by Laura Taylor
Miller had left the table as soon as the meal began, and Skip ate in silence, not inclined to join in any of the conversations around her. A part of her felt sorry for Miller. His intentions to change seemed genuine, and he was working hard to learn the rules of the Den – a difficult task when most people had two years of training before they were actually converted and had to face the sorts of challenges he was having to deal with.
But at the same time, she could well understand the perspective of the rest of the Den. People had died, often in horrific ways, and such wounds, both old and new, did not heal quickly. She’d said nothing during the standoff between Miller and the other men. It wasn’t because she didn’t support Miller or want to help him adjust to this life, but rather because she empathised equally strongly with both sides of the argument.
Once dinner was over, Skip slipped away quickly and shifted in the hall, using her sensitive nose to follow Miller’s trail up the stairs and into the second floor sitting room. He was standing at the window, staring out across the estate, the room slowly growing dimmer as the evening closed in. Skip shifted, then stepped forward, deliberately letting her feet make some noise, so as not to startle him.
“Hey,” she said softly, as he glanced over his shoulder.
“Hey,” he replied, sounding as gloomy as she had expected.
An awkward silence followed, and Skip wondered why she’d followed him up here. Notionally, it had been to offer some sort of comfort, but what could she say? Empty platitudes weren’t going to make a difference, and nothing more truthful would be of any help. Sorry everyone hates you, but that’s the way it is, so you’d best get used to it. It was hardly going to make him feel any better.
“I don’t belong here,” Miller said finally, still staring out the window. “Maybe Baron’s right. Maybe I should bow out of this war gracefully, rather than sticking around just to piss everyone off.”
The stark announcement was alarming. He was contemplating suicide? After having come so far already? “No one belongs here,” she said softly. “Not really. Everyone has something wrong with them. They’re too shy, or too extroverted; too violent, or too angry. By all rights, Baron shouldn’t even be alpha. That only came about because of a bizarre twist of fate. Caroline, too. No one thought she was really suitable for the role when she took it, but she stuck it out, made it work. But it took a long time. We’re the strangest bunch of people you’re ever going to meet. But when you’re going through hell, the only thing you can really do is keep going.” The early years of her life had taught Skip that lesson well enough.
“What’s the point?” Miller asked sharply, turning to face her. “People don’t want me here. I don’t want to sound like I’m whinging about it all the time, but at some point, you have to realise there’s no point in flogging a dead horse.”
“Would you be surprised if I said that no one really wants John here, either? He causes far too much trouble, and half the Den are scared of him. But on the other hand, he’s an excellent tracker, and a brutal fighter, and back in Scotland, when we were attacked by those dogs, he was our first line of defence. People put up with him because he’s got enough useful skills that he’s worth putting up with. Certain people would say the same about me,” she added, with no hint of shame at the admission. “I’m not a strong fighter. I’ve never killed anyone. I’m terrified by violence. But I can hack almost any database in the world. So people are happy enough for me to live here, but every time we go into battle, they still have to work around the fact that I’m a liability in combat.”
Miller sighed. “So what have I got that people are going to want badly enough to put up with me?”
It was a good question, and Skip shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. You’re a decent fighter – as a human, at least – but we’re not short of those. You need to work out some particular skill you have, some knowledge or talent that sets you apart. And then leverage the hell out of it. But in the meantime,” she added, having caught Miller’s comment at dinner about them all ‘not being animals’, “I’d recommend you get one of the books in the library on wolf behaviour, and start doing some serious reading. I don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t seem to know much about wolf psychology. Denying your animal side is one of the quickest ways to piss people off. And wolves behave nothing like domestic dogs. Their minds work entirely differently, and there are actually very few comparisons that can be made. Socially, our Dens work a lot more like wolf packs than human communes.”
Miller gave her a look of chagrin. “Yeah, I’d noticed that people took exception to that part.”
Skip’s face fell suddenly. “Sorry,” she apologised quickly. “I didn’t mean to give you a hard time about it. You’ve really been thrown in the deep end here, being converted before you knew anything about us, and people should be cutting you some slack because of that. And here I am, just telling you that you’re doing it wrong all over again.”
Miller laughed, surprising her. “At least you’re telling me what I can do to fix some of it. That’s a huge step up from what most people have been saying to me.”
Skip managed a smile, but also felt a wave of disappointment. Over the past few weeks, she’d been trying to get to know Miller better, her curiosity piqued by his inexplicably gentle ways while they’d been in the cave together, and kept inflamed since then by his unique mix of polite forbearance and hard hitting stubbornness. Strangely enough, he reminded her a lot of Andre, the former assassin a consummate gentleman, whilst also being the most lethal warrior on the estate.
But every time she tried to have a friendly chat and probe what was going on beneath the surface, they ended up just talking business, with Skip explaining some rule or custom about the Den, or the conversation turning to some conflict between Il Trosa and the Noturatii. But with the stakes so high, it seemed rather ridiculous to try talking about his favourite radio station or whether he liked winter better than summer. And on the flip side, leaping into a deeper conversation about his history in the military or how he felt about the friends he’d left behind in the Noturatii seemed far too personal and abrupt.
