The Wildflower Series

by Rachelle Mills

  The summer heat gets under my skin. My entire body feels flushed, overwhelmed with warmth.

  “Specs, you want to play?” Cassius calls. He’s now standing next to one of the boards for the bean bag toss. His face glistens in the sun, he’s wearing a few shirts, but I notice he’s not wearing the ring anymore. His hand seems naked without it.

  Pulling my feet out from where they were buried, I keep my shoes off. The grass feels cool underneath the soles of my feet. He has no shoes on his feet; his toes are painted purple.

  “You’re not going to win this time. This is my day,” he teases when he tosses me my bags for the game.

  We stare at each other from the opposite ends of the yard. “Females first.”

  I remember the first time he coaxed me to play. There were so many wolves and overwhelming sounds that I couldn’t stop shaking. I lost the first game, and the second one, but after a while, the noise was something that was held in the background because all that I could concentrate on was Cassius and the edge of his smile every time I sank a bag in the hole. It was our first high five, hand slapping hand, and I didn’t wash my skin that night. It was my secret to smell Cassius’s scent that clung to my hand underneath his bed. He asked me if I was catching a cold because I was breathing too hard. It wasn’t normal, he said, and had Dallas check me out at the clinic in the morning.

  He blinks when I push the hair that’s stuck to my neck. It feels damp when I tie it up but a lot cooler having it off my back.

  When some females walk by, they say hi to the both of us, but they treat Cassius different now. They go into his space, and some even put a hand on his hip or touch his head. I don’t like it, and at times I have to stop the Wild from intervening. She wants to claim him as her territory; she doesn’t like those that trespass.

  Cassius smirks when he lands the first point, and my smirk is just as keen when I land a point.

  “You think you’re going to beat me, Specs?” My body bends to that voice, that shuffle of sound. I’m terrified that he’ll notice, he’ll see right through me and know how much I want him.

  The music is turned up, a favorite song of Rya’s. She’s dancing in the grass with Dallas, who holds her as close as her pregnant belly will allow.

  “Nice shot.” A compliment that makes the Wild strut in my skin.

  “Did you see that, Specs? I’m coming for you. It’s my time. Winning time.” He heckles me through a crooked smirk.

  The party blurs, and it’s only Cassius and me. The sweat drips down my back; I can feel it run down between my chest. The sun is starting to set.

  Cassius at times will sway to the music, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him this loose, not as tied into himself. He catches me staring—I’m unashamed.

  My heart hammers. I’ve had a gap in reality.

  He looks away.

  I can taste blood from the bite down on my tongue.

  The next three throws he misses, and I sink all of mine. He looks uncomfortable now.

  The party is full-on, most of the pack is here, and when I win the game, he gives me my prize in the form of a high-five and, “Good game.” When he sits down at an empty picnic table, a few females sit with him, with full plates. They start talking with red lipstick smiles.

  This is what it feels like to drown, to suffocate on the last breath.

  Caleb is at a table with Tommie and Carson, who are sitting close to each other. I take a seat beside Caleb, not wanting to leave the party, but not wanting to stand by myself watching Cassius being fawned over by the reds of the pack.

  “Do you mind if I sleep over tonight, Caleb?” Carson can’t stop the blush on his face as he asks. Tommie rubs at his head as if he has hair there.

  “What do I look like, some sort of bed and breakfast?” Tommie leans back from the table. He isn’t used to Caleb, but Carson is ready for him.

  “I’ll put twenty-five on the counter when I leave.” Carson sips his beer, but his eyes keep falling on Tommie.

  “You need to do the dishes. I’m not your domestic.”

  “Done.” Carson is quick with that word.

  “Does anyone need another?” Tommie stands with an empty bottle in his hand.

  Caleb’s eyes squint at him. “Nice line.”

  “Your brother introduced me to that line. I like it, a lot.”

  “Of course he did. It was my line before he stole it. Right, Carson?”

  “Well, it looks like you aren’t using them anymore, so…” His brother shrugs his shoulder. Caleb has this pout that looks puppyish on a full-grown male.

