Chapter Eight - Temper's Flare

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Temper's Flare


Eve peeked up from her latest potion as Vincent rummaged through another cupboard in the kitchen. A blanket was wrapped precariously around his waist, slipping down low over his navel. It had already fallen off twice while the big male tore apart her cottage.

Eve was actually becoming used to his nakedness, not even blushing or bothering to look away anymore. If anything she was more curious about his body, sneaking glances when he wasn't looking. His trousers had been ripped and soiled beyond use, so the massive wolf had taken to wearing blankets around his waist, if anything at all.

After pulling out its contents Vincent banged the cupboard shut with a snarl and opened up the next. Eve shook her head as she watched him. Ever since that night a few days ago Vincent had been in a foul mood. He was insulting one minute, disturbingly quiet and brooding the next.

Weary of his behavior she would typically busy herself with menial tasks and avoid him. The wolf would often watch her for long periods in silence, before letting out a string of curses and storming out of the cottage into the freezing snow with nothing but a blanket wrapped around his waist. The other day he stood outside for over an hour, only returning when his lips had turned purple.

His strength was slowly improving; however his arm was still healing, at times causing him extreme pain. Vincent stubbornly refused to let her give him anything for the discomfort, stating the side effects left him too out of it. How could he protect her if he was stoned out of his mind? His response both befuddled and thrilled her. Having a powerful werewolf so openly announce his concern for her safety made her heart race. The cottage was well protected by the wards her aunt had placed, but Vincent didn't seem to care. He was always on edge, always watching, waiting.

For what she didn't know.

Despite his mood swings the wolf had taken to helping her around the house. Anytime she attempted to do anything even remotely dangerous he would brush her aside, mumbling about how she would hurt herself. It was oddly endearing.

At night was the worst. The big male insisted she sleep with him in the bed; using his voice to command her if she refused. Even though he never once touched her again, and always stayed on his own side, she would often lie awake late at night with her body strung out and aching. To her shock she'd woken up several times to find herself lying on top of him, as if drawn to him in her sleep.

"Damn it!" Vincent slammed the cupboard shut with a curse, making her jump slightly, knocking her out of her thoughts. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "You have no liquor in the whole damn place?"

Eve had become surprisingly used to his temper, raising her brows over her glasses. "I told you I don't drink."

"Of course you don't," he snorted, throwing his hands up. "It's amazing you would even know for sure with all this crap lying around." He kicked a tin pot she used for mixing herbs across the floor. "Never seen so much junk."

"It's not junk. I use these things," she stated absently, returning to her potion. They'd had this conversation several times already.

"Right, for your potions," he sneered the last bit. "How can you live this way? This place is a goddamn mess. It's too damn small, I can scarcely move without knocking shit over."

Sighing she gave him a look. "You're also twice my size." His head nearly touched the ceiling!

"You don't even have electricity for fucks sake."

"I like it here," she said dismissively, completely uninterested in his tangent. She added a few more ingredients to the small cauldron while he paced.

The Hunter's Queen (ICS Book Two) - Wattys2017Where stories live. Discover now