Revolting

Hannah retreated a little way away from the group and sat with her back against an old, gnarled tree trunk. She examined the half-healed bullet hole in her leg, and massaged the muscles around it. Walking around looking for the plant had made her leg ache. But what bothered her more was the confusion that swirled in her mind. It was as if there was a dream that she couldn't quite remember playing just at the edge of her peripheral vision, but as soon as she tried to look at it directly, it skittered away and was gone.

She knew that Michael Bishop was in her dream, and yet... She looked across the slight clearing to where he sat. As though he felt her eyes on him, he looked up and met her gaze with his beautiful, long-lashed hazel eyes. She felt like there was something different about this Michael, compared to the Michael in her dreams. There was something about the way he looked at her, the way he touched her, even the way he shared his food with her. The Michael in her memory was repulsive. The Michael who gazed at her now, was pulling her into him like a gravitational force.

She felt different too. The compulsion to kill him was being slowly replaced by...

By what? She broke eye-contact and clenched her eyes shut. She gripped her head between her fingers and squeezed her cranium, as though she were trying to unify her fractured and confused brain. When she saw his blistered legs, it was almost as if she could feel his discomfort, and instead of gloating in his misery, she'd been compelled to help him. Not only him, but the other wolves who followed him as well. It was almost a maternal instinct. She didn't know where the knowledge or the memory of the plant came from, but it was like a forgotten song... as soon as she heard the melody, she remembered the words. As soon as she saw everyone breaking out in the rash, she knew the plant she needed to find. She didn't question it, she just... did it.

She felt, rather than saw, that he was approaching her. When she peeled her eyes open, he was there, standing over her like a giant. He was so large; she should have been afraid of him. Not only did he have the body of a warrior, but his whole aura was one of power and authority. However, the effect was ruined by his almost puppy-dog expression. He didn't ask permission to join her, but simply lowered his body down next to hers, being careful to stretch his legs out so that pine needles and debris would not stick to the thick gooey poultice on his legs. He stretched a long, thick arm behind her shoulders, and dragged her closer to his side.

She should have pushed him away. But she didn't want to. For a long time, they just sat like that, side-by-side in comfortable silence. Hannah wriggled around and took advantage of his bulk, so that she was leaning back against his broad and comfortable chest. She snuck a peak up at his face, and followed the line of his gaze watching the other men and women moving around the campsite.

"They aren't such a bad bunch," Michael's deep, rumbling voice offered. "Once you get to know them." Of course, she didn't answer him, but he wasn't expecting an answer.

"I used to hate all rogues," he continued, almost absently, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. "I don't know if William ever told you..."

William? Her brow furrowed. She had a brief thought of a handsome, blond, blue-eyed man with an easy smile. The memory gave her a warm, comfortable feeling, as though she were remembering a friend.

"Yeah," Micheal went on, "When I was a kid... a gang of rogues murdered my parents. They didn't kill them in honorable combat on the battle field, they broke into our house and... " He swallowed and tightened his arm around her. "They were evil, soulless bastards, and I was convinced that every rogue was the same. Depraved criminals and parasites who preyed on the innocent. Hunting them down, exterminating them became my passion... my obsession. The only good rogue is a dead rogue."

He sighed deeply and began to work his fingers through her tangled hair, and she shivered against him. She wasn't sure if it was the sensation was from him playing in her hair, or it his words that made her spine tingle. "I didn't believe there was a mate out there for me, and I was cool with that. And to be honest," he squirmed a little, "I was more into guys. I mean... I've been with a few women, but..."

She angled her head up at him, her expression curious and a little blank.

"Anyway, if you believe in the Goddess, she's got a mean sense of humor. Because there I was, on the hunt for a rogue... hunting your brother, it turns out. And then this little angel steps out of the woods. Smelling like my favorite cookies..." He leaned down and inhaled a deep breath of her sweet scent. "I felt like someone just took a hammer and bludgeoned me right between the eyes." He traced the edge of her face with his fingers, "Do you remember it? You... you marched right up to me, slapped me in the face, and rejected me right on the spot."

She only blinked at him in reply.

Michael let out a heavy sigh. "Yep. And then you ran, and I chased you like a blind, bumbling idiot... and my whole life went to hell. I followed you onto pack lands, along with my hunters. We stumbled into a fight with that Rebel Moon pack... and they slaughtered us. Such a small, insignificant little pack, but I didn't know their alpha was some super star trainer. Did you know he trains the Black Crow warriors too? Yeah, I bet you did know, you seemed to be in pretty tight with them. They were going to turn me over to the counsel of alphas, and I probably would have been executed for attacking the Rebel Moon pack on their own lands. Then you came to me..." He drew his finger over her soft, pink lips. "That's when I knew I couldn't live without you, Hannah."

She was enthralled by his voice, even if she didn't fully understand all the words he was telling her. Her eyes were glued to his face, his beautiful eyes, his full, firm lips. The skin of his fingers was rough, but his touch was gentle, and there was that tingle that warmed her straight to her core. When he traced her mouth with his finger tip, she felt somehow cheated. Her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips, and she turned to face him. He was watching her with a hungry, yearning expression.

She rearranged herself, planting herself so that she straddled his thighs. She rested her hands on her shoulders, and pushed up onto her knees so that they were eye-to-eye. She studied him solemnly, her eyes tracing over every feature of his face, from his dark, dramatic eyebrows to his square, masculine chin. He rested his hands lightly on her hips, and his breath hitched in his big chest.

Ever so slowly she inched closer, tilted her head, and pressed her lips against his. Her kiss was sweet, tentative, uncertain. She made a small, satisfied noise as she pulled back and sat nose-to-nose with the man who both confused and captivated her at the same time. His mouth curved into a devilish smile before he closed the few inches between them and crashed his mouth on to hers.