Page 18 of Gunnar

The pipes rattle in the walls.

A moment later there’s the rush of water as the shower comes on.

I go to the window and busy myself with the warped frame, prying at a strip of rotted wood around the pane. The mountain air leaks through the gaps, cold against my knuckles. Something useful to do. Anything that doesn’t involve thinking about the woman twenty feet away in my bathroom.

Then I hear it.

The soft, unmistakable sound of a zipper being opened.

My hand stills against the window frame.

She’s getting undressed.

In my bathroom.

My beast lifts its head immediately.

I grit my teeth.

No.

I will not imagine the rest.

I will not picture her stepping out of those tight black pants she wore earlier, the curve of her hips spilling from the fabric.

I will not imagine the pale swell of her breasts as she unhooks her bra.

The cool air touching her skin.

The dark fall of her hair down her back.

The soft triangle of hair between her thighs.

My fingers squeeze the window frame hard enough to splinter the wood.

There’s a creak—the shower door opening.

She’s stepping inside.

The water hits the tile harder now.

My heart hammers in my chest.

Steam will be curling around her, the force of the water slicking her skin, sliding down the length of her body⁠—

My beast surges forward with a roar.

Mate.

Now.

Before another male touches her.

Before another beast even looks at her.

I take two steps toward the hallway.

My claws break through the tips of my fingers. The urge is overwhelming.