SERENITY

I could feel him behind the door. I measured his breathing, counted how many times he had to inhale and exhale to get his heart rate under control.

It was my gift.

It was a curse.

Knowing how much blood pumped through his veins, knowing the exact number of times his heart slammed against his chest, crying for freedom, singing the song of his creation with each beat.

Every immortal had a song. A cadence that told vampires who they were before they even opened their mouths.

The wolf’s screamed King. And yet he was in dirty flip-flops and jeans that were falling off his muscular body. His hair had a few beads in it, dirt, and I could have sworn I saw a leaf peeking through.

There was nothing about him that screamed King.

But I’d never been wrong about a song.

And his… his was different. His spoke of a legend, of love and loss. His spoke of agony that nobody should have to see in this world.

And my blood roared to life at the thought of helping heal what had been broken.

It confused me.

Wolves and vampires were not known to mate.

They weren’t even really known to be anything but partners in a lifelong war against evil.

I finished washing and waited, eyeing the door to see if he would barge right back in or wait for my invitation.

The hunger in his eyes was hard to miss, just like the song of his blood. And the more time I spent with him, the more the scent of his skin — the smell of earth and life — drove me insane with need.

I cleared my throat and said only loud enough for an immortal to hear. “I’m finished.”

The door cracked open.

The wolf poked his head through and sniffed.

I wondered if he realized how often he did that, sniffed the air before speaking, testing the atmosphere, analyzing.

My stomach growled.

His eyes darted to my chest and lowered. “You are hungry.”

Everything he said was like a statement, as if he’d been born centuries ago and still hadn’t really understood social expectations and communication. His bark, I imagined, was just about as bad as his bite — worse, since he was a healer.

I nodded my head as he took a cautious step forward and then grabbed one of the white towels and laid it on the counter. Two more steps and his warmth was pulsing all around me as he lifted me to my feet then very carefully wrapped a towel around my body. So tight, in fact, I wondered if he was worried about it dropping to the ground.

He surveyed his work as droplets of water ran down his chest. Water that had once kissed my skin seemed to glisten off his tan muscles. He gave his head a little shake as water slid to the ground near his bare feet and flip-flops.

I hid a smile by tilting my head down. I didn’t want him to think I was making fun of him — but he’d just shaken his body as if he had fur, as if he was a dog in need of getting dry.

It was endearing.

Sexy.

He cleared his throat. “You need meat.”

I almost choked. “Excuse me?”

“Meat. It has blood. If you eat it, you get blood. Do vampires know nothing?”

I stared up at him. “But I don’t like meat.”

You’d think I’d just announced that I was going to gnaw on his right arm then feed on his heart for good measure. He stumbled backward, confusion marring his face. “But… why?”

I laughed a little. “It’s too gristly.”

His dark, almost pitch-black, eyes widened. “Then you are eating it wrong!”

I wasn’t sure why he was so offended. I tried a different tactic, sensing his anger from a mile away. His hair began to stand on end, his breathing erratic.

“Okay,” I said quickly. “You’re probably right.”

“Probably?”

Wow, the man is impossible to get along with, isn’t he? “You are right.”

He exhaled, his body less rigid then before.

“I’m eating it wrong.”

“You are.” He apparently felt the need to comment again, and then he put his hands on his hips and let out a gruff sigh. “I’ll prepare you food, and you will dress.” He stopped, “Do you need help dressing?”

“I’m not exactly sure. Maybe if I sit on the bed I can manage.”

He scooped me up without permission and stomped back into the room then dumped me onto the mattress.

I bounced a bit then cringed as my bruised body screamed in protest.

“Shit.” It was the first time I’d heard him swear. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t exactly — thinking.”

Did he ever think beyond his wolf manners?

“It’s fine,” I said through pain-clenched teeth. “I’ll be okay.”

“No.” He scratched behind his head and swore again. “I’ll just…”

He hovered over me and then got up on the bed. He straddled my body with his. I tried not to cower in fear, but he was massive, dangerous, lethal.

He lowered his head to my neck and began to lick. And I forgot of all the reasons I was pushing him away instead of pulling him close.

I ran my hands down his bulky shoulders as the flick of his tongue moved between the bruises on my sternum; with each swipe, it felt easier and easier to breathe again, and then his tongue swirled my belly button, and my hips jerked in surprise.

He gripped them with both hands, his palms cradling them softly before digging his fingers into my thighs and moving his head between my legs.

This… this was not normal.

I wasn’t injured in those places.

I hadn’t been raped.

I was ready to fight him, ready to bite him if necessary and run away screaming, when his soft licks centered around each inside part of my thigh where I’d been cut years ago, where scars had marred my legs like tangled spiderwebs.

He licked harder.

And then he lifted his head just enough to look at my eyes. “Do you want the scars gone?”

What an odd question.

I frowned and then very slowly nodded my head.

“Do not bite me.”

“I wasn’t going to bite you,” I whispered.

“You were,” he snapped, and then his lips twitched into what I could only assume was his version of a smile. “It’s best not to poke the bear, or in this case, bite the wolf.”

“I already told you I don’t like meat.”

“I’m only halfway offended by that statement.” He grumbled before dropping his head once again and pressing his tongue against my core.

I gripped the sheets with my hands. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Healing…” He spoke between licks. “…your…” Another swipe of his tongue. “…scars.”

One last lick had me seeing an explosion of stars before he moved his head down my left leg as if he hadn’t just basically given me an orgasm with his tongue.

Healing my scars, my ass.

He was taking advantage of me, using me! Using the fact that I was weak and injured to get off with his own sick wolf—

“Your anger doesn’t help the healing,” he whispered once he finished with the last wound on my leg. His eyes had changed from a deep dark black to a crystal blue.

I sucked in a breath. “Your eyes.”

He shrugged. “What about them?”

I leaned up on my elbows, the healing all but forgotten. “They’re like ice.”

He jerked away so fast that I almost fell off the bed.

The door slammed behind him.

Leaving me confused, angry, and feeling used.

That was until I looked down and noticed the scars hadn’t just faded; they were completely gone.