Chapter 8 - Some Like It Spread

Rayna

I wasn't really sure what happened, but I saw splinters of wood, pieces of furniture flying everywhere, a thick white smoke and what looked like a burst of...fire?

I was certain it was fire.

And it was then followed by glimmers of something shiny...spiky? I couldn't say much as I was forcefully hurled backward against the window and my vision was clouded by the smoke.

The werewolf during the explosion managed to escape. I saw it jump sideways, and that was that. I saw no traces of it anymore once the debris and smoke calmed.

Explosion of whatever type was not new to me anymore. I came across many during my service and luckily came out of the mayhem either with minor cuts and bruises or unscathed. This moment was the same, but it certainly shook my foundation.

Why? Because I knew my charge was inside the affected room. I knew Mr. Windstorm, whatever caused that explosion, couldn't have survived, or if he did survive, he would be wounded, and worse, even more incapacitated. I knew I was done for.

"Oh, god, please be alive!" I cried out as I sprinted up and ran into the gaping hole of what was once a wall and a sturdy door. "Mr. Windstorm!"

Smoke mostly covered the entire room, but it gave me enough clearance to scan the inside for him, and there he was. The furniture, the mattress, the study table, and the landscape paintings—everything inside the room—were affected, but not him.

Except him.

Under the light of the flickering lampshade, he simply sat in his wheelchair as if nothing was amiss. As if there was no explosion at all. As if...as if he was immune to the explosion. His eyes this time were nude. His sunglasses rested on his lap. What caught my breath even more was the fact that his hood was down and damn it, he had the most silver of hair I had ever seen in my life. No, not a dull gray, but silver. He looked like he just stepped out from the anime world or from a high-grade fantasy cosplay party.

The unusual hair color complemented his green-violet eyes—uh, no, I want to correct—it 'perfected' his overall appearance of a rich and fucking powerful CEO.

But I didn't want to entertain these thoughts just yet. They were a distraction. He was right to cover his head with the hood. He literally was a distraction. I rerouted my attention and focused more on the bigger picture instead.

Was this a miracle? I wanted to believe it was because I certainly preferred him still alive, but fuck it, this didn't make sense. Him mysteriously surviving didn't make sense.

He cocked a brow at me, looking almost innocent. "Ms. Chase?" he asked.

I blinked. Hard. And cleared my throat like I just swallowed a big piece of muffin.

"Uh, you survived! You're unscathed, Sir!" Hesitantly, I neared him. I knew exactly what I had to do. I was supposed to assess him. Make sure that he had no scratches on his flawless face and no wounds on his body covered by his suit or robe. But I hesitated. Under his magical gaze, I felt awkward. Felt like an ant. Felt like a useless stone unearthed from a cave while he was the brightest diamond ever found.

I felt fucking...naked.

And I liked it. That feminine side of me grossly liked it. Basked in it.

"Whatever are you saying, Ms. Chase? Of course, I'm alive. The explosion was localized. It affected only my sleeping quarters, not my bathroom," he explained.

At that, I glanced at the said room and took a quick sigh. The door got a medium-sized crack, but it still stood with its hinges connected.

Huh. I couldn't believe his luck, but was it? Was the explanation really this simple? Was he really spared because he went to the bathroom during the explosion?

My mind reeled at the facts, but I knew I had to accept it. I was lucky enough he survived, and this meant my ass was still secure from a possible firing.

"That's—that's good to hear, Mr. Windstorm," I croaked. "I'll have the corporal investigate this incident then. It appears that there was an attempt on your life."

Although I couldn't see any debris of an IED, or a grenade, or caught a whiff of that distinct smell of gunpowder post explosion, I still said anyway. I didn't want to argue with this beautifully painful man and suffer more under his powerful gaze.

"Um, do you feel anything unusual, Sir?" I asked, stepping to his side and making a quick sweep of his person.

"Sir?" he parroted while cocking a curious brow at me.

"Mr. Windstorm," I corrected, cursing myself inside for another mistake. "Do you feel anything unusual, Mr. Windstorm? Any ringing of your ears? Any headache? Or maybe, a rise of your heartbeat?"

Mine was certainly doing a marathon as of the moment.

He gently shook his head. "No, Ms. Chase. But I want you to check me just to be sure."

He raised his hand, angled his wrist for me to feel his pulse.

I waited a beat before holding it, wondering if I'd get another vision of that growling creature, because if I would, I'd really tag him as a supernatural—possibly a werewolf like the one which almost attacked me but disappeared.

But when I touched his wrist and felt his pulse, I saw and heard nothing. No golden eyes on me and no raw animal sound on my ears. What was different this time was my bodily response.

Once our skin contacted, I felt a sudden jolt of electricity spreading in every inch of my body and quickly pooling into my belly. My womanhood, to be exact. And in reaction, I moaned.

"Ahhh..."

I fucking moaned while Mr. Windstorm closely studied me. His green-violet eyes dancing, swirling with depth.

With longing.

With a promise of untold passion and me, forever moaning.