Her jilted Alpha

Rebuilding his strenght

*Thor*

Hearing footsteps, I turn my attention to the door. She moves too quickly to be seen as clearly as I would have liked, but I can’t help but note her clothing gives the appearance that she has no curves to speak of, although I know that to be a falsehood … but her shirt, hugging her nowhere, billows out when she walks, like a sail striving to catch the wind.

She clearly doesn’t want her feminine attributes to be noticed. I wonder what the reason is. I also,still wonder who she is, I have so much wit about me now that her scent tells me she is a she-wolf.

She puts down a tray on the bedside table, grabs the glass, lowers her body down on the edge of the mattress, and slides a hand … cool and comforting … beneath my head, and lifted it gently. “Easy now”.

I honestly don’t know if anything has ever tasted as good as the water trickling into my mouth right now. It runs down along my throat, quenching my thirst with a sweetness that is almost painful.

“Just a bit”. She cautions, taking the glass away and setting it back on the tray. “We don't want you to make yourself ill".

As though I could possibly feel any worse than I do at this moment. She begins fiddling with something on the tray. A bowl, with steam rising from it. She dips in a spoon, stirs, and seems to concentrate on her actions as though her very existence depended on doing it correctly.

"You didn't think I was a woman”. She says quietly. “Why ?”

It takes me a moment to realize she is referring to the statement I had uttered upon my first awakening, when she had thrown the figurine at me. The blow to my head must have rattled my senses or something.

I do hope it isn't permanent, because I suspect carrying on a lucid conversation with this woman would be an unforgettable pleasure. “I couldn't see you clearly. The bastards took my spectacles”.

“Bastards”. She repeats softly, giving her attention back to stirring the bowl. “That word is tossed about so carelessly".

“Apologies. I meant no offense. I'm not quite myself”. I mumble softly.

I can see the corners of her mouth curling up slightly, and suddenly the loss of my watch pales in comparison with the theft of my spectacles. I would so very much have liked to bring her into sharper focus, to make out the concise edges of her nose, her chin, her jaw. I want to make note of any freckles or blemishes, flaws and perfections.

“You have had a bit of a rough night”. She says warmly.

I swallow. “I owe you my thanks, and most possibly my life”.

“You're not out of the woods yet. Dr. Talon says you can't travel for a while, because of all your wounds. They could easily reopen and you would most likely die”. She doesn’t sound at all happy with me. “I've kept some broth simmering in case you should awaken again”. I am not heartened by her tone, which implies she does have doubts regarding the likelihood of me avoiding an eternal sleep. “Shall we see if we can get a spoonful or two into you ? You've got to keep up your strength”.

Whatever strength I might have had left seems to have abandoned me completely. Still, she is correct. I need to recover quickly, and nutrition is the path to rapid healing.

But when I try to lever myself, my body doesn’t want to cooperate.

“Don't move”. She commanded, once again giving the impression she is accustomed to being obeyed. Most of the younger she-wolves with whom I associate wouldn't dream of telling a man what to do, even less so an Alpha, ordering him about, expecting him to fall into line with her wishes. Yet, considering how rotten I feel, it is nice to have someone else in charge.

Standing, she comes nearer, sliding an arm beneath my shoulders, lifting me slightly, adjusting the pillows behind me so I am partially sitting. She is a strong one, but then I already know that, recalling how she had borne my weight when I had been so weak, sapped of strength, encircled in a vortex of agony.

I am rather embarrassed that even now I still require her assistance, that she is once again seeing me in such an enfeebled state. But with her nearness, she brings an enticing bouquet of smells: oak and yeast, dark and rich, yet underneath it all is a fainter, more feminine fragrance, the scent of a woman. I am going to blame my injuries for my earlier idiocy in ever doubting her gender.

With me sinking back into the pillows, she settles on the edge of the bed and raises the bowl, again stirring the contents, then lifting out the spoon and carrying it to her mouth, her upper lip touching the edge of the liquid, then her tongue darting out to touch her lip as well.

In spite of the pain radiating throughout my body and extremities and the lethargy that wants to drag me back into oblivion, I am mesmerized by her actions and I feel my unruly c**k twitch in response to her sensual, but I am rather certain innocent, gesture. She isn't trying to lure me into her arms; she is striving to get

me out of her bed, and as fast as possible I am sure.

I nearly laughed aloud. That is a first. Women are usually never in a rush for me to leave their beds.

Summer would have discovered that fact tonight had she not left me standing at the altar this morning.