After the war, London is in chaos.
Packs are battling it out for dominance in the streets, lycans are killing each other in illegal fight dens. The Royals are being murdered.
All Juliet wants to do is forget - forget Sebastien, forget the wa...
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The following Monday, after I'd forked over this month's rent, I went to pick up our new car.
It was a dingy, cheap old thing that looked like it hadn't been washed since the early 90's, and the inside smelled like a combination of vomit, cigarettes and mould, but it had four wheels and an engine.
And, most importantly, it ran. I slapped a wad of cash into the hand of the owner — a sleazy-looking guy with sunken eye sockets and a dirty wife-beater on — and climbed into the monstrosity before he changed his mind about the price.
Or I start to find something about him attractive, I thought with a shudder.
Driving back into the city, it took all of my willpower not to wind down the stained window for fresh air. It didn't help that my body temperature was higher than normal — yet another side-effect of going into oestrus — and the heat only exacerbated the smell. By the time I finally made it back to the apartment complex, I thought I was going to be sick. The smell clung to my skin and I could taste it on my tongue, like rotten eggs or out of date chicken.
When I pushed open the door to the apartment, kicking off my boots, Theo shot me a look of pure disgust and grabbed the bag of cleaning utensils we'd nicked from TDN.
I threw him the keys. "It's the one that looks like it was dragged out of a bog," I told him. "You can't miss it."
He nodded, hurrying awkwardly out the door, his weight favouring his left side. My ribs were all but healed — I'd spent the last week consciously pushing myself through the change at night to kick the healing process on a little faster — and while I was exhausted, I was back in shape physically. Theo, on the other hand, looked — and probably felt — like he'd gone ten rounds with a cement truck.
His injuries weren't bad enough to force his body to phase instinctively and he had no idea that if he flipped between forms for a few hours, he'd heal faster. I could have told him — I probably should have told him — but it gave me a little thrill to exact a small measure of payback for all the crap he'd given me since I assumed the role of his guardian.
I wandered into the bathroom and twisted the dial on the shower, but instead of stripping while I waited for the water to heat up, I hesitated.
I was so close.
I could feel it acutely now, like an itch I couldn't quite scratch; a prickle of heat hovering beneath the surface, a tingle of sensitivity whenever my clothes brushed against my skin. I was wearing a loose tank top and a pair of cotton shorts — nothing tight — but even they felt... coarse.
It was like developing a fever in slow motion.
I slid my shorts down my legs as fast as possible, shivering as my skin tingled, and whipped my tank top up over my head. I wasn't wearing any underwear — I hadn't been able to handle the dig of the elastic when I got dressed this morning — and when the cool air hit my naked body, it brought a little measure of relief.
