Chapter Forty-Two

Havermouth, Present Time

Aislen watched the light shift across the floor, diffused by the leaves of the trees outside the window. Rhett had pulled back the curtains to improve the light, so she had a clear view, through his window, of the garden and the river below.

She could see that they had expanded on the original firepit, creating a paved, sunken, circular space with inset seating built into the steps down. A gravel pit cupped a large brazier, with wood pre-set for lighting, and there were hollows built into the wall between the stairs and the seats, which held wood seasoning for use.

She wrapped her fingers around the chair spokes and hissed out a breath as Rhett hit a sensitive spot.

He had positioned her to straddle the chair, hugging the back, with a cushion beneath her and one before her to make the posture more comfortable. He had tied her hair high up on her head so her back was bare.

She knew, from the flashes of images that she caught whenever he touched her, that the tattoo was of a griffin, with the body and tail feathers forming a line along her spine, and the wings fanning out over her shoulder blades.

He spoke only minimally, when he needed her to adjust her position, or to caution her to be still. The music that played in the background did not disguise the ominous buzz of the tattoo gun as he worked.

She closed her eyes and tried to think her way clear of the situation. Her car had been parked on the street outside the funeral parlour. Surely that would raise curiosity, and someone would look for her?

Her suitcase and art supplies were still in the house, and food in the fridge, the dishes unwashed on the sink. The agent would go by to take photos and would have to wonder where she was, she thought.

Her agent and friends from Kabramatta would call her mobile phone… The publisher would want the next release of her comic…

“Where do you think this will end?” She whispered. “I will be missed. There are people that will look for me.”

“Stay still,” he replied, lifting the tattoo gun from her skin. “You are shaking my hand.”

“When they come looking for me, they will track me back here. You guys will be arrested and thrown in jail. The pack cannot protect you from something of this magnitude.”

“Aislen, if you want me to fuck up this tattoo, go ahead and keep talking.”

“Just… Just one last thing,” she said whilst the gun was off her skin. “Does your pack know that you have done this?” She saw a flash through his mind. “No, they don’t,” she was smug. “What will they do when my people come looking for me and track me to you?”

“I’m returning to work,” Rhett warned her, positioning his hand on her back.

“Wait, wait,” she said hastily. “My boyfriend, the lumberjack. You guys forgot about him. He’ll have noticed me missing by now, and he will be looking for me…”

“Boyfriend is a bit of an exaggeration, isn’t it?” He replied through his teeth, lifting his hand from her skin. “You hooked up with a stranger within minutes of meeting him at a pub, and fucked a few times. The rocking chair was creative, however. We have a sex chair that functions pretty much the same. Yes, we watched,” he added when she looked over her shoulder at him in shock. “Of course, we were fucking watching. You are ours, and you were fucking a…” He closed his mouth on the word with a click of teeth.

“We had to make sure that you were safe,” he finished, his voice dropping in volume. “And, he has gone now. Left yesterday. Gone back to wherever it was he came from, probably never to think about you again.”

The pain in Aislen’s heart was sharper than it should be, she thought. She had, after all, only known Talen for a few nights, and they had spent most of the time fucking and not talking, and yet… She would have been lying to herself if she hadn’t hoped that somehow, they would work out a way to extend their time together. There had been a connection between them, a fierce desire, but also…

After five years of celibacy, with her only relationship being the fucked up time with the Triquetra, she had probably been fantasizing, she admitted to herself. He had probably seen it as nothing more than a hook up whilst he was in town. For all she knew, he had a Mrs. Vampire and baby Vampires at home… But, shit, she had been clinging to the fragile hope that Talen would wonder where she had gone. Surely a vampire would have the ability to track her to the river house?

“Are we done?” Rhett demanded.

She turned back around and resumed her position, hiding that she wept by resting her forehead where her arms crossed on the back rest.

He did not resume, and she heard him set the gun down on the table. “Aislen,” he said softly, and then she felt the now familiar texture of the latex glove against her shoulder. “I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.”

“Rhett,” Heath said sharply from the door, and Rhett snatched his hand away.

“I wasn’t,” Rhett said, standing. “I didn’t, I mean… I said something when I shouldn’t and made her cry.”

“I understand,” Heath’s voice gentled. “Take a break, hey? Cameron’s on the balcony. Go get some fresh air and sunshine. Take a swim. Clear your head.”

