The Wanting (D'Shar Men)

by Colt, Shyla

  “What are you afraid of?”

  The five words washed over her desire like a bucket of cold water.

  “I’m not afraid. I’m just realistic.”

  “No,” he said.

  His amber eyes trained on her face as he shook his head.

  “You’re running, but you’ll find what’s between us can’t be swept under the rug.”

  When he removed his arms and took a step back, she missed the warmth he provided immediately. His sudden change of tactics made her uneasy. This smelled like a trap, but she didn’t have time to sort through bullshit.

  “We’ll see, Phelan,” she said. Her sweaty hand slipped over the knob, and she opened the door and strode away.

  ****

  It took all he had to contain the fury that rose when she tucked tail and ran. He knew Zasha enough to know she wasn’t one to be intimidated. But her hazel eyes had been filled with anxiety and panic. She was spooked, and until he figured out why, they were at an impasse. His teeth gnashed together as his lips thinned out and his breaths grew short. How could she just leave him?

  Those outrageously long legs had carried her out of the room, and she left his life. Without so much as a look back over her shoulder. A painful knot twisted in his stomach as his hands balled. Fists slammed into the heavy oak door that groaned its protest. The bellow that ripped from his belly was haunting as the world receded to the background, and all he saw was red. Glass shattered and wood splintered as he poured his energy in to the destruction of inanimate objects.

  “Phelan!”

  Teeth barred he turned, crouched low and prepared to attack.

  “Calm down it’s just us man, Kade and Bastian.”

  He knew that voice. His heartbeat steadied, and his breath slowed as awareness woke in his mind.

  “You back with us?” Kade asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, as he gave a short nod.

  “Shit, bro, you almost attacked our asses! What the hell happened? We saw Zasha rush out of here like the devil was after her,” Bastian said.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Phelan said.

  His heavy sigh was tinged with sadness as he looked at the debris that littered the room. Broken pieces of chairs were scattered across the floor along with pieces of glass from what was once a full length mirror. Mindful of the shards and splinters, he made his way to his dresser and grabbed a pair of boxers.

  “Last night everything was fine, and today I wake up to her about to sneak out of the room without so much as a goodbye.”

  “Did you explain the Wanting to her?” Bastian asked.

  “I thought I did. But apparently we were on two different wavelengths.”

  God, it felt like he’d aged years in a matter of minutes. The adrenaline that had danced along his nerve ending has faded abruptly.

  “What are you going to do? It won’t be long until both of you begin to feel the effects of being apart,” Kade said.

  “Good,” he said.

  His voice even as he knelt to grab the garbage can nearby and collects the refuse.

  “Good? How is that good? All she did was leave and you destroyed your room and damn near attacked us!” Bastian said. Each word a little louder as his frustration level rose.

  “The Wanting is an everyday part of life to us, we know how powerful it is, and why resistance is futile. It’s a lesson Zasha has to learn on her own.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing.” Kade whispered.

  Me too, Phelan thought.

  ****

  The minute Zasha entered her condo, stiff fingers grabbed the hem of her dress and ripped the offending article from her body. Her semi-nude frame bent at the waist as she unzipped her boots, and her stomach took a dive to the soles of her feet. The scent of sandalwood and musk accosted her. Even the sanctity of her home wasn’t safe from the alien King. Disgusted, she fought down the urge to burn the dress and made a beeline for the bathroom. Smoke inhalation would do nothing to quell the mixed bag of emotions inside her.

  She sank onto the edge of the claw-footed porcelain basin. Her hand stretched out to turn the brass knob and watch the water flow. Zasha often found tranquility in her vintage-inspired bathroom. She had handpicked every aspect: from the pale pink walls to the round antique mirror that hung above the tub. The fact that peace eluded her now was a sad one. She moved away from the faucet and stood to slip off what was left of her lingerie.

  The underwear had been lost to the room, and the bra she could never wear again. It would only remind her of Phelan. As it was, the memories of last night seemed burned into her brain. Each moment replayed behind her lids on a loop. Sick of the masculine smell that tantalized and incensed her anger, Zasha stood and moved to the glass jars that lined her vanity.

  Inept fingers twisted the metal top off the rose-scented bath salt. She’d soak until she pruned and do her damndest not to think about Phelan D’Shar, and what could have been.

  ****

  An hour later, she was wrinkled, floral scented, and still focused on the night before. Clad in a pair of worn jeans and a faded black Jack’s Mannequin shirt, she should have been relaxed but instead she was at odds. A part of her found her abrupt exit an act of cowardice. The other part saw it as self-preservation. God, she needed a distraction. Her body rotated to face the small closet she had turned into a make shift office.

  Her hazel eyes closed as she inhaled air into her lungs and let her belly expand. The tension in her muscles felt good and she savored the burn before she allowed a slow release. A few more inhales and exhales later, she was ready to put in work. Bare feet padded over the wooden floor. Each step heavier than the one before as she made her way to the room, spun the knob, and stepped into her own personal hell. Newspaper clippings, faded pictures, and sticky notes covered the walls on the left and right.