  “Treajure, you want one?” I’m a little shocked Tommie touched my shoulder when he asked.

  “Get her a whiskey vodka. She does well on them.” I shake my head no. Caleb laughs. It’s been a big joke, and for a long time he called me the puker. His mother told him to stop and he told his mother it’s only because he loves me that he teases me like a sister. I felt bad for shanking him the next day, but he had it coming.

  “She’ll take water, thanks. I’ll take a beer.” There’s something violent in the way Cassius is looking at Tommie.

  “Push over.” Cassius sits down and places a plate of food between us.

  Everything seems to get quiet.

  “Treajure, Crane’s having a party tonight. You should come with us.” Carson and Caleb both eye Cassius.

  A half not so funny laugh, a pause, then, “No, she’s not going to that kind of party.”

  Caleb snickers, and I can see how it clings underneath of Cassius’s skin.

  “I got us some food.”

  We are sitting side by side, close enough for our thighs to touch. I’m still. Not moving even to eat.

  “Open your mouth.” Cassius’s voice is low, and his brothers blatantly stare.

  “What? She has a habit of not eating.” He talks to them as if it makes perfect sense. I’ve never been hand-fed by him before.

  I take a piece of warm steak from his fork and swallow it down before he holds out the fork for me to take. Both of us start to eat off of one plate, and his brothers haven’t said a word.

  “Here.” Tommie hands me a bottle of water, and Cassius takes it from him, opens the cap, and sets it in front of me.

  “Thanks.” It comes out tight from Cassius. He’s making me confused. I didn’t know he didn’t like this male.

  “Are there problems?” Tommie leans into the table. Cassius’s eye contact accelerates into violence. Carson places a hand on Tommie’s back. Caleb stands up, stretches out his back.

  “Cash, go for a walk.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. He’s a guest.” Caleb’s eyes bleed into Cassius. He’s second for a reason. Sometimes he’s scary, really really scary.

  “The guest needs to understand males don’t touch females who aren’t wearing red. Do you see any red on her?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you touch her?” His voice is a coil of rage waiting to unravel.

  Cassius stands.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was yours.” Tommie stays standing, and I see Carson wipe the side of his mouth.

  “She’s not mine.” He sounds frustrated.

  “In this pack, if a female isn’t wearing red, you can’t touch her, no matter how much you want to. Respect their choice.” Cassius claims complete control of the conversation. He’s all teeth and muscle before Dallas’s hand squeezes his brother’s shoulder.

  “Treajure, let’s go dance. Cassius obviously needs to lick his fur down. I’ll show you all the moves I’ve taught him.” Caleb has my hand, pulling me up from the table.

  “She’s not going to dance with you.”

  “Why? It’s not like you’re going to ask her to dance, Cash.” Caleb’s sharp-toothed now. It’s rare to see him so pointed, challenging.

  Cassius’s eyes terrorize his brother’s, and I think for a moment they might fight.

  “Let’s go, Cash.” Dallas has a disgruntled g
rowl that shifts Cassius in the opposite direction of his brother.

  “I thought he was going to go for your throat,” Carson says.

  “Me too, but she’s worth that fight.” Caleb isn’t touching me anymore. A distance created. The party is dwindling down. I’m a little drunk; Caleb snuck me a few whiskeys as we cleaned up the mess. He told me it’s time for bed when my glasses kept slipping off my face. Cassius went inside a while ago with the twins. He’s probably already sleeping.

  He comes out of the twins’ room. When I step into the hallway away from the stairs, I fidget with my glasses.

  “I saw him paw you. I didn’t like it.” His voice seems on edge, barely containing something that’s making his brow furrow and his hands dig into his pockets.

  A sound splits through his throat, bordering on a growl.

  “You took your earrings out, and it’s hard to follow the rules. Sometimes it gets ahead of me, but if I have to try to follow them, he can too.” He sounds strained.

  We’re close enough now that I can feel the sturdy heat. It’s a dependable thing I can lean myself into.

