You Belong To Me

Chapter Six: Genevieve

He should be dead.

Seriously, I had no idea how this guy was still alive right now.

I wiped at his brow with a cool cloth as he shivered again, then pulled the sheets up to his neck to cover him up.

Most werewolves couldn't survive a single shot of that wolfsbane they had pumped him full of. Just one bullet was enough to kill a wolf my size within minutes, but Wren survived three of them, and still managed to rip one of the hunters apart with his claws.

Another thing to add to the list of impossible s**t.

I was in awe, to be honest.

Not just because of his endurance, but because of that humongousness, purely predatory thing he called his wolf.

I'd never seen anything even half his size before, and I'd been around plenty of werewolves in my time.

Not even Nikolai, with his raw masculinity and primal ruthlessness was as powerful as I assumed Wren to be.

Still, I was really worried about him.

I made sure to keep a careful eye on him to make sure he wouldn't suddenly kick the bucket while he lay here.

For the past few hours, he'd mumbled in his sleep, then started to toss a bit, tearing his stitches. I'd grabbed a hold of his large hand and stroked his forehead gently, trying to settle him.

"Calm down, big bear. You're okay. Shhh," I soothed. He'd moved a bit more, then calmed, just a little.

He'd drifted back into unconsciousness after that, and as long as I maintained some kind of contact with him, he had no reason to struggle again.

It's been about four hours since the incident in the forest, and he was still out like a light. His body had successfully pushed all the toxins out, and was very slowly beginning to recover.

I estimated it would take at least two days for him to be himself again. If he actually took care of himself and got plenty of rest.

To my knowledge, nobody had seen what had happened in that clearing last night, or the royal guard would've been at my door within seconds.

Mine and Wren's scents were all over the place, not to mention the wolf that had been murdered last night for reasons unknown.

I knew I needed to get over there and retrieve the body as soon as I could, and mask the scene to prevent anyone from going out.

If I could've, I would have called my usual contact and informed him of the incident. He would have easily taken care of everything by now, but as it stood, I couldn't call him, and I couldn't go out there in case something happened to Wren.

For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to leave him all alone in this condition. I felt like I needed to be here, more than out there. Which was absurd. Right?

Apparently not, because I was actually still here.

So, I'd called the next best thing… I mean, person, knowing they would be discreet, and directed them to the clearing. I asked if they would do what was necessary to keep the body safe.

For now, anyway.

I stroked Wren's face gently, and he almost seemed to lean into my touch, seeking more of my warmth.

I watched his lips move as he whispered something I couldn't hear, then he settled once more.

By the time the sun came up, I was exhausted and worried. I'd managed to at least wash Wren's blood off me when he settled enough. I'd reheated some food from last night to eat, and my eyes burned from watching TV for so long.

But mostly, from staring at his face all night.

His very beautiful face.

He looked so much more peaceful in his sleep, like all the stress he was facing was safely tucked away in a box somewhere.

I preferred him like this.

I pushed the damp locks on his forehead backwards, combing them into the rest of his thick, white mane.

The only reason I was out in the forest at midnight was to look for that clearing my mother had spoken of, the one from her dream. I'd spent every night out there since her warning, trying to find some kind of clue as to what may be happening when I heard it.

That loud spine-tingling, hair-raising, toe-curling… roar. It was too powerful to be considered anything else.

I'd frozen up at first, immediately thinking it was a were-bear. While they were rare, I'd had enough encounters with them to know that they didn't like wolves at all.

But then I heard that gunshot and went running.

I arrived just as they began to surround him, his gigantic, white wolf growling intensely even though he was bleeding and I could literally smell his flesh burning from where I stood.

When I'd seen the alarm in his eyes, I'd just known he was planning to bolt. And he honestly would have made it if it weren't for the poison in his system.

Now or never, I'd thought to myself, leaping into the fray.

I had dealt with the venatoribus before, and had become used to the darkness in the air, and the chill that followed them everywhere. They weren't so scary if those magic bullets of theirs didn't touch you, so I made sure to avoid them at all cost.

I was surprised when Wren had pounced on the last hunter, ripping him apart despite his injuries.

I'd honestly half-expected him to drop dead immediately after, but he'd stood there, all traces of violence gone.

I hadn't known immediately who he was at the time, since his scent was completely different, and I'd never seen his wolf before.

He stood well over eight feet, his ominous dark eyes watching me curiously while blood dripped from his very big, very sharp teeth.

His fur shone almost silver in the moonlight, and when the warm breeze blew over it, I wanted nothing more than to run my fingers through that snowy softness.

He'd passed out while I got the bullets out of him, and I'd done so as quickly as I could to keep the poison from eating at his organs.

Getting him up that incline had been easy enough. It was getting him to shift back after he'd passed out that had been difficult.

With time ticking by, the poison still in his system, I'd had to resort to extreme measures.

