Season of the Wolf Pt. 01

His eyes flick from the window and land on my face. He stares for a minute, searching my eyes and holds my gaze. Han mutters, "God, Grace, God," in a voice filled with rasping masculine desire. I'm holding my breath as the heat of his want burns through him and catches me on fire. I'm scrabbling for my internal voice of logic to intervene. But, this is no place for reason. I'm drawn to him. Caught up in the vortex of his hungry stare. His hand reaches out to cup my cheek and I step into his grasp and nuzzle his calloused fingers.

I don't quite understand what has come over me. I've never behaved like this with a perfect stranger. I've only known Han a few days. He is a stranger. Some wild part of me doesn't care how well or how little I know him. Could this be some lingering effect from the dream I had? I don't see how. I'm wide-awake. I can still taste the sweet and bitter of my coffee on the tip of my tongue. I feel him, the heat of him, against my skin. It's very real and I want more.

His mouth is on mine. Demanding and possessive, his tongue probes at the seam of my lips. I gasp and he takes advantage of that sudden intake of breath to invade my mouth with his tongue. I've had plenty of kisses. But, with the way Han takes control of my mouth. I realize I've never really been kissed before. His hands are surprisingly gentle for their size. His fingers find their way into my tangled hair and tilt my head so that he can deepen the kiss. His other hand eases the sheet out of my loose grasp and it falls to my feet in a soft whisper.

Han is not a man to give reprieve and he doesn't. He kisses as if he was born for no other purpose and draws me into the circle of his capable arms. I can feel the hardness of his muscles coiling beneath his soft worn t-shirt. He smells of clean sweat, the sweet musk of farm animals, and the crisp cool scent of pine.

I'm drowning in this kiss, desperately clinging to his shoulders to keep from going under. The hard ridge of his erection presses into my belly and the both of us shudder with the possibility of it represents.

I'm breathless and dazed. His hands skim down my silky chemise and he bunches up the floor length gown in his fists till its barely reaches the tops of my thighs. I'm weaving, standing on my tiptoes and relying on him to keep me upright. He hasn't shaved and the stubble of his beard scrapes against my face. But, it feels amazingly good. He travels my curves with his palms and the combination of the cool silk in his grip and the warmth of his skin is enough to extract a moan from someplace deep inside of me that I didn't know existed until now.

His front teeth nip a trail down my throat and across my collarbones. He is whispering words, soft fleeting words filled with urgency and desire. My back arches to the sound of them and the stroke of his fingers. His chest expands and contracts against mine with the rapid panting of our breaths. I'm not dreaming. I'm awake, more awake than I've ever been in my life.

Until now, we've been avoiding the attraction building between us. It was already there from the moment we first laid eyes on each other. It seems a heady and unshakable thing that threatens to pull us both down with it. I kiss him back the moment his lips finish their exploration of my tender flesh and return to mine. He groans a deep resounding masculine growl into the depths of my mouth and I feel it down to the tips of my toes and all the places in between.

His fingertips brush the tips of my erect nipples. I ache and he knows how to ease the burn. I'm clawing at his t-shirt, tucked so neatly into his belt, searching out contact with his skin. I need to feel him, to touch and explore him as I've allowed him to do to me. His scent surrounds me. His kiss consumes me. His warmth engulfs me. I am a wild she-wolf on the hunt and he is my prey. Instincts I've never felt take control of me and wash away any sense of shyness I possess. I tear my mouth away from his lips and bite hard into the softness of his throat to claim my prize.

Han cups my chin and guides my face up to meet his. His eyes are dark, burning with desire. He sees me deep down into the depths of my soul. Holding me in a stare that could separate flesh from bone, he claims my mouth and steals my breath away. I've never known such pleasurable torment as his hands on my body and his lips pressed against mine. We're breathing the same air. I trap his exhale deep inside of my lungs and return the breath into his hungry mouth.

His muscles tense and his hands ball into fists. The silk of my gown sides into place in a waterfall of soft sighing folds. His kiss is gentler now, easing the both of us back from the edge of the prepuce. Gently, he presses feathery kisses over the bridge of my nose and the apples of my cheeks. I'm blushing and smiling. My lips are swollen from the kiss and my heart is pounding in rhythm with his.

