Her gentle Beast

Not gonna beg

*Micah*

When she straightens her back, lifts her chin defiantly and marches off I want to call after her and ask who had the audacity to come with improper suggestions to her.

It looks like there are more men around her that I need to have a little word with.

Leaning back and releasing my breath slowly, I pick up the glass and sip my tequila. Okay, I could probably have handled this whole thing much better. Taken it a bit more slowly, and ease into the subject, and used some other words maybe, so she hadn’t misunderstood.

The men here can be a bit rough around the edges, they are rogues and humans, laborers, builders and the guys from the train yard … not that I judge them badly for that, nothing wrong in an honest job. I have worked on the train yard myself.

But clearly being raised in a pack she is not used to that. She has probably been protected and pampered. Seriously, what is she doing here ?

It’s not for a joke or a dare with her friends. When my sister Harlee first opened, I often gave a hand on busy nights. This is hard work on many levels. I had preferred loading the trains, at least there I was not forced to be polite to people who I wanted to throw out, head first. That might also be why I went a bit hard on Butch last night. I just can’t stand that type.

Normally, I would have just told him to leave her alone and that would have been enough. But that quick flash of fear in her eyes when he grabbed her, had somehow hit me hard. That is why I am certain she isn’t used to the city. That was why I had felt a warning had been needed.

When I have emptied my glass, I pull out my phone and look at the time, before putting it away again. There is an hour left before they close the bar and it is a seriously cold night. I am planning to wait and make sure that her escort will pick her up again tonight.

For some reason, or well I guess I do know the reason, she avoids looking in my direction, so it takes me some time to catch her attention. When I finally do I hold up my empty glass, indicating I would like one more drink.

All the while I have not been able to take my eyes off of her.

Damn it , but she truly is stunning. And it actually has little to do with her heart-shaped face, her sharp and high cheekbones, the feminine shape of her small nose or her full and very kissable lips, even though all of it put together gives the most beautiful woman I have possibly ever seen.

It is the full control she has over those pretty features that has me intrigued. Not once does she show anger, irritation or simply impatience. No matter how annoying people are, changing their minds or taking forever to decide on a simple order.

No matter how much they ask about what the bar serves, like they haven’t been here a hundred times before, and how many times she has to go back to the same table with additional drinks they suddenly need. No matter how often they want their drink replaced, because this one does not taste as they thought it would.

Most of it seems like excuses to get her to come over, to talk to her … to flirt with her.

I have a sneaking suspicion that on the evenings when I am not around, she is subjected to multiple slaps to her ass. I see one guy reach for her with the flat of his hand. His friend quickly grabs his wrist and makes a motion with his head towards me. The almost offender’s eyes go slightly wide, and then he gives me a small nod in acceptance.

People around here, or at least most, are fully aware that the Tempest men do not accept that kind of behaviour towards women. Me least of us.

She is offering the prettiest of smiles for everyone at the bar. Or well, everyone beside me. I get no teasing lift from her lips, and no sparkle from her eyes.

It seems that serving me is a dreaded chore, an unwanted duty … something unpleasant. Against my better judgement I find myself wishing to have her smile directed towards me. I am not sure why I feel that way.

She somehow grabbed my attention in an unexpected way last night and she still holds it whenever she gets near. It is like something in her calls out to the loneliness inside me.

It takes some time, but finally she approaches my table, putting a full glass of tequila in front of me and I quickly say. “You misunderstood me before, about the nature of my proposition”.

“Oh I doubt that”. Her nose goes up ever so slightly, and despite being rather petite she manages to give me the feeling that she is looking down on me from high above me.

Then she glides away, and I let her. I won’t force her to listen to me. I have had too many glares like that directed my way through my life, most of them in the last couple of years due to my siblings marrying into prominent packs and holding elaborate weddings where I have felt obliged to attend, despite feeling completely out of place.

A couple of high ranking Young women even approached me, voicing their interest in having a bit of fun before settling themself, and wanting to slum it … yes they Said that. They also, to my surprise used the word f*****g, when telling me they thought getting it on with a beast like me would be totally different from doing it with their fancy mate.

Having one of them up a wall in a corner and the other over a desk in the priests office probably only served to prove them right about me and my kind.

It left me with a feeling of being tainted and used. So I vowed to myself to stay away from pack wolves for the future, at least intimately.

If there had been any doubt left in my mind about this new serving girl they are gone now. I have no idea why she is here, but she is as well bred and pack raised as they come. I will be damned before I beg her to help me.