Beneath the Skin (18 page)

moonlight.

“Well, excuse me for the dog I am. I don’t want to shift with you again. You’re mean.” I tried to make it sound like a flippant joke, but I was actually choking up, and in about five seconds I would cry. He didn’t like my wolf. I’d been afraid he wouldn’t and now it was confirmed.

“I’m sorry about the dog comment. You’re not a dog.” He tried to take my hand, but I evaded him and gave another hop into the air. “And I’m sorry I growled. I just...I-- I’m used to shifting with my pack.”

“You and Sorcha didn’t shift alone?” I mocked, because I was so humiliated. He got

angry.

“Leave Sorcha out of this discussion. In fact, let’s not have it. Why do you have to analyze every last goddamn thing, Constance? So I growled at you. What does that mean?”

“You’re honest and pure when you’re wolf. Your true nature shines through and your

true nature doesn’t trust me. I’m a dog. I’m not Mac Tíre, I’m some fucking misfit from a tiny little misfit pack. I don’t know my proper wolf manners. I’m too much. I run too much. I play too much. I’m just too much. I know, Murphy, you don’t have to tell me. Jonathan told me a hundred million times. He and Vaughn and sometimes Callie too.” I swiped at my leaking eyes and cursed that I cried yet again in front of this man. Finally it was out in the open. I didn’t want to be ashamed of my wolf, because there was nothing wrong with her, but his reaction let me know he thought there was. With a keen sense of loss, I mourned for Grey.

“Did Grey tell you that you were too much?” Murphy’s voice was soft and curiously

soothing but I was still jolted. Could the bastard read my mind?

“No,” I admitted as I eyed him warily. “But he...he was my bond mate. He understood.”

“Well, I’m your bond mate now and I want to understand too. I do not think you’re too much.”

Fucking liar.

“Yes, you do. You do. You said so. I ran too much.”

“I kept up, didn’t I?” He gave me a boyish grin, but I didn’t smile back.

“Murphy, the first fucking time I shifted, I spent the whole time screaming in what was probably supersonically high-pitched canine squeals because I was scared of this drum. This big huge drum that chased me, and the faster I ran, the louder it pounded and it wouldn’t go away.

You know what it was?” I swiped at my eyes again.

“No.” He shook his head. “What was it?”

“My fucking heart,” I said with true bitterness. “I was scared of my own fucking heart. I am a dog. Jesus.”

He tried not to laugh. He tried so hard. But in the end he crumbled, and the next thing I knew, I laughed too.

“It’s not funny. Goddamn you, it’s not.”

“It so is.” Murphy had to stop walking and cover his face he laughed so hard.

I took the opportunity to shove him and he went down, but he dragged me with him and we rolled over and over in the cold wet grass, laughing and wrestling, until we stopped rolling and he ended up on top of me.

I waited for him to kiss me, but all he did was smile before giving me a hand up.

I had the sinking feeling I was never going to understand this man.

Chapter 8

The shower was separate from the tub in the suite. I took the tub and he took the shower.

He finished cleaning himself before me. I really had managed to encrust so much dirt beneath my nails I spent a good fifteen minutes casting my mind back, trying to remember if I had been digging, and why in the hell weren’t Murphy’s nails as black as mine.

The memory of the rabbit flashed into my skull about the time I realized my skin was pruning and I sat in about six inches of filth. Poor rabbit. That’s why my stomach felt the way it did and my breath was not minty fresh. It all fell into place.

Since Murphy was long gone, I took a shower after my bath and, wrapped in a towel, I made my way to his bedroom. The door was closed, the light off, and I could hear his heavy breathing. He wasn’t exactly snoring, but it wasn’t a romantic sound, either.

I said to hell with it and twisted the doorknob, and that’s when I discovered he’d locked it. Feeling microscopic, I retreated to the master bedroom.

Instead of a lavish breakfast spread, the next morning there were croissants, fruit and yogurt. And lots of coffee and water. No orange juice.

There was also a huge container of antacids.

I helped myself to a handful and crunched them up, telling myself I was not going to puke. I was not going to do it.

“Usually, I like French food, but I don’t think I’ll be ordering rabbit again anytime soon.”

I pulled out my chair and fell into it.

