Lycanthropy (Lycan Series: #1)

Four

© 2014 SilverStream22. All Rights Reserved.

Warm milk was indeed helping with the nightmares. It wasn't, however, helping with the fact that I was sharing a bed with a Lycan.

His hands were surprisingly warm for a cold-blooded killer's. They stroked lazily on my bare arm, raising goosebumps on my arm. An arm was folded as my makeshift pillow, but due to his tall and broad frame, his lips ghosted by the shell of my ear. Sometimes he seemed asleep, but then his ministrations would continue, tracing my flesh.

"How am I supposed to sleep if you keep doing that?" I hoped I came across as annoyed.

Stark merely growled low, the sound sending slight vibrations to my shoulder blade from his chest. "You say that yet your eyes lull everytime I resume my actions."

Not true; entirely, at least. Once or twice I was close to slipping off the edge, but the thought of him doing something horrid to me in my sleep kept me awake.

After mustering enough courage to do so, I twisted around so I could face him. His eyes were shut, surprisingly long lashes kissing his cheeks. His sharp nose fit well with his hard features. Breathing steady and paced, he seemed to be content.

"How old are you?" Mikhail had told me that Lycan's become immortal between the ages of sixteen to twenty-one. My mind told me to ask how old he was.

"Six."

I frowned. "Six? As in what? Sixteen? Sixty?"

He dragged in a breath, releasing slowly. "Six hundred."

"Pedophile." I blurted.

"The only one getting pleasure from this is the Moon Goddess." he grumbled, leaning forward abruptly.

His face found a place in the crook of my neck, the biting cold of his nose told me that I shouldn't have been picky about keeping the blanket to myself. With great struggle, I tugged the blanket from underneath him and force his body to lay where mine once was, letting him rob the heat from me. I moved to sleep where he laid but instead he latched on my arm, pulling me inbetween his legs so that my torso pressed against his lower abdomen. "Sleep."

The covers suddenly raise over us like a blanket of red snow, wrapping around myself and him as the night dipped into it's darkest hour.

"Good night, Stark." I found myself saying.

"Pleasant dreams, mea lux." he whispered softly, his voice huskier and deeper than usual as tightened his arms around my waist.

~

"Valentino. Arabian. Sandra Lee... oh, and Pacfic."

This game was getting us nowhere. The rogue prisoners that Mikhail and the fighters had captured answered our questions with phony responses.

"Answer the damn question!" Palinquis roared, slamming his hands down on the interrogative table that I sat upon.

The constant yells of frustration brought Stark in from outside.

"What is your concern?"

I snapped my gaze away from his silvery one. "Pack business." I said stiffly. "Nothing you need to be concerned about."

He advanced toward the man that was suspended by chains, his toes dancing on the dirty floor for balance. "Is this the one you are trying to get information from?"

"Yes." Palinquis replied wearily. "He refuses to speak and gives us bogus answers in re-"

Before he could have time to finish his sentence, Stark's hand shoved straight through the man's torso. He yanked his arm out, this time taking intestines with him. The sight of his guts spilling from the gaping hole in this stomach was brutal and gruesome.