Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

C harlie sat on Max’s bed and wondered what on earth to do next. Behind his bathroom door, she could hear tortured groans. She could only guess that he was transforming—painfully—back into his human form.

If only she could do something to help.

He had brought them into the house, padding around to the back door, nosing it open and carrying her through the darkened interior, up the stairs and along the corridor to his bedroom. There, he sank down next to the bed until she climbed off, then proceeded to nudge her with his snout until she was backed up against the bed, his topaz eyes never leaving her face.

But she hadn’t been afraid. Not even when his long furry snout gave her a final gentle bump on the belly, and she lost her balance and toppled onto the bed.

Then with a whine, he’d turned and padded into the bathroom.

Closed the door.

And now… this. These anguished sounds.

She couldn’t bear to think he was suffering in there alone.

Her heart beating fast, Charlie slid off the bed and crept over to the door.

She knocked gently. “Max, are you okay?”

Silence. Followed by another groan.

Charlie couldn’t care less about the fact that her dress was torn, that she was bruised and scratched and still shaky with shock. She pushed open the door and went inside.

Max was in human form, curled up in the fetal position on the bathroom floor. Silver fur lay shed around him on the tiles like a blanket. His hands covered his face, his hair was completely disheveled, and a large gash on his calf bled profusely.

Charlie had never seen such a perfect specimen of a human male.

But there was no time to admire him. Quickly, she grabbed a towel off the back of the door and covered him. Then went to the bathroom cabinet and sorted through the contents. She found bandages, an array of aftershaves and finally, thank the gods, witch hazel and wolfbane lotion. What a stroke of luck.

She came back to his side. He was shuddering still, but she bent down and whispered in his ear, “Max, you’ve got a bad cut on your leg and now that you’ve shifted back into human form, it will bleed excessively if I don’t treat it.”

He lowered his hands and stared up at her, his eyes glazed.

“H-how do you know that?”

“I read it in The Almanac of Beasts.” She smirked a little. “The Wolf volume. Here, let me, please.”

Wincing, he shifted so that his back was propped up against the side of the bath, then grabbed his head with both hands. “Fuck.”

“That bad?”

“Like the worst migraine. But still not as horrible as the pain when I shifted into wolf.”

She started to bathe the wound, and he flinched and glanced at the bottle in her hand. “What is that?”

“Witch hazel and wolfbane lotion.”

“Wolfbane prevents shifting when taken by mouth,” Max mused weakly.

“I read that too. But this is a topical lotion for when you turn back to your human form. Apparently, it makes the blood clot faster.”

She worked gently, wiping away the blood and applying the lotion, which immediately stemmed the bleeding. As she worked, she tried not to notice the beauty of his pecs and abs, or the fact that the towel was loosely draped around his hips, showing a v of dark hair arrowing down toward his groin. “It’s antiseptic too, so hopefully there’ll be no infection from the bite.”

“Your touch alone feels healing,” he husked out.

She stilled for a moment and glanced at him. His eyes, still clouded with pain, held hers. “Thank you, Charlie.”

She tried to ignore the sudden pulse at her core. “On the contrary, I have to thank you , Max, for finding me. I don’t know what I’d have done if?—”

“What were you doing there?”

“I left the party and kind of got lost.” She couldn’t help asking, “How did you know where to find me?”

“Let’s say I had a sixth sense.”

She longed to ask more, so many questions on the tip of her tongue, but this didn’t seem the right time to pursue it; he was in pain, and clearly exhausted.

Suddenly he looked at her properly, his eyes narrowed. “You’ve got a scratch on your face. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I—I don’t think I am, not badly at least. I’m probably still in shock.”

“I guess we both are,” He grunted. “What a pair.”

“I’m so sorry, Max,” she whispered.

“Don’t apologize. I’m just so fucking glad I got to you before they did.”

She stuck the plaster over the gash, “There, all done.”