  But the pièce de résistance was the map of the U.S. that spread across the wall above her desk. Red push pins scattered across a myriad number of towns in each state. Each connected by red twine. The last tip she’d received had been two years ago. There had been a murder of a widowed woman in Santa Fe, New Mexico. The killer’s description had matched Tavel’s to a T, and it seemed like his mode of operation.

  A few months after she’d made the connection, the trail had gone cold, and she’d been left with zilch. That was years ago. As far as the Covington, Kentucky police department was concerned, the case closed years ago. The files packed away in a box where they had become dusted and forgotten by everyone but her.

  Zasha pulled out the rollaway chair and fired up the laptop. Content, she became lost in her search for signs that could lead her to the man who’d murdered her mother.

  ****

  The insistent ringing of the phone drew her attention away from the laptop. A quick glance in the right hand corner of the screen stunned her; it was well past noon. She had been here for over four hours. Swift fingers flew over the keys to save her work, and shut down the computer before her mad dash to answer the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, girl, sorry I bailed last night, but you looked like you were doing just fine,” Taye said.

  “No worries, girl. I knew the minute you two laid eyes on each other, I was on my own.”

  “That’s all you have to say?” Taye asked.

  “Yes?”

  “No teasing or lecture? What’s wrong, Zasha?”

  The mirth left Taye’s voice as silence fell between them.

  “What do you mean?” Zasha asked.

  “You’re not acting like yourself, and your voice doesn’t sound right. Cut the bull, or I’ll head over there now.”

  “I slept with Phelan.”

  “WHAT?! Why the hell didn’t you tell me! Here I am about to run on about Bastian, and you lost your v-card! How was it? Are you okay? Why are you home instead of with him?”

  Her voice crackled like a weak radio frequency. “Because I fucked up,” Zasha whispered.

  “Why? Beca
use you finally had sex? You’re thirty, and we both know this has been a moment in the making for years.”

  “The way he makes me feel is too much, Taye. I didn’t think about the consequences of my action. It was my mother all over again! What about my job? And what do I really know about Phelan D’Shar anyway?”

  “Zasha,” she began. Her voice sounded somber as she sighed. “Listen to me. You have to let the past go. Phelan is no Tavel. Tavel was a sick and twisted individual. Just because he managed to fool your mother doesn’t mean Phelan isn’t exactly who he claims to be.”

  “I owe to my mo–”

  “No. The only thing you owe her is so to go on with your life, which you’ve done. Don’t let Tavel ruin anything else. Whether or not you want to admit it, you could be happy with Phelan. I saw it.”

  She grew silent as she turned Taye’s words over in her mind. Had she punished Phelan for her own hang ups?

  “How can I put my trust in someone I don’t know?”

  “It’s a risk we all take, baby girl; there are no guarantees where matters of the heart concerned. Do you want me to come over?”

  “No, I’m going to get off here now. I – I have a lot to think about.”

  “You know I’m always here girl. I love you.”

  “I know, Taye. I love you, too,” she said.

  A weak goodbye the only thing she could muster before she hung up the phone. Perhaps Taye was right. It was time to leave the past behind, and move on in the present. Goosebumps broke out over her arms as she moved to grab a black-hooded zip up. She would prepare lunch, and set about the monumental task of clearing out the office. One step towards a life lived in the present and two towards operation avoid thoughts of Phelan for a while. If she kept herself busy with other things, he would never have a chance to linger. It sounded good in theory, but she had her doubts about the execution.

  Chapter Five

  Phelan normally had the patience of saint. It was a skill set he’d developed as the eldest of the family and the leader of the Shar. But when a week rolled by with no sign of Zasha, that polished persona began to crumble. He stalked around the D’Shar home so on edge, the smallest thing set him off like a firecracker with a short fuse. His brothers avoided him like a plague, and his employees all walked around on eggshells.

  “Show her who she belongs to,” the beast inside him demanded. Its vicious claws tore his mind to shreds on a daily basis. The words of possession and dominance it expressed were so loud, he marveled that no one else could hear them.

  “Still no word?” Bastian asked.

  “No.”

  His reply was short and terse as he paced the length of his office.

  “I think I can help you with that,” Bastian said.

  “How do you plan on doing that?” he asked.

  “By taking you somewhere I know she’ll be,” Bastian said.

  A cocky smirk lined Bastian’s lips as Phelan paused.

  “You know I want her to come to me.”

  “Maybe she needs a reminder of the attraction between you. It’s a lot easier to resist when you’re not in close quarters.”

  “How did you come by this information?” Phelan asked.

  “Taye.”

  “You’re still seeing her? It’s been almost three weeks,” he said.

