Scent of A Rogue

Chapter 7 - I'll Blow Your House Down

Riva

The condo apartment was exactly how I remembered it – a black leather couch, white walls, black shelves full of books, and black and white sheets on my bed. It was a studio apartment, really. I did not need anything bigger, and I certainly did not expect visitors.

Somehow, though, a dividing partition made me feel extra safer. It seemed to provide additional privacy – keep me from prying eyes that weren’t there. People did not just come up here unless they bought or rented a unit. Each renter or seller should be adequately vetted. So, it was a primarily secure place.

My wardrobe was neat and tidy. I always folded my jeans and blouses into neat piles, and my work clothes were on hangers. I hadn’t showered for the day. So, I lay on my bare floor. No carpets or rugs for me here, just plain marble flooring. Okay, there was one random one at the foot of the bed. It was the only fluffy thing I owned.

As I rested my back, I felt something strange. The fever that had gone down the night before seemed to have returned. Fever? It was not cold in Oak City during this time of year – spring about to turn into summer. Yet, I felt chilly and hot at the same time.

I tried to sleep it off. Perhaps I was just tired. After all, I had not fully rested after the second round of initiation had begun. Before that day, I had to go through intense training because I knew it was my last chance to become a part of the Coven of Vengeful Witches. It was months’ worth of training. The beginning part of it had to be juggled with work. I wasn’t sure if I was returning to the bank, so I resigned. I was so confident that I would get into the Coven on the second try. There was also all my mother’s inheritance to fall back on. Still, I needed that job back. I would go crazy if I had to spend the days in emptiness.

Physical exhaustion. Blood loss. Mental toil. Fear. Almost dying.

Shit. I hadn’t even seen a doctor. I opened my eyes and checked my wound. It no longer looked like one, but the places where the fangs pierced had a bluish tinge that matched with my Coven tattoo. It had become like one big thing, marking me forever.

With my index finger, I touched the area. It was warm to the touch. I traced it and gasped at the realization that the skin had somehow evened. It was almost as if nobody had bitten on it. It was almost as if I had just gone on a misguided second trip to the tattoo salon – two weeks ago. It did not feel like I was bitten less than 36 hours ago.

Of course, the Coven tattoo was a requirement. We were marked by the establishment, whether or not we passed the initiation. The tattoo would have been filled with color if I had gone home with Hotchkiss’s head in a sack. Mine was hollow, waiting to be filled. The wolf’s bite was there to tear at it further. I noticed that a part of the pentagram’s outline had been pierced through. It was almost like letting a trapped evil out.

But what evil was that?

Was it even evil? Perhaps I had been freed, as I was meant to be.

My mind was too frenzied to let me sleep. Perhaps I should just shower. I tried to lift my back from the floor, but I was somehow glued. Dead tired. Perhaps I should just sleep. Oh, goddesses, please let me sleep. They had been silent throughout the time I waited in between initiations. Yet my powers were getting stronger. Even Madame Lidia should know my strengths, but she still abided by the old three-level initiation.

I seethed at the idea that I had been handed a bad card.

Sorry, missy. You just have to go home because nobody wants to play with you.

My whole body was on fire, my skin almost stinging from a surface heat akin to a high fever. The flu, maybe. I had always been healthy, but I wondered if the bite had finally done me in. I could probably die of infection here in my apartment. Figures. An independent woman like me would die alone.

Two years ago, I lived here with Stan. He was a human who was oblivious to the supernatural world. He was sweet enough – even kind. Still, it did not work out. He could not take my shifty behavior, how I had to go to the Coven every weekend to train. I did not let him in. I could not tell him I was a witch, afraid he would leave when he found out what I was. It was also forbidden to tell humans about us. I would have been thrown out. Perhaps I should have been thrown out years ago, because look at where I ended up, anyway. Maybe I should have given what I had with Stan a chance.

One night, I got home from an incredibly arduous training session. Stan wanted to make love, touching me all over, but my every muscle was too tired. Too strained. I kept on pushing him away. To be fair, he was not the sort to force himself on me. But he was needy, and I could not take that part of him anymore.

As I lay on the floor, feverish, our quarrels seemed to echo in my ears. The apartment suddenly felt haunted, crippled by memories.

“I’ve had it, Riva! You told me I could move in with you, but you’re too far away. After work, you’re always somewhere else. Even when you’re here, your mind is somewhere else.”

“I’m sorry, Stan! I’m just tired. That’s all.”

I could not bring myself to care that he was packing his things while I sat on the edge of the bed, massaging my sore limbs.

“Are you cheating on me, Riva?”