  I’m not sure if I heard him right, but my thighs did. They are shaking. I can feel the tremors and the effort it takes to stay standing.

  Sometimes it gets ahead of me…

  “I’m sorry, Treajure. I’m not good at this. I had this plan, and now, you took those earrings out, and I’m not sure what to do now.” His hands dig deeper down into his pockets, held there like a restraint.

  “I want to respect you, but I want—” His mouth seals up. He pulls a hand out to scratch at his clean-shaven face before it settles back inside the deep pocket.

  “I’m sorry, I’m going to bed before I say or do something stupid. Goodnight.” His voice sounds hoarse, heavy. He doesn’t close his door all the way; he leaves it open a crack before the bed frame groans with his weight.

  I’m left standing in the hallway confused, quiet, and not really understanding everything that has just happened.

  Letter 19

  Cash,

  I can taste the blood in your throat. Stop bleeding for me. I never asked you to bleed for me. That’s your own choice, not my choice. Bleed for yourself, not me. I’m fine.

  You’re going to be fine. Eventually, you’re going to be fine. It won’t happen overnight, and you will make yourself suffer because that’s who you are. You are a sufferer.

  I’ve been watching you, I’ve been listening to you, I’ve been thinking about how to help you through all of this, and I think these letters are my the only way to help.

  Like I said before, these aren’t love letters; these are my thoughts through all of this. It’s not meant for you to keep reading them, worship every one of my words; it’s meant to read, think, reflect, and move on.

  If in the Moon we can look down on the ones we love, know that I won’t be looking down on you. I will be waiting to see you again up there, but I am not going to be watching you. I won’t be a ghost that can’t leave you alone because I can’t stay away from the living. I’m not a jilted spirit. I will be at peace when I die.

  Don’t be afraid to do things because you think I might be watching you. I’m not.

  Kennedy

  Chapter 20

  Lips Feel the Pleasure of Skin

  The earrings slip back in.

  Cassius has noticed the next day I came downstairs for breakfast. He’s noticed all the following weeks with those sidelong glances; he’s noticed with those eyes that tell he’s wanting to do what red allows. Still, he doesn’t act, and it’s made me jittery, quick to jump at things, expecting him to be all over me the minute he comes into the house or when I come into his bedroom to sleep.

  He’ll be on his back, his head turned to me, and ask, “Do you want something, Treajure?” Those times I can’t move. I stay stiff in my spot, so he turns himself to the wall. “Goodnight, Specs.”

  When I’m taking a shower, I expected him to join me or to be standing there when I got out. He doesn’t.

  A wisp of Cassius’s scent lets me know he’s been in rooms that I enter. He doesn’t look at me, but on occasion, I can see him looking. There is more hunger in his eyes than mine. Still, he doesn’t touch me.

  I feel as if I am being hunted by him, stalked around the house in a quiet kind of way. This stalking is something that makes my heart pound in my chest and puts my senses on high alert—not from danger, but from wanting to be caught.

  I’ve never been more wanting in my entire life. He’s bought a few new things for himself, and he’s even started to sing songs on the radio with the kids. I’ve never seen the edge of his mouth curve up so much.

  Drying the dishes, I’m stretching up to put the container on the top shelf, and I feel him behind me taking it out of my hand and stretching up easily to put it away while I’m still on tiptoes. I can feel him breathing right behind me, not moving.

  His fingers brush along the corner of my jeans, where the pocket is against my ass.

  “Looks like someone needs new jeans.” His finger digs into the small hole, skin against skin. I turn my head to look down where his finger is pushed into the hole, his blunt nail scratching at my skin.

  “It’s been driving me crazy all day.”

  My breathing is caught off guard.

  The hole gets bigger, his finger taking the opportunity of stretching the material to allow it to expand around him. He’s now got his finger against the ridge of my panties. He leans into me, his straight nose pressing into the base of my neck. He’s inhaling deep with changing breaths.

  Something between us is alive. I can feel it like I feel my own beating heart.

