Chapter 8

W ulfric grinned and sat forward on the chair. "Here you go. Now you can reach the edge of the wrapping."

Scarlet sank to her knees in front of him, her eyes spitting fire. Anticipation licked his spine. He held his breath as she reached her arms around him, her fingers carefully not touching anything but the bandages.

He breathed in her scent, his nostrils flaring. She smelled of late summer sun, of the earth and grass. Her closeness did things to him, things he couldn't resist. She was definitely his mate, and he felt like roaring in triumph.

Instead, he widened his legs and shifted to the edge of the chair, the blanket shifting on his lap and riding up.

Her lips pinched even as she sucked in a breath. The pounding of his pulse grew louder in his ears like a chant encouraging him to kiss her, claim her, fuck her.

She glanced up at him through those long, brown eyelashes, and he leaned forward. Then she jerked the bandages free, ripping flesh that had started to heal underneath. He gasped at the stab of pain along his left side.

The air rushed out of him under her ruthless hands as white spots appeared behind his eyes.

"Oh no, did that hurt? Oh, clumsy me." Sarcasm dripped from her words.

He grinned through the pain, enjoying being at her mercy like some sort of sadistic love-sick puppy.

She rose on her knees to unwrap the bandage that now dangled from his ribs. Vision swimming, he did the only thing he knew would distract him from the pain.

He leaned forward, his mouth meeting hers. Such soft lips, like the petals of a flower. She froze and gasped. He swooped in, taking advantage of her open mouth. The touch of her tongue was like a brand. It ruined him for all others, and in that moment, he knew she was it. All he needed was right here.

Joy mixed with the pain, sweeping through his veins like wildfire. He ravished her, pouring everything he had into the kiss. Without words, he told her how he felt. She was his mate. This was inevitable.

He wanted to cherish her, love her, take care of her, worship every inch of her body. He wanted to know her, claim her, feel her openly and gladly accept him. He wanted to ravage and ruin her tight little body until she thought of nothing but him.

His chest tightened, and he shifted on the seat, the throbbing in his body moving lower between his legs. She didn't move, like a deer frozen at the sight of a Growler. He angled his head, nibbling her lower lip softly and teasing his tongue inside. Yet, she still didn't move, and he wanted her full participation.

"Open for me, bunny. Kiss the pain away," he growled, desperate for her.

She shuddered at his words. He swirled his tongue around hers, and his free hand lifted to glide across her confined breasts.

She jerked back, sliding along the floor to slam into the other chair by the hearth. Knees pulled up in front of her, she looked at him wild-eyed, surprise making her face slack.

"What–what are you doing?"

Her fear wafted over him like a heat wave. He shifted on the chair and frowned with worry, disappointed at himself for scaring her. When he'd teased her before, she'd verbally sparred with him and held her own. But now, her fear swarmed his senses, mixing with the scent of her desire and anger.

He was being too brazen, too much of an aggressive Growler. He rubbed his own chest where it ached to feel her fear. How could he salvage this and show her he was so much more than just a mindless Growler? Perhaps he could distract her and make her feel more comfortable?

He stretched, his arm no longer bound to his chest with the bandages. The pain had eased to a dull roar. Pain, he could live with. Pain, he was used to.

But he couldn't live with scaring her.

"I was kissing you," he said softly, watching her carefully as he thought through how to help her relax around him.

"Wh–why?" she whispered, her fingers flying to her lips. He took a deep breath as the fear faded from her. The only scent that lingered in the air was her arousal, confusion, and anger, the fire in the hearth, and the drying herbs hanging from the rafters.

He couldn't hold back from her. He wasn't compelled to tell her through magic, but he wanted no barriers between them. It might not convince her to accept him, but he wanted to give her the world. He would answer any question, complete any task she asked if it meant she'd give him a chance.

"Because you're my mate," he said.

She jumped up, her hands waving in front of her in denial, as if to hold him at bay as she watched him warily. "I'm not your fucking mate. You're crazy."

He shrugged, feeling the cold dribble of blood and glancing down at his ribs. "I know what I know, and in this, I'm right. But damn if you weren't right about these ribs. I pulled the stitches free."

She shifted on the balls of her feet, her hands wavering as her gaze caressed down his body. He felt the lingering gaze like lightning, and his dick jumped under the blanket in response.

She frowned and took a deep breath, her spine straightening. Then she stepped closer and batted his hand away to poke at his ribs with her fingers.

He raised his arm, testing the joint and flexing his stiff muscles to give her better access to his ribs. He enjoyed her fingers on his skin, even as he was hyper aware of her touch. It held its own kind of magic that healed the broken parts of his soul.

