But I need to remind myself he’s grieving his daughter, even as he’s helping me find my son.
This world isn’t for the weak.
It’s gray and twisted, forcing us to fight tooth and nail for every inch.
“Jen? I’m gonna check inside, you wait here, ‘kay?” Hud gestures at the collapsed building that’s being slowly consumed by ivy and moss.
The tilted sign that’s burrowing into the hole in the broken asphalt looks like some sort of gas station.
It’s from a different lifetime. Almost an alternate universe.
Yet it’s fitting for my melancholy mood.
After he disappears inside the shattered doorframe, I wander outside until I find a concrete bench.
At least that has lasted.
Kicking at a clump of leaves, an acrid smell tickles my nose.
It vaguely reminds me ofhim.Those last few hours after he had washed in the creek, when his fur was still damp as I snuggled to him.
Heat surges through my loins, tugging at my lower belly.
Why do I still want him so fucking badly?
Days, if not a week, have passed. He’s gone. I need to come to terms with that.
My body never learned to accept that my first monster was gone. I still yearned for his rough touch decades later.
“Jen! Look what I found!” Hudson holds up a pair of dusty bottles proudly. “Maybe it’s time we celebrate our freedom?” His white teeth flash through his dark whiskers in a broad grin.
“What is it?” I lean forward, eyeing the square glass.
“Whiskey. Not exactly top shelf, but it’ll do the job,” he snorts. “With our metabolism, only the hard stuff will even touch us anyways.”
I need to pull out of this funk.
Jumping up, I put on my best smile. “You know what? I’m game. I don’t think I’ve ever had alcohol though. What does it do?”
Hud shrugs. “Everyone is different. Sometimes makes ‘em happy. Sometimes sad. Sometimes horny,” he laughs. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Oh. I’ve been messing up. Hudson hasn’ttouchedme since he rescued me except for tenderly wrapping me in his arms and the occasional soft press of his lips against my temple.
He’s giving me space.
But it might be time to erase the past.
Purge the scent that still runs in my blood.
Replace it with new.
Helping him gather firewood, I try to remember that night when he carried me back to my room.
The shower where he admitted the truth.
By the time the flames lick the logs, I’ve replayed every stroke of his fingers and feel of his mouth.
His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t acknowledge the desire pouring off me so thick it almost shimmers against the humid night.