  His nail now is clawed, more Wild than skin. There is a growl that extends from his chest into my back. It shakes me, not with fear. No, I don’t fear this, not him; I could never fear this male standing behind me.

  “It’s a nice day. I’m going for a run. Would you like to join me? We won’t go too far, just up the trail.” His nails dig into the pad of my hip, bringing me against his body.

  “Say yes.”

  I nod my head.

  “You’re going to need to talk to me, Treajure. I know you can make sounds; it’s not much different than saying words.” My eyes snap to his, and his smile seems naughty. I haven’t seen that kind of thing spread wide across his face, a hint of teeth showing. Naughty, mischievous, and so sexy.

  He steps away, almost on purpose, I think, and the Wild actually whimpers out the noise to him. She doesn’t need to be quiet for this male; he’s not that man.

  “Let her do that again. Let her talk to me.” The Wild doesn’t need me to let her do anything. She whines out again through a throat that is close to atrophy from prolonged non-use.

  The sound is rough, painful almost. He doesn’t wince away from the noise; he turns me to face him. His blunt nails scratch down my throat, and the Wild points her chin to the ceiling, the neck lengthening, letting him scratch at the skin she wants to shift. I can feel the shake of her underneath my skin.

  Muscles tense before relaxing to tense out again, pushing against the casing of skin.

  She wants out. Now.

  “Let’s go for a run. Let them meet each other. I’ve kept him away long enough.”

  A pause.

  “He wants to meet her. I’m going to let him do what he wants to do.”

  There’s a bad shake to my thighs, right above the knees. I’m afraid he’s going to notice. If he does, he says nothing.

  He’s never once mentioned his Wild to me, this is the first time, and what’s inside me is rejoicing in a fit of silent yips and tail chasing.

  She’s wildly enthusiastic to meet him as well. Too enthusiastic.

  He goes to the back mudroom first. I can hear him peel all the layers off him before the back door opens. My turn to take everything off, including the earrings and glasses. I come out in a flowered robe; I think it might be silk. I’ve never felt something so light and smooth before. I’m almost blin
d except for the blurs of shapes.

  “Ready?” He turns and shifts really fast; the cocoon of skin releases to the body of the Wild, who faces the forest. Discarding the robe, my turn to shift, and she only sees in blurred shapes as if cataracts are over her eyes.

  There is a nudge to our flank, a sniff of our mouth, more sniffs to our underbelly, our female parts. The Wild does the same with him, sniffs him up and down, and all around. He’s a meaty male with a height to him.

  The Wild follows the male’s lead. He takes a gentle route, not demanding anything of her non-existent skill level.

  He keeps nudging her flank, letting his body slide along hers. He nips into her haunch, and she nips him back with teeth that don’t draw blood, more gums than teeth.

  There is no running full out; the path is even, without dips or hills. She’s steady on her feet until the male starts to become playful and upends her. He holds, rushes her, then pulls back at the last minute. When she rights herself, he’s there as a big blur on hind legs to pounce back on her. She plays back, full of her strength that doesn’t match his.

  They roll on the ground together and lick at their mouths and inside of their jowls. They explore the other’s body without any kind of restraint until the male gets a hold of the Wild’s neck.

  He holds her with powerful jaws. He could take her throat. He could kill her if he wanted to.

  A whine from the Wild before she tries to push her neck inside teeth that have her wanting to be bitten.

  There is no hesitation before the bite is felt; it’s a solid, clean, through the skin kind of bite that has her back legs give out.

  The Wild experiences complete paralysis of the body from pure uninhibited pleasure. Teeth retract and she lays on her side, panting open-mouthed, tongue hanging out.

  He gives her a few moments before trying to get her to her feet. She licks the side of his face, and he stretches his neck out, practically shoving it between the Wild’s teeth.

  There is no hesitation with her, she clamps down, and the surge of him is felt, a complete overwhelming shift of my internal makeup. It makes room for something else within, some other presences that shift along the bone line that intertwines within my private spaces. The marrow of my bones expand as Cassius is felt within.