The past couple of days had been both bliss and a different kind of temptation for Tank. Asleep and resting, the Peaceful had filled his den with a kind of relaxation that he hadn’t felt in so long he wasn’t sure he had ever felt so … at peace. Her nightmares, though, they bothered him. She seemed to both crave and loathe the dark.
The doctors had warned that she might need to sleep a lot with the head wound, and that she might seem confused, and be both noise and light sensitive. It turned out that she also was susceptible to migraines, which Tank had never believed in, but the doctor had given a prescription for her to take just in case the pain got too bad.
Jody said that Zoe usually stuck with Excedrin when the migraines struck, and “shroomed up” in her “man cave”. Brawn had accompanied the stripper when she picked up some clothes and miscellaneous toiletries for Zoe. He said that “man cave” was an apt description, if a man ever thought to make his cave look like a sultan’s boudoir in draped fabrics. It made Tank curious to see for himself just what their Peaceful chose to den within.
And despite his desire to be cautious, she was their Peaceful. The months it had taken his pack members to identify the faint song of her Peace had solidified into guardianship with her distress during his presence. It remained to be seen if she would be their salvation or their destruction.
The Peaceful calmed the Rage and became in a way an addiction for those so becalmed, but being Peaceful was no guarantee of morals, empathy, or even just plain common sense. A wicked Peaceful could easily wrap a pack around his finger, using them like the war beasts the Rage had been created to turn them into.
Then there was the temptation. Jody was staying over with them, too, and she had helped Zoe to shower each morning. The clean scent of their Peaceful, free from the potent floral nose bombs of the strip club, had stirred the interest of his wolf. Her passivity during her recuperation roused his guardian instincts. Her need for comfort to sleep at ease put him close to her when she was most vulnerable — and most at Peace. Those traits alone were enough to intrigue his wolf side, his vradinaar. That she was a subdued beauty hardly helped to keep his libido in check.
Just the thought of her curled up, so small against him, her long dark brown hair tucked away into a neat braid, her dainty hand cupping her cheek as she slept made his breath speed and his body harden. For all that she was a tiny thing she had meat on her bones, the kind of toned muscle that spoke of endurance, stamina, and her movements in the club had been graceful. She was young, even by human standards, at nineteen, but her form was that of a mature woman, round hips with a firm, round bottom and full breasts.
He couldn’t deny that he had been tempted to slip his hands under her sleep tank and feel for himself just how natural her endowments were. He hadn’t. He wasn’t that kind of scum, but he had been tempted. He found himself wondering if her eyes would widen or grow heavy lidded at his kiss, his caress.
A Peaceful of unknown qualities, and he could feel himself sliding into Bondage already. Freaking wonderful.