I'd slapped him, really, really hard and yelled like a banshee until he drifted into consciousness and shifted back.

The only other option would have been to drug him, but that would've been the very last option. I'd had it done to me before, and I hated being forced to shift against my will.

Nonetheless, I'd gotten him to my house, then picked him up and carried him to my bedroom upstairs and laid him on the bed.

That nobody had even spotted us during all of this chaos, or even happened upon that clearing, on a full moon at the beginning of summer was a small miracle.

Wren stirred again, and I realised I'd stopped stroking his head while my mind drifted. He frowned, then grunted in protest, so I moved to sit on the half of the bed he wasn't occupying, and moved the pillows around so I could be comfortable.

I lifted my hand slowly, almost cautiously, and touched my palm to his damp forehead. His temperature had dropped significantly since we arrived, but he would probably be unconscious until his body had healed up properly.

I reached over to his side and took the bucket and cloth I'd placed there, wetting the fabric so I could press it to his forehead, which seemed to calm him down again.

"We need to warn the others… they killed him," he mumbled.

I held his large hand in an effort to soothe him, and he squeezed mine back in response.

"Wren?"

His eyes drifted open and he looked at me through glazed eyes, rousing slowly from his sleep. I held my breath in anticipation of his response, and when I removed the cloth from his head, he sat upright in bed, his eyes wide and shocked, breathing laboured.

"W-What happened?" he asked, looking around frantically. I raised my hand to placate him, hoping to calm him down, but he wasn't even looking at me.

"It's okay," I reassured, keeping my voice calm. "You're okay. We're back at my house. You're safe."

He finallu turned to me, his eyes searching my features as his fist clenched around my hand. He tore his gaze away somewhat reluctantly, and looked down at his side strangely.

"I was sh-shot. What… Holy s**t, what the f**k is going on?"

"Yes, well. The joys of being a werewolf," I said, shrugging.

He blinked at my nonchalance, as if he couldn't understand why I wasn't freaking out as much as he was.

I placed my other hand on his shoulder, and turned him so he could look at me while I spoke.

"Like I said, you're safe. Don't worry, whatever or whoever may be trying to get to you, will have to go through me."

Perhaps he recalled that scene in the forest where I'd jumped to his rescue with a sword, or maybe it was the warmth that passed through him when I laid my hand on him, but as soon as I said that, he relaxed visibly, and very slowly began to lean back against his pillows.

"How are you feeling? Are you still in pain?" I asked, fluffing up his pillows a bit.

He nodded, and reached over to the wound in his side with some disbelief, wincing from the pain that shot through him when he touched it.

"Stay still. I don't want you hurting yourself. Are you thirsty? Do you need some water?"

He nodded again, and very slowly let go of my hand. I reached for the pitcher and poured him some water.

His hands were shaking quite a bit, so I held the glass for him. He gulped down the water without hesitation, and then lay back against the plump pillows behind him.

"How long have I been out?" he asked, his voice gravelly and deep from sleep.

"Almost six hours. I think that's your body's way of trying to heal itself."

He opened his eyes and looked down at his body, lifting a hand out from under the sheets to test his shoulder.

"What did you give me?" he asked.

I hadn't actually given him anything except water, and that had been to help ease the fever that had plagued him through most of the night.

"Just water. I rubbed a paste onto your wounds to help suck the poison out. It acts as a kind of sponge and drains out anything that's bad for you. Now that you're awake, I can give you something for the pain and dehydration."

"Okay," he agreed, watching me from under heavy-lidded eyes.

I handed him the remote, which he looked down at almost absently. When he didn't take it, I changed to the news channel and hurried downstairs. When I returned, I was holding a large pitcher of the tea, and I poured him a mug full of the brew.

"That smells like absolute s**t. What the hell is that? Poison? Ugh," he protested, scrunching up his face in disgust.

I held back a chuckle, relieved that he was a lot calmer now. He gazed down suspiciously at the tilted cup, his reluctance to drink evident.

"No, really. What is that?" he asked, turning his head away.

"It's a blend of different herbs. Ginger, turmeric, capsaicin, valerian, and white willow bark. It'll help with the pain, reduce your fever and get you to sleep," I explained. When he didn't immediately drink, I placed the cup on the bedside cabinet.

I sighed, deeply and for a very long time. But when I looked at his face, I wanted so badly to just hug him. So I settled for folding my hands in my lap instead, and spoke to him as if he were a child.

"Wren, you almost died. And I don't mean that in a figurative way. You could have literally been killed tonight. What were you thinking?"

He looked down at his hands, shaking and unsteady, and then put them down on his lap and turned to me.

"I heard him calling out to me, Gene. Was I supposed to just let him die?" he asked me, the black in his eyes melting with emotion.

"Do you mind telling me what happened?"

And very slowly, he told me.

