THE BEAST

18: A Poppy Amongst Roses

Days turned into weeks.

I started keeping track of the number of times the moon appeared in the sky on the tree just outside the den. My tallies were hidden behind large fern leaves that took root near the base.

If Grey discovered them, he never said a word. Time seemed to mean little to him out here in these woods. Time seemed to only matter when he was in his wolf form and he would escape through the hole in the wall to go for a run. He would be gone for hours. I think he left for so long to give me space and time for myself.

I didn't need to verbally tell him that he made me uneasy. When he would leave the den, I could visibly see my body relax in the shards of glass that makeshifted a mirror on the far dirt wall. I am sure he heard the exhale of breath that would leave me when he vanished from sight.

It wasn't so much him that put me on edge, but his watching of me.

Those predator eyes made my blood sing in my ear and all my senses stand on end when they prickled at my skin.

I thought many times to ask him if I could go on his runs with him, the memory of the wind pushing back my hair and the strong feeling of his muscles working between my thighs lit an interest in me, but I didn't. I stuck to the books that laid stacked in a pile in the far corner of the den.

Grey began to loosen the reins on letting me roam around the den on my own but he never let me leave the carved walls without his supervision.

I walked to get fresh water, but never alone. I laid in the grass by the creek, but never alone. Grey always waited for my fill of sunshine in the trees, just like he used to when we were children. He didn't talk much. Just watched. I had become used to it after the days wore on with no change of his demeanor.

He still didn't trust me to not run away.

And I didn't trust the feeling of contentment that settled over me when I woke up every morning to the singing birds and the quietness of the woods.

I knew in my mind that the wading my feet in the cool water and reading Grey's books with my back against a tree would grow old just like I would if I never got back to civilization. But is it so bad to admit that it was a nice vacation? The worries of everyday life didn't seem to exist on this side of the tree line.

There were no deadlines to meet or meaningless conversation I had to uphold with people I didn't have a care for just to get through my day until I got back to my flat to deal with a mate that disliked living with me much as I did them.

The strange thing was, that as the days went past, I never once got annoyed with Grey.

He didn't snoop through my stuff--the little that I had hoarded in the den and claimed as mine. He didn't even talk unless I spoke to him first which wasn't often considering the situation at hand. He made sure the den was clean after a single reprimanding the day he got shot, as well as continued to do the dishes that we both dirtied at the end of the day; his bloodied with meat and mine sprinkled with various greens for a salad.