Her eyes fluttered as she straightened, following the movement of his bicep and chest. The thrill of the chase slid down his spine like warm rain. She might be surprised at his words, but she wanted him too. The scent of her desire flooded him, and he breathed deeply.

"I'm not your mate," she murmured, going to the medicine cabinet to take out supplies. Did he detect a hint of disappointment in her tone? Hope flared in his chest.

"You are," he said. "But we're not going to argue about it now. You need time to accept it and come around to the idea. I understand that. I'm a patient man."

Well, he might've been once. He really didn't know.

"Growler, not man," she said, stomping back over to him with a bowl of gauze, thread, needle, and a little jar of ointment.

How often did he lie awake at night worrying about having lost his humanity? He sucked in a breath at her words, but she didn't seem to notice.

She glared, "And there's nothing to accept. We're not mates."

He tilted his head to the side, but otherwise stayed still on the chair. He didn't want his little bunny to run away, and somehow, he knew she was prone to it.

But damn it, he couldn't let her think he was just going along with her denial. The words bubbled up inside him.

"Actually, you know what? I'm not a patient man at all. But I'll drop the topic for now if you can look me in the eye, and tell me you don't feel it," he growled.

She looked at him, her brow furrowed and her chin jutting out stubbornly. "I. Feel. Nothing."

Her nose twitched with every word. The smell of her lie filled the air. A slow smile spread across his face, making her scowl. "You don't really believe that," he said softly.

Her lips twisted as she gently lathered the ointment on the biggest tear on his ribs. "Of course, I do."

"No, you don't," he said, watching her face carefully. "You're just saying that because you've tried for so long to cut off the emotions. The pain, the heartache. It was the only way you could survive."

It was something he'd done too, why he'd jumped at the idea to become a Growler and forget all of it.

He didn't know how he could recognize that within her, but the realization settled in his soul. It was like he'd known her forever, although he didn't know what had caused her so much pain.

Her hands stilled, her fingers cold on his fur. She avoided his gaze, but he reached out with his good hand and cupped her cheek, tipping her face up until her beautiful green eyes looked into his soul.

"You don't have to pretend with me, bunny."

She glared and jerked out of his hand. "I don't know what you're talking about."

His heart ached for her, his tough little bunny. What had she been through that had toughened her so? He wanted to hear all her stories. He wanted to kiss her and make her feel better.

Instead, he just shook his head and took a guess. "You lost something and had to put on a tough persona to make it through, didn't you?"

Her eyes searched his. Did he go too far? Pressure on his chest increased as she stood up, the bowl and jar forgotten on the floor. Hands on hips, she glared at him.

"Yeah, I lost my mother. To a raiding pack of Growlers. Then my father to the war." Her pain-filled expression was like lightning to his gut.

His stomach twisted and dread spread through him. If Growlers killed her mother, would she ever see him as more than a monster?

His poor bunny, how did he not know everything about her? He should've known, should've asked more questions first, before kissing her and telling her of the mate bond.

"I'm sorry," he said simply.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hands clenching. "See? You don't know me. You know nothing about me, and you definitely don't know what mates are because that's not us."

She spun on her heel and stormed out the front door. She went into the snow without a coat, and he didn't want her to get too cold.

He half rose from the chair, but his vision started spinning, and he sank back down. He breathed through it, his mind racing through different things he could say to her, ways he could get to know her so she'd accept the mate bond. Then they could claim each other.

A tingle in the back of his head spread, and for the first time since becoming a Growler, he worried about the family he might've left behind. When he'd been turned and lost all his memories, he'd taken it as a fresh new start on life.

But now he wondered what he'd lost. He had no way of knowing what town he'd come from, what his job was, or what kind of man he'd been. Had he had a mate before? The humans called them wives, didn't they?

He sighed and grabbed the ointment from the floor. Slowly, he began to lather it on his open wounds. They were closing up nicely on their own and would probably be completely regenerated by tomorrow morning, other than a few scars.

He'd gathered several in the past few years, and he wondered if they bothered Scarlet. She'd been so gentle with him, taking care of him like the softie she was. She didn't want anyone to know, but he knew. He could see under the hidden layers.

No, his bunny wasn't bothered by his scars. She had a tough shell, was a powerful warrior in her own right, but inside she was soft, sensitive, and caring.

Now he just needed to convince her of the truth of their matehood, complete the mate bond with her, and reclaim his position as alpha. Then he could spend the rest of his life peeling back her other layers and getting to know her.

The key was going to be fixing her curse. She'd cried when she'd realized her antlers and ears had changed from the tea. If he could convince the Elders to fix her, she might open up to him and see him as something more than just a savage Growler. She might see him as a fucking hero.