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  His inner thoughts made him chuckle. Anyone other than a writer would think they were going mad. As he often had arguments with himself and his characters in his head, it didn’t faze him. Nevertheless, he was correct. It was time to move on.

  “Wait for me.”

  Now that was freaky. It wasn’t himself, and he’d ruled out Jenissa. So what the fuck? Maybe he was losing it after all. After all, when his body had thin scars in the shape of a heart on it, which began to change shape and then turn to a heart broken in two before they slowly faded it was no wonder he wasn’t himself.

  “Nothing to lose.”

  “Get out of my head,” he muttered as he remade the ruined bed and shoved the sheets in the washing machine. He’d have to buy some more. He was washing the three sets he had so often they’d soon be threadbare.

  Threadbare…Wolfbare…New story.

  Rob headed for the shower, and had the shortest sluice on record. His muse was screaming at him, and he literally itched to start writing. He shook his head and watched water droplets spatter everywhere before he found a thin strip of leather and tied his hair back. He hadn’t worn it this long since his retro hippy look at uni. Rob quite liked it, except it made him sweat in the heat. Hence he used the thong or an itsy bitsy girly hair bobble he’d found in his sponge bag to keep it off his face. The bobble made him blink. Really, polka-dot pink and blue wasn’t his style.

  That thought made him smile as he tugged on a T-shirt and jeans and headed for his laptop.

  * * * *

  Several days later, he sat back in his chair, stretched to get the kinks out of his spine and fingers, and grinned to himself. He wouldn’t mind getting some kinks of a different kind, the type his hero had discovered he enjoyed.

  It was good. Fucking good. Though, how the hell he’d written so much in such a short time, he had no idea. Then he glanced at the diary on his laptop. The twelfth?

  Not such a short time, then, but it still meant he’d been averaging over ten thousand words every day. Rob looked at the state of his desk and blinked. Had he stopped for anything other than coffee and a pee? There were at least a dozen half-full mugs in various states of scumminess, and an open packet of digestives. He moved his gaze from the desk to his torso. Wasn’t it the same T-shirt over his chest that he’d pulled on the day he got the idea for his book?

  He sniffed it cautiously.

  Phew, yeah, shower time.

  He made his way to the bathroom via the kitchen to throw the T-shirt in the trash.

  Half an hour later, he scratched his chest absently and toweled himself dry as he glanced in the mirror. He needed a shave and a haircut.

  The shower had been long and, due to the continuous heat from the Aga, hot. The stove was somewhat of a luxury in Devon, where in general it was a helluva lot warmer than Scotland, but he was used to one in Scotland and decided to go for the same here. He rather thought he’d thrown a pizza in it…several days before. As you never smelled any cooking with that type of stove, it could well be true and now it would be a heap of charcoal. Ah well, he’d go to the pub.

  His chest itched the more he scratched. Rob looked down at his torso. Had he got fleas through lack of washing? He wouldn’t have been surprised.

  It was something else entirely.

  What the fuck? That bloody heart again, and it’s a full one.

  He dropped the towel and traced the outline that showed bold beneath the dark hairs of his chest.

  “It’s yours if you want it. My heart, if you can forgive me.” She laughed, a doleful sound that sent shivers down his spine. “It’s yours if you can’t. Without you, I have no use for it.”

  In the misted glass of the mirror a body showed behind him.

  He dropped the towel and spun round.

  “Ma’am?”

  * * * *

  Jenissa nibbled her lip and watched as Rob’s eyes widened and a flash of pleasure, so brief she almost missed it, crossed his face before he resumed a stony look.

  “Hello, Jenissa. How did you get here?”

  Well, at least he hadn’t kicked her out immediately.

  “Car.”

  “Maybe I should rephrase that.” Rob opened the bathroom door. “After you.”

  Jenissa turned and walked into his bedroom, thankful she sensed him following her. She turned to see him close the door and stalk to the window ledge to lean against it, with his arms crossed and his long legs stretched out in a display of studied macho insouciance. He had to pick his way through dirty clothes and papers to get there.

