The bravest thing
You will ever do
Is love again.
Madalyn Beck
The Great Lord Allah was testing him.
Altan swore he never felt so out of control in his life. He felt like a prepubescent boy salivating at a pretty girl.
Oh, sweet prophet! Have mercy on his poor, evil soul!
“Freakin’ dust, Blue Eyes! That’s all there is in Arizona, but here it’s trees, trees, and some more trees! I can’t even.”
She had yet to stop talking. Any and every thought that came into her mind was out of her mouth before she could possibly think about it. Usually sprinkled with a few swears.
“You like trees?” Samuel asked, he was smiling that damn smile he got from his father. The one that lured you into a false sense of security and then ate you whole.
But that sweet smelling, little kitten was his.
Wait, what? Altan cringed at himself, his wolf was insane. Well, no more than usual. It was a bad day.
For example when the old wolf was having, let’s say a good day, life liked to be an asshole and throw a curveball. A curveball with killer legs, sinful eyes, and a smile that stopped hearts.
Life wasn't giving him lemons, no, because it was giving him…. Whatever vegetable she was classified as. Sunny Redfeather was not his and would never be his. He did not need a mate.
No matter how intoxicating her scent was.
“Soo, uh, Altan.” Sunny began, twiddling her thumbs. She had nice hands, Altan thought. He could feel said sinful eyes boring into the top of his silky hair, maybe judging the messy ponytail he had hastily put it in, maybe judging his entire life choices.
Who knew?
“So?” Altan echoed, the word carried with a sharp exhale. Damn. Be cool man, be cool. The girl groaned and closed her eyes, leaning back in her seat.
“You’re killin’ me Smalls,” she complained, sneaking one golden eye open and peeking across the empty space separating them. “No, seriously, I actually think you’re mentally murdering me.” Altan cocked his head, studying the emotions decorating her lovely face.
“Why would I do it mentally?” He questioned gently, ignoring Samuel's damn smirk, apparently not realising how bad those words sounded as he drove down the road. “I believe if you dream of something, you should do it.” Samuel was texting again, no doubt his bastard of a father. Altan was tempted to ask him to say hello for him.
“How poetic. So what, you dream of murdering me?” Sunny snorted, a distinctly unlady like sound, falling into the banter smoothly. “Well, that’s better than imagining me naked, I suppose.” Altan raised a black brow and once again ignored Samuel’s pleased smirk.
“I said suppose, which you would have noticed if you bothered to use your listening ears.” The woman snapped in defence, crossing her arms. Altan could smell the faint aroma of annoyance.
“Is that all your face is capable of doing? You have more muscles in your face than the one’s controlling your eyebrow. And I would know, I use all mine frequently.” She lifted her hands and pointed to her mouth.
“You have this thing called a tongue, and it makes useful things called words. You should try it once and awhile.” Black eyes followed the wild movement of her and for three seconds, before drifting up to her face.
Dear lord. The images floating around his mind about what exactly his mouth could do to her were down right sinful. Moony kicked her chair, but Sunny made no motion she noticed him.
“I am well aware of what my tongue can do, Kitten,” he drawled, shifting in his seat and praying to Allah that no one could smell him. “And for the record I was not dreaming of murdering you.” Sunny narrowed her eyes, he could tell she was intrigued.
“Yeah? Pray tell, what do murderous hunks dream about then if it’s not murdering other hunks?” Samuel choked on air at her words and tilted his phone to face Altan. The bastard was filming them.
Probably for that hillbilly Altan had the misfortune to call his best friend.
“Torture isn’t murder.”
The skinwalker held her hands up in defeat and stretched her legs out in front of her without managing any sound other than a frustrated hiss. “I just… you are..” She thinned her lips and glared. “You could have made a spectacular innuendo there, and I’m mad at you for not using the opportunity.”
“Sháńdíín Redfeather!” Her brother hissed. They both ignored him.
“Innuendo? I must’ve missed it, my apologies, I was thinking about the useful things my tongue can do.”
“You’re not funny and now I’m even madder at you,” she warned, turning to move her bag so he wouldn’t catch her blush. She was too late. It grew into a bright red and dusted the top of her chest and her ears. “Honestly, I liked it better when you were plotting my murder or world domination.”
“I’ll get back to it then.” He turned down the street that led them to the Marroc’s house. “Were you hoping for an open casket funeral?” Sunny blinked as Altan once again changed the direction of the conversation.
“Uh. I’m kinda freaked out by dead people, so closed please.” She rubbed her neck and cringed. “I mean dead animals, cool man, dead people, nah. I’m not about that life.”
“Sun accidently saw Silence of the Lambs when she was four and was terrified of dead things since. I blame our uncle.” Moony injected.
“Dead people are freaky, okay, ain’t nothing cool about glassy, unseeing eyes.” Sunny shivered. Moony ghosted his fingers over the back of her tanned neck and made a whoo sound.
“Listen here, you cold corn dog! I’m sick of ya shi-et and I’m ‘bout to bust a cap in ya ass, if you don’t quit.” Both Samuel and Altan looked at each other to see if the other one understood what she said. Damn Altan spoke seven languages, eight now that Emily had finished teaching him ASL, and he couldn’t even begin to comprehend that sentence.
“Oh, com’n Light! I ain’t doing anything.” Moony brought out their uncle’s old nickname for her and really make her mad.
“I forfeit life. Send me back to Buffalo Bill and let him wear my skin as a hat because I do not deserve this!”
“Hush, Sol, we’re almost there.” Altan cringed, he didn’t mean to call her Sun in Spanish, it just slipped out. He shot Samuel a fierce glare through the rearview mirror to keep his fat mouth shut.
“What really?” She chirped, looking around. Altan smiled at her enthusiasm, maybe she’d stay.
Stop it Altan! He screamed at himself. She was not his to keep. She was to stay as long as it took for Charles and his Andi to find the bastard and she’d be back to her dancing and far away from him.
But why did that thought make his heart hurt? Why did his wolf feel so at ease with her sharp wit and beaming smiles?
Why could he not quit her?
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