Feral (20 page)

Chapter 11

I woke with a scream stuck in my throat to find Icarus’s hand
gripping my shoulder.  My heart thundered in my chest, rocketing in maddening propulsions.  Perspiration lined my body in a sparkling sheen.  Strands of silvery, moon-blanched hair clung to my neck and face like a faulty dream catcher.  I swallowed dryly, leaving the startled sound die out on a ragged breath.

“Nightmare,
” Icarus whispered.

“I’m fine, I breathed, dragging
a hand down my face.

“
You’re not.  You’ve been saying that for days.  Move over.”

“What are you doing?” I protested as he threw the covers back
, letting the cold air stab at my flesh, raising goose bumps on my skin.  His toes slid beneath the sheets, gliding along my legs, evicting the last remnants of sleep from my torpid body.  I sucked a sharp breath.  “Christ, your feet are cold.”

Icarus shook with laughter
.  “No, you’re warm.”

“
Warm?  I’m freezing!”

“That’s because you have a fever.”

Oh great!  “It’s happening, isn’t it?  I’m changing?” I said, stabbing a hand into my hair.  “God, why couldn’t I have gotten pregnant like most girls?  Not me, I had to go and curse myself to a tail and four legs.”

“It’s not all that bad,” Icarus
assured, rolling me into his arms.  Tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, his eyes deepened with the wisdom I had yet to achieve.  “It’s liberating, actually, abandoning all your human requirements.  You’ve no need for anything except the barest necessities.  To eat, sleep, breathe.”

“Sounds wonder
ful,” I said wryly, certain this transformation would relieve me of the most important of the bare necessities.  Existing.

“You’ll be ok
, Thaleia.  I promise.  Now get some sleep.”

I
snuggled closer and closed my eyes, but it was no use.  Between my frayed nerves and Icarus’s heady scent filling my head with an array of emotions from desire to unease, there was no chance of falling asleep.  I ended up tossing and turning until my back was tucked against his front, and Icarus locked his arm around my waist to cease my restless wiggling.

I had questions.  Tons of them.  But none were I willing to ask.  Because, truthfully, I didn’t want to know the answer. 
Marcus’s transformation was the only one I ever witnessed.  And according to Icarus, I wasn’t to use it as a gauge.  He called it an atrocity.  But I didn’t see how he was going to be much help when my time arrived.  In my mind, the most he could offer was moral support.  The pain was all on me.

“If you don’t lie still
, you’re going to have one more complication to fret over, and this time it won’t be my finger poking your ass.”

“
I can’t help it.  I can’t sleep.”

“Do you want to
spin a tale?  Something with dragons and princesses?  A knight in shining armor?  And unicorns that vomit rainbows?”

“Shut up,” I
grumbled.  I still couldn’t believe I’d recounted the memory aloud.  Unless I hadn’t.  I figured, if humans could transform into wolves, I couldn’t discount the possibility of telepathy.  “Is that a lycan thing—reading minds?”

Icarus
laughed.  “No, though it would be convenient, with the nudity and all.”

“Nudity?”

“There’s no place for modesty in a pack of lycan.  But until you’re comfortable around us, make a mental note that if you need to shift, go find a nice shrub first.  Holly works well.  But keep your distance.  The leaves have spines.”

“You’re not helping.”  The fact that he could act so cavalier during a pivotal
and frankly horri-fucking-fying moment of my life, I found irritating.  “I’m trying to refrain from all thoughts of agonizing transformations.  Thanks.”

He
didn’t lie and tell me that it wouldn’t hurt.

It would hurt.  I knew that for sure.  I didn
’t take pain well.  I never have.  The notion of pain ate at me like a piranha pecking at a rancid carcass.  I wanted to believe so deeply that this was all a nightmare.  I’d wake up.  But no nightmare had ever been this startlingly real.

T
he changes in my anatomy were indisputable, like the augmentation of my hearing.  The odd symphony of music followed me everywhere I went.  Even now, I could hear the stirring of occupants on the floor below.  A scratch here.  A rustle there.  They would escape the average ear, but to me, they might as well have been in the same room.

