by J. A. Saare
All things considered, his agreement was extremely generous. The full moon arrived last week, meaning I only had to sacrifice three weeks of my life for virtual freedom.
I took a deep breath and asked the big question. "What’s the stipulation?"
"Noah absolutely refused to accept any agreement in which you leave the compound. I don't blame him, either. By rights, you should be a part of his pack. All decisions regarding you should be his to make. The only reason you’re still one of mine is a technicality, and I wouldn’t push the issue if your father hadn’t asked me to intercede on your behalf." He allowed several seconds for the words to sink in before he informed me, "There was only one way Noah would agree to this, and I think the condition is more than fair. While you’re at the compound, you will reside at his home with him. You will live and be part of his pack."
Part of me wanted to die, then and there.
My worst nightmare was coming to fruition.
Spending time with Noah was bad enough, but doing it surrounded by those who would die for him made it so much worse. They would be as angry at me for leaving as I was at them for betraying my trust. It wouldn’t be a happy homecoming. In fact, it was likely things would turn out badly for all involved.
"What’s the verdict," Michael asked, calm and collected.
I asked to be certain. "After the full moon, I can come back?"
"If that’s what you want."
"You won't let Noah stop me?"
"I didn't say that. What happens between you and Noah is between you and Noah. You'll have to figure that out on your own."
That would be impossible. Noah would never let me go.
"What if I don’t agree to any of this and stay in New York?"
His eyes sparked at that, and I scented his outrage. His irises morphed, changing from amber to vivid gold. I sensed his fury, strength, and dominance. I knew better than to provoke him. The instinct to cower had me pulling the sheets and cover tighter against me.
When Michael became angry, everyone ducked for cover.
His voice was heavy, words rippling as he growled the answer. "Then you’ll be forced to take your chances with the police department and the Watchers monitoring all the exits to the hospital. And lest you forget, Noah knows where you are now. He won’t be dissuaded by a mortal man with a hotshot attorney and money to blow. He will stay right where he is and confront whatever comes his way to remain by your side. You can give him what he wants, for now, settle things between you, and return to your domestic life after the deed is done, or you can make this harder than it needs to be and wish you’d told me yes."
Just then, the door to the room opened, and the man of the hour appeared. He held several boxes that smelled gloriously of buttery toast, pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage, and fried ham. My stomach rumbled at the delicious aromas and Noah grinned. Closing the door behind him, he strode confidently to the bed.
I looked away from him and peered at Michael.
He was waiting for my decision, watching me, poised at the edge of his seat.
I nodded quickly and somehow found the strength to meet his gaze.
His eyes returned to their normal shade as he relaxed, recovered the newspaper, and lounged in the recliner.
Noah rolled a creaky hospital table to the bed and maneuvered the tray over my legs. He placed a square Styrofoam box in the center. I reached for a container and he pushed my hand aside, opening it as if I were a child who couldn’t manage despite my protests. I stopped arguing and allowed him to baby me, perfectly still and docile as he laid out the food. He hesitated before leaning across the bed and placed his head right over mine. I waited, afraid, and felt him pressing a tender kiss against my forehead. His chest hovered above my face, shirt opened at the collar and his tie gone. The smell coming from his skin was intoxicating—wood, pine, and forest intermingled with his own unique scent.
He whispered into my hair, "I’ll go get your juice."
It wasn’t until I caught myself staring into an empty doorway that I realized my eyes had trailed Noah as he left the room. I sighed and turned away, inadvertently glancing at Michael. His attention wasn’t on the paper. His focus remained on me, and his expression wasn’t comforting.
He seemed to be silently screaming, I told you so.
I snatched the plastic fork, stabbed a portion of scrambled egg and shoved it into my mouth before I could say something I might regret.
The old adage is true. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Three weeks with Noah and the pack.
Life was going to be hell.
About the Author
J.A. Saare is a multi-published author and has written stories featured in horror magazines, zombie romance anthologies, and flash fiction contests. Her work has a notable dark undertone, which she credits to her love of eighties horror films, tastes in music, and choices in reading, and has been described as “full of sensual promise,” “gritty and sexy,” and “a breath of fresh air.”
Currently, she is penning numerous projects within the urban fantasy, erotic and contemporary, and of course, paranormal romance categories. Her website is www.jasaare.com. Those interested in her “naughtier” side can visit her alias, Aline Hunter, at www.alinehunter.com
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Rhiannon's Law
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