He nods. “I respect that. Do you remember what I said that night you ordered pineapple on your pizza?”
I tap my finger against my bottom lip. “You said a lot of things.”
He reaches out, curls his hand around my shoulders, and pulls me into his side. I snuggle against him and smell sandalwood. Pretty soon, I’m going to start associating that smell with only him instead of one of my favorite candles.
“You don’t have to worry about it, baby girl. It’ll never blow back on you—we wouldn’t let that happen. I promised to protect you, didn’t I?”
I nod. “I know. I’m just . . . scared.” The words come out slow as drowsiness blankets my body.
“I know, Red.” He places a gentle kiss on the top of my head. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
I wake with a jerk, but surprisingly, I don’t budge from my prone position. It takes me more than a few seconds to realize that I’m not at home—and another couple of seconds to remember that I’m at the safe house with Wolf, Rush, and Sully.
The former tightens his arm banded across my stomach, my back perfectly fitting in front of him. Lying side by side like this brings back memories of falling asleep together back at Summer Knoll.
God, it feels like years since that night—not less than two weeks.
“Penguins in the cactus . . .” Wolf exhales, his warm breath stirring the strands that fell out of the messy bun at the back of my neck.
The corners of my lips tip up at his sleep-talking gibberish. One of these days, I’m going to wake him up to ask him about his dreams. The couple of times I asked him about it, he said he never remembers his dreams in the morning.
I sigh and shift my legs to ease the pressure on my bladder. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what woke me up. Wolf had me slam a bunch of Gatorade and water when I woke up shortly after I fell asleep.
“The dolphin . . . guitar boats . . .” Wolf mumbles before burying his face into my neck.
It’s strange how such new things are comforting me. I’ve known him less than a month, and yet, his presence soothes me in a way I’ve never experienced before. I feel . . . safe.
I wiggle around and slide Wolf’s arm off of me. Surprisingly, he loosens his python-like grip enough that I can maneuver out of bed. I pull the blankets up to keep my spot warm and keep any draft off Wolf, but I’m not sure anything could wake him up when he’s deep asleep.
I pad over to the bathroom on silent feet, thankful for the small light filtering in the room, so I can navigate around the few things furnishing this room. I could’ve sworn I counted four bedrooms when they showed me to this room yesterday, but I’m having a hard time recollecting a few different things, so I could’ve mixed it up.
Once I relieve my bladder, I stand in front of one of the sinks in the vanity and wash my hands. I’d been avoiding looking at my reflection earlier, and I’m not sure if I want to start now.
There’s something so deeply personal about staring yourself in the eye and letting your insecurities blaze.
My emotions feel like they’ve been exfoliated—they’re red and raw, and all my impurities are brought to the surface. Every horrible thing I did in that cabin in the woods plays on repeat across my vision. Every stab, assault, every opportunity I could’ve done something different. But I didn’t.
Everyone has a choice. I had a choice in that outdated, damp room. I could’ve let him take me somewhere, but I didn’t. Logically, I understand that if I didn’t at least try to get away, then I wouldn’t be here right now. I know that—I do.
It’s just that yesterday I was just Alaina. Straight-A student, bar singer, tutor-to-underage kids.
And today, I’m a killer.
I roll the word murderer around on my tongue. It tastes like ash and dead things. But a part of me—and it’s not nearly as small as I think it maybe should be, isn’t all that broken up about that. It was a choice born out of necessity. Out of the primal human desire to survive.
And I’m nothing if not a survivor.
When you’re basically forced to raise yourself in an unknown city full of millions of virtual strangers, you adapt to survive.
And that’s exactly what I have to figure out how to do now.
It’s light outside, but exhaustion weighs heavy on my shoulders. I leave the bathroom and climb into bed again. Wolf’s mumbling something too low for me to hear, but he reaches out and curls his arm around me. I snuggle into his chest, and breathe him in. The tension in my body slowly slips down my limbs, leaving me feeling mellow.
I rest my head right above the swallows inked on his chest and listen to the rhythm of his breathing.
Before long, the melody lulls me to sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
Alaina
The afternoon light streams through the drapes and swathes the bed in warm golden sunshine. It takes me a moment to realize where I am. The soft gray walls and ivory drapes help me realize that I’m still in the bedroom at the safe house.
The body behind me is warm and the scent of sandalwood fills the air.
Wolf.
I’m content enough to stay snuggled up next to Wolf, but my stomach has other ideas. A rumble followed by a hunger pang makes the decision for me. I slide out of the bed and make sure not to wake Wolf up. He looks so peaceful in his sleep—it makes him look younger. He’s easily the most playful of my boys—that thought stops me in my tracks.
I feel my brow furrow as I look at Wolf without really seeing him. My boys? Why the hell did I think that? I mean, sure, I’m attracted to all three of them. Who wouldn’t be?
And I definitely kissed all three of them—even before the whole oh-my-god-I-thought-I-was-going-to-die kisses—and I . . . I liked it. I like them.
Oh, shit.
I like them.
“Tarantulas in the garden . . .” Wolf mumbles as he rolls over onto his stomach and buries his face into my pillow.
His random sleeptalk brings me out the beginning spiral of panic I was in, and a small smile curls up the corners of my mouth. I sigh, a wistful sort of sound as I stare at the shirtless god in my bed.
If gods were covered in tattoos, etched in darkness, and brimming with violence ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice.
My stomach rumbles again, and I step forward to pull the blankets up over my boyfriend, reluctantly covering all those beautiful tattoos on his back.
Celtic designs, several birds, classic Sailor-Jerry-style tattoos, and some sinister things cover about half of his torso—front and back. He’s got inked designs on most of his chest and almost two full sleeves. He’s a walking masterpiece.
Honestly, all three of them are. I think Rush might have the most tattoos, but I haven’t really had the opportunity to really look. And the shower together doesn’t count. I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for anything like that.
I can’t wait to map his tattoos out though . . . with my tongue. Visions of the two of us in this shower play across my mind’s eye, and then the fantasy switches to the gigantic shower at Summer Knoll. And all four of us under that practically industrial-sized shower.
Okay, so clearly, I’m feeling better today, mentally at least. My dad used to tell me that everything looked better in the morning. A glance at the window tells me it’s not morning, but the same thing still applies. I think it’s the sleep factor anyway.