A Forbidden Love

Ch 7: Logan

 As I got out of the car and walked around to help Isolde out, I noticed she unbuckled herself. I shook my head, amazed that she was able to move even with all her injuries. I knew instinctively that she would refuse to be carried this time, so I wrapped an arm around her shoulder to guide her into the house. Once inside, I took her into the bathroom to cleanse and bandaged her wounds. As I looked her over, I figured I should grab some other clothes for her. A part of me knew she would want to cover up as soon as possible, but the main reason for providing clothes was so I wouldn’t be tempted to rush her into something before she was ready; chemistry is a heady thing, and I wanted to build a foundation of trust first. “Stay there a minute,” I yelled as I exited the bathroom. I ran into the spare bedroom and opened the drawers in there. All I found was a pair of shorts my sister had left here. I hesitated but grabbed them; they would fit her better than mine, and I could always provide a long shirt to make up for how short they were. While I was in here, I turned down the bed. After I finished that task, I ran across the hall and grabbed the shirt I usually lounge around the house in. The shirt was a joke from my fellow police officers when they learned that I knew so much about wolves, and it fit me well; tight enough to cling to my muscles but loose enough to be comfy. I quickly threw my work clothes into the hamper and put on a pair of sweats before making my way back to her.

            As I walked back into the bathroom, I noticed Isolde was gripping the counter and had her eyes closed. I sat the clothes on the toilet, grabbed her by the waist, and hoisted her up on the counter. I sighed as I noticed the blood seeping through her shirt, “I need to remove your clothes so I can get a good look at your injuries.” She frowned and replied, “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. She moved to pull her tank top off, but I stopped her, “Your clothes are ruined; I’ll just cut them off and save you the pain of moving.” I opened a few drawers and pulled out a pair of scissors, some bandages, a washcloth, a bottle of peroxide, and some ointment. I cut her tank top off and threw it into the trash. I left the bra alone; “I can work around that."  I wet the washcloth with hot water and began to wipe away the dirt, but I stopped and 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.” She nodded in agreement. “Just give me a second,” he said. I cut her pants off, lifting her up just enough to pull them out from under her and throw them away. I started the water and stepped outside. “I’ll be right outside the door if you need me,” I murmured, shutting the door. Fifteen minutes passed, and I was starting to get worried when she yelled, “I’m ready.” I walked back into the bathroom and sat her back on the counter. Slowly, I began to clean and tend to her cuts, scratches, and bruises. I tried to focus on what I was doing, but I noticed that she kept looking at my chest. I stopped when I came to the claw marks on her chest; they were still seeping blood. “These should really be looked at,” I stated. “They should be pretty much healed by tomorrow,” she responded. I sighed again, grabbing the bottle and pouring the cold liquid on a gauze pad, “This might sting.” I applied it the cuts and began to clean them thoroughly, letting it air dry, and then grabbed some gauze and tape, and bandaged them up. I grabbed the clothes off the toilet and bought them to her. “You can wear these tonight, and we’ll go shopping for clothes tomorrow,” I stated softly.

