Grayson groans and lowers to his side, curling into the fetal position. “There are voices in my head. They’re blurring together, like I’m in the middle of a crowd.”
I startle. “You’re hearing voices?”
“I can’t make them out but they won’t stop. They’re so loud. Then soft.”
One of the earliest signs of moon madness.“I hit you in the head with a cast iron pan. No wonder you’re hearing things. Are your ears ringing?”
“Oh yeah.” A pause stretches. “You hit me?”
My chest sags with relief that is too early to feel. “I had to. You left me no choice. Do you remember anything?”
“That monster crawled through the window,” he says. “Then there was pain. Not as bad as the pain I’m in now. What happened?”
His gaze drops unerringly to the white washcloth around my arm and I shift it behind me, hiding the makeshift bandage.
“I must have knocked the memories right out of your head.” My grin might as well be made of papier mache. “As long as you rest, you’ll feel better.”
Fingers tense and curling, I halfway wonder if his answer will undo me.
I wait for him to do something other than stare at me with an almost clinical detachment while tiny bombs go off in my lower abdomen.
He peeks one eye open. “What happened?”
“You, ah, you changed,” I say at last, falling over the words. “The stress of the wolf breaking in finally forced the shift. You were a full wolf for about five minutes.”
“You’d think I’d be able to remember it.”
“I’ve never heard of anyone else forgetting their first time but it’s not like bitten wolves are all that…common…in Ironwood.”
I shuffle from foot to foot, the awkwardness like tiny popping bubbles in my chest is a stark contrast to the bombs. They’re easier to handle when I’m not looking at Grayson directly, when there’s some space between us.
He clears his throat and the floor vibrates when he stands, his first step taking him closer. My attention drops to the white sheet knotted at the V of his abdomen. A patch of dark hair speckles a line beneath his bellow button, down to his?—
My mouth waters and I glance away. His bare chest doesn’t bother me.
Although bother isn’t the right word. Not if I’m being honest.
Another halting step follows the first. “Why did you hit me with a frying pan?” He’s searching for an answer we’ll both have to reconcile.
“I didn’t want to.”
“I didn’t ask if you wanted to. What did I do, Mandi? What did I doto you?” His voice drops to a throaty growl.
Grayson drags in a deep breath and when he’s standing close enough for me to melt with the heat rolling off his skin, I cave.
“It was nothing.Really. Nothing I couldn’t handle, anyway. You were just reacting to the force of your first shift. It will get easier with ti?—”
I break off on a squeal when he reaches behind me, another inhale pinpointing the source of my stress. He grabs my wrist and gently drags it up to inspect.
Silence stretches.
His eyes flash gold and his pupils sharpen to deadly points.
“It’s nothing,” I insist. My tongue ties itself into knots. “It’s fine.”
His grip softens as he inspects the bandage and the tape tied around the washcloth to keep it in place.
“It’s not fine, Mandi. It’s not fucking fine.” He won’t let me go. “Because I can’t promise I’ll never hurt you again.”