She was hopeless at flirting, Skip acknowledged sadly to herself, and as strange and unsettling as her feelings towards Miller were, she was annoyed at herself for not finding a way to investigate them further.
“You look different,” Miller said suddenly, and Skip looked up to see him casting an eye over her clothes. It was true – after their discussion on Skip’s fashion preferences, Heron had helped her choose some new things to wear, placing an order online that had arrived just this morning.
The shopping had been nerve wracking and frustrating, not going as far as Skip would have liked with her new experiments in fashion, but at the same time, going far further than she was comfortable with. As it was, her new clothing wasn’t all that different from her old style – plenty of pink and yellow, flowers or butterflies decorating each piece. But this time, the clothes had been chosen in a size that actually fit, rather than hanging on her small frame. Nothing was tight, no plunging necklines or singlet tops, no short shorts, and the designs retained a faintly childish quality, far from the more elegant womanly styles that Skip had started out looking at, until Heron had gently dissuaded her from making too big a change too quickly.
And now, Skip was grateful for Heron’s insight. She wore a pair of jeans that seemed indecently tight, though they were a straight-leg design that allowed some room to move, and a normal, standard t-shirt that somehow made her feel half naked. But she had been determined to wear the new clothes, and for the last half an hour, she’d actually managed to forget how uncomfortable she felt in them. She could feel herself blushing fiercely, grateful that the room was quite dim by now, and struggled to find something to say.
“Do you like it?” The words slipped out before Skip could stop them, her mouth somehow bypassing her brain, and she cursed herself for the absolute lack of subtlety. She may as well have just begged him to tell her he fanc
ied her.
Miller looked baffled for a moment, while Skip tried to act natural. “I think it looks good,” he said finally, and Skip dared to glance up at him.
In the fading light, she wasn’t quite sure how to read the expression on his face. It was a look that contained a wealth of tenderness, an odd hopefulness, lingering doubts… and yet it was strangely familiar.
And then she felt a wave of surprise when she realised where she’d seen that expression before. Way back when Dee had joined the Den, before she and Mark had got together, she’d caught her looking at Mark with that same expression of hopefulness and doubt… and seen Mark look at her the same way, when he’d thought no one was watching.
The realisation sent a rush of nervousness through her. Miller… liked her? As in, really liked her? Gosh, she sounded like a twelve year old, she admonished herself, even though the running monologue was only within her own mind.
“How old are you?” Miller asked suddenly, and Skip couldn’t quite work out why he was suddenly interested in her age.
“Twenty-four,” she replied. “Why? How old are you?”
“Thirty-one. I just…” He shook his head. “Never mind.” He paused, seeming to choose his next words carefully. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that I… well, I really appreciate you taking the time to get to know me. And not judging too quickly, based on where I’ve come from.”
Skip looked at him slyly, a wry smile on her face. “You’ve done enough to prove that you’re not a typical Noturatii soldier. I just figured I should give you a chance.”
“And now that you’ve given me a chance? What do you think?”
Skip smiled, unable to help herself, and blushed again. Miller had leaned closer during the conversation, his eyes holding her gaze, his expression shy and hopeful. And it was so different from the way any man had looked at her before that she completely forgot to be afraid of him, of such a large, strong man standing so close to her. She could tell him to back off, she realised with a strange jolt, and he would do so. She was absolutely certain of it. But what if… what if she didn’t tell him to back off? What if she leaned a little closer to him?
She felt a light brush of skin against her fingers, and realised that Miller was gently taking her hand. Her fingers twitched in response, the touch so light that it was almost ticklish, and she felt her heart rate speed up a little, at this strange and new and inexplicably exciting moment.
“Would it be okay if I kissed you?” Miller asked, his voice low, a deep rumble that reminded Skip of the sound of thunder in winter.
She nodded, unable to quite find her voice, and waited, not sure if she was supposed to close her eyes, not sure how to kiss him back, suddenly fearful that he would be disappointed by her ineptitude, and yet also suddenly craving the feel of his lips against hers in a way she’d never imagined she would. She’d had dreams about kissing men. Kissing them voluntarily, that was. She had other dreams as well, of course. And she’d occasionally wondered what it would be like kissing Kwan. He was her own age, handsome enough, in an understated sort of way, confident but never imposing…
Oh wow… Miller’s lips were soft, firm, the faint scent of wolf emanating from his clothes, his thumb tracing lines across the back of her hand in an almost hypnotic rhythm. Skip tried to stay still, so as not to dissuade him from his task, though she had little idea as to how to return the affection. Then he opened his mouth just a fraction, catching her lower lip between his, moist warmth a surprising sensation against her skin, and she pulled back, feeling rather breathless. But the grin on her face was sign enough that she had liked the kiss, should Miller have any doubts about it, and the grin widened when she saw him smile in return.
