Chapter 7

A small package wrapped in a brown paper bag sat on her porch. Puzzled, she picked it up and tested its weight. Light, compact. A cubic. Her fingers found the note on the other side. She went inside to read it.

'These are the freshly made set of keys of the villa. And my number, should you need it.

Mikhail.'

Written in block letters, with less space than needed between the letters, so it looked like a congested print. 

She drew the drapes close. Still wondering why she got the keys to Noah's villa, she felt uneasy. More so, coiling and uncoiling the paper with Mikhail's number on it. He was expressing familiarity she hadn't expected. Unlike Noah, that is. He didn't scare her. But he did make her nervous. She can’t quite put her finger on it, but Mikhail Ryder was inadvertently making up for something. Perhaps for firing her, but that seemed too pale a reason. She’d ask him what his deal was. For now, she could feel her bed beckoning her.

Her only friend, Abigail, demonstrated her concern by taking Vanessa for long runs along the territory borders, parallel to Naira river. Hoping that when Vanessa reached her limits of staying awake, her body would physically shut down. That never happened. Abigail didn’t know the reason, she was better off without it.

Vanessa grabbed her tunic nightwear, that reached to her knees. It took her ten extra minutes to dead bolt and double lock the doors and windows before she went to sleep. She tried to relax, from roots of her hair to the edge of her toe nails, to capitalize on few hours of sleep.

Noah Abel steered his silver McLaren on the right curve to a path he, until yesterday had not known about. He regretted asking Mikhail where Miss Flynn lived. Deeply regretted. Because once he saw the debacle, or rather, the small wooden house, standing so forlorn with the shadow of vast jungle, his jungle, behind it and the gritty road where his car came to stop. He found a solution to his bothersome obstacle. For some reason, he couldn’t lay it out in his demands that she, a staff underneath him, must stay at the villa like every other staff member. He wanted to persuade her into doing it. If it was a power trip, be it damned. If he was testing waters, he registered no guilt. 

His wolf senses were on auto alert at night, sharp, very attuned to their surroundings, the familiarity did not guarantee comfort. He learnt that a long time ago. Stretching in his seat, he noticed no rattling windows or moving curtains, not even the slightest trace that this house was inhabited by someone. He had only planned to see her living conditions, because he was so aware of her financial ones. And find out a weakness he can use to his advantage. At least that’s what he told himself when he climbed out of his car, silently. Counted the steps to her bedroom window and traceda clan path to avoid making any noise.

Scent of citrus, like the summer was just around the corner and that of green pastures in delta belts of eastern region enveloped his brain, trickled down to the spine. This is what she must smell like, thought his wolf. And you are not going to find out for sure, said the man. Who had their bedrooms on the ground floor? Someone who can’t afford to construct the first floor of her already small house? He pocketed his hands in the front of his jeans, the situation seemed more in his favor now. Courtesy of the moon, he could peek inside and comprehend what comprised the bedroom.

A small whimper put a stop to his casual inspection. The source oof it looked very much asleep, and all he could trace was contours of her  back. Her pale legs in perfect symetry, bent at the knees.  The curve of her behind despite havingheld his attention didn’t do much because  her blood turned acidic, the soothing citrus now sharp and tart. He had an uncanny ability to gauge feelings of fellow wolves and humans by how their blood rushed . Right now, she was in distress. He didn’t smell any intruder so the reasonable explanation said it was her dreams. When she kicked her feet and struggled to turn in her sleep, he saw her hands were tied together, even the fingers. Intricately, so only the tips were visible. He reckoned it was self-tied, the knots clumsy, irregular.

He longed to know now. He could enjoy a fair bit of distress so long as he wasn’t in danger. Maybe the restraint was so Miss Flynn didn’t sleep, wander into the jungle or stand in the middle of the highway. She represented layers of labyrinth he, with his childish whims, found interesting. Already set on what plans to put in motion,  his soon-to-be Alpha duties now held an addendum of amusement he can’t refuse. Miss Vanessa Flynn, the only daughter of Genar Flynn,whom he was going to need to be proved to be quite the flare in his life.

Vanessa woke up sharp at four, she didn’t have to glance at the clock. In her peripheral vision, she saw the tail-light of a silver car pulling away.