This Dark Wolf: Soul Bitten Shifter Book 1

by Everly Frost

  I hate how foreign Tristan’s animal feels to me. If I were like any other shifter, I would be able to read his body language right now—I’d instinctively know whether he were angry or worried, and I’d know how to respond according to pack law.

  Tristan’s nostrils flare. His animal pulls in my scent just like the white wolf did, but it has a different effect on me. Rather than a physical wrench, my response is more subtle. A tightening low in my stomach, a sudden ache in my chest, a hitch in my breathing that I fight to straighten out before Tristan notices.

  “Tristan?” I wait for any sign that he understands me. “There’s nobody else here. I’m safe.” I wish I could come up with an excuse for falling backward, but any explanation I give will have to be a lie. “Everything’s fine.”

  I blink and he shifts back into his human form. His fists rest on either side of my head as he holds himself above me, his face level with mine. He’s completely naked, but I keep my focus on his eyes and chest and… nope. Not looking lower.

  He wears a fierce crease in his forehead. I try to read his human emotions, but they’re fleeting and concealed quickly.

  “Good,” he says.

  It looks like he’s about to roll to the side—his muscles bunch in that direction and I take advantage of his movement to awkwardly straighten out my legs—but he pauses, returning to me slowly.

  Suddenly, his presence feels more dangerous than before.

  The corners of his mouth turn down. “I couldn’t sense you before, but now I’m drowning.”

  I purse my lips, not sure what he’s talking about. Unless… I’m not in control right now.

  My eyes widen as I do a quick check. My wolf blasted back into me seconds before Tristan raced into the room. I just encountered the white wolf. All of my power was exposed during my conversation with the ivory animal. Then I used my power to pull my wolf back to myself and now…

  I’m not in control.

  That means Tristan isn’t, either.

  He gives his head a small shake, but he can’t hide the dilation of his pupils.

  Oh… no…

  His fists whiten on the floor on either side of my face, where he clenches them so hard, they lose blood. He’s breathing faster than he should be, but he closes his eyes and slows it down, breathing deeper.

  As if that’s going to help.

  He lets out a growl that tells me he just inhaled a chestful of my power. If what he’s feeling is anything like what I felt when I tried to enter his bedroom, then he’s currently experiencing a dizzying punch to the head. Maybe repeated punches. Increasing with force with every breath.

  My anger rises and it isn’t helping me control my power. With rage comes a terrible sort of desperation. I’ve only been out of Hidden House for a few hours and I’m already back to where I started.

  Was it all for nothing?

  “Helen warned you.” I snarl, my own breathing increasing as I watch Tristan struggle with the effects of my scent—even more than he did on the night we first met. He blinked away my power then. Right now, he’s sucking in more of it with every inhale, his chest expanding in dangerous increments. I’m suddenly drawn to the tattoo across his shoulder and chest—the snake killing the wolf while fighting beside it. As if he chooses to welcome his demons into his life.

  I prepare for a fight with him. At least I know I have the skills to beat nearly anyone now. Whether I can beat a butt-naked, out-of-control Tristan remains to be seen.

  I lower my voice, angry with him. “Helen told you I wasn’t ready, Tristan.”

  Tristan opens his eyes. I’m shocked to see his pupils are fully dilated, but he doesn’t shake his head or show any signs of fighting the effect anymore.

  “Would you ever be ready?” he asks, his voice much more controlled than I was expecting.

  I glare back at him. This was a hiccup. If it weren’t for the white wolf—whoever he is—I’m sure I’d be completely in control right now. It was a combination of that animal’s appearance and my rush to get back before Tristan returned that threw me off-balance.

  “You took me unawares. This will never happen again.” I tip my chin as best I can while lying on the floor. With a concerted effort, I slow my own breathing, trying to transport my mind back to the garden in Hidden House, already feeling much calmer.

  “My fault then,” he murmurs. “I’ll remember not to surprise you in future.”

