She woke with Raiden curled against her back, her head on his bicep and his arm over her. The warmth and comfort of him against her almost pulled her back into sleep, but her alarm ended that inclination, ringing out in offensively strident tones.
She reached out and swiped it off. Raiden muttered and pulled her back against him, tucking her in against him in such a way that left her in no doubt that the werewolf would prefer to stay in bed. So would she, she confessed, and yet she was not prepared to give up so quickly and easily her aspirations to dance.
She laughed wriggling against him, making as if she sought freedom from his embrace without actually trying to do so. “I have to get up and get ready. Don’t you have to go renovate a house or two?”
“I am looking forward to Friday,” he replied into her hair. “No school Friday.”
“Working again Friday night though.”
“Mhm.”
“And Saturday night too,” she stroked her hand up his back, admiring the size and strength of him, and the smoothness of his skin beneath her hand. She could feel the throb of his hard on against her leg. It was too tempting to do something about that, she thought, but sighed and kissed his shoulder. “You stay in bed. You can let yourself out later.”
“No, I will take you to where you need to be,” he opened an eye.
“I would like that,” she pressed her lips to his cheek, feeling the bite of stubble against her skin. “I have to get up, shower, and stuff.”
He groaned and rolled onto his back, releasing her.
She kissed his chest before sliding out of the bed.
She collected her dance wear from the walk-in-robe, and took it into the en suite with her, aware of his eyes tracking her movements.
“I like the scenery in your bedroom,” he commented with a lazy smile.
“It is not too bad from this side of the room either,” she said, and closed the door.
When she had showered and pulled her hair into a high bun, she came out to an empty bed. He had made it – it was a small thing, but so in character for the werewolf that she found herself standing and smiling fondly at the neatly arranged pillows, and she knew what Paris would say if she caught her doing so. “You are so gone, Lia,” she said aloud. “A lost cause.”
She grabbed her dance bag, checking its contents as she made her way down to the kitchen. She could hear male voices as she approached, but when she opened the door, they fell silent and Raiden and Brock both looked up from where they leaned companionably against the kitchen bench, drinking coffee.
“Hey,” Raiden smiled warmly. Whatever they had been speaking about it had been more than a pleasant good morning, she thought, as both looked slightly guilty, caught mid conversation, and wondering what she had overheard. “Don’t you look cute in your dance stuff.”
She laughed startled by the compliment and held her hands out as she turned. “Daggy don’t you mean? Practise gear isn’t anything special.”
“Cute,” he caught her against him and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Brock and I were just discussing the car in the garage.” Amongst other things, she thought, and wondered just what two werewolves would discuss first thing in the morning that would make them look as if they had been caught red handed spray painting a wall.
“I will have a look at it,” Brock said with a shrug that had intentions to be casual but fell short. They were terrible liars.
“Thanks, that would be great. It is not registered or anything,” she told him, willing to play along, because werewolf business was werewolf business. She and Raiden had yet to broach the subject of their origins, and she knew it was overdue, but she also knew this wasn’t the time for that conversation, and until they had it, she had no excuse to pry. “I let it lapse.”
“We will sort it out,” Raiden assured her confidently. “You should have something to eat,” he added.
“Oh, I will just grab an apple,” she pulled away from him and filled her water bottle, dropping it and an apple into her bag. “They provide lunch. Alright, we had better get going. Give Paris my love,” she told Brock.
“If she ever wakes,” he grinned. “Too many late nights.” He winked at Raiden lasciviously, and Cecelia could feel herself blush. Brock assumed that Raiden and she were having sex, she knew. They would smell like they were, to a werewolf. And they were almost having sex, she amended, walking the fine physical line of technicality.
Raiden did not seem perturbed by the assumption, but nor did he try to correct it. He threw back the last of his coffee and followed her into the hall.
“It is cold today,” she added with a shiver as they crossed the front yard to the Ute. “Do you think it is going to rain?”
“Maybe,” he looked up at the sky speculatively, and his eye fell to the roof of the house. “I have to get onto your roof soon, there are a few suspicious tiles out of line. Should be an easy fix. Your back garden needs some pruning too, and your plants in the solarium are a bit dry.” He opened the passenger and gave her lift up, stealing a kiss as he did so.