Murphy went a shade paler than he already was, but his lips quirked.

“I’m usually a little more finicky.” He poured me some coffee. “But three years of

thwarting that part of me definitely pulled away some of my usual control.”

“I’m always like I was last night. I don’t have any control when I’m wolf.” I helped myself to a croissant, but once it was on my plate I stared at it instead of eating it.

“I’ll work with you on that if you want.” The offer was light, but sincere. He paid more attention to his water glass than me when he made it. I’d known our truce was too good to be true. Of course he wasn’t going to let my wolf be what she was. He wasn’t Grey who had always let me do what I wanted with her.

My jaw tightened. “I’m thirty-two years old. I’ve been shifting for twelve years. I don’t need a teacher.”

“Jonathan may have been a prick, Constance.” Murphy reached for the antacids. “But he should have mentored you a little bit. I’m surprised Grey didn’t do it.”

“I told you last night. Grey understood me,” I snapped. I pushed the croissant plate away and it clattered against the centerpiece of autumn flowers.

“Just a little control, Constance,” Murphy said in a soft voice that pleaded for me not to blow up on him. “Believe it or not, it makes the experience all the better.” He crunched up a handful of antacids. “Especially the morning after.”

I thought about the uncomplicated joy of being wolf, of the wind in my face and run, run, running everywhere, full of the sort of profound happiness that I never, ever felt anywhere else. I supposed I was like a child when I shifted, and maybe Murphy was telling me it was time to grow up. I was too much. Everybody had always told me that, but I’d been too stubborn to listen, Grey and Elena had indulged me. But they weren’t here anymore, Murphy was. And he wanted to work with me to help me gain control. The man had bonded with me to save me and the least I could do was work with him. He was not going to indulge me like Grey and Elena had. We did not have that sort of bonded relationship. He’d given up a lot for me. Maybe I needed to give back, or I’d end up alone again. My wolf would lose either way, but at least if I worked with Murphy I stood a chance of belonging again.

“All right,” I said, but my face must have reflected something of my sense of loss, because his own became shadowed.

“That wasn’t like you. Not even a small skirmish, let alone an epic battle?” He pushed my croissant plate back in front of me but I had no appetite.

We went shopping after breakfast. He brought me to dress shops and five different shoe shops. I tried things on because he seemed so eager for me to do that, but I didn’t like anything. I didn’t want anything. All I could think about was my wolf and how I might lose her. How I would betray her when all she wanted to do was run, play and be with her friends.

There was a Christian Louboutin shop on the rue de Grenelle, and Murphy chuckled

when he saw it and gave me nudge toward the door.

“I’ll buy you any pair you want, Constance. Go on. You’ve always wanted Louboutins, haven’t you? Here’s your chance.”

I went in but even the lure of feathered peep-toes and studded gladiator sandals couldn’t puncture the poisonous cloud of self doubt and grief that suspended me within its depths.

I wished I’d never come to France, or decided two years was long enough to be alone.

What was wrong with being alone, anyway? Now I wanted to be in Boston, walking along the Common, watching the lovers, because I wouldn’t envy them at all. Not even a little bit.

Surrounded by six boxes and twelve shoes, Murphy asked me which ones I wanted. I

knew if I said I didn’t want a pair, he’d be more upset than he already was. He tried not to show it but he was awfully angry at himself and he shouldn’t have been, because he was right. I was irresponsible and immature, and he was only trying to help me.

I pointed at random and ended up with a pair of grey metallic peep-toe pumps in a water snake pattern. They were gorgeous. And expensive.

Murphy didn’t even wince when the clerk told him the total was nearly eight hundred euros. He paid and joked around in French.

Outside in the sunshine, I lifted my face to it and decided I needed to stop being such a baby. I didn’t want to be alone, and maybe he was right. Maybe my wolf would like to work with his. If I didn’t at least try I would never know. “Thanks, Murphy. I’m hungry. Do you want lunch somewhere maybe?”

His face lit up when I spoke to him and he brought me to a small brasserie nearby that served wonderful quiche. We drank an entire bottle of white wine between us, which I thought was rather decadent for one in the afternoon, and when we walked back out onto the sidewalk, the sun had disappeared. We hadn’t taken more than twelve steps before the sky split open and a deluge gushed down.

