Her Monster

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The ticking of an unfamiliar clock was the first sound to reach his ears upon wakening. There were other sounds. More distant sounds. Chickens. Light snowfall. But nearer he could hear gentle, steady breathing. Then came the scents. Alcohol, a strong mix of plants that had a medicinal quality, faint smoke from burning wood, and then there was her. She smelled like the forest. Cedar and pine. Dew laying gently on moss covered rocks. The damp earth and the pure, forest air. Her scent called to something deep inside him. It whispered in a language his soul understood. Home. She smelled like home.

It was that scent that had led him to her door last night. That scent that had been impossible for him to ignore—impossible to resist. But he did not remember coming into her home. He knew that's where he was. Her scent was far too strong for him to be anywhere else. And it was also clear that she lived here alone as no other human scents dirtied the air.

The last thing he remembered from last night was collapsing at her door. Something must have alerted her to his presence and rather than leave him to the elements outside, which would have been the wise thing to do, she had let him in—and tended to his wounds if the scent of the medicine was any indication. If he'd been awake, he would have told her not to bother. That was one of the very few positives that came from being what he was. He had the ability to heal very quickly.

Though, even he was no expert on what he was. He had no memories of his life. No memories of who he was. No memories at all up until the last two months. He'd woken on the banks of a river, his body mangled among the rocks and his head cracked open so badly he was certain some of his brains had to have slipped out. And that was that.

He had spent the last two months running. He had no real idea what he was running from but some deep instinct, something primal and unshakable had caused his legs to move. At times he felt that there was something living within him. Some hungry animal clawing at his skin from the inside desperate to be free to run, to hunt, to kill. And then there were the times he would feel that animal take control, he would black out, lose time, and awake nude and covered in new blood and wounds that had no explanation he could recall.

Yes, he knew next to nothing about who he was, where he was from, or where he was going. All he did know was that he was dangerous. A monster, a hunter, a killer.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and took in the small cottage he'd waken up inside. In the last two months, he'd only been inside a handful of buildings. Being between four walls, he'd found, caused him to feel trapped, on edge, and desperate to find freedom and fresh air. He didn't feel that way here. He felt safe and at peace. There was only one explanation for that.

His gaze went to a closed door that he knew she must be sleeping behind. Her scent. Home. It was calming the monster living beneath his skin and chasing away the fear and desperation he'd been running from for months.

The beast inside him longed to open that door, slip beneath her covers, pull her body close to him and lose himself in her scent. The man in him was tempted to do the same. But that was insane, surely? He didn't know her name, didn't know what she looked like, couldn't remember her at all.... And yet all he wanted was her.

He had to leave. He was dangerous. A monster. What if the beast took over again and he harmed the woman who had helped him? He took his time getting to his feet. His wounds were healing but his body ached and his stomach roared with hunger.

Moving with a silence that only experience could account for, he went to the small kitchen and moved a floral dishtowel from a basket to find several leftover biscuits beneath. Grabbing one, he shoved the entire thing into his mouth, savoring the fluffy texture and buttery flavor. Grabbing two more, he headed for the front door.

To keep her safe, he would force his legs to leave her home, even with every bit of the man and the beast within him longing to stay. The closer he got to the front door, the more the beast within him clawed, scratched, and fought against him for control. Fighting back with all he had was proving not to be enough. Instead of heading toward the front door, his feet began to carry him toward her bedroom door. Toward her.

Before the monster could reach her door, it was suddenly thrown open and there she was.

Her full, soft body was wrapped in a thick yellow robe that hung nearly to the floor revealing her tiny bare feet. Her arms folded across her chest in a defensive manner as his eyes were drawn upward. Dark hair, full of untamed waves tumbled across her shoulders. Her full bottom lip and thinner top lip were pulled down in a frown below an upturned nose and guarded brown eyes. A line of worry creased the space between her arched brows.

"Good morning." Her voice held the fear he could smell in her scent. The beast was unhappy with that scent. Why did she fear him? He assumed the beast was ignorant because it was very obvious to him why the woman would be afraid.

Without responding, he reined in the beast unable to completely stop the growl that rumbled from his chest, and raced for the front door. Wrenching open the piece of wood, a frigid blast of wind froze its way across his bare skin, though he barely felt it. His blood tended to run hot. Slamming that door behind him to keep the cold air from freezing her, he bounded away through the nearly knee deep snow, heading for the woods and leaving that cottage, and the woman who smelled like home, behind.

***

Constance simply stood staring at the door that the naked giant of a man had just raced out of. She blinked several times as her brain attempted to make sense of what had just occurred.

He had looked much better this morning—she would have almost sworn every bruise and cut had been magically healed but that would be nonsense. She had probably simply been too distracted by his lack of clothing, his nearness to her bedroom, and the sheer masculine heat the man had been exuded to noticing a little thing like scrapes.

And now he was gone. He had taken one look at her in all her early morning splendor and dashed out that door as if the hounds of hell themselves were on his heels.

Who the devil had he been? And why had someone so large, so strong, so obviously powerful, seemed so afraid of her?

Deciding that was a mystery that would probably never see its resolution, Constance went to the door and locked it tight. Just because she had trusted him last night while he'd been brain addled and half dead, didn't mean she was going to trust the complete stranger this morning when he was obviously feeling well enough to go galivanting off into the remains of a blizzard.

Wrapping her robe tighter around her, Constance went to the window and pulled back the curtains, cursing under her breath at the sight of nearly three feet of snow surrounding home. The snow seemed to have stopped and the sun was shimmering brightly off the blanket nature had laid. Constance's morning was going to be spent digging her way out to reach the barn, chicken coop, and outhouse. At least she'd had the forethought to bring plenty of wood to the house so she would not have to make too many trips through the cold simply to stay warm.

Even as she dressed and prepared herself for her trek into the cold, Constance could not stop thinking about the man she had saved. What was his name? Why had he been out in the snow battered and bruised—and naked? Why had he run from her? And, most importantly, would she ever see him again?