“Oh, you don’t have to,” she was embarrassed, but also hopeful. He was right, there were things that needed doing to the house that she was simply ill-equipped to do.
“I do,” he touched her cheek. “I would like to look after you, Lia.”
He closed the door and walked around the car, leaving her with her heart tight, and her words jumbled in her mind. “Seat belt on,” he said cheerfully as he got in the driver’s seat. “We should beat peak hour traffic,” he added, deliberately moving the conversation on.
“Do you know where we are going?”
“Yep. I will pick you up at two,” he started the engine, and the noise almost blocked the alpha tone in his voice, but he had meant for her to hear it, and so she did.
“Oh, you don’t have to, Raiden,” she felt guilty for taking up so much of his time, but the alpha tone prevented her from refusing. “I am sure you are busy.”
“Not too busy to pick you up,” he replied with a smile as he reversed out of the driveway, his eyes on the rear-view mirror.
“Are you sure?” She checked her bag again automatically to make sure she had everything, although she had already done so.
“I am sure. I will pick you up, drop you off at your house, and get a couple hours of work done, before I come back and cook dinner,” he was determined.
“That would be lovely. I am a good sous chef,” she replied happy to concede.
She watched him as he navigated the traffic. His overnight growth of stubble was a dark scruff around his jaw and his curls were in disorder from bed. He looked rough, delicious and rumpled. And hers. He looked like hers. Oh god, Cecelia, she thought. How had she fallen so quickly and so hard?
Could witches even be werewolves? She would have to look it up in the book.
She needed to talk to him, she thought. A real conversation, where she laid out between them that she knew what he was and told him what she was. And contraception, she needed to do something about contraception, because wherever else they were headed together, she knew it was just a matter of time until they had sex. Proper sex.
She felt her body respond to the thought, and blew out a breath, trying to convince her body to calm down even as her mind filled with images of Raiden’s body on hers, setting her pulse to racing and bringing a flush to her skin.
She saw him inhale and slide his eyes to her, a crooked grin pulling at his lips, though he turned his head to hide it from her under the guise of checking his blind spot. “You smell nice this morning, Lia,” he said casually. “A different perfume?”
She wasn’t wearing perfume and knew that he could smell the rise of desire on her and was smugly entertaining himself believing that she did not know what he was, and that he could smell it on her.
She could not say anything, without saying too much, and felt her skin heat, knowing that her blush must be vivid on her cheeks. “Raiden,” she said as he pulled into a park on the side street to the academy. “I… Never mind,” she simply did not have time, she realized, before class started. If she started to say anything, it would snowball into a lengthy conversation.
She smiled, her cheeks feeling stiff. “Never mind,” she repeated.
He leaned over and kissed her, lingering, breathing in deeply, savouring her scent. “Same place, at two,” he said firmly. Her eyes dropped to his lap and wasn’t surprised to see that he strained against his fly.
“Yes,” she framed his face with her hands and kissed him again, giving back as good as he had given, determined to leave him craving as much as she would him.
His eyes lost focus before closing, and his hand closed on her hip. “You had better go, Lia,” he murmured against her lips. “Before I disgrace myself.”
She giggled and eased back. His grin was rueful. “See you this afternoon,” he watched as she jumped down and closed the door.
She stood and waved as he pulled back into traffic, before heading towards the front doors. As she pushed through the pedestrian traffic, someone bumped into her hard enough to knock her to the ground, the landing a rude shock. She stared up at the man affronted.
“I am sorry,” the man offered her his hand, and lifted her back to her feet. The regularity of his features should have made him handsome, she thought, but his face was grim and severe, and his hair had been shaved to the skull, which had been tattooed with black feathers, the stubble adding texture to the ink. “I hope you are alright.”
His dark eyes searched her face, and she felt the hair across the back of her neck stand on end. He was not Other, she thought, but there was something about him. A warlock?
“Fine, thank you,” she gripped her bag tighter and pulled away from him.
When she reached the door to the academy she glanced over her shoulder, and saw that he still stood there, an island in the tide of pedestrian movement around him, his hands in his dark coat, and the wind blowing his collar across his face as he watched her.