“W-what? No.”

I had not even had a lover before Stan. Everything I knew about making love, I learned from him. Somehow, though, he never stirred enough passion for me to want to cry and flail about and beg him to stay. Every time I left the apartment for the Coven, there was no ache. There was no wish in my heart to tell him about my secrets so that I could take him with me.

The accusation touched me, but not how he thought it would. I was not hurt - at least not in the way I should be. I was angry. Surely, a man who knew me well enough would not think I was capable of cheating. My pride stung.

“I’ll leave tonight. You can do whatever it is you want, Riva. You know where to find me.”

Stan had a house in the suburbs. The only reason I asked him to move in was so he could go to work early and not have to drive for hours. I think I cared enough for him. I thought that he would be staying at his house during the weekends. I was dead wrong. He wanted to stay. He said he could have a caretaker oversee his six-bedroom house. Ten years older than me, Stan had presented something solid. I did not know that he would break so easily. Who would expect that from a criminal lawyer?

When he left that night, I never called Stan ever again. He tried to reconnect. I had seen the missed calls, blocked his number, and then eventually changed my phone and number.

I groaned again, hugging myself. I felt strange. The fever took over me, and I had nobody to care for me. If Stan were there, he would know what to do. He would have already carried me to his car and drove me to the hospital.

Suddenly, I felt something else – not the raging illness I thought I had, but a rush of desire pooling between my legs. What was going on with me? Had this been prompted by thoughts of Stan? After all, it had been a long time since I had made love with anyone.

Yet, the face that flashed in my mind’s eye was someone else’s.

The big bad wolf’s. Grey eyes. Lean muscular body.

As the heat transformed into something caught between pain and pleasure, I forced myself to get up. It was time to clean myself up – take away the grime and the dirty thoughts at the same time. There was no way I would writhe on the floor, thinking about one of Hotchkiss’s dogs. Former dog. But still…

The shower was quick and efficient, just like I prided myself to be. Wrapped in a black bathrobe, I felt slightly better.

There was a knock at the door.

I thought of my neighbor, Simone, and sighed in exasperation. About my age, she was more forgetful than her grandmother. She probably forgot where she had put her keys again – or she needed a hand with something in her house. Simone was petite at 5 feet two, and I was about half a foot taller than her.

I rushed to the door and opened it wide.

“Yes, Simone?” I asked, annoyance seeping out.

“Uh, hi,” was the hesitant reply, not what you expect from someone with that deep voice. It was not quite what you expected with someone way past six feet tall with broad shoulders and -. And? I had to stop myself.

It was not Simone at all. It was damn Gideon. What was the wolf doing at my apartment? How did he know where I lived? It was the second time he had tracked me. It was getting old, and it was getting dangerous.

“Well, it looks like wolves have great stalking skills. Impressive,” I gritted out. I was about to slam the door on Gideon’s face, but his lightning-fast reflexes had him stop it for the second time. I tensed. What did he want?

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

“Why? What else can I do for you?”

“Well, you might find it strange, but I smelled you.”

“You’re basically a dog, aren’t you? Of course, you did.”

He flinched at that, and I almost felt sorry. I was thankful that he did not push me back to my room, which he could have quickly done. He was content to stand there by my doorway.

“Well, it’s different. I could smell you from several floors down.”

That was not creepy at all.

“Was that how you found my cabin in the woods?”

“Not really. I was not planning on coming that way. I was going in the opposite direction from my friend’s packhouse. I didn’t want him to be involved.”

“Thanks very much, then. So, you sought me instead.”

“It was by accident.”

“This time,” I gestured with my forefinger. “I guess it’s no longer an accident?”

“No, it’s not.”

“So, what did I smell like?” I teased, treading on further dangerous ground.

His nose flared. I flushed at the sight. Did he just get a whiff of me?

“Jasmine and water cascading down the rocks of a creek.”

“That’s pretty specific,” I managed to croak. "I thought you would give me the brand of soap and shampoo I had just used."

The more Gideon talked, the more aware I was of his own scent. The heat of his powerful body was only a few inches from me. Yet, there was no fear. I was not afraid of the wolf-turned-man who could have killed me in the forest. How messed up was that? I needed to end this conversation.

“You need to go, Gideon,” I said firmly.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t, or you won’t?”

Someone was as stubborn as I was.

“I can’t leave until I know who you are. Who are you, Riva? What are you?”

I was surprised at the sudden turn in the conversation. I was afraid that I could not give Gideon a proper answer because those were the same questions I had to ask myself all the time. Now that I was banished from the Coven of Vengeful Witches, where did it leave me?