  His pupils are no less dilated, even though I’m sure I’m getting myself under control now. His balance shifts to the right as he raises his left hand off the floor to stroke the strands of my hair that have fallen across my cheek, light brushes that make me shiver. My stomach muscles suddenly clench, along with my inner thigh muscles. An intense toe-curling sensation builds, surprising me.

  “Tessa,” he murmurs. “There’s a more important question.”

  “What is it?” I whisper when he falls silent.

  “Why are we fighting this?” he asks, searching my eyes.

  My lips part slowly.

  “I’m not going to hurt your body,” he says. “I will never lay a hand on you in a way that will harm you. I’m not going to mark you or try to claim you. I can give you everything you want and nothing that you don’t want. At least for a time. All you have to do is ask.”

  I lick my dry lips. My wolf’s energy has stopped beating inside me and now she unfurls, more like a cat than anything else, luxuriating in Tristan’s low, growled promises.

  But my human mind is confused. “What would I ask for, Tristan?”

  Tristan dips his head, his lips nudging the edge of my jaw, soft brushes like the way he stroked my hair.

  “Everything you want,” he whispers, slowly brushing the corner of my lips with his.

  My wolf’s energy is in tune with my body. The slow burn that began in my stomach ignites at my center, my tension building. But my power and my body are at odds with my human heart.

  “How can I ask for anything except my freedom?” I whisper.

  Tristan freezes. “I can’t let you leave.”

  “Then you can’t give me everything I want.” I want to scorch him with my glare, raking it across his extraordinary eyes, the fullness of his lips, his jaw, even his broad shoulders, and most especially the image of his wolf dying by snake bite.

  “Get off me,” I snarl.

  A hint of surprise passes across his face. I guess I’m not so fucking vulnerable after all.

  He immediately rolls to the side, gliding to his feet, as agile as his wolf as he scoops up his jeans, but this time, he doesn’t stride to the elevator, veering toward his bedroom instead. I thought he’d leave and return to Jace, but it seems he’s determined to stay. I guess Tristan did say to Jace that he shouldn’t have left me alone in the first place.

  I rise to my feet, as quiet as my dark wolf, not quite calm and not quite in control, but right now, I’d give anything to fight him.

  Tristan pauses with his back to me, a perfect sculpture of a man, the muscles across his shoulders and back rippling as he rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck side to side as if he were easing out his own tension.

  Without fully turning—without bothering to put on his jeans—he casts a challenging smile back at me before he inclines his head toward his bedroom. “The offer stands, Tessa.”

  He told me I could sleep in his room tonight.

  Now he means with him in it.

  “No fucking chance,” I snap.

  I’m dazzled by his broadening smile. He seems infuriatingly pleased with my rebuke. He casts his jeans aside as he enters his room and leaves the door wide open, stalking into the bathroom and leaving that door open too.

  He leaves me with an ache I can’t ease and a set of elevator doors that I can’t open.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I sleep fitfully on the couch. I miss the forest sounds of my bedroom at Hidden House. I also miss Ella’s humming. Being so far away from Hidden House gives rise to heartache.

 
I’m vengefully satisfied to hear Tristan tossing and turning as much as I am. Finally, the glow of sunrise hits the horizon and I have an excuse to abandon my attempts to sleep. Rubbing my eyes, I slip my legs over the edge of the couch and sigh out my frustration.

  Breakfast can wait. I need to beat the crap out of a boxing bag.

  The only way that’s going to happen is if I steal Tristan’s security card.

  I narrow my eyes at his bedroom in the distance before I lower my feet to the carpet floor, drawing my wolf’s energy awake and harnessing it to creep across the floor.

  Quiet mice have nothing on me right now.

  I pause at the door, listening to his deep breathing.

  I smile because he’s finally asleep.

  Prowling one silent step at a time, I enter the bedroom, only to sway like I’m drunk at the concentration of power that confronts me. The white wolf said that shifters are a shadow compared to us, but I’m sure Tristan is in a different league.