Parisians and tourists scattered. Murphy grabbed my hand and we dashed for the Metro, plunging down the steps into the artificial light below.

“Can’t get your Louboutins wet,” he teased as he bought us tickets at the counter.

“They’re in a bag,” I pointed out, but I was secretly relieved to be out of the rain. They were very nice shoes. Nice shoes? Hell, the nicest shoes I’d ever, ever had.

We managed to find two seats together on the train and I sat by the window, clutching my new shoes to my chest.

“You’re not wearing your pendant,” Murphy commented. I put one guilty hand up to my throat and encountered only bare flesh. I’d taken it off the night before and put it carefully into its pewter box because I was going to shift. I never wore jewelry I wanted to keep when I shifted, because I always lost it.

“I took it off last night and I guess I forgot to put it back on this morning. I’m not used to wearing it,” I confessed. “I never wore it much these past two years. The single setting, it was like a reproach somehow. I’ll put it on when we get back to the hotel.”

“I thought you might be mad at me.”

“Murphy, if I were mad at you, I’d tell you to your face. I wouldn’t be so passive

aggressive as to not wear my pendant and leave it to you to figure out I was pissed. Besides, you know me. I can’t keep my anger contained. You’d know it. You’d know it in a second.” I laughed, wanting him to laugh too. He was so worried when he didn’t have to be.

“I don’t want to change you, Constance.” He stared very hard at the back of the neck of the old man who sat in front of us. “Jaysus, you’re only one of the most fascinating people I’ve ever met. I don’t want to change you. I just want to help if I can. Which is a joke, because I can’t even help myself, can I? Buying you Louboutin shoes and telling myself that will make it up to you, the fact that I insulted you and, worse, hurt you, because you think I want to change you and the truth is I’d like to be more like you.”

“They are very nice shoes, Murphy,” I said and the ghost of a smile quirked his lips.

“Nicer than Councilor Ducharme’s. Mine were about two hundred dollars nicer than hers.”

“You gonna wear them tonight when I take you out to a club?”

We danced a lot at the nightclub. My Louboutins looked fabulous. I looked fabulous.

Murphy looked fabulous. I had one of the best nights of my whole life.

We got back to the hotel around three in the morning after a hilarious cab ride where I tried to speak French, and Murphy and the cab driver talked over themselves correcting me and we laughed when we all but fell through the door.

I tripped over one of his feet and he had to catch me, because five cocktails and four-inch heels are not necessarily a very stable combination.

His eyes darkened with desire the second before his mouth came down over mine. We

hadn’t kissed at the club, or even really touched, but we were all over each other in the hotel.

He took me to his room where I kept on the Louboutins but lost the rest of my clothes.

I thought for sure he’d look at me this time. He’d initiated it, after all. But he didn’t.

I wanted it to be real. I so desperately wanted it to be real, so I pretended I was her.

Sorcha. I let myself do the things I thought she would do, and he still didn’t look at me, but it didn’t matter, because I’d found a way to make it work.

And when he said her name just before he came, or mouthed it because I didn’t exactly hear his voice but I did read his lips--that worked too. Because I was her. At least for that moment.

Afterward he rolled over, his back to me, but he kept his body in contact with mine.

I rolled over too and after a moment I felt his arms steal around my waist and he

burrowed closer. I kept my eyes shut and tried to pretend I was her, but it didn’t work. I was just me again.

Chapter 9

“I still feel it inside me,” Murphy declared. He was on his second cup of coffee and the middle section of
Le Monde
. I was still working my way through a plate of scrambled eggs liberally dosed with ketchup.

I knew what he meant--he felt his wolf inside him. We hadn’t shifted last night, but we still could tonight if we wanted. Our wolves were still awake inside us but not for long. Twenty-four to forty-eight hours, usually.

“You want to shift? Finish your breakfast and shift?” His dark eyes challenged me and I swallowed my mouthful of eggs, and asked, “In the daytime?” It wasn’t precisely an alien thought, because we could do it, but it was unusual.

“Why not? We’ll drive out to the country again and do it.”

“Are you going to mentor me?”

He folded the newspaper and set it aside. “Only if you want me to.”