Big Bad Wolfie novel Chapter 20

She's entrusting Wolfie with making sure I sleep?

  And leaving me?

Alone. With him.

  I mean, I know she doesn't have much of a choice.

But still.

"Make sure she sleeps?"

Really? I don't need sleep that bad, and there's no way in h3ll I'm sleeping with him in the room.

  I turn and glare at Wolfie's tall and bulky frame. I have to tilt my head up quite a bit to look him in the eye from my position sitting with my legs dangling off the bed. He simply stares back.

  Dang he's pretty.

Too bad that's his only redeeming quality, so far.

  We stay like this for a hot minute.

  And when I say hot, I mean hot.

  There's a sort of warmth collecting in my stomach, and I almost feel a sweat brake loose. For a split second — split second — the fact that I may be going through heat flashed through my mind. It's mainly a werewolf thing, but it's very common for females mated to wolves, even if they're not one themselves, to experience it too.

Which is freaking weird if you ask me, but I don't make the rules.

I'm not naïve enough to think that it won't happen indefinitely, but the idea of it being what is going on right now immediately simmered out. It's way too early for that.

  Thank the goddess.

  That would be terrible.

  But then what is this pit of warmth?

  It's not bad. It's actually. . . It's actually pretty nice.

  And I have a feeling it's because he's looking at me like that.

  And because I might as well have freaking marked him.

And his pecs are. . . Oh my goodness.

  NO! Stop it brain! I can already feel the repercussions of my friends' decisions coming to bite me.

This is not going to be good.

"Could you stop looking at me like that?!" I suddenly blurted.

  Jeez, my brain can't function properly under these conditions!

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, seemingly about to make a move, but his intense gaze still didn't falter.

It took me a second to realize his only motive for stirring was to inch closer to me.

And he wasn't inching because he wanted to gage how comfortable I was with his proximity.

Oh no.

Of course, not.

He was inching because he was taking his sweet old time stalking towards me.

I don't know what made the feeling arise in my stomach that the scenario was anything like a predator stalking it's prey, but that's what it felt like.

  With him slowly slithering towards me, head slightly downcast so he's looking at me through thick lashes.

I didn't feel any mal intent in his actions or expression, but I was still on edge.

Is this how it's always gonna be now?

Because I have his blood pumping through my system, every time I'm under his gaze I'll go rigid with. . . I don't even know what.

Uncertainty?

  Excitement?

  No, no, definitely not excitement.

That would be. . . That would be bad.

Right?

  I have no idea what it could be, but the feeling in my stomach is growing.

  Once he stood in front of me, he opened his mouth.

  "Well you heard her. Go to sleep," He ordered.

  I let out a loud, "Ha," and just smirked with an eyebrow raised up at him. "And what exactly makes you think I'd do that with you anywhere near me?" I enquired.

  His gaze never faltered, "I don't know why you wouldn't. You can trust me, you know."

  I let out another, "Ha!" But kept quiet after this one.

  I laughed at the prospect of trusting him, even though I felt sincerity fill the area around us. I even felt a hint of. . . Hurt? From his side of things.

  I don't know when I started feeling 'things' when it came to him, but that's probably just another part of the mate bond no one ever decides to tell young people before they experience it.

  I swear, it's like they find joy in our utter confusion and misunderstanding.

  Anyway, he has no right to be hurt if that is the case.

  He completely butchered any sliver of trust I could hold for him when he took over my house. Naturally.

  He shrugged at my response, "The sleeping medication currently flowing through your IV might also help."

  My eyes widened and whipped in the direction of my arm with the needle poking out of it.

  No way!!

  Doc did this too?

  No wonder I was feeling drowsier than usual, even after feeding.

  I immediately went to rip it out.

  "Hey!" Wolfie jumped to grab my wrist. He clamped onto it tightly and wrapped a protective hand around the spot with the IV attached.

My breath caught in my throat.

My — his blood ran cold. I froze in my place, and my eyes locked on his hand over one of my IV's.