  If Tristan and I were allies, I would tell him about the white wolf. I could ask Tristan about the three-headed wolf that he’s worried about. Hell, if we were allies, I would help him fight the three-headed beast. As much as I want to rage against Tristan for caging me, I don’t have any reason to hate his pack or wish them harm.

  My shoulders slump as I remember Carly and Becca and the way Becca curled into me, seeking my help. I didn’t feel a connection with her like Tristan must feel—a sense of being pack—but I felt protective of her. I wanted to help.

  Even though I struggle to push away Tristan’s power, the sight of the security card on his bedside table drives me onward.

  Tristan is asleep on his stomach, lying across his bed at an angle, the white bedsheets curled around his hips leaving his upper body bare along with his calves and feet. One of his arms rests under a pillow thrown to the left, while his head rests on the corner of another pillow, which is also caught around his other arm.

  I smother a self-righteous giggle.

  Any woman who dares to sleep in a bed with Tristan Masters had better be prepared to be jostled in her sleep.

  Fixing that thought in my mind, I make it all the way to the bedside table and reach delicately for the security card. Holding my breath, I slowly curl my fingers around it and lift it off the surface without scraping it against the table.

  I continue to hold my breath all the way to the bedroom door as I backstep toward it and creep across to the elevator.

  Now, the tricky part is going to be if the elevator dings when it arrives. I can’t remember if it did that last night…

  I suck air across my teeth.

  It’s a risk I’m prepared to take.

  Swiping the card, I press the down button and prepare to move quickly.

  The doors open with a swoosh, I dart inside, and they close again.

  Yes!

  Oh, the small wins.

  I press the button for the eleventh floor, preparing for the freedom of punching the lights out of a boxing bag when the elevator doors open right back up again.

  Tristan glares at me.

  His hair is tousled. He has dark rings under his eyes. He’s wearing jeans that he must have pulled on in a hurry because his zipper isn’t done up, let alone the top button. He leans against the opening doors, arm raised in a way that accentuates the muscles across his stomach and biceps.

  I smother an inward sigh, unimpressed at how quickly he woke up and came after me.

  Arching an eyebrow at him, I point to the buttons where the eleventh floor is already lit up. “I’m going to the gym.”

  “Then I’m coming with you.” He prowls into the back of the elevator, keeping to the other side of it.

  Despite looking like he had the worst night ever, he smells like the best night ever, a combination of bitter orange and cedar that brings to mind tumbling through warm grass beneath a summer sun. There’s a sleepy sort of relaxed movement to his upper body as he leans against the side of the elevator. The steel doors are reflective enough for me to catch sight of myself—hair unbrushed, my clothes crinkled. Also—dammit—one button of my flannel shirt has popped open.

  The ride is fast, only one floor. As soon as the doors open, I shoot out of the elevator to quickly assess the layout of the gym in front of me. A combat ring sits in the middle. Treadmills and weightlifting equipment are located nearest to the windows on the left, while on the right-hand side, right at the back, are the objects of my desire. Two boxing bags hanging side by side.

  I’m sure it will be too much to hope that there are gloves in my size, but I head for the bags anyway, noting the sign that indicates a bathroom is located around the corner behind them. I’ll be able to wash up in there first.

  Tristan breaks off from me, taking up position at the windows, his hands held loosely at his sides and his back to me while I head straight for the bathroom. I use the facilities quickly, fix my shirt, then splash my face with water and dry it with paper towel. I use my fingers to comb through my hair before fishing out a hair tie from my pocket and tying my hair up into a topknot.

  I’m scruffy, but it will have to do.

  I pause when I emerge. Tristan has remained at the far windows, but I’m surprised to find two women sparring in the combat ring despite the early hour. They must have arrived while I was in the bathroom. One of them is the auburn-haired woman from the bridge last night—Bridget. She and the other woman stop what they’re doing and I’m surprised by the sudden aggression in their stares. Bridget apparently doesn’t have a problem with vampires, but she definitely seems to have a problem with me.