He didn’t speak, but lifted a hand to stroke the back of his fingers gently down her cheek, and Skip felt an unwelcome shiver of fear at the gesture. “Um… I should go,” she excused herself, easing around him, fighting to keep the smile on her face. “I have to check the computers before I go to bed. But… this was nice,” she added, meaning it, her wayward emotions aside. Way back when she’d been having therapy with Nia, they’d discussed the possibility of Skip having a romantic relationship in the future, in purely hypothetical terms, and Nia had mentioned that it was likely that Skip would feel very conflicted about it, should she ever venture down that path. She’d given her a few pertinent pieces of advice, and told Skip that she could call, if she ever needed to discuss anything in the future. Skip had dismissed the idea at the time, unable to imagine ever feeling any kind of affection for a man, but she’d taken note of the conversation nonetheless. And while she didn’t feel the need to call her old therapist just at the moment, she also remembered that Nia had said she should give herself plenty of time and space to process the situation, should it ever arise.
“Sleep well,” Miller murmured, making no move to stop her as she backed away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Skip waved, a small, timid gesture, and slipped away out the door. Her lips were tingling from the sensation of his own against hers, a feeling that was both tantalisingly pleasant and startlingly unfamiliar… but she was utterly pleased with herself, both for being able to go through with the kiss, and for finding a measure of enjoyment in it. Small steps, she counselled herself, a mantra that Nia had repeated dozens of times in the year they’d spent together. She’d just had her first kiss, successfully flirted with a man for the first time in her life… and she was feeling a heady excitement at all the possibilities that seemed to have suddenly opened up before her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Miller watched Skip walk away, feeling pleased and surprised and scared all at the same time. Mark had been right, he acknowledged to himself. One kiss and Skip had turned tail and run like a frightened rabbit. But at the same time, she’d expressed no dislike of the kiss, said nothing to imply that he’d done anything wrong in asking for it. All indications were that she returned his cautious affection, and his regard for her went up another notch. If his guess was correct, and she’d been hurt by a man in the past, then she was bold beyond measure for daring to express her affection for someone such as himself, a man who had kidnapped her, caused her to get shot, and created a rift among the people she called family. Her courage seemed limitless, and his admiration for her was just as strong.
But aside from the warm emotions he was feeling about Skip, he was also rather surprised at himself. Romance had been nowhere on his agenda, his life far too complicated at the moment to be spending time trying to woo an apprehensive young woman. But she had a way of breaking through the barriers he tried to erect around himself, of making him relax in a way that he wasn’t entirely sure was wise.
He headed for the door, feeling a little better about his situation, and intending to go to the library to look for the recommended book on wolf behaviour… but before he got halfway across the room, a dark shape stepped out of the shadows, and Miller tensed as he recognised Silas’s wiry form.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Silas asked, his voice a menacing growl.
“Not sure what specifically you’re referring to,” Miller replied. He wasn’t intending to antagonise the man, but he’d done rather a lot of things lately that Silas might have taken exception to.
Silas stepped up close to him, Miller not backing up a single inch. “Let me make this perfectly clear. If you want to keep breathing, you will never, ever touch Skip again.”
“Well, I think that should be Skip’s decision, rather than yours.” Fuck, he was getting really tired of this shit. Why couldn’t these people have a normal conversation, insult each other a few times, yell a bit, maybe? Why did they have to resort to knives and guns and threats to kill each other on the slightest whim?
“Skip doesn’t know what she wants,” Silas hissed. “She’s naïve and innocent, and probably doesn’t even realise the implications of what she was doing. But you most certainly do. So you’re going to stay away from her. Understood?”
“Giv
e me one good reason why.”
“Because I’m not going to stand by and watch while yet another man takes advantage of her. You might be trying to play the hero for the moment, but we both know what sort of man you really are.”
The insult was no surprise. Silas had made it abundantly clear what he thought of Miller, his defection from the Noturatii an irrelevant detail in what Silas considered to be a vile and amoral life.
“I have no intention of hurting her in any way,” he told him, not sure if the words would make any difference. Silas didn’t seem the most reasonable sort of man, after all. “I’d never do anything she didn’t want me to.”
But despite his protests, Silas’s words were having the desired effect. Miller had been in the military before joining the Noturatii, a lifetime of violence and fighting and war under his belt. He was a soldier, a murderer, even, a long way from the gentlemanly type that Skip deserved, and his own bleak self-assessment made him suddenly doubt his own good intentions.
“Then stay away from her,” Silas growled. “Seems the easiest way to make sure you don’t hurt her, doesn’t it?”
While Miller had little inclination to bow to Silas’s aggressive demands, he had no desire to cause Skip any more harm. And Silas’s fleeting admission that another man had already taken advantage of her did nothing to reassure him of his own ability to see to her happiness and wellbeing. Old wounds didn’t always heal well, and if he inadvertently did something to reopen them, he’d never forgive himself.
“Understood,” he agreed finally, looking Silas in the eye. “I didn’t mean any harm, and if I was out of line, then I apologise. It won’t happen again.”
“You see that it doesn’t,” Silas said coldly, and then he was gone, ghosting out the door as silently as he’d arrived.
It was quiet in the Noturatii’s science lab, the building empty but for a few security staff rostered on for the night shift, and Melissa fought back a yawn as she helped Professor Banks set up the next phase of their experiment. They’d finally finished analysing the data they’d collected from all the shifts, and were now just finishing up with configuring the equipment for the second stage – forcing the shifter to change forms.