What did she think? What did she see when she looked at him? An animal or a man? Something to fear? Yes, he knew that answer, or she wouldn’t have brought a gun with her.
Silently he moved closer. Silent as a wolf. Trying to catch her scent from where he stood. There. He closed his eyes, drawing it in, holding it. It was earthier this morning, like he’d taken an entire flower and crushed it in his hands and then brought it to his nose, all the parts of it blending together. Sweet and not sweet. He didn’t have the words for her scent, only pictures. Feelings. Low-down whispers. But it moved him. It made his body react, made him want her.
He peered closer, studying. Learning. Her mouth was wide, the top lip thinner than the bottom, and when her lips were parted—like right then—he could see her two top teeth. Pearly, smooth.
When he’d first seen her, he’d thought she looked like a fawn—fresh and young, her large brown eyes blinking at him with curiosity. He’d never seen anything prettier. Not even the almost-night when the colors of the bleeding sun filled the sky and came down to kiss the earth.
She moved in her sleep and he took a quick, silent step back, but still she did not wake. He had hardly slept at all, so aware of her under his roof that he couldn’t get his mind to quiet. Maybe she wasn’t as scared of him as he thought if she was able to sleep that way. She let out another grumbly snore and tipped forward. His lips did turn up then, into an actual smile that felt strange on his lips. He reached up to feel it, his fingers running over the curved shape of his mouth.
He hadn’t wanted her to stay there. He’d wanted her to leave so he could stop questioning everything, feeling things he didn’t know what to do about. He needed time to think, to figure out what he was going to do now that Driscoll was dead and his tie to the outside world was gone. He had to figure out what he was going to do about a lot of things, and he had no idea where to start.
He remembered the night before when he’d looked out his window and had seen her crying near the den of baby foxes. At first, he’d thought it was because their mother hadn’t returned, but when he understood that it was because their mother was there, keeping them warm and dry and fed, he felt something twist in his chest that he’d never felt before.
She’d lost her mother too. He knew that now.
It’s you, he thought again. You.
He watched her for another minute, trying to figure the best way to wake her up since noise wasn’t working. Should he shake her awake? Or would she shoot him with that gun of hers? She could try. But he could overpower her in a second—weapon or no weapon—and if she didn’t know that, she should. At the picture that formed in his mind—his body coming over hers as she looked up at him with her round, brown, deer-like eyes—his skin flushed, and he felt dizzy.
Be still.
Wait.
She confused him the way all people did,
but even . . . more. He didn’t understand the way she talked or the expressions that changed from one moment to the next and without any warning. He didn’t know how she laughed so easily one minute and then tears filled her eyes the next. He couldn’t follow what she was saying half the time, because she jumped between topics so quickly and for no reason that he could understand.
He knew her . . . sort of, but . . . she was a mystery.
Did other women act that way? Or was it only her? He didn’t know. But he knew one thing: he liked the way she looked.
He liked her face and body. Her hair. He liked the way she moved and the way she smelled—especially that. Deep and rich and sweet. Something he wanted to bury his nose in, letting it overpower his brain. It spoke to him.
He wondered what she’d taste like, and it caused his muscles to tense so he was both uncomfortable and not. He’d seen a few other females when he’d gone into town—and he’d seen a lot of the woman with the red hair—but the minute he laid his eyes on Harper, he felt different. Like a fire had lit inside of him, the blue part of the flame licking at his bones and making them melt to liquid.
The feeling was so strong, that if the rules of nature were the rules of humans, he would have claimed her right that minute, fought a battle against other males for her. And won. Whatever he needed to do so he could call her his. She’s the one I choose, he wanted to tell all the other males. That one. But he knew there was far more to it than that. His instincts, though—the ones that had been sharpened so he was more animal than man—were strong and needy. Because his instincts had meant his survival. And to push them aside felt like a kind of giving up he was not used to or ready for.
He had no idea what the rules of town life were, no idea how to live by them, or if he even wanted to. That was the thing about nature—there were . . . patterns. He wondered if people had patterns too and thought they probably did not.
At least the girl didn’t seem to. Harper.
He wondered what other people would say if they knew what he was thinking about her. That he wanted to mate with her. Not just once, but over and over again until he was full and satisfied like the days when he stole a hive from the bees and stuffed himself with golden honey, his lips sweet and his fingers sticky.
Would they call him a beast?
Or did other men have these same feelings? Did other men, ones who’d lived in civilization, picture mating with the woman they wanted to claim? Bright, clear pictures that filled their minds and tightened their bodies? Was that normal?
He couldn’t make himself care.
Those feelings were part of the deep-down whispers. The scents that moved from her to him and back again. And, his thoughts were his own. They belonged to him. They were the only thing that hadn’t been stolen.
He coughed loudly and her big eyes opened slowly. She blinked for a minute and then sat straight up, moving her hair out of her face, and wiping the trail of drool on her bottom lip. “Oh, I must have . . . just . . . dozed off for a second.” Her eyes darted away like she knew she was lying. That need to smile came again and as she started to stand, he turned away, grabbing his bag.
“Is there, ah, somewhere I can clean up?” she asked.
He turned back to where she stood, moving from one foot to the other. “There’s a shower out back. And whatever else you might need.”
“Out back?” She glanced out the window and then met his eyes again, telling him with her expression that he was definitely not giving her what she “might need.”