  “You’re a slut.” Jenissa looked from the mess to his face. “This is disgusting.”

  “So you said before. In the same context, or a different one?”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake.” Jenissa kicked a pair of jeans into the air and huffed. “Grow up.”

  “Then, if not, why are you here? I thought I was the lowest of the low and not fit to breathe the same air as you.” Rob whistled.

  “I never said that,” Jenissa countered.

  He shrugged. “You didn’t need to.”

  Okay, he had a point. It struck Jenissa that maybe he wasn’t ever going to forgive her. Once she’d confessed to her actions, and their repercussions, that scenario looked very possible.

  She took a deep breath and the room spun.” I, er…damn, I need to sit down. Can we?”

  He nodded. “Might as well. You look how I feel. Shite. Come on, I’ll see if there’s anything to eat in the house.”

  He pushed himself off the window ledge and walked out without waiting to see if she followed.

  Ah, well, I guess I deserve that. It was so unlike Rob’s normal courteous self that it made her stomach turn over. Not that it was particularly settled, anyway. Too much driving, not enough sleep, and worry didn’t help. She followed Rob slowly downstairs and toward a room she could hear banging from.

  As she entered the kitchen, an acrid smell hit her senses and she balked.

  “What on earth?” Jenissa put one hand over her mouth and the other over her nose.

  “It was a pizza. Several days ago. Now it’s charcoal. And the pan is history.” Rob opened the back door and put the smoking pan onto the patio. There was a sizzle as it presumably sat in one of the puddles left by a recent rain shower. The smell became ever more pungent.

  “Loo?” She left her hand over her mouth. The last thing she needed was to puke over his kitchen floor, even if it did look like a bomb had dropped on it.

  “Across the hall.”

  Jenissa didn’t wait to see if he said anything else.

  Damn and blast, that’s a good start. After she was certain she wasn’t going to throw up any more, Jenissa went through her usual routine of washing her mouth out. There was a tube of toothpaste on a shelf and she used some to swirl around her mouth and over her teeth before she slowly left the bathroom and made her way back to the kitchen. During the previous week, her upchuck reflexes had become a lot more manageable, but the smell of cremated pizza had snuck past them. No wonder, it smelled like wolf’s pee combined with goodness-knew-what.

  Rob looked up from where he was chopping something and studied her.

  “I didn’t know whether I was supposed to hold your hair or something.”

  “No, I was fine.”

  “Good.” He returned his attention to his veg-chopping.

  “May I sit down?” She held onto her temper with difficulty. Her wolf was growling to be let out, and she’d discovered since she was pregnant it was getting harder and harder to rein in her other self. Luckily, the older pack members who lived nearby had reassured her it was a natural phenomenon amongst them, and the further on she progressed in her pregnancy, the easier it would become to control. At almost three months’ gestation, it was nigh on impossible.

  “Sure, help yourself.” He began to peel potatoes.

  Jenissa looked at his back with a frown. She accepted she’d been more than a bitch, but this stilted conversation wasn’t helping either of
them. Plus, if he carried on preparing vegetables at the rate he was, there would be enough ready to feed a family of four for a fortnight.

  “Rob, please will you look at me?”

  “I’m busy.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re pissed.”

  “Yeah, and that.” His spine was rigid, and he brought the knife down to cut a potato in half so firmly it stuck into the wooden chopping board.

  “Fuck.” He let go of the knife, let his head droop forward and thumped his hands onto the work surface on either side of the board. From where she was, Jenissa saw he was shaking.

  “Fuck, shit and bollocks.” His voice wavered.

  Well, that was one way of putting it.

  Jenissa walked across the room and put her hands onto his rigid shoulders. He shuddered and then stiffened even more.

  “Why are you here?” Rob asked. He didn’t look at her, and his words were muffled. “You’ve already told me what you thought of me. I don’t need a rerun.”

  “Maybe not. But you do need to hear the truth, and I need to tell it to you.”

  Rob shrugged her hands off him, twisted around and looked up. “Oh, you did. Very eloquently.”

