INTRO: Over the past next two weeks, we’re experimented with story telling. Marcella started a story. Viki added the middle and now I have to complete it. We had not talked about our plans or compared notes on the characters or plotline. I pick up from the end of part II. To write the story in order, click the names above.
“And if I decide to help you, what’s in it for me?”
“Anguish. Pain. A few pot shots I imagine. You will not be welcome by many.” He swore a flicker of anguish flashed across her face before the steel returned. “But you will also find redemption, an end to the loneliness buried so deep in your bones it shows in the stiffness of your back, the tic that flares across your knuckles as you struggle to keep your claws inside, the howl you swallow in every breath.
The amber of her eyes deepened to burnished gold, and that gaze drilled in so deep he was sure she could see inside him, knew what he was. And it thrilled him, like being let out of a cage. Desire tightened his skin against his bones, pooled in the small of his back.
Her nostrils flared. She picked it up. Her lower lip trembled. The musk of her scent deepened, her body responding to his. The sexual tension had grown thick, smoky, filled his lungs, stifled his ability to think. He couldn’t stop the small growl from the back of his throat. He wanted to know her, have her know him.
She raised a perfect eyebrow. “Your scent is familiar, like it was built into my DNA.”
“It was. I’m Dire wolf. Canus Dirus. Early Pleistocene. We competed for food.”
“That explains the hunger I feel around you.”
She bit her lip to halt a grin. Plump, soft, kissable lips. Damn. He needed to get his head back into the game. “So, what’s the secret? I’ve admitted that I’m one of you.”
“Only when we are all found. Only then. Time is of the essence. Will you take the job?” Sadness softened her eyes, had her back rigid, like she would collapse if her body loosened.
With a low snarl, he let the claws from one hand emerge. Pain ripped through knuckles, it had been years since he allowed them out. Breathing through the burn, which was as liberating as it was hurtful, he traced one nail down the side of the throat, tapping the jugular. “What’s your name? You’re real name?”
“Yes, Alina. I’ll take the job.”
Thoughts? Was this a fun way to organize a blog. What could we do to improve it. What do you think the secret is?