Bad Wolf(117)

He's spat out of the blurriness again, a solid, gleaming shape-and then the waves crash over him, and I lose him.

Shit. What the hell just happened?

My feet start moving, and I'm jumping down the three wide steps and running after him. Why didn't he move away from the water's edge? Didn't he see the waves? Doesn't he know how easily they can knock you over and drag you into the sea?

"Hey!" The rain whips at my face, fills my eyes, blinds me. I can't see him. I keep running, my feet sinking in the wet sand. The shorts hang heavy on my hips, sodden with water, my blouse clinging to my chest and shoulders, tight like a straightjacket. "Guy!"

My heart is hammering. I stop, turn in a circle. What the hell? Where is he? And why am I in such a panic? This makes no sense-except I've been hit by the waves life sent my way, and I've lost so much. I've lost people, and the moment of calm acceptance is gone. I fight, that's what I do, that's what's kept me alive so far, and there's no way I'm letting the sea have this stranger.                       
       
           



       

More waves crash, and I back up on the beach, looking for higher ground. So this is what a tropical storm is like. The wind shoves me sideways, and I stumble.

Christ. Maybe my eyes played tricks on me. Maybe he came running out of that wave and is long gone, heading home.

What am I doing?

As the rain comes down harder, a solid wall of water that robs me of my senses, I'm not even sure anymore. I should head back. This guy has probably been living here. He has to know the beach like the back of his hand, its whims and ways, in sunlight and stormy weather. Hell, he has to know the climate of this place all year round, unlike me.

But stubbornness drives me on, as usual, and I wade through the driving rain-just to make sure. The sand is swirling around my ankles. The beach has turned into a river that's right now running back to the sea, and I drag my feet another yard.

And I bump into something solid. A curse cuts through the rain and wind, and a hand grabs my arm, its grip bruising.

Not something. Someone. I'm not even sure it's the guy I'm looking for, but who else would be crazy enough to be out here?

"Come with me," I yell to be heard over the noise and mayhem, and start walking toward the house. Mansion. Whatever it is I've broken into. "Let's get out of the rain."

He's so close now, his face becomes visible, broad cheekbones and a full mouth. He looms over me, his eyes glinting. Christ, the guy's tall. Definitely the guy I saw jogging earlier.

He lets go of me, and I grab his hand. It's big and callused, and I try very hard not to think about how that sends a thrill through me, how his sheer size and strength excites me. Not to think what a mistake this is.

Don't talk to strangers. How basic is that? Don't talk to them and don't drag them home with you in a storm, in an abandoned house nobody seems to have been in for months. Jeez, at this point in my life, I should keep clear of any human, stranger or not. See my thoughts about my roommate from before.

Seriously, Ray.

But I don't let go of his hand. I start walking toward the mansion, up the faint slope, feet sloshing through the sand, and he follows.

One thing's for sure: this part wasn't in today's plan at all.



We stumble across the beach, and a dark shape looms over us. The mansion. There's the entrance to the roofed terrace, promising safety from the elements.

A pity. I like the sting of the rain on my back and arms, the force of the wind that's trying to knock me sideways. Sometimes I wish I could let it take me, tumble me, roll me over and do what it wants with me so that I can stop worrying about tomorrow.

I climb up the first step to the terrace, and he tugs on my hand. I half turn, and he grabs my hips, pulling me to him. Instinctively, I jerk back, coming short when his hands tighten.

"Who the hell are you?" he whispers, his voice deep and hoarse, resonating inside my bones. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm just …  housesitting," I whisper back, scared and excited, and how can you be so stupid, Ray? "Let go of me."

I shove at him and climb further up, to the top step. The sensor above us activates, and light floods my face.

"You're the one who caught me," he says evenly, a splinter of something darker in his voice, and instead of running into the house and slamming the door shut, I turn around.

My lips part, my tongue curls against the roof of my mouth, and I stare. All the words are like, gone. Nothing to work with here. My throat dries up.