“Feels better already.” He managed a feeble smile, then looked down at her hand, took it in his and gently toyed with it. Following his gaze, Charlie realized her knuckles were bruised. “Maybe I am hurt.”

“You whacked one of those bastards pretty hard.”

“Did I? I—I didn’t realize.”

"You pack quite a punch with these small hands. Remind me never to get on the wrong side of you.”

“You could never do that Max.”

Gently, his fingers stroked over her knuckles.

Charlie let out a little gasp as sensation flooded her nether regions. Suddenly, he blinked, his eyes meeting hers almost blankly, as if he’d forgotten who he was for a moment.

“Sorry,” he muttered thickly. “I’ll get out of here. Run you a bath, so you can relax.” He dropped her hand and got groggily to his feet, wrapping the towel around his waist before she got more than a glimpse of his muscled thighs.

“No, Max, this is your room. Your bathroom,” she protested. “And you need to rest.”

“Well, tonight it’s yours. Go sit back on the bed while I clear up this infernal mess I’ve made, and then I’ll run a bath for you.”

She made to argue, but he gave her a look that silenced her. “Go and rest on the bed,” he ordered, in a growly tone that brooked no argument.

Reluctantly, Charlie got to her feet and toddled out on still-wobbly legs. She sank onto the bed and waited.

Soon Max emerged, carrying the bathroom trash can. “Fur,” he explained with a grimace. “No idea what to do with it. I’ll throw it in the bin outside, I guess.”

“It seems… such a waste,” Charlie said wistfully.

He gave her a quizzical smile. “Do you propose I make a blanket of it?” He pulled a face. “Somewhere in East Motham there’s a pile of shredded designer gear, not even useful for a homeless feral. The joys of shape-shifting, eh?”

Charlie gave a shaky laugh and watched the light from the lamp play on his torso as he put the trash can by the bedroom door, then walked back to her and sat on the end of the bed.

Her pulse sped up.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

“Sore now, actually.”

“Where?”

“My back, between my shoulder blades and my head. I think one of them really yanked my hair."

“May I check?” he asked softly.

She nodded and turned onto her tummy, feeling her heart pounding against the mattress. She felt the indent as he moved up the bed, and then the warmth of his hands as gently, so very gently, they explored her scalp. “You’ve lost a little patch here,” he said.

“Hmm, lucky there’s so much of it.” She gave a weak chuckle.

Now she felt his touch moving down the vertebrae in her neck, smoothing over her upper back, then feeling over the top of her dress to find the places where the ferals had punched and pushed her.

Charlie flinched a couple of times, her breathing ragged as those big sensitive hands explored her body with such gentle finesse, all the while checking in with her in a low, gravelly voice.

He didn’t need to worry about hurting her—his touch was doing something altogether different. Something delicious.

“Nothing serious,” he husked finally. “I’ve put a gentle antiseptic in the bath water. Go and wallow in there for as long as you need, okay?”

“Thank you, Max,” she murmured. As she twisted around to face him, she sensed her torn dress falling away from her shoulder. His gaze slid down, and his pupils dilated. His nostrils quivered and Charlie knew he was scenting her.

She heard the harsh rasp of his indrawn breath.

Glancing down, she saw that her left breast had popped clear out of the confines of her dress, her nipple dark and swollen, as if begging for his mouth.

And there was no mistaking the look on his face. Like he wanted to eat her all up.

Her body responded at once, her pussy clenching with need.

“Max… I—” She gulped, making no attempt to cover herself. “What’s happening… between us?”

A muscle in his jaw jumped; she saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

“I don’t know, Charlie,” he said through tight lips. “Some kind of full moon madness, I guess.”

Charlie was certain he was going to lean down and fasten his mouth on her nipple. And if he did, there was no hope in hell of her stopping him.

But instead, he got up and strode to the door

“We’ll talk about all this tomorrow, Charlie,” he gritted out, his back to her. “You stay here and sleep after your bath. I’m going to spend the night on the sofa downstairs.”