Sinful Instincts (Woodland Creek) (4 page)

“No, I need time to heal. Where, Emma?”

Seriously?
I can’t imagine those claw marks running down his chest feel all that great, and I’m going to admit the SpongeBob Band-Aids I plan on using probably won’t do the trick. “Listen—” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“I will heal. I just need a safe place to rest. Now, time is wasting. Where is your home?”

I hesitate. I don’t think this is a good idea. Like, at all. I refuse to acknowledge what I actually just witnessed, so I focus on the fact that this could be a trick. Even though he did kind of save my life, what if it was only to get me back to my place to disfigure my whole body? I really don’t want to wake up in my bathtub with my organs missing.

“I’m not going to hurt you; I’ve already told you.”

“What?” I’m shocked.
Can he read my thoughts? No, Emma, that’s just crazy.

“I said I’m not going to hurt you. Now, Emma, before he returns.”

Returns?

Yep, that gets me. Definitely don’t want to be here when Psycho Thunder cat returns. My knight in furry armor jumps off me and grabs for my hand. As I rise to my feet, I groan at the pain in my side.

He suddenly freezes, taking in my wounded body. “You’re hurt,” he states, his voice etched with concern.

“Oh, yeah, got me in the side. No worries. Nothing a little Neosporin and a few Band-Aids won’t fix.” I try and brush it off but when he lifts my shirt, I wince at the fabric brushing against my cuts.

“Jesus.”

“Seriously, it’s fine...
Shit,
” I grunt as he licks his hand and presses it to my side. I prepare to fight him off, but then a tingling sensation spreads along my torso, cooling the burn.

“Wh—what are you doing?” I stutter nervously as his hand presses against my exposed skin. His eyes never leave mine.

“How do you feel now?”

I look down at my side and the scratches are gone. “What in the heave—”

Without further argument, he lifts me up, my feet leaving the ground. “Whoa! Oh, my God, what are you doing?” I squeal as he throws me over his shoulder. “Put me down! Please! I’m fine, and you’re hurt. Just put me down.”

He doesn’t listen to my plea. He walks—more like prowls, like the predator he seems to be—toward the open alley that breaks into the main street. “Your home, which way?” he demands. I’m pretty sure I’m in shock, so I just point to the right.

Before he steps another foot into the open street life, my brain remembers a very important fact. “Wait!” I shriek.

He stops instantly and adjusts my body upward. My full breasts press against his chest as I slide down his hard body, our gazes connecting. This causes his body to stiffen, his brows constricting. “What is it?” he questions, mild irritation in his tone.

“Um… You’re naked. You can’t just walk down the street, holding a woman, while naked. If you don’t want the cops to get involved, you’re going about it the wrong way.” My face is surely blushing a fiery red.

“I don’t have any clothes to put on, but don’t worry; no one will even see us,” he responds.

“And how is that possible?” I ask, boggled. I mean, I would surely notice a man of his stature—if you know what I mean—strutting down an open street.

“Because we will be going too fast.” And then we’re off. He begins to sprint, but it’s not like a quick jog. It’s actually compared to
nothing
human, since the speed we’re going is
not
natural. I witness glimpses of buildings and trees pass, but they’re just blurry objects as we soar past them.

“Which way?” I hear him ask me, and without thought, I reply, “Turn left on Main Street and right on Old Wood Creek Road.”

I feel him tighten his grip and without even confirming he’s heard me correctly, we’re already on Old Wood Creek Road. “Which building?” Again, I numbly reply my address and before I know it, we’re outside my door.

He sets me down, instructing me to open it. I sway on my feet, and he latches his thick fingers around my waist to steady me. He is waiting for me to do something, but I’m not sure what. My brain is so stuffy; I seriously need a step-by-step manual for life right now. Finally, he dips his head close to my ear. “Open the door, Emma.” Whispering so softly, his warm breath hits the back of my earlobe.