Good God, if he looked good from afar, he's like a punch to the gut from up close. Gorgeous, with water drops gleaming on his lashes like diamonds, his dark hair plastered to his head and a light scruff darkening his jaw. His eyes are some shade of blue, washed out in the harsh light. With a thin scar running down one side of that ripped chest, black and red tattoos curling over his ribs, and his shorts clinging to his narrow hips, he's …

Yeah, no words. My heart is hammering like I've run a hundred miles. Heat rises in my cheeks. My insides tighten and throb.

I think I've just fallen in instant and complete lust. All I want is to run my hands over those pecs and washboard stomach, over the scar, rub at the scruff on his jaw and bury my fingers into the soft hair at his nape. I want …

No. Hell no.

No way.

I back away, more from shock at my body's reaction to him than from fear-he's actually stepped back down, to the sand, and is turning away-when my wet feet slip from under me and I'm falling.

It's one of those moments that seem to take forever to unfold, when in reality it's only a split second. My backside hits the wooden boards and then my hands strike down, sending bolts of pain up my arms and shoulders.                       
       
           



       

"Fuck." He's suddenly crouched at my side, his hands on my shoulders. "Are you okay?"

Figures that I'd come face-to-face with the sexiest man alive the moment I'm flat on my ass.

Okay, back up. This situation is twisting my brain. First I went out in the storm to save him, then pushed him away, and now... Now he's asking if I'm okay.

I nod, because damn, his face is only inches from mine, his scent of musk and salt all around me, and the words are still a no-show. My brain has taken a vacation and hasn't sent a postcard.

It only gets worse when he lifts a callused hand to my cheek and strokes back a wet tendril of hair clinging there. Crap, now I can't even breathe, the air locked in my lungs, my skin prickling all over.

"Let's get you up." He takes my hands, and my palms sting where he grips them, but I couldn't care less.

I let him pull me up, and we stand together, bodies flush, the wind ripping through us. It's cold, but his body emanates heat and it seeps into me, right into my flesh and bones.

"You sure you're okay?" He's turned against the light now, and it gilds his hair and the outline of his shoulders. "Can I leave you alone?"

And if I don't want you to leave? I want to say, which is the most idiotic thing ever. But I nod again, because he seems to expect an answer. He probably thinks I'm mute and an idiot. Well done, Ray.

Although that's for the best.

It's only when he releases me and steps away, toward the steps and the still raging storm, that I find my voice.

"I'm Raylin," I say.

He stops, and I see that the tattoo on his back is a flock of blackbirds tangled with snakes and flowers, black with touches of red and light blue. He glances at me over one massive shoulder.

"I'm Storm," he says, and I believe it as he vanishes back into the rain.

STORM





What's with this girl?

I stumble into the house, dripping and leaving puddles behind me as I head toward the bathroom. I'm limping, too. My leg aches, the healed fracture from four months back throbbing with the humidity and the running. I like pushing my own limits, and even as I stumble inside, I don't regret it.

Not at all, especially since I met her.

I toe off my sodden running shoes and tug down my drenched shorts. I'm hard, have been since I pressed my body to hers under the roof of the beach terrace.

Seriously, what is it with her? She's a fraud, that much I know. That house where she's staying? No fucking way is she housesitting. The place was sold a few months ago, Hawk told me. He knows the previous owners. They've been here, on and off, and are supposed to come by and grab the rest of their things any day now.

Hawk. Rook. Damn.

I should tell them where I am. They are my only true friends. Our bond goes beyond friendship. We're the same blood. We're sworn to secrecy, branded with roses and thorns.

Still, I hesitate. Call me paranoid, but after the last accident, I'm lying low. Better they don't know where to find me. Better nobody does.

But this girl. Dark hair, bangs dripping in her face, wet lips parted and eyes wide, the rain molding the thin blouse and shorts to her curves …  So hot. Pressing against her in the rain was like a spark of life, a spark of fire lighting me up from the inside. Making me feel again.

Why did she drag me out of the storm? Why was she out there, watching it wash over the land and sea? Does it excite her, like it does me? What does she want?