Page 37 of The Red Room
“Natalia?” His low gravelly voice breaks the silence.
Oh, thank god.Human Nik. I turn toward the kitchen and my eyes gape in an instant. The blood drains from my face,but somehow my cheeks remain on fire. He’s human alright. A very human, very naked Nik stares back at me, his arms bound by chains connected to the floor of his loft. Although I shy away from him, and even block my wide eyes, there isn’t a whole lot of Nik I don’t see.Courtney, I have a fucking answer. Big.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, his tone unnaturally calm.
“I—uh, was just in the neighborhood,” I say, my hand still shielding my eyes. Never mind the thirty-minute Uber, how I had to duck his brother and sneak past the party downstairs. I was in the neighborhood.Stupid, Natalie.
“Why are you chained up? There’s no full moon tonight?”
I notice Nik lean over out of the corner of my eye and pick up some clothes off the floor. Once he is, well, clothed enough, I remove my hand and peer at him. Sweat rolls down his shoulders and over the claw marks on his bare chest. Long, unkempt hair drapes down each side of his face. He looks tired. Exhausted, actually.
“I was training,” he says, a slight grin forming on his lips.
“For the werewolf Olympics?” An embarrassed laugh escapes my tightened throat.Stupid.Why must everything I say in the presence of this man be more idiotic than the last? It’s as if my thoughts are on a teleprompter and I’m the lead anchor forNatalie Seven News.Tonight, a local woman died from humiliation. More to follow at eleven.
Nik smiles fully now, his polished teeth gleaming in the dim lights of the loft. He gives a small chuckle. “You should see my javelin throw.”
Relief washes over the mortification reddening my cheeks. At least he has a sense of humor.
He grabs the bottle of water next to the pile of clothes. “I’m training my body to change without a full moon.”
“You … you can do that?” My jaw hangs low, and it isn’t just because of the way his sculpted body glistens in the room. This wasn’t covered in Lenny’s book,The Mark of the Beast, and certainly wasn’t mentioned in the small amount of credible information I found online. While most of the websites argued over the effects of silver on lycanthropy, all of them agreed on one thing. A werewolf needs the full moon to shift.
It’s bad enough I’m going to have to mark my calendar with every lunar cycle to know when to avoid him, but if he can change at will, what would that mean? He’ll be able to wolf out anytime? Anywhere? If a server takes too long to bring us a basket of bread, will I have ringside tickets to a werewolf cage match?
Nik caps the water bottle and scratches the back of his head. The chains continue to rattle like car keys, breaking me from my thoughts.
“No. And I’m not even sure it’s possible. But there are rumors within my pack. Stories of the strongest wolves being able to transform at will. I’ve never seen it done before, but I figured it can’t hurt to try.”
I take a careful step forward, closing the distance between us. “Can I—” I pause and swallow the gravel in my throat. “Can I watch?”
NINETEEN
For the pastthirty minutes, I’ve watched Nik, a certain intensity in his striking features. He doesn’t say anything, only offers the occasional growl or snarl while his eyes remain closed. If there is a way to transform without a full moon, he seems damned determined to find it. Why would he, though? Isn’t it bad enough he has to chain himself up already? Why does he want to do that more than he has to?
I sit a little straighter on the couch, watching the sweat build at his forehead and cheeks. “Do you mind if I take some pictures of you?” I pull the camera from my bag and display it.
Nik opens his glowing eyes, and they land on my camera like spotlights. “Can I ask why?”
I take in his body one muscular piece at a time. His large neck and the way his Adam’s apple bobs with each harsh swallow. How his shoulders tense and flex any time he concentrates. His hardened frame circulating heat in the otherwise cold loft.
“Because you’re … kind of breathtaking,” I mutter, nervously picking at the extra cotton of my shirt.
Nik nods, gives me the smallest of grins, and closes his eyes once more. Turning off the flash, I stand and get to work, capturing the best angles of him, though finding one that isn’t mouthwatering proves difficult. I’ve done modeling clients before, but never with a man chained to the floor trying to change into something told in horror stories. If he does transform, what would I do then? Take a few more pictures and scurry away like a rabbit avoiding certain death? Maybe. Part of me wants to do that now. The other, less Natalie piece of me, wants to see him change. To watch his skin melt away, and for the wolf to claw its way out. Not because the moon demands it, but he does.
A frustrated sigh. “It’s not working,” he says and relaxes his posture, the chains giving an exasperated clank.
“The wolf might not be, but you sure are,” I respond with a smirk, my keen eye planted in the viewfinder. “Don’t move.”
Nik purses his lips and relents, keeping his strangled arms to the sides while the chains drape downward. “You know these pictures will never leave this loft right?” he says matter-of-factly.
His words do little to sway me or my itchy trigger finger ready to snap a few more shots in rapid fire. “Yeah, yeah. No one will see these,” I say and tilt my camera sideways. “Bring your arms up to your chest. Look imprisoned.”
He huffs out a breath. “When am I not?” But Nik obliges my request, lifting his large fists to his bulging chest and glares at the ground in front of him.
Click.
“Now, look at me,” I say, holding the lens steady.