We rest against each other, recovering from the suddenness of the storm. Han tilts his head and studies me. His eyes are back to their normal array of colors. But, they still see me and they look at me with no less intensity or passion. He hugs me to him affectionately and whispers words I don't understand. When I ask him what he said. He cryptically replies that I already know and the true meaning behind the actual words would only get lost in translation.

Neither one of us has the strength to let go of the other yet. We're standing arm in arm, staring out the window when the first drops of rain splatter the glass. He stares down at me with a raised brow and an expression that says 'I told you so' before releasing me. His departure isn't an awkward exit. It wasn't meant as a signal for each of us to retreat to our separate corners. He intended to give me space and perhaps, himself a bit of breathing room as well.

I gather up the sheet and make the bed. After dressing for the day, I venture downstairs. I'm not surprised to find the house empty and Han gone. Nibbling at the cold breakfast of eggs and sausage he left on the counter for me I try not to put too much thought into the kiss. I don't know what it means and probably he doesn't either.

He says Indiana storms are unpredictable. I think about that as the rain pelts the kitchen window and cringe girlishly at the boom of rolling thunder rattling the glass in its panes. Apparently, I know less about men and relationships than I do tornadoes. But, I'm guessing when, if, I get caught up in the path of that particular unpredictable storm. I'll have one of two choices to make. Either I'll hunker down and ride it out or get the hell out of its path.

Chapter 18

The storm for all the wind and thunder and torrents of rain that came with it didn't last long. The afternoon turned into a steam bath of relentless heat and humidity. I'm used to warm weather and it's not the ninety something degree temperature that bothers me. It's the damp in the air that has me sweating so badly my clothes are stuck to me like a second skin. I tried to putter around in the attic, deciding that maybe working from the top down would be a good way to go. I had barely gotten the first trunk pried open before I retreated to the cooler less humid second story bedrooms.

I contemplate the few boxes Han stashed in one of the spare bedrooms and set myself to the task of unpacking. Automatically, I've dismissed my parent's old bedroom as a room I'd feel comfortable sleeping in. A colder person would pack up all that old stuff and send it to the Goodwill or a vintage resale shop. Maybe, since the clothes and trinkets are all I have of my parents, I'm not really ready to let their things go yet.

I've been sleeping in my grandfather's bed. I've even borrowed a couple of his t-shirts that I found in the dresser. Sternly, I remind myself that I didn't borrow a thing. Everything in this house is mine. My parents and my grandparents are dead. Somehow though I can't bring myself to the task of emptying out the closet and the dresser and claiming the space as mine.

If it weren't for my need for clean clothes, I'm not sure I'd be unpacking at all. A part of me knows I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. But, I'm just not ready to accept it yet. I still don't see this big house as my home. The spare bedroom is blessedly free from any remnants of someone else's past. Sure, it's a jog to the bathroom in the middle of the night and the bedroom is half the size of my grandfather's. But, I'm used to having all my stuff crammed into a small space and feel more at home in this room than in any of the others.

The bedroom walls are painted in a sunny pale yellow and the full-size bed is decked out in a colorful hand crocheted afghan. I sit on the bed and run my fingertips over the spread. It's a little like sitting in the middle of a rainbow with the afghan and the sunlight spilling in through the lace curtains. Typically, I'd hate this much light and color, but I find the room cozy and comforting. The furniture is antique. I'm sure of that and I'm very careful not to scratch the wood as I inspect the empty dresser drawers and unload the first of my boxes.

There are hangers in the closet and I make good use of most of them. Most of my clothing is simple and lacking the bling and glitz of designer labels and expensive fabrics. I always have been more of a wash and wear kind of girl and my wardrobe reflects it. I own a couple of sweaters and some thicker jeans suitable for California in winter. If I'm still here past fall, I'll have to buy boots and a heavy coat. Even though it's probably eighty degrees or so in the bedroom and the ceiling fan barely makes a dent in the stifling heat. I shiver at the idea of below zero temperatures and trudging through snow.

There's a small fireplace with a white marble mantle along one of the angled walls of the room and it serves to remind me of just how cold the winters here can be and how old this house truly is. I find myself contemplating sitting beside a roaring fire and reading a good book as the wind outside the windows howls. I wipe a bead of sweat off my upper lip and right now would settle for air conditioning. Winter is a long way off.