            I helped her pull the t-shirt over her head, and she grinned. “A werewolf who owns a wolf shirt, who would’ve thought,” she smirked at me. I laughed and knelt in front of her, sliding a pair of shorts up her legs. Half way up, I pulled her off the sink to stand up, and quickly pulled them the rest the way up. “Why do the shorts fit me?” she asked. “They belonged to my sister, and she left them here,” I stated before she could think I had a girlfriend. They were a little short like I knew they would be, but the shirt covered the rest of her up for modesty's sake. I grabbed the towel and dried her hair. “Let’s go fix dinner and eat,” I said and left the bathroom without looking back; she looked cute when she was disheveled, and I knew I would kiss her if I looked back.  She followed me, and I motioned for her to sit down at the bar, placed a glass of water in front of her, and turned around to fix dinner.  “Is there anything I should know about what angels eat?” I asked. “Not that I can think of; I’ll eat whatever it is you’re fixing,” she responded. I could feel her staring at me as I moved around the kitchen, and I would occasionally glance up and smile at her while I stirred the vegetable and flipped the steaks.  Half an hour passed, and I placed the plates on the table. She stood up and made her way over to the table. I watched her as I ate, and she seemed to enjoy it and the silence. As we finished, I asked her, "so what do you want for dessert?' She bowed her head and shrugged, but as I noticed the blush on her face, I wondered what she was thinking. A thought popped into my head as I put the dishes in the sink, and I grabbed the nutella and a couple spoons. Returning to the table, I sat beside her as I said, "I'm going to introduce you to nutella." My sister loved this stuff and swore it was to die for, and while I didn't want to die for it, I did enjoy the occasional spoonful. I opened it and scooped up a spoonful, bringing it to her mouth. She ate it without hesitation, and she moaned. I laughed as she blushed again. "Good?" I asked, and she fired back, "Better than Heaven." We exchanged a few jests and witty remarks, and as each minute passed by, I could feel myself falling harder for Isolde. She yawned, and I knew she needed sleep.  She stood up and asked, “Are we going to discuss things tonight?” I responded softly, “No, we’ll do that tomorrow after we go shopping. You and I both need sleep.” Looking around, she asked, “Where am I to sleep?” “I have a spare bedroom. It’s right across the hall from mine,” I responded. She swayed on her feet and not giving her a chance to move, I scooped her up and carried her to the spare bedroom, putting her down beside the bed. As I turned to leave the room, she grabbed my arm and said, “Thank you, Logan.” Her scent filling the room and her soft hand on my arm were my undoing. I turned around and pulled her into me. One hand wrapped around her waist as the other tangled in her hair, and I tilted her head back as I lowered my mouth to her mouth. “Logan,” she started as my lips crashed down.. Her lips were soft on mine, and she began to kiss me back. She drew me in, and I could feel the blood rushing throughout my body. I knew if we kept this up, I wouldn't stop with just kissing her. I gathered what little resolve I had left and pulled away from her.  “Goodnight, Isolde,” I whisper before leaving the room and shutting the door.

            I walked into the bedroom and sprawled across on my bed. The feel of her in my arms consumed my mind, my body stirring to life, and I tried to think of other things: the murder, the dreaded shopping trip tomorrow, my job, or anything that would make this aching stop, but I kept coming back to her. I sighed and gave up, flipping on the radio beside my bed, and turning over to lie on my back. I began to concentrate on the music and just let my mind wonder. A couple hours passed, and I began to fall asleep. As my eyes closed and my breathing slowed, I heard a piercing scream. I jolted upwards and was out of my bed before I could even think things through. I stopped at my door and listened for what had caused Isolde to scream, but I heard nothing but her. I slowly made my way into her room, and I noticed the covers were twisted around her body as she tossed and turned, another scream erupting from her mouth. I grabbed her shoulders to shake her awake, and she lashed out. "Isolde," I yelled as I pinned her shoulders down to keep her from hitting me or hurting herself, "Wake up, honey. It's just a bad dream.” Her legs lashed out and hit my side, I cursed as I climbed onto the bed. I straddle her thighs to keep her from kicking as I continued to talk to her. She slowly stopped screaming and blinked her eyes open. Hoping she wasn't caught in a waking nightmare, I asked, “Are you awake?” Her mouth opened and a sob escaped. Tears coursed down her face, and I could feel my chest getting tight. I moved off of her and gathered her into my arms. “Shh,” I whispered against her forehead, but it only made her cry harder. Somewhere amidst all the tears and sobs, she blubbered out an apology. I held her for thirty minutes, and each minute that passed, I hoped that she would stop crying. Her tears and brokenhearted sobs were making me feel weak and unsteady; they were breaking my heart.  As she quieted down, I asked if she wanted to talk about it while I tightened my arms around her. She sighed and mumbled, "I had a nightmare about Eric." I could feel the beast inside of me rising up and threatening to overtake me at the mention of another man's name. I wasn't sure if it was jealousy that someone might have claim to her or if it was rage that someone could hurt her bad enough to break her down. A growl escaped my lips as I fought for supremacy over the beast, "Who's Eric?"