“I... I... Okay,” I mumble, trying to get my brain to function. I grab for my purse that’s not on my shoulder and realize I don’t have my keys. “Oh, no,” I cry out. “My purse—it’s in the alley. It has my keys in it.”

I turn to my new naked friend. He doesn’t seem worried that he’s nude or that we are S.O.L. on getting into my apartment. He simply maneuvers his beautiful, muscled arm around me and places his strong grip around my doorknob. With one simple turn, I hear the lock crack, and the doorknob shifts and breaks off into his hands.

I don’t say much, just gawk at the broken door and how easily he just ripped my locked door apart. Before I have the chance to tell him he’s paying for that, my oh-so-nosy neighbor opens her door, curious of the commotion. I hear the gasp of the ninety-year-old woman as I turn to witness her gaping at me and my new stark-naked friend. He, on the other hand, is unfazed and just pushes the door open, instructing me to enter.

“Hey there, Mrs. Peterson,” I greet her, trying to act nonchalant. She doesn’t reply, since it would take her lifting her jaw off the ground and blinking to do so. I wave at her like it’s just another typical Saturday evening and I'm coming home as always, late in the night with a naked guy in tow. “Have a great night, Mrs. Peterson!” I wave, but it’s not to her since I’m being pushed inside my place, the door shutting behind me.

Emma

Entering my less-than-impressive apartment, I turn and take in my surroundings. We didn’t bring much with us when we came to Woodland Creek because I was promised we would buy everything we needed here. That was also before Scott decided to take off, leaving me with one couch, a bed that lies on the floor and maybe two clean towels. Everything else is in the apartment was donated by new friends I’ve made at work or purchased from garage sales. I watch as my naked guest surveys my killer place, looking on edge. He walks toward the hallway and opens all doors, investigating the layout.
Geesh, nosy much, pal?

“Um, the bathroom is the third door down if you, um, need to use it,” I offer. It’s hard to say much more since the remainder of my consciousness is fighting to keep my eyes up at face level. What I saw earlier may be forever burned into my memory.

“This place is not very safe. You shouldn’t live here alone.”

Well, thanks for the
no duh
, Sherlock. “Yeah, well, too late for that.”

He turns to look at me, waiting for me to explain further. Of course I want to explain, but my words are lodged in my throat.
Keep eye contact. Keep eye contact.
“Listen, um, before we go any further here, I have some guy’s clothes that… well… won’t be close to fitting you at all, but I think you should maybe put some pants on. It’s getting a bit hard to have a normal conversation with you.”

He looks at me, slowly looks down, and then up again. His hard facial features soften a bit, and what seems like a small smirk covers his face. “Why? Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asks, slowly prowling toward me.

I, on the other hand, begin taking steps backwards. “N-n-no, why would you make me nervous?” He makes it into my personal space, and I'm pretty sure I’ve broken out into a sweat. If he would just put that huge thing away, I’m sure I would be able to get back to my senses. I need to divert this situation and fast. “Wh-what happened back there? What was that?”

“A very out-of-control leopard shifter,” he replies, so nonchalant, as if we are talking about the weather.

“Okay, great. A leopard shifter... Like, what is that?”
Right, a shifter. And I’m Princess fucking Leia. I need more specifics here, pal.

“He is a shape-shifter. He is able to walk the streets day or night as human, but he can also shift into his animal form, which you saw tonight is the leopard.”

I just look at him, not catching on... like, at all. “So, he just turns into a cat? Like
that
?” I use my fingers to indicate the ‘poof’ visual. He doesn’t even vocally respond, just slowly nods. “Okay, great. Well, you have been
super
helpful. Now, it’s confirmed that we’re both missing a few marbles.”

“Is there anything else you would like to ask me, or can I have those pants you speak of?” His sex-dripping voice does nothing for my self-control as I practically sag into his words.