Smiling, I unpack my cherished wolf figurines. I have missed my wolves. Wiping the glass snow globe free of dust, I place the first piece of my collection on the mantle. Every wolf in my collection has a story and my wolves are my story. They are representations of my happiest memories, graduations, birthdays, and Christmases. Once the wolves on the mantle are artfully arranged to my liking, my collection overflows to the dresser. I've never played chess in my life, but I have a chess set with intricately carved stone wolves as the various pieces.

The sun catcher with a wolf howling at the moon in the center shoots prisms of color across the wood floor as the sun shines through it. I can't hang my dream catcher with the wolf's head in the center over my bed because I can't reach the twelve foot ceiling. There's a nail in the wall over the fireplace and I decide the dream catcher looks good there instead.

Carefully folding the handmade afghan, I replace it with my wolf print comforter and matching pillows. The navy blues, tones and sliver and gray, intense browns and splashes of hunter green and gold tone down the brilliant yellow walls and give the room a soothing serenity it lacked before. Almost stashing the crocheted blanket in the closet, I decide I don't totally want to pack away the rainbow and drape it over the back of a stiff looking wingback chair positioned beside the window. If I'm still here when winter comes, it might be nice to wrap up in so much color and watch the snow drifting down from a gray sky.

There's a side table beside the chair. Right now, I don't dare open the photo album. I can't bear the idea of that particular trip down memory lane. I set the album on the table and take a deep breath. I miss my parents and would give almost anything to talk to my mom and dad just one more time.

The next item tucked away in the box is my very favorite out of all my wolves.

The soft plush tawny brown fur smells of L.A. and vaguely of my mother's perfume. I've had the stuffed wolf since I was a little kid. For years I slept with her every night. All my wolves have a name. There's Virginia Wolf, Stephen Wolf, Jacob Black, named during my Twilight phase. But, this wolf has a simple name and I've forgotten why I named her what I did. Her name is Angel. I'm kind of freaked out about it. Since my real mom's name was Angela. There's no way I could have known and I'm certain it's just a coincidence.

I squeeze her to my chest. Her fur is matted in places and one glass eye is loose. She's just a stuffed toy wolf. There are bulky seams from my mom's repair jobs. Angel is dog eared and tattered in places. I should get rid of her. I'm not a kid anymore. But, she has been my faithful companion for far too long and sometimes the only friend I had. I set her in her usual place on the bed and shake off the thought rattling around in my brain. Had the past reached out to brush my present when I named her as a little girl?

I smooth a smudge off the glass of a photo frame and am seized by a sudden attack of homesickness. The picture is of my parents and me on one of our rare vacations up the California coast to Big Sur. It doesn't help that the next thing I grab out of the box is a picture of Christine and me. My life in California wasn't a bed of roses, but it wasn't terrible either. There were plenty of happy times. Sure, I hated the crowdedness of the city and the smog, and the constant drone of noise. But, it was home.

I set the pictures on the nightstand and decide to take a shower. My boxes are unpacked and the bedroom is the closest thing to home that I've got in this big house filled with remnants of other people's pasts. Having my things surrounding me is a comfort and helps me feel just a bit more at home.

I haven't seen Han all day and the sun is beginning to set. Maybe, he regrets kissing me the way he did. I decide I'm ambiguous about the whole thing. It was a kiss unlike any other kiss I've ever had. There's no point in expecting another or in getting disappointed when it doesn't happen. I'm grateful one of us had the sense to put on the brakes or that one kiss could have led to a whole lot more than it did. I don't want to think about what might have happened. I'm not easy by any means. In fact, I've been dumped for not giving up the goods. Honestly, I can't even put my finger on what it is about Han that has my stomach tied in knots and my toes curling at the mere thought of him.

I have no idea what he whispered to me in such a heated masculine tone. He wasn't unaffected by the kiss and at least, I have the knowledge of that. Maybe, he's out sulking in the woods or perhaps, doing the same thing I'm doing and keeping busy to put it out of his mind. There's no need to pick the kiss apart. It isn't like I'm in love or even lust for that matter. The kiss was just something that happened and maybe it will or won't happen again.