A van
barreled down the street in the distance.  I could tell by the yawning sound of its carriage.  The distinct hum of its tires due to the weight of the tools rattling inside.  The rumbling bass of the engine.  I could tell the twin’s jeep a mile away.  Ok.  I’m exaggerating.  Maybe from the end of the street.  It runs rough.  Caius said it’s the fuel injector, causing a cylinder to miss.

My sense of smell wa
s escalating too.  It started this morning.  I woke to the sweet scent of pancakes and maple syrup mixed with the hearty aroma of bacon.  Lying there with my eyes closed, I thought for a moment that I was home in bed. 
Home
, home, with my parents.  Dad reading his morning news at the table.  Mom juicing fresh oranges.  I’d laid there for a length of time, savoring the image, but I knew it wasn’t real.  I could hear the boys downstairs.

Still, it was a shock to the system when I descended the stairs to
find half a dozen males scattered across the kitchen, woofing down sugared bowls of cheerios and cinnamon frosted pop tarts.  None of them could cook to save their life, so I shouldn’t have been surprised to learn the decadent aroma of pancakes and bacon wasn’t coming from our own kitchen, but from the Perkins restaurant four miles away.  Granted we were downwind, but still,
four miles
!

With my new and improved
olfactory senses, I also discovered that the boys each had their own unique and personalized scent.  Although, a few elements were similar because of their blood relation, and the hygienic products they shared.  It’s nothing romantic or appetizing like most books described.  ‘
He smelled of sandalwood and seawater
.’  Or ‘
cinnamon and vanilla
.’  Bullpuckey.  They all smell like BO.  A pungent blend of oils from their skin, sweat, soap, shampoo and whatever Ax body spray they misted themselves with that day.

Oh, and can’t forget the pheromones. 
Whatever it is, the oils in their skin, their hormones, their shampoo, or a combination of all the above, it’s alluring.  Apparently, I do have a thing for the wonder twins.  And Icarus.  The latter more so than the former.  His scent, for some reason, I find intoxicating.  And we’re in the vicinity of one another, our redolence intermingles, launching us into a lust filled frenzy of involuntary reactions.  I breathe him.  He breathes me.  Our attraction increases.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  Until we can’t stand to be in the same room because the magnetism is irrepressibly strong.

Thus, having him in my bed was a distraction in itself.

Rolling to face him, I was met with pale eyes.  The moonlight tinted his inky hair midnight blue.  Stubble shadowed his jaw.  There was no babyish roundness to his face.  The past decade had shaved off all remnants of his youth and turned him to a man, regardless of his personal aspirations in life.  Fate had deemed him a father.  A brother.  A leader.  And for the past decade, he had filled that role without complaint, and the boys respected and loved him for it.

Reaching slowly, I tested the texture of his jaw, digesting the warmth of his skin and the rough stubble with my fingertips. 
His eyes closed briefly and his chest expanded on a breath.  It was dangerous, I know.  Icarus was a man ten years starved.  I could smell his pheromones rear like a wild beast.  He could devour me before I could think to protest.

Who
was I kidding?  Protest?

My mental stamina was idling
dangerously low, ready to choke and stall in the dark corner of my room.  How easy it would be to surrender to his desires.  No messy emotions involved.  Attraction could suffice.  Icarus wasn’t hard to look at.  He was hard to ignore.

Deviating from
his jaw, I ran the pad of my thumb slowly over his bottom lip, tracing the full edge.  Icarus caught it between his teeth.  Swirling his tongue over the tip, he closed his lips around it, pressing a kiss before leaving go.  My heart stuttered in my chest.  I gasped at the shock of it.  Damn if it wasn’t totally erotic.  My body responded readily, impulsively, while my brain lost all control of thought.  Mom’s lectures, Gram’s stories all fell to the dark recess of my mind.  Marcus, Michael who?  No, I wanted Icarus.  And more sexy thumb biting action.

