A Forbidden Love

Ch 5: Isolde

  I unbuckled as Logan walked around and opened the door for me, helping me out. I stood there staring at his house. I instantly fell in love with the bay windows and the wraparound porch. I could imagine myself sitting in the windows reading a good book or on the porch watching the sunset. Where did that thought come from? I wondered. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and helped me walk into the house. The inside was just as beautiful as the outside: it was open with arched doorframes into the den and kitchen, the doorways were tall, and the furniture was big and comfy in shades of brown and green. It fit him. I looked around in wonder as he led me to the bathroom. He looked at me, frowned, and left the room. I heard him call out, “Stay there a minute.” 

            I stood there, and I grabbed the counter when I felt myself swaying. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, waiting for the dizziness to pass. I felt the air move, the scent of pine flooding the room, as he returned. He had something in his hand, but I couldn’t focus on anything except the fact that he was shirtless and in a pair of sweats. I heard him set something on the toilet, and then he turned and hoisted me up onto the counter top. He sighed, “I need to remove your clothes so I can get a good look at your injuries.” I frowned at him, “I don’t see why that’s necessary.” “First of all, your clothes are ruined anyways. Second, they’re dirty. Third, you have cuts and scratches that have bled through said clothes, and finally, I need to make sure nothing is broken or needs stitched,” he stated. I knew it was a losing battle to argue with him. It wasn’t the first time I’ve had to strip down to have my injuries tended to, but I knew it would be different with him. I moved to pull my tank top off, but he stopped me, “Your clothes are ruined; I’ll just cut them off and save you the pain of moving.” He opened a few drawers and pulled out a pair of scissors, some bandages, a washcloth, a bottle of some sort, and some ointment.

            As I sat there, he started to cut off my tank top, throwing it into the trash. He left the bra alone; “I can work around that,” he stated. He wet the washcloth with hot water and began to wipe away the dirt, but he stopped. He fidgeted around for a few minutes before stating, “I think you need a shower. It’ll be quicker and get away the dirt better than this.” I nodded in agreement. “Just give me a second,” he said. I sat there as he cut away my pants and lifted me up just enough to pull them out from under me and throw them away. He started the water and stepped outside. “I’ll be right outside the door if you need me,” he murmured as he shut the door. I quickly pulled off my remaining clothes and hopped in the shower. I took my time washing away the blood and dirt, cleaning my hair, and assessing myself. I knew this was going to hurt worse in the morning. I turned the water off, grabbed a towel to dry myself, and hurriedly put my bra and panties back on. “I’m ready,” I yelled. He walked back into the bathroom and sat me back on the counter. He began to slowly clean and tend to my cuts, scratches, and bruises. I tried to focus on what he was doing, but my gaze was drawn to his chest. He stopped when he came to the claw marks on my chest; they were still seeping blood. “These should really be looked at,” he stated. “They should be pretty much healed by tomorrow,” I responded. He sighed, grabbing the bottle and pouring the cold liquid on a gauze pad, “This might sting.” He applied it the cuts and began to clean them thoroughly. He let it air dry, then grabbed some gauze and tape, and bandaged them up. He grabbed the clothes off the toilet and bought them to me. “You can wear these tonight, and we’ll go shopping for clothes tomorrow,” he told me.

            He helped me pull the black t-shirt over my head, and I grinned when I looked down. “A werewolf who owns a wolf shirt, who would’ve thought,” I smirked at him. He laughed and knelt in front of me, sliding a pair of shorts up my legs. Half way up, he pulled me off the sink to stand up, and quickly pulled them the rest the way up. “Why do the shorts fit me?” I ask. “They belonged to my sister, and she left them here,” he stated. They were a little short for my tastes, but I wasn’t going to complain, especially since his shirt hit me at mid-thigh. He took the towel and dried my hair, making it stick up in all directions in the back. “Let’s go fix dinner and eat,” he said and left the bathroom without looking back at me. I ran my hand through it to get it to lay flat on my head and followed him into the kitchen. He motioned for me to sit down at the bar, placed a glass of water in front of me, and turned around to fix dinner.  “Is there anything I should know about what angels eat?” he asked. “Not that I can think of; I’ll eat whatever it is you’re fixing,” I responded. I watched his muscles flex as he flipped and stirred whatever it was he placed on the stove. Half an hour passed before he placed two plates on the table, and I left my seat at the bar to sit at the table. I looked down at the steak and steamed vegetables, and slowly, I began to eat. It tasted delicious, but I wasn’t surprised that he knew how to cook. We ate in silence, and then he asked me, “So, what do you want for dessert?” The only thought that popped into my head was “you,” and I ducked my head, my cheeks flushed red, and shrugged. “I’ll just surprise you then,” he stated.

            He stood up, grabbed the dishes and put them in the sink. He opened the cabinets, grabbed a jar and a couple of spoons, and returned. This time, he sat beside me instead of in front of me. “I’m going to introduce you to nutella,” he stated. He twisted the lid off the jar, scooped up a spoonful, and bought the spoon up to my mouth. Without thinking, I opened my mouth and ate what he offered me. My taste buds exploded, and I moaned. After realizing what I’d done, I blushed bright red. His masculine laugh filled the air, “Good?” he asked. “Better than Heaven,” I fired back. We went back and forth for a few minutes before I yawned. He put everything up, and I asked, “Are we going to discuss things tonight?” He responded softly, “No, we’ll do that tomorrow after we go shopping. You and I both need sleep.” I stood there and looked around, “Where am I to sleep?” “I have a spare bedroom. It’s right across the hall from mine,” he said. Not giving me a chance to move, he scooped me up and carried me to the spare bedroom. As we entered, I noticed the sheets were already turned down. He sat me beside the bed, and he turned to leave the room. I grabbed his arm, feeling it tense underneath my small hand, and said, “Thank you, Logan.” He turned around too fast for me to process, and I was in his grip. One hand wrapped around my waist as the other grabbed my hair and tilted my head back, his breath warm on lips. “Logan,” I started as his lips crashed down on mine. His lips were gentle on mine, and I could feel myself kissing him back. A few seconds pass, and he slowly pulls back. “Goodnight, Isolde,” he whispers before leaving the room and shutting the door.

            Shakily, I climb into bed and pull the covers over me. I knew I needed to sleep, but I kept thinking about what just happened. The warmth of him still lingering on my skin, the sparks and blood still rushing through my veins, and the feel of his lips still on mine kept running through my mind. I tossed and turned, wanting to cry out in frustration. I wasn’t supposed to fall for Logan, but he was making it hard not to. I need a plan of action to keep my distance from him. Logan being a werewolf was only part of the problem. My heart was the other part of the problem; I couldn’t let it be broken again, and I knew that Logan would do more damage than the last guy. Before I could come up with a plan, sleep sucked me under, and the nightmares began.