The Wilde Expedition

41. merry crisis

Copyright © 2015. All Rights Reserved.

〮CHAPTER FORTY ONE 〮

He was following me again.

I wasn't entirely stupid—I knew what he looked like, the color of his eyes, the angular force of his wolfish build. He wasn't being as sly hiding himself though—he wanted to make himself known. He wanted me to notice him, as if that would lure me over. No way in hell was I about to do that when I was naked and cold and I wanted my jacket back. Thankfully, I wasn't too far from the spot I shifted at, so it was only a matter of making it there without Alister shifting back.

Good Lord, it was like watching an unfixed mutt pine from the other side of the fence. I could even hear his whimper-slash-growls through the foliage and I wanted to hit him for it. It was the wolf equivalent of a whistle from a guy on the street. A bunch of savages they were.

It was awful enough that Alister managed to get out here in the first place. I half expected his dad to put him on house arrest until our run was over—but then again, I'd feel guilty. There was no reason for guys to be hindered by the fact that a female could shift, which meant Alister was no different. And despite the fact that he lingered around in his human form, probably waiting for me to undress, was enough reason for me to assume he was as horny as his wolf side suggested.

At last I reached my clothes and was quick to shake them out of the dirt and hike on my underwear and sweatpants. My necklace bumped against my chest when I stood back up to yank on my sports bra, but before I could even get that far, I heard the unmistakable cracking of bones creep up behind me. I was already shrugging on my jacket by the time his human voice started breaking through the rough scratches of a wolf's bark.

"E-Emma," he stammered, voice hoarse and broken just as his appearance suggested. I barely even turned to look at him, because he was struggling to stand and clearly needed some clothes on.

His hands were frantic and jittery as he reached for my arm—his fingers were red from both the chill in the air, and also the pain of retracting claws. But that wasn't what made me shove him away, it was the crystal clear alertness of his thoughts and the sting of sap that seemed to be drenching him from head to toe.

"Don't touch me. Put your clothes on," I demanded, raising my hands up to my head in an attempt to rid those images from my head. He was absolutely mad at that moment, unable to control himself, and as I watched from the corner of my eye as he struggled to relent, his body was in conflict. He was having a hard time staying human.

I didn't want to walk away from him though. If Alister was soaked in cinnamon and spices, then I was lathered in strong-scented bitter herbs. My eyes stung just seeing him suffer this way.

"I-I'm really sorry, Emma," he blurted out, "I am trying I swear to God I am! Th-The other day—I shouldn't have kissed you, I should've kissed you, I just- I just can't-" He was practically on his knees, and it was easy to visualize him crawling then like a man deprived. I never meant for this to happen to him.

When I didn't say anything, and found it hard to look him in the eye, he reached for my hand. I retracted instantly—I didn't want to see the inside of his head, especially not when he was like this. His outstretched hands curled into tempered fists, fingers bent at odd angles do to the constant ripple effecting his muscles, making it impossible to tell whether or not his hands would suddenly be pierced with claws.

He wasn't saying anything, so I glanced at him briefly and wished I hadn't. His cheeks were covered in mud, with tracks of tears streaking across them. His misery leaked into his voice, cracking it and distorting it into the pain of his words, "I love you so much, Emma. I just wish- I just wish I could make it stop."