  Jenissa shook her head. “No, I said what someone scared shitless at how perfect everything was thought she should say. Because perfection comes at a price. What I had should have told you, shown you, could well ruin it all.” She sighed. “So I ruined it anyway.”

  “Oh, you so did.” Rob was silent for a second. “So what should you have told me and shown me, then?”

  It was now or never. Jenissa concentrated. Things couldn’t get any worse, so she might as well go for it. She took two steps back, stretched her arm out, fingers slightly curled and pointing at Rob.

  “This.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Fuck a duck.”

  There was a claw on the end of her arm where her hand should be. “Fuck a fucking duck.” He winced at his crudity, but at that moment, other words failed him.

  Jenissa smiled, and golden sparks flared and flickered in her eyes. “If you want. I’d rather you fucked a wolf.”

  Rob thought someone had punched him in the stomach. He knew fine well he gaped like an idiot, as he stared and swallowed several times like a fish gasping for air.

  He touched the claw. It flexed and he lifted his hand as if it had stung him. “Why are you playing games? You blow me off, ignore me, and somehow, by the looks of it, know what the hell my dreams are made of, and come and taunt me with it. Not fucking on.” He turned his back on Jenissa and tugged at the knife until he freed it from its wooden sheath. “You’ve had your fun, so if that’s all?”

  “No, it’s not all. Give me the courtesy of listening and looking at me as you do.”

  Her tone was out-and-out Domme. Rob dropped the knife, quashed the urge to kneel, turned round again—much more and he’d be giddy—and took a deep breath.

  “Talk.”

  “May I have some water?”

  He snorted. “In your face?”

  She smiled. “As long as some goes in my mouth. Throwing up, when there’s nothing to throw up, isn’t pleasant. I need to rehydrate.”

  “Fair enough.” Rob took a sports bottle of water out of the fridge and passed it over. She took it carefully, he assumed, not to puncture it with the bloody claw, and try to flick open the lid.

  “Could you?” She indicated the top. “Claws and flip lids aren’t a marriage made in heaven.”

  “You know, fun time over.” Rob broke the seal on the bottle and passed it back. “You’re taking Halloween a bit far, and getting into it rather early. There’s a couple of months yet.” He sat down on one of the wicker-seated kitchen chairs and crossed one leg over the other. “Ditch the claw and make life easier for yourself.”

  Jenissa glanced toward his groin, now defined by tight, faded denim. Typically, his cock responded to the longing in her expression—he thought it was longing, not disgust at the curves and shapes she saw—and hardened.

  “I can’t ditch the claw. It’s not that easy. It’s…” She drank again, and Rob watched the skin over her throat ripple and smooth as she swallowed. It was somehow erotic.

  “It’s…? Glued on? Prosthetic and needed? Pull the other one.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  Why on earth did she look so shattered? Hey eyes were a dull brown, and had lost all their earlier sparkle. Even her hair seemed lank and lifeless, with no bounce or curl. What on earth was wrong with her? He’d heard nothing for weeks, and all of a sudden she turned up, looking like death warmed up, playing stupid jokes, trying to be Domme-like, sick and—

  “Holy fucking hell.” He stood up and dragged her to her feet. The water bottle dropped out of her hand…paw…he had no idea which, caught the edge of the table and split down the side, as he gripped her shoulders.

  Water went everywhere. Neither of them commented.

  “You’re pregnant. Bloody up the duff. And I guess now you’re going to say it’s mine. Well ma’am, not a fucking snowball in hell’s chance. I wore a condom, and before you come up with the ‘it could have split’ crap, believe me it didn’t. So whoever you screwed after me gets the title of Daddy.” How on earth he managed not to shake her senseless, he didn’t know.

  Jenissa rocked on her feet. “They are yours. I put a spell on you.”

  He did shake her then, but something, somewhere reminded him she was pregnant. Sick, fragile…A fucking cheat and liar and witch and…

  “Jen? Jenissa…stop it. There’s no need to go to so much stupidity. One claw is enough, two is over doing it.” He stared, fascinated, as her other hand turned into a paw. A paw like in his dreams. The arm became hairy, and even as he watched, her body shook and a shimmery haze developed around it. “Pinch me.”