  My scent can’t be putting her off because—other than the hiccup last night—I have that under control. I shouldn’t be detectible, either. Although the absence of a scent could be just as unsettling.

  Ignoring them, I reach for the pair of gloves that looks to be my closest fit and quickly strap my hands. I jab the bag to get a feel for it before I ease into a rhythm. It’s difficult to concentrate when every five minutes, I expect to hear Iyana’s voice calling out some instruction or words of encouragement, and instead all I hear are the two women sparring behind me.

  Until I don’t.

  I pause at the silence behind me, my senses expanding and then filling with confusion.

  They’re creeping up on me. As if they intend to jump me—

  One of them aims a fist at the back of my head while the other drops and prepares to sweep my legs out from under me. Success would see me face-plant hard against the bag.

  I duck the hit to my head and drop at the same rate as the woman who is about to perform the leg sweep. My gloved fist smacks into her stomach—which she left wide open.

  Now that I can see them, I identify Bridget as the one who tried to hit my head. She regains her balance and takes another shot at me, but this time, I’m ready and facing her.

  I duck, anticipate her step to the left, and take a swipe at her, knocking her to the side. Grabbing her arm before she can fall, I flip her onto her back and press my foot to her chest. Not hard enough to hurt her.

  “Stay down!” I shout at her.

  The other woman tries to grab me from behind, but I fling myself into her, using her body to brace as I rapidly climb the boxing bag with my feet and kick off it. Backflipping to land behind the woman, my glove connects with her lower back and she stumbles away from me, banging into the bag.

  She attempts to regain her balance while Bridget recovers, both women quickly prowling toward me again. I back into the clear space at the front of the room, eyeing them warily.

  What is this behavior? Are they trying to establish dominance? Pack hierarchy?

  If so, it’s no wonder Helen told Tristan to keep me apart from the pack last night.

  Too much sensory input, my ass.

  Helen knew—Tristan knew—they’d come after me.

  I was always an outcast among my own pack, my status determined right from the start—from the moment my mother slapped me, to be exact. F
rom that moment on, every other wolf was above me.

  Now, I’m a grown wolf who has entered a new pack. I guess the women need to know where they stand.

  I’m aware of Tristan pacing at the side of the room, more twitchy than I’ve ever seen him. He’s agitated, shoulders hunched, stepping toward me and then back, as if he’s having a mental war with himself.

  He can’t get involved.

  If he comes to my assistance, I won’t gain any respect at all. I don’t know much about pack law, but I do know that.

  So far, I haven’t needed my wolf’s energy, but I’m prepared to access it if I have to.

  Just as the two women force me out into the open, a group of five women emerge from the elevator. The behavior of the first two is like a trigger. The newcomers immediately drop their gym bags and begin to circle me.

  Great.

  “Prepare for a walloping,” Bridget says with a nasty grin.

  I should be calm, but I’m not. The past is my enemy. I’ve trained with Iyana for months, but the real fight is in my head. My last battle, which I was also forced into, ended with my father’s death. His voice was always a constant reminder inside my head. Hide your wolf. Don’t show your strength.

  Now, for the first time since he died, my wolf is my friend.

  As quickly as I can, I pull at the straps keeping my gloves on and pitch the gloves over the top of the women’s heads into the combat ring, as if I’m chucking split wood.

  Keeping watch on the seven women as they circle me, I rapidly unstrap my hands. They seem content to wait as I prepare for the fight. I guess they figure that the delay gives them more time to psych me out.

  They have no fucking idea how many times I’ve faced down pain and hurt and dealt with it.

  I breathe deeply. I’d love to release my wolf, but that’s a secret I won’t reveal until I need to.

  One of the women suddenly breaks from the others and leaps at me, her fist raised. I drop, avoiding the punch, and land a hit to her stomach, hearing the breath leave her body before I spin and kick the legs out from the next woman coming at me. Rising to my feet, I respond to the rapid punches of the third woman by blocking and hitting back with a quick combination that busts up her nose.