite well,” he said.  “So I recommend you leave now.  Because I want to do all sorts of things to you...”

Uh oh.  Isabelle's mind temporarily shut down.  She warred between rationality and desire.  She wanted to pace things.  Go on a date.

She also wanted to go past the point of no return.

She let go of his hand, and with a heavy sigh, said, “Let's at least get one date out of the way first.”

Disappointment flashed in his eyes, though he gathered himself together fast.  “Of course.  We might be rushing things otherwise.”

I feel like I'm already regretting this decision, Isabelle thought sourly to herself.