The devil twin

A nymph

*Jay*

I'm almost to the door of my lodging house when I turn around and start back up the street. I don't know why I'm so restless tonight. Perhaps because even with Eden's promise, I don't quite trust her to stay indoors. I know I can't keep watch over her twenty-four hours a day, but I don't want her following Rockberry either. Not when I know I won't be around anyway. I don't trust the man not to take matters into his own hands and harm her.

It's nearly half past ten. As I near her lodging house, I see her silhouette limned by the pale light spilling out through her window. Relief swamps me because she's not stirring up trouble with Rockberry.

I stop and lean against a tree in the shadows. It appears she's brushing her hair. Good Goddess, how long is it? Based on her movements, it has to reach past her waist. One hand glides the brush through the strands, while the other follows, smoothing them. I imagine the brush in my hand, the silk of her hair pooled in my lap as I sit behind her. Brushing, stroking. Gathering it up and burying my face in its abundant softness. There has been little enough softness in my life, and I've always refrained from admitting how desperately I want it.

The she-wolves in my life never stay for long, because I can't give them what they want. I care for them too much to pretend I love them, but not enough to truly love them. Miss Newmoon won't be in my life for long either.

I will slowly earn her trust… slowly because suddenly I'm not in any hurry to be rid of her… and when she confides everything, I'll convince her to leave Rockberry alone. Or perhaps, depending on the circumstances, I'll see to the matter for her. But only after she believes that I care for her will she open up to me. So convince her that I hold a fondness for her, I will. It won't be much of a falsehood. I do feel a stirring of feelings for her, just not the depth of emotion a she-wolf such as she deserves.

She bends her head forward and pulls her hair up and over until it falls like a curtain in front of her face. I rub the back of my neck, my attention focused on her bared neck. I can almost feel her skin beneath my lips as I skim my mouth along her spine, as I press a kiss against the soft skin beneath her ear. I would trail my tongue along the shell, nibble on her lobe. Turning her in my arms, I would continue the journey until I have tasted her throat, and then I would settle my mouth over hers for a long, lingering kiss that would have her body softening while mine hardens.

She flings her head back and begins again the process of smoothing what she's sent into disarray. The night has grown unseasonably warm. I'm of a mind to remove my jacket, but even as I think it, I realize the air holds a chill to it. It isn't the night, then, that's causing my body to sweat or my breathing to become labored. It's the nymph in the window. I can almost believe that she knows I'm watching, that she's putting on a private performance for me.

I glance up and down the street. It's late. No one is around. My gaze sweeps the buildings. If anyone else is awake and watching, I can't see them. A good thing, as I suddenly have a savage possessive urge to pound on doors and threaten anyone who so much as glimpses her.

What the devil is wrong with me? Nothing more than the pest of an idle Alpha, she will be in and out of my life in the blink of an eye.

How is it that she manages to bring forth these barbaric thoughts of doing whatever necessary to protect her? My nature is to stand for the innocent, but my feelings where she is concerned scrape the bottom of my soul, don't allow me to retain my aloof demeanor, which allows me to act without emotion. I need to keep a cool head about me so nothing taints my objectivity.

I turn my attention back to her. Having stopped brushing her hair, she's only partially visible now. I'm unable to determine where she's looking. What is she thinking about? If I call on her now…

I shake my head at the absurd thought. I certainly can't knock on the front door. But ever since I was a lad, I've developed a skill for climbing. It's quite possible that I could work my way to her window.

And accomplish what?

For the Goddess sake, do I think she's going to pull open the window and allow me entry?

Do I think she's going to grant me leave to take the brush from her and glide it through her hair a hundred times?

Reaching up, she pulls the draperies closed. It should be less torturous with her no longer visible. Instead, I imagine her crawling beneath the sheets and settling in to sleep, imagine myself gliding in beside her and folding myself around her. The light in the window disappears, and the air seems to rush out of me. Does she sleep on her stomach, her back, curled in a ball on her side? If I were in the bed with her, would she snuggle against me? Strange to suddenly realize that I've never slept with a she-wolf in my arms. When business is done…

Business? Is that all it has ever been for me? Have I fooled myself into believing that because I've taken care with the she-wolves, it was something more than a bit of fun, a way to while away a few hours on a lonely night?

Dear Goddess, where are these thoughts coming from? I wanted some evidence that she wasn't out prowling the streets. I have it. She's lost in slumber. It's past time for me to retire as well. But devil take it, I know it's going to be long hours before my tense body relaxes enough for sleep to claim me.