The logic in me reasoned that I would have done the same thing if I were in his shoes. I'd done it a dozen times before to know I didn't always think things through, but for some reason I was incredibly upset that he'd almost died.

"They wouldn't have even aimed that gun at you if you hadn't gotten involved. The venatoribus don't come after you unless your name is on their list."

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at me, pushing himself up so he was sitting more upright.

"You know what those things are?"

I nodded. It would be pointless to lie to him at this point.

"I do. I promise I'll tell you about that later, but I really need you to drink this so you can heal up. You left a s**t ton of blood out there, and that wolfsbane nearly ate up all your organs. What you need now is plenty of rest and lots of fluids."

He didn't respond for a while, just looked at me like he was trying to figure out if he could trust me.

"If I was going to hurt you in any way, then I would've done that while you were naked and passed out in my bed," I reasoned.

He dropped his gaze as if ashamed of what he was thinking, then gestured towards the tea. I helped him finish it, then moved the pillows around to make him more comfortable.

I lifted the sheets to cover up his bare chest, and he leaned back into the pillows, closed his eyes and let out a breath.

"They wanted his body. You didn't leave him out there by himself, did you?" he asked, his tone heartbreaking.

"No, bear," I replied, pushing a few stray locks away from his face. "His body is safe. You worry about getting better, and leave all the other stuff to me, okay?"

I got up from the bed, grabbed the bucket on the floor and made my way to the bathroom. His words stopped me in the doorway.

"That was pretty cool, what you did with the sword," he said drowsily.

I turned to look at him, his eyes half-closed from exhaustion and I caught the boyish smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Plus you're extremely hot, so I definitely have a crush on you now," he said.

I couldn't help the laugh that escaped at his words.

"You should definitely laugh more. You have a… cute laugh."

"Shut up and go to sleep, Wren."

He couldn't see my face because his eyes were closed now, but I blushed for a couple of seconds.

He might have been delirious when he said all those things, but I was still really happy to hear them anyway.

Relieved now that his fever was gone, and he wasn't in as much pain, I set out to clean my house and car of Wren's blood. It took about an hour to get the reek of burning flesh from the air, and another to get myself clean.

I tied my wet hair up in a messy bun and slipped into a pair of torn shorts and an old Metallica shirt I'd bought online.

I made sure the doors were locked and the magic barrier around my house was up before I knelt at the foot of my stairs and pried the wood from the structure.

The floor opened up to reveal the scanner, and I placed my palm flat on the surface while it scanned my veins.

I waited patiently as the smiley face appeared on the screen, then grabbed my phone as the stairs moved step by step to reveal the stairway beneath me.

I made my way into the underground room, the lights switching on as the technology in the room recognised my build.

This was where I kept all my weapons, copied grimoires, accolades, trophies and the scary, terrible relics from the ancient days. The spell I'd cast around this room prevented anyone, no matter how keen their nose, from sniffing out the contents I kept in here.

Which is why it would undoubtedly be the best place to hide the wolf's body.

The walls were a bright white, white thick wooden panelling and thick, soundproof insulation.

I could probably survive a war or apocalypse in here.

I'd split the five walled room into different categories, with a large, wooden table in the middle and about four chairs around it.

The first, and closest to the entrance, were all my weapons. Everything from non-lethal tranquilizers, flash grenades and thousand-volt tasers, to my other swords, rifles, cannons, whips, bows. My favourite weapons were my custom-made daggers that could open into a boomerang shuriken with sharp, lethal blades and my trusted sword, a Tizona-like object that had a sharpened, black blade with rune engravings on the fuller. When held in the moonlight, the sword glowed with bright rainbow colours. The hilt's guard had the pack's symbol, and a few sacred runes, marking it for its intended user.

That weapon, I always kept in the house in case I needed to use it, and since nobody could get in or out without my permission, it should be safe enough.

I even had a few axes lining up my walls, even though I'd never used them before. They weren't versatile enough for my liking.

But you never know, though, right?

Across the room were the grimoires from former mages, wizards and sorcerers. The collection had been inherited from generation to generation, and most of these had been collected before my time.

There were only three that I had added myself, and the sorcerer they belonged to had not been too happy about me taking his belongings.

Thankfully, he was tied up in a concrete prison several kilometres beneath sea level after trying to kill me.

More than once.

Most of the grimoires had been gifted by previous magical creatures, some had been given to us for safekeeping.

There were texts here more than two thousand years old, and they were so ancient I didn't dare open them.

The wall to my left held all the trophies and the accolades awarded to me by the council. Some sacred scrolls, gems and trinkets, over five million dollars in unmarked monies, gold bars, and a magnificent choker with small, yet brilliant blue sapphire gems adorning the band.

The fourth wall had shelves upon shelves of herbs, elixirs, potions, poisons, remedies and concoctions. I had them in case I ever needed them, and up until today, I hadn't.

