The uncertainty.
The fear.
The potential for the past to repeat itself.
So I stood there.
And I watched.
With my cock aching in my pants.
Inside the house, she bent forward to sweep the dust into a pan, her top falling forward, giving me a great view of those swells of hers.
My hips involuntarily shifted, thinking of surging inside her, making my cock grind against the material of my pants, making a pained, frustrated groan escape me.
I watched as she turned, looking toward the trash can in the kitchen, then changing her mind, moving out the front door instead.
I stepped back into the tree line, disappearing to her, as she walked off the edge of the porch, and tossed the dust back to the earth, then stood there for a moment, looking out at the woods.
She placed the pan down on the railing of the porch and rolled her neck.
If the cabin had been abandoned since Greta’s passing, the place had to have been a mess when this woman showed up.
Who was she?
A granddaughter, perhaps?
Why hadn’t I ever seen her before?
Was she just one of those relatives who showed up after someone passed to clean up the mess, but never could be bothered to actually know the person while they were alive?
The beast inside me growled at the idea, not wanting to claim a woman who would be that heartless, that detached from their own history.
The rational side of my brain, though, had to put in its two cents about Greta, about what she’d done to us. So maybe this woman, potentially my woman, had her own sour history with the old lady.
Slowly, her arms rose, scrubbing at her cheeks for a second, then placing her hands over her eyes.
It took an almost embarrassingly long time for me to realize that she wasn’t just rubbing her eyes.
She was crying.
Her body jolted with the sobs for a moment before she slowly lowered to her knees, her back hunched forward, huddling into herself as the sadness overtook her.
Mine, the wolf inside me whined, wanting to go to her, wanting to comfort her, to take the burden off her shoulders, make her smile again.
But I couldn’t.
So I do all that I could; I stood there, silently supporting her from afar as she purged whatever ugliness she’d been holding inside of her.
It took a good, long time.
Eventually, though, she ran through it all, sitting back on her heels and wiping at her face for a long time before taking a breath so deep that her tits pressed hard against the material of her tank top, then exhaling hard and getting back up like nothing at all happened.
Before she went back into the cabin, though, her gaze slipped to the woods, scanning the tree line.
Then stopping with her gaze on me.
She couldn’t see me.
But it was almost as if she… felt me there. Like maybe she sensed the connection as well.
She shook her head, like trying to talk some sense into herself, then going back inside.
What did I do?
Stood there for a long time before I realized that she’d gone into a room where I could no longer see her.
Frustrated, I carefully removed my clothes, leaving them on the spot, then letting the shift come over me, and running until I seemed to shake some of the confusing, mixed feelings inside of me.
I ran for hours, even washing off in the pond as the sun went down before I slowly made my way back toward my clothes.
Exhausted, distracted by slipping my clothes back on, I missed the sound of her approach.
But as soon as the shirt slid down my body and I could see again, there she was.
In a goddamned filmy white nightgown that I could practically see through, her soft hair falling around her shoulders, and her pretty face watching me.
“Who are you?”
CHAPTER THREE
Maribelle
I got back to the cabin and tried to do a search for the signs of some sort of traumatic brain injury before I remembered that my grandmother’s cabin was stuck in the stone age.
There was no internet connection.
I could barely even make a phone call if I needed to.
I settled down with one of my grandmother’s many reference books instead, poring over the pages, coming to the conclusion that it was entirely possible I’d sustained a hit hard enough to explain the hallucination or the dream if I’d lost consciousness.
I was choosing not to analyze why the hell I woke up naked and post-orgasm-contented.
No good could come from giving that whole situation too much thought.
There was one thing I did know, though. There was no such thing as freaking werewolves.
So I was probably just bleeding in my brain and would die a slow, lonely death over the next day or so.
Would anyone find my body?
I mean, eventually, someone would come looking for me, right? Sure, my parents were self-involved and had never given me too much thought in the past, so I couldn’t imagine them wasting much of their time on me in the future. But they’d probably think something was a little odd when they didn’t at least get a Christmas card from me.