  She did. It bloody hurt as her claws dug in.

  “Okay, enough already. Stop it now.” Rob did his best to prize her grip of him. It was impossible. She held on as if her life depended on it. “Jenissa. Let go. Okay, you’ve proved your point. I’m”—I’m what?—”I’m spellbound, you’ve got hairy, arms paws and claws, and I have not overdosed on my hay fever meds. Just let go.”

  “Oh, shite, I can’t help it.” Jenissa sobbed the words. “Bloody pregnancy hormones. They’ve played havoc with my capabilities. Look out. Stand back and don’t go for a gun.”

  At least he thought she said that. It could easily have been “have some fun.” Her voice had deepened, virtually into a growl, and her body was a fuzzy outline. Almost, he thought, as if it there was a veil of net curtains between them.

  Still, the claw gripped the soft flesh of his upper arm just below the hem of his T-shirt sleeve. Rob began to sweat. How much more of it could he take? There was pain, and then there was agony. This had gone past both of those.

  “Embrace the pain. Let it fill you and flow out.”

  What a time to get that bloody voice in his head. How the hell did you embrace pain?

  “Like this. Clear your mind, except for the pain. Breathe and let it flow.”

  Anything was worth a try. After all, the pain was so intense it was easy to let it take over.

  In the end, it was surprisingly easy. As the pain deepened, he could almost envision it entering him, swirling around his body and floating away.

  He floated with it. Somewhere, somehow he was with the most beautiful wolf ever known to man. She—he understood that without checking for the obvious attributes—was tawny, golden, and with a beautiful ruff around her neck. And red painted claws.

  Those claws again. They called to him. Made him want to howl.

  “Do it. You can now.”

  She lifted her head and the toe-curling, skin-tingling sound of a happy wolf danced through the air. With a deep breath, Rob joined her vocals. Their combined sounds were full of magic, of spells and love and—

  Whoa. Too much too fast. Even so, they seared his soul and drew him to her. This dream, for it had to be a dream, surely,
was one somehow he could relate to. One he wanted to be part of.

  “I need to bite you.”

  Of course you do. That what wolves do, bite.

  “Not like this. This will bind us closer, closer until we take that final step.”

  As this was his dream, he could say yes, surely?

  Go ahead.

  “Say it aloud.”

  He sighed. It was his dream, and he got to say what why and when, surely?

  “No, sorry. And it’s no dream. It’s part of me at times. Hell, Rob, there’s no easy way to say this. I’m a shifter. I’ve shifted, I’m a wolf shifter, and I need to bite you to make you mine. Screwy, but true. Think about Ari. Has she changed since she married my twin? Remember, Jacob and I share genes.”

  Those six words made Rob jump. Ari was different, and she sported a mark on her neck that never faded.

  That’s how we agree to be mates. So if you’re against that, tell me now.

  Rob pondered. Oh, he knew that whatever his mind told him to the contrary, he’d wake up soon, twisted in his sheets with a boner to rival all boners, his body screaming to come again faster, harder, longer, and with cum all over himself.

  However, he also knew that whatever he tried to tell himself, he needed Jenissa, needed his Ma’am, and was but half a man without her. If having a hickey was part and parcel of it, then a hickey it would be.

  “Not a hickey, a love bite. With the emphasis on love.”

  Whatever. Just do it.

  “Twice more. Once now, once later.” It was Jenissa’s voice. The shimmering veil had disappeared entirely and his wolf stood proudly in front of him. Her lips moved as she spoke, showing a fine set of sharp incisors. He gulped. Well, they’d do the job, all right. His wolf had everything she needed.

  His wolf? Yeah. “My wolf,” he said and let his determination show in his voice. Fuck, even if it did turn out to be his meds, what the hell? It was better than the shitty non-Jenissa life he’d had lately. Just as he had her in his life and enjoyed it, it had ended, and with it his happiness. The only thing that had held him together was his story, now finished and waiting to be edited.