“Pants… pants. Oh,
pants
. Yes. Get pants!” I shake off my insanity and step aside to walk toward my bedroom. I don’t need to look back to know he’s right behind me; his presence is almost suffocating. I enter my bare room and head toward a pile of Scott’s stuff I planned on burning or giving to the homeless. Opening the garbage bag, I grab for a pair of sweatpants. I turn, accidently making eye contact with
that
, and spin quickly back around. “Here.” I stick my hand out, waiting for him to take them.

The fabric leaves my hands and I listen to him putting them on. Once I feel it’s safe, I turn around and admire his chiseled body, now covered in a too-small and too-short pair of pants. As I bring my hungry eyes up his body, I remember the scratches. “Oh, no, you’re cu—” I look closer and see they’re almost healed.

What in the fuuu—

“Your… Your...” I stutter as I point at his bare chest. Even now they look better and less noticeable than they did thirty seconds before.

“I told you. I just need time to heal.”

“But…But…” I glance from his healed chest to mine, back and forth. I shake my head.
That’s it. I’m blaming this on exhaustion.
I look at my watch and see it’s just past two in the morning.
I need sleep. And to never drink again.

“I can’t do this. I need sleep. You... You need—I don’t know what, but I
definitely
need sleep.” I don’t even consider the dangers of allowing this odd, yet smoldering-hot stranger to stay in my apartment while I sleep. He could probably dice me up or drug me. He could drug me
then
dice me up. Hey, as long as he lets me sleep for a few hours, I’d be just fine with it. I push past him and head toward the hall closet. Opening it, I grab a spare blanket from the rack. I turn and shove it into his chest, since I know he hasn’t allowed more than a foot’s length between us since entering my apartment. “Here. You can sleep on the couch. But tomorrow, you’re gone.”

I turn and walk back to my room. This time, he doesn’t follow me. I shut the door behind me and debate on locking it. It’s not that I’m scared since, for some strange reason I don’t fear him, although I probably should. I want to sit in my bed and go over tonight and what I witnessed. I saw some unnatural things. And I know now it wasn’t from being roofied or the booze. I saw a human change into an animal. And even though I haven’t brought up the main issue at hand, I know I also saw my new roommate do the same exact thing.
He is one of them.

My brain doesn’t know how to rationalize the events of my night, but I know what I saw and I know it was
not
normal. Wasn’t human. Fuck, it wasn’t
real
!
Close your eyes, Emma. Go to sleep.
My body shakes, remembering the face of the creature about to take my life. My gut tightens, and I fear I may upchuck anything in my stomach onto my bedroom floor. It’s the image of my savior that calms me. The way he looked at me with absolute possession in his eyes, as if he had some sort of claim to me. The way he held me, his touch sending a warming vibration up and down my body.

It’s the words I cannot form in my head.
Shifter.
Where did he come from? Besides The Twilight Zone, of course. And why did he choose to help me? His comment before about his ‘enemy’ pings my curiosity, but certainly not enough to go back out there and ask.

I shake my head for the millionth time. I don’t have these answers. I almost pray I wake up and this will be just a dream. I walk over to my bed and fall face-down into my stale covers in hopes that happens.

In no time, sleep consumes me.

Emma

The same dream envelops me—the one of me swimming in the ocean water. I am young in age, possibly a toddler. A young woman holds me, laughing as she encourages me to paddle my tiny feet in the water. “Swim, little one, swim,” she always says to me. The same dream over and over. I try hard to move my feet, but they never do. “Swim, my sweet girl. You can do it,” the faceless woman always sings to me. I attempt to paddle harder and harder, but my feet never work. In my dream, I don’t know whether I struggle more to swim or to see the woman’s face. I never do see her, but I can sense she is important to me. This makes me want to push harder and harder to swim. It always ends the same, though—I struggle to stay afloat and at one point, she lets me go. She wants me to swim, but I cannot. So as I struggle to focus on her face and learn her identity, I end up drowning.