  Shocked that he was still in contact; it wasn’t like Bastian to see a woman more than once.

  “No, but we’re friends. She’s a lot of fun to be around.”

  “Fair enough, where are we headed so I know how to dress?”

  “They’re going to the concert at Devou Park.”

  “I’ll be ready in ten,” Phelan said.

  ****

  He was dressed down in a pair of worn dark denim pants, a black tank top, and his favorite pair of black Converse. A black baseball hat had been an afterthought to help conceal his identity. The walk from the parking lot had been too long once he caught her scent on the wind.

  “She said they had a red blanket positioned between the trees on the hill side,” Bastian said.

  “I know exactly where they are,” Phelan whispered. His eyes locked with hazel as Zasha looked up from her conversation with Taye and froze.

  The tension was palatable as sparks of electricity coursed through his body. His lids lowered with lust, and he bit the inside of his cheek. If he went after her like some caveman, she would only run again. The sun had begun its descent into the horizon, peachy-purple water-colored sky, the perfect back drop to the scarlet button down dress that encased Zasha body. Her toned legs seemed to go on forever in the red and white polka dot espadrilles with a bow on the top.

  Her thick locks had been tamed into a ponytail that caressed her back. Her eyes were wide with shock in her oval face, and the white teeth that bite down on her lush lips made him choke back a moan.

  “You okay, bro?” Bastian asked.

  “Yeah, let’s find a place to sit.”

  Phelan led them to a cluster of trees about a hundred yards away from where the girls sat. It was a struggle to maintain his conversation with Bastian, but he managed. The feel of her eyes on him, a burn he rejoiced in. If her stare was any indication, Zasha wasn’t as unaffected as she made out to be. He’d worried that the biological response might be different for a human. But now he could see it was stubbornness. The first strains of the Swan Lake symphony weaved a spell of romance, and he sent a silent thank you to the Northern Kentucky orchestra when he saw her stand from the corner of his eyes. Her stroll was brisk as she ate up the distance between them and lowered her body to sit next to his.

  “I’m going to say hi to Taye,” Bastian said. Quick to beat a hasty exit before Zasha could protest.

  “What are you doing here, Phelan?”

  “Enjoying the music.”

  His eyes remained on the orchestra as he did his best to act as a human would. Her proximity had kicked the Wanting in to third gear, and he was grateful for the dark. Because it hid the way his amber eyes had turned black. Another side effect of the Wanting.

  “Don’t give me that bull.”

  Her arm pressed the length of his arm as she leaned in to keep their conversation private.

  “It’s a small town. There’s going to be times when we run into one another. The real question is why it bothers you.”

  “You know why.”

  “No, Zasha, I really don’t. You wanted me to leave you alone, and I have. Tonight, you came to me.”

  His head turned, and the lust that burned in her hazel eyes made him gasp.

  “I don’t know what kind of alien sleight of hand you worked on me, but it needs to end.”

  “D’Shar men mate for life. I told you this,” he said.

  His demeanor softened by her shaken voice.

  “I can’t eat or sleep, and when I do my dreams are filled with you,” Zasha said.

  The darkness settled over them and wrapped them in its embrace like a blanket. The false intimacy it created along with their position between the trees concealed them from prying eyes. That knowledge made him bold.

  “Tell me what you want me to do,” he said. His large hand slid up to free her hair from its constraint.

  The heavy weight wrapped around his fingers. The contact between them served as a balm to the frayed nerves worn with each day that passed. Before they were civilized, his people’s behavior was deplorable. Public mating rituals were performed in front of the pack to prove their claim to all, and a fight to the death over the woman of their choice was considered normal. Much of the behavior had been bred out, and what was left was usually controllable. Her reluctance to admit their bond pushed him to the brink of his limitations. He’d never felt as alien as he did this past week.

  “Relief, I need relief.” Zasha’s voice had gone husky with need. Her slim fingers wound in his hair as her body trembled.

  “Okay,” he said.

  Phelan bent to take her lips with his own. The sweet flavor of peaches danced along his tong
ue as her nails scrapped his scalp. Her full lips were pillow soft against the gentle nips she administered turned aggressive as they moved from his mouth to his neck and back again. Tiny white teeth marked their territory, and he loved every moment. Zasha’s urgency was a delicious torture that overrode rational thought as he lowered her body down to the soft blanket below. Under the concealment of night they were nothing more than two lovers ensnared by the romance found in the classical chords.

  “God, Phelan, I’ve missed this. I’m so cold when you’re not around.”

  “Then let me warm you,” he whispered into her ear.

  His tongue traced the delicate shell of her ear before he indulged in the column of her neck. Zasha’s content sighs and the feel of her nails on his back beneath his shirt spurred him on. His hips ground into hers, the hardness between them unmistakable.

  “Phelan,” she moaned. Her long legs spread as wide as she could manage in the pencil skirt fit of her dress.