“Breathe,
Thaleia,” Icarus instructed, rising above me.  I countered his moves, rolling onto my back, and inching beneath him.  Corded muscles stood taut on his arms and neck as he held his weight off me.

“Who needs air?”

“You do, because I’m going to kiss you, and it might be a while before we come up for a breath again.”

“Oh..
? Mmmmmm.”  I moaned into his mouth as he bestowed the mother lode of molten kisses.  My God, he’s been holding out on me until now.  Is that even possible?  The moon and stars held no comparison to the exquisiteness of his perfect lips.  Were he not above me, tethering me to the bed with his body, I might float amongst the celestial field of lights.  But, no, this must be Hell he was keeping me.  Because anything that felt this good had to be a sin.

I guess I was going to burn, because if this
were Hell, I’d take it.

Wrapping his waist with my legs, I
drew myself closer, pressing my hips against his.  I could feel him beneath his boxer briefs, standing salute to the degenerate state of Thale Llorente.

Unbenownst to me
, my hips began undulating, praising Icarus’s advances, unconsciously urging him on.  His hand slipped beneath my tee, his palm grazing my breast.  His thumb circled the peak until it pebbled, and then wickedly, he rolled it between his thumb and finger.

God, did that noise of come from me?

Goaded by my licentious reverberations, he shucked my shirt up my waist and closed his lips over my other breast.  His hand darted between my thighs, shoving my bikinis to the side.

Yep, that noise definitely came from me.  Icarus clapped his free hand over my mouth, muffling m
y profligate outburst.  On the floor below, I could hear the faint rustle of sheets and the smacking of lips followed by a soft snore.  Icarus paused only until the snores evened out.

Satisfied
, he resumed the erotic deluge to my senses.  It wasn’t long before I could feel a gradual increase, a faint strum of heat resonating between my thighs.  If I hadn’t already submitted to Icarus, I would have now.  I was an instrument for his playing, and he was driving me toward a sweet crescendo.  My muscles seized.  Beneath his callused hand, I cried out, my body locked in grand mal convulsions of unfathomable pleasure.

Blowing out a ragged breath, Icarus rolled to his back, leaving me bereft of attention.
  The cold air nipped at my skin without his body heat to warm me.  Not that my mind had yet felt the exterior elements at play.  I was still coming down from the pre-coital high.

“
Uh,” was all I could manage.

“It’s all coming back to me.”

“You mean the blood to your brain?”

“That too, but I was referring to the act in general. 
It’s good to know that some things don’t change.  That part at least is like riding a bike.”

“I could think of a million
flagrant retorts to that.”

Laughing silently, Icarus said,
“I could imagine.”

“Bikes?” I said.  “
Really?  You surpassed the ten-speed and went straight to a Ducati.”  Rolling, I started to swing my leg over his waist, but he caught my knee in his hand.  Confused, my head cocked to the side.

“Sleep,
Thaleia.”

“But—”

“Sleep.  You have school tomorrow.”

Dropping to
the mattress, I fixed my clothes—scant as they were—and nestled back under the covers.  Goosebumps rose on my skin as the last of Icarus’s body heat faded away, leaving me cold and uncomfortably sentient.  Naturally, I began having second thoughts, then, the last of my high subsiding, my mental faculties returning to normal working function.

The realization wa
s troubling.

What had I just done?  What was I about to do? 
I won’t deny that had he wanted to go all the way, I wouldn’t have objected.  I in fact, pursued it.  And the sad part was I wasn’t sure I even liked him.  I respected him for his role in his cousin’s lives.  I appreciated all he had done for me.  Aside from his overbearing attitude, I was attracted to him.  But did I love him…?

I didn’t know.

That unknown quantity was enough to send me spiraling into a cycle of self-censure.  What did my behavior say about me?  Hadn’t I learned my lesson?  Why did I keep falling for the wrong guy?  How was I supposed to live with him if things went bad?  We barely got along as it was.  With a physical relationship between us, living together would be impossible.