Chapter 28

Caturix sprawled on his bed, Kisa nestled beside him. His thoughts were a whirlwind, all centered around one person—Shemika. This wasn’t a new development. Ever since their encounter outside the cell door, she’d been a constant presence in his mind. But lately, it was different.

He found himself worrying about her—whether she was eating enough, sleeping enough, if he’d been too rough with her. He yearned to know her dreams, her breakfast choices, and he missed her company at dinner. He propped his hand behind his head, staring at the ceiling. A sense of frustration gnawed at him.

This was a new feeling. Before Shemika, he’d been devoid of such emotions. He was known for his indifference, his only visible emotion being anger, and that too, on behalf of Lyosha. In his haste to leave, he’d dropped something—a photo he always kept in his pocket. It had slipped out when he’d angrily yanked his pants off the floor.

The memory of her expression when he’d pulled away haunted him. He’d felt a profound sadness at the loss of contact, but he’d known he had to leave. Maybe he’d been too abrupt, too harsh. He should’ve explained that he hadn’t cuddled with anyone since his mother’s death, and the act had stirred up a storm of rage within him.

She deserved an explanation. But seeing her in the hallway, looking so lost and scared, had only fueled his anger—mostly at himself. Was he the reason for her near-tears state? His chest constricted with guilt, a sense of shame gnawing at him. The thought of her amber eyes welling up because of him was unbearable.

He rolled over on his bed. He needed a break from her, but he also needed that picture back. Even as he acknowledged the need for distance, his chest protested. He made his way to his kitchen, noting the sparse state of his shelves and fridge. Whatever he hunted, he gave to Shemika. He couldn’t help it, even though he had nothing to prove—to her or to himself.

His thoughts kept circling back to Shemika and their last sexual encounter. He’d tried to guide her like he had his previous lovers. He’d instructed her to lie face down, ass up, wrists crossed—a submissive position, but less intimate than face-to-face. He didn’t think he could bear to look into her eyes as he took her. Her eyes seemed to pierce through his defenses, reaching into his very soul.

Despite her quick obedience to his command, he’d felt a surge of tenderness as he approached her exposed backside. He’d touched her gently, savoring the feel of her silky skin. She was curvier than any other she-wolf he’d been with. He’d never thought he’d prefer her feminine figure over the muscular women he’d been with before. He liked how her body bounced and jiggled with his thrusts, her breasts swaying in mesmerizing circles.

He remembered trying to counter his gentle caresses by entering her without preparation, hoping she’d forget his tender touch as he claimed her. But after he’d finished, she’d moved to lie beside him, treating him with a sweetness he didn’t feel he deserved.

He’d fled, masking his confusion and panic with anger. He’d thought that once he was back in his apartment, the thoughts and feelings would subside. But they didn’t. They stayed, tormenting him. Caturix spent a restless night, his thoughts consumed by Shemika, his body responding to those thoughts.

When he woke up, Shemika was the first thing on his mind. He wanted to go to her, ensure she had breakfast, see how she slept, how she styled her hair. But he didn’t. Instead, he stuck to his usual routine—the one he’d followed for years before Shemika had joined the pack and started to disrupt his life.

He grabbed some food to eat on his way to the holding cells. He’d beat the prisoners until he was satisfied, then work out until exhaustion set in. He’d return to the cells to interrogate the prisoners who withheld information until dinner. Then he’d go back to his apartment to eat as the prisoners were fed. If he felt like it, he could return to the cells, or go hunting, or run in his wolf form.

He tried to pretend that the curvaceous blonde didn’t exist. That he’d never smelled her apple crisp scent, never seen her ember-like eyes, and especially, that he’d never been inside her. He planned to avoid her completely. But as he exited the heavy metal door leading to the cells, he saw her before she saw him. She looked preoccupied, lost in thought, but utterly beautiful in her red dress and blonde curls.

A flood of thoughts overwhelmed him, none of them welcome. She was beautiful, ethereal, and when she looked at him, the world seemed to slow down. All that mattered was her, and it terrified him. He’d stormed off, trying to distract himself with other tasks. But no matter how many faces he disfigured or hands he mangled, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Shemika.

His Shemika.