I pack the empty boxes that contained my life downstairs and pitch them on the back porch until I can figure out where the recycling center is. Though the sun is setting it's still stiflingly hot and the humidity drapes over my shoulders like a wet blanket. Ginger spots me and wanders over to the fence expecting a treat. My pockets are empty and she's out of luck. I ignore her imploring soft brown eyes and retreat into the house to avoid her expectant stare.

The house seems so much emptier this evening. It's quiet and there's the random pop that simply comes with an old house settling in for the night. Just for the hell of it, I fish in my purse for my cell phone and check to see if there's any reception. I'm not surprised by the lack of service. The rooms are growing dim in the fading light of day. There's plenty I could be doing. The idea of rummaging through my grandfather's papers really doesn't hold any appeal. I've got no one to talk to except for Cat and Ginger and I'm hardly the pet whisperer. But, I wonder if I could talk to animals if they'd be a bit more forthcoming than Han has been.

The walls feel like they're closing in on me. I'm restless and hungry. There isn't a thing in the fridge I want to eat. I haven't had any human contact except for Han in the past three days. I can't stand being trapped in this house another second. I need people. I need civilization again. And I have no desire to spend another evening alone with the ghosts of someone else's past. Han scoffed at the notion that I could find my way into town by myself. I paid pretty close attention and I'm itching to prove him wrong. I need to get out of here before I lose my mind.

I'm upstairs, showered and dressed in a clean pair of shorts and my favorite wolf t-shirt in the blink of an eye. My hair is hopeless. The humidity has made a frizzy mess of my usual sleek dark brown hair. Not even a straightening iron can tame it. Out of desperation, I gather up the ends into a ponytail. I brush on a little eye shadow and blush and slowly begin to feel more like myself than I've felt since I left California. I snatch up my cell phone, keys, and purse and am out the door before Han makes a sudden appearance and sidetracks me.

I'm almost excited to go to town and to see people again. I decide the first order of business should be to find a pay phone and call Christine. Dodging potholes in my car, I try to remember the way to the highway and find it without too much trouble. Driving past the fields and woods, I still can't fathom that all of this is actually mine. I break for a bunny and swerve to miss a squirrel. I don't want to squash God's creatures beneath the wheels of my car.

I turn off the highway and am relieved to find the diner still open. Pulling into the gas station, I gas up, grab a soda, and pull up to a payphone. I thought ahead and asked the cashier to give me five bucks in quarters for the phone. Strange, I've called Christine probably thousands of times, but I don't know her number and have to thumb through my contacts list to find it. Dropping in a dozen quarters or so into the payphone, I dial her number and clench my teeth in preparation for the ass chewing I know I rightly deserve.

Ass chewing doesn't begin to cover the dramatic reaming I got from Christine. By the end of the call I'm pissed to the max and am in no mood for food. She didn't believe my story about the lack of cell phone reception out here in the sticks. Of course, she's never been more than a hundred miles outside of L.A. in her life, so she wouldn't. I ended the call with a hasty promise to call her again in a couple of days.

I'm getting stares that are far too inquisitive for my liking from the gas station's patrons. I'm a stranger here and they let me know it. Their eyes on me annoy me to a whole new level. I resist the urge to flip the good townsfolk the bird and instead climb into my car. I don't want to go back to the house. It's nine o'clock on a Saturday night and there must be something to do in this town.

Neon lights glow in the window of the bar down the street. The twang of a country band playing its first set of the night grates my teeth, but it's better than sitting home alone and contemplating that damned kiss and Han. I steer the car toward the bar and decide that spending the evening with a bunch of redneck hillbillies will just have to pass as socialization.

Chapter 19

The bar is hopping. Obviously, this is the place to be on a Saturday night. The crowd is so thick it spills over onto the sidewalk. I consider myself lucky I found a place to park and quickly claim the empty spot. Slinging my purse over my shoulder I walk as if I belong here amongst these people. But, their curious stares, the whispers of conversation, and the way they part to let me through remind me that I'm the outsider here. Inside the atmosphere is charged with pent up enthusiasm. I can feel and see it in the way everyone is talking and laughing, tossing back alcohol as if it were water and having a good time doing it, and trying so hard not to be obvious in their speculations about me.