The last section was hidden behind a wall of monitors, all linked to the camera I'd planted around the house.

I'd had another room created to house the darkest, most evil relics and grimoires I had ever encountered.

You know those kinds of objects that turn your stomach, and make you hear voices whispering in your head, urging you to do bad things?

Yeah.

I kept those in there.

I didn't even know what all was down there, since I cringed every time I tried to do an inventory.

Even now, as I neared the door, I felt the dark magic beckon. I pointedly ignored it, then checked my inventory for the potions and herbs I would need, placing them all on the large table in a row.

I took a few books I thought may have more information on what I planned to do next, then made my way back upstairs, sealing the entrance behind me as I went.

When Wren woke up at noon, I was going through some old journals to learn as much as I could about the venatoribus. I felt him shift, then heard his heart skip just a bit when he finally looked at me. There was a cartoon of some kind playing on the screen, but I was so focused on what I was doing that I hardly noticed what they were saying.

"This feels strangely like that time I broke my ankle and my teacher had to take me to the hospital," he mumbled.

"Was there a beautiful woman sitting on your bed then, too?" I asked, turning to look at him.

He gingerly pulled himself up, all traces of his fever gone. He groaned just a bit, then sat back with a relieved sigh.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"Probably. For some reason, I see a popular jock with amazing charisma and a smile to boot. Correct me if I'm wrong."

He grimaces dramatically, as if the mental image actually hurt him.

"Would I win any points if I told you I was a nerd who kept to himself?"

I pretended to think, chewing on my bottom lip gently.

"I would be curious as to why you're lying to me, especially since there's nothing wrong with a charismatic jock," I said, closing the book.

He shrugged casually, but didn't say anything in response.

"How are you feeling now?"

"Like I wasn't shot three times," he said, testing out his arm. "Except for the pain in my shoulder, I'm okay. Just thirsty."

I got up to pour him another glass of water, which he held in his trembling hand. When I tried to help him, he threw a pointed look in my direction and lifted the glass to his lips.

"Better?"

He nodded. "Thank you. For everything. I don't think I'd be alive right now if you hadn't saved my ass."

I shrugged. "It's no big deal."

He set the glass down on the bedside cabinet, and looked me over like he was seeing me for the very first time.

The corner of his lips quirked up just a little, and his eyes gleamed with respect and admiration.

"So I'm guessing you'd like to wash the sweat and sickness off your body," I suggested. "I have a pair of sweats you can change into, and a shirt I hope will fit you. You must be hungry too, so I'll fix us something to eat."

"Do I smell that bad?" he asked, sniffing at his armpits.

"Not at all," I said. "I just thought you might enjoy a shower, is all. I always feel better after twenty minutes under the tap."

I turned away as he disappeared into the bathroom, then got busy changing the sheets and replaced them with clean ones.

I tidied up the room and opened up the windows to let some fresh air in.

That done, I reached for my phone just as the shower came on in the other room and checked my phone for texts. I opened the one from my mother first.

Mommy Dearest: "The tea did wonders. Slept the whole night without a single nightmare :)"

You: "Glad to hear that, mommy. See you tomorrow xx"

Mommy Dearest: "love you, sweetie"

You: ♡♡♡

Then I opened the only other recent text to read.

"ETA, ten minutes."

I ordered a bunch of food. Soup, stew, bread and pasta from Mary's, and asked them to have it delivered in exactly twenty minutes from now. The woman I spoke to at the counter agreed cheerily and then hung up after saying goodbye.

I opened the front door just as he pulled into the driveway on the side of the house, and I stepped out to smile and greet him as if there was nothing out of the ordinary.

Fortunately, there was a massive tree I'd planted to shield my driveway from the neighbor's upstairs windows. Perfect if you need to carry a body from the trunk of a car.

"Did you take care of the clearing in the forest?"

He nodded, then added, "There's already an APB out for him and Prince Wren. I covered up everything with just enough time to make it back to the manor. If anyone finds out about this-"

I raised a hand to silence him. "We'll be protected. I'll call you in a few hours to let you know what needs to be done. You know who to tell about the events of last night?"

Again, he nodded.

"Good. Make sure to cover up any loose ends. Where's the body?"

He opened up the trunk of the black SUV, and hauled out the black body bag, handing it to me as casually as if it were a bag of groceries.

I carried it in both my arms since it was a little heavier than I thought it would be. He closed the trunk and watched while I made my way to the door. Then, very gently, he whispered, "Be careful, Gene."

I paused in the doorway, and turned to look at him over my shoulder. I could see the grief in his eyes, the wariness in the slump of his shoulders.

To be honest, I was more worried about him. He was the one they would come for next, and I was certain they wouldn't hesitate to hunt him down as ruthlessly as they did his partner.

"You too, Silva."