He's so close.

And he's shirtless.

He's on the bed. . . Touching me.

And he's shirtless.

His his his. . . Oh my crap his muscles.

  He's so close, on the bed, touching me, shirtless, and his musclessss.

  I can'ttttt.

  Helppp meee.

  I can't breathe.

  How do you do that again?

  My eyes had absentmindedly traveled up his very toned arms, across his broad shoulders and to his chest.

  Air.

  Why do you elude me?

  "Are you done?" I heard Wolfie's voice ring through the air with a hint of amusement.

  "Definitely not," I told him without even bothering to meet his eyes.

  There's no way I'm taking my eyes off his shirtless upper body until he takes the opportunity away from me and puts a shirt on.

I watched his chest rumble with a chuckle.

My own chest constricted.

This is too much.

But I pushed through. I made sure to analyze every single detail. Every curve and edge. Every beautiful, beautiful curve and edge.

  Every scar. Even they were beautiful on him. He had a few of them. Nothing too crazy, but they decorated the parts of his body that I can see enough to know he's been in his fair share of fights.

My eyes found a mark that ran from his shoulder to the top of his pec. It looks like it was particularly painful, seeming deep and jagged.

It had to have been. It's not easy to scar people like us. Especially if we're of master or alpha blood.

The tiniest scar on us could have been a fatal wound to others.

This is why it's actually quite alarming when you find a scar like that on someone. Maybe not as surprising as it used to be. Because of the war that broke out years back, nearly everyone significant seems to be sporting at least one.

I know I have. . . A few.

I was almost ready to trail my eyes back to his, but I decided to let them rack his upper body one more time.

They ran over his arms, abs, and everything.

Twice.

Then I met his eyes.

I wasn't surprised to find a smirk on his face.

I suppose I had just openly gawked at him for the last few minutes. That seems like something to smirk about.

He raised a brow, amusement and smugness still on his face. "You done now?"

I nodded, "for now, yes"

It doesn't help that you're still holding me though.

He nodded back. "Good, now go to sleep," he told me softly while not so softly pushing me down into a laying down position.

I tried to resist, but of course, all those muscles mean he's strong, and I'm feeling crazy waited down because of the medication.

I still fought.

He saw the determined resistance in my eyes and lightened up, eyebrows furrowing in concern and confusion. "Why do you not want to sleep that badly?" His gaze softened the smallest bit, "Do you really think I'll hurt you?" His voice is soft, barely above a whisper, filled with sincerity. He's looking me directly in the eye. Truly asking and truly hurt at the prospect.

Truly hurt for some reason.

Up to this point, all he's shown is that he wants my submission and power, not me. So I don't see why he'd be hurt.

Unless. . .

It doesn't matter, that's not the case anyway.

I want to break eye contact. I don't want to look at his beautiful storms anymore. He can't know the reason I don't want to sleep, not right now. And looking into his eyes only compels me more to tell him because, all I see in his gaze is the good in him. All the care and love he could give me and maybe even wants to give me, but doesn't.

  So, I tore my stare from his swimming iron storms and set it on the sealing above his head.

  "Don't worry about it," I mumbled.

  A small, small feeling of betrayal washed over me just as the overwhelming drowsiness did.

  They know how much I hate this. My friends. They know the reason I don't sleep at night.

  That's why they drugged me. I wouldn't do it on my own.

  They're hearts are in the right place but. . . I just can't help the feeling that they screwed me over. Especially when the dread starts creeping into the picture.

  I sighed and let my vision fall to the needle sticking out of my arm that, at this point, makes me want to vomit.

  It's a double header, combining two things I hate in this world.

  Needles, and sleeping.

  I almost chuckled at how messed up that sounds, even in my own head.

  But it's true, they both bring back images I would do anything to keep suppressed.

  Also, I've always just had a thing against needles.

  So who can blame me for feeling a little stabbed in the back while gazing down at the needle in my skin as I lose consciousness.

  Right into what I know is my own personal h3ll.