“Yeah,” Rhett sighed. “Yeah, I will. Thanks.”

Aislen heard the snap of plastic as he peeled off his gloves and threw them into a bin already overflowing with them on his way past.

Heath crossed the room and stroked his hand through her hair. "It's not easy on him," he said quietly. "It's not easy on any of us. None of this has been easy. Sometimes I wonder why the Moon Goddess would burden us so heavily.”

“The Moon Goddess?” She sniffed back her tears. “Aren’t you a fucking pastor’s son?”

“That’s my father’s chosen profession, not his religion,” Heath sighed, and picked her up off the chair with the ease that she associated as being werewolf strength. He cradled her in his arms, careful of the fresh tattoo, and sat back on the bed with her on his lap, positioning her so that, whether she willed it or not, she was leaning against his chest. He pressed his face into her hair and breathed in. “My father says that his religion is fluid. He believes that there is a God, because the Moon Goddess needs an alpha male, the same as any pack matriarch.”

“You don’t believe in God,” she said.

“I don’t believe in his God,” he corrected. “Other than that, my opinion is open. I am just a man, a werewolf. Who am I to question whether Gods and Goddesses exist? I just try… not to offend them too much in my small life. What do you believe in, Aislen?” He murmured, his lips against her hair.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I believe that what you are doing to me is wrong.”

He was still for a long moment. “You know that we are werewolves,” he said softly.

“You know that I do. You fucking shifted in front of me.”

“Cameron told me about your… telepathy… empathy?” His question was in his voice. He chuckled ruefully. “I know that you know things that you shouldn’t, without reasonable explanation as to how you know them, but at the same time you are the least… insightful person that I have ever known, so I am extremely hesitant to call it telepathy or empathy, as I understand the words.”

“Gee, thanks,” she muttered.

“Or is it just us that you are blind to?” He replied.

“I don’t know,” she said angrily. “I don’t know what you want from me. Well, I do, but that is just… contradictory and complicated because you guys are fucking psychopathic arseholes.”

“Gee thanks,” he mocked her with her own sarcasm.

“I see things,” she turned her face into his chest, breathing in the scent of him. He hadn’t been to work, she thought. He was dressed in jeans and a knit top, and he hadn’t shaved as closely or carefully, or applied the expensive, sophisticated, smoke-on-water sexy cologne. The cologne was sexy, yes, she thought, but not as much as his natural scent. It made her want to taste his skin, to suck on his throat and…

Fucking hell, she thought wretchedly. The Triquetra were like a disease for her. “What the fuck is it about you three?” She complained.

“What is it about us?” He was surprised and confused by the question, and then he inhaled, and she shared the moment his body reacted, a surge of lust and passion that passed through her vicariously in a wave of such strength that her body confused it as its own and she moaned. His breathing changed and she felt the hardness of his cock against her arse.

“You feel,” he murmured, breathing in through his nose, scenting her response. “You feel what we do.”

“A bit,” she admitted.

“You feel our pleasure too,” his quick and clever mind was making the connections and calculating how to use them to his advantaged.

“You’re a good lawyer, aren’t you?” She observed sourly. “The moment you sense a weakness, your mind immediately goes to how to use it against me.”

“Perhaps,” his thoughts had turned erotic. “When you use your mouth on me, do you feel what it is like for me? Yes, you do,” he answered himself. “You were always so fucking good in bed. Of course, you knew what to do to bring us pleasure, because you felt our pleasure…” (How amazing… What a wonderful gift…)

“It’s not really,” she told him. “A wonderful gift. It’s pretty shitty sometimes, to be honest.”

He laughed a sharp, delighted sound that matched the leap of emotion within him. “Amazing,” he said, and she inhaled sharply as his mind filled with erotic images. “And what about that?” He breathed.

“I haven’t showered today. I attempted escape during my opportunity to shower. I’m not going to sit on your face,” she protested. His mind immediately went to the shower in his room and both of them wet and soapy, deliberately imagining his hands stroking over her body, cupping her breasts before teasing her clit. “Fine,” she said. It would delay a continuation of the agonizing tattoos.

His mind went somewhere else.

“What the fuck is that?” She exclaimed.

He laughed. “Something fun. You’ll see.”