Page 42 of His Atonement
A pair of black flip flops.
A silk kimono brightly colored and completely saturated in the honeysuckle and coconut, a touch of patchouli that makes up her intoxicating fragrance.
A skimpy little tank top that is so worn I could probably see straight through the material to Frankie's immaculate breasts while she was wearing it.
And now, now I've found a very lacy pair of red panties that probably do little to cover her outstanding ass.
I grunt as I bend to pick them up, fighting the need to inhale their scent the way I have every other piece of fabric in my hands, and continue following her trail.
The only reason I have not completely flipped my shit and used what little power I have control over right now to level this part of the forest is because I have found nothing but Frankie's clothing. There have been no work boots or flannel shirts, no beat to hell jeans or white t's that the wolf normally wears, and I do not scent him anywhere close by.
If I had found male clothing mixed with Frankie's—hell, any clothing that belonged to someone other than her—I would have gone completely nuts and began destroying the picturesque scenery.
I'm still pretty fucking close to doing that though, because what in the actual fuck is Frankie doing so goddamn far from her cabin, so incredibly far from the main house?
And why in the hell is she naked?
How dare she come all the way out here, unattended and completely exposed, without even notifying anyone first?
Does she not know of the dangers in the forest? The animals that lurk through the trees, in the caves and cliffs of the mountains?
Is Frankie so insane that she'd risk injury or fatality just to go exploring in the middle of the goddamn night?
I stop abruptly, clenching her panties in my fist.
Or perhaps she is meeting the wolf.
Perhaps she left her home to find him, to rendezvous with him at their designated spot in the woods, a place so far from everyone that we would never even have a clue of their endeavors, theirexperimentations.
Unbridled rage and unfamiliar jealousy flares throughout my entire body at the thought and I resume stomping my way through the trees.
I shall kill him.
Yes, I believe I will kill the wolf, twist his head right off his body then punt it between two trees like an American football player.
Then I will drag his lifeless carcass into the nearest cave and leave it as an offering for the wild bears that roam the woods, maybe split it up to share with the coyotes and mountain lions too. But not before I collect his soul, take that traitorous thing from him while he watches in horror, then I shall remove his head and distribute the rest of him.
Yes, that sounds absolutely divine.
Laughter meets my ears, husky laughter that sends a shiver down my spine, landing right in the head of my dick.
Husky, beautiful laughter that makes me see red because it definitely means Frankie is not alone.
So I run, run through the trees, ignoring the way their branches tear at my sensitive flesh, the way they rip through my shirt and draw blood that runs warm down my skin.
But I come to a screeching halt when the forest spits me out at an unfamiliar water line in the middle of a small clearing.
It is a very small lake carved into the base of a mountain, large rocks surround it, a natural, though relatively tiny, waterfall flows against the massive side of the range and there, floating in the middle of the water on her back, totally naked save for the shadows cast by the moonlight through the trees, is my Frankie.
Gods, she is positively breathtaking.
She looks like a goddess—a water goddess completely at ease in her element—the way the graceful lines of her body move as she stretches out her arms, the way her fingers skim over the ripples her movements create.
Frankie has very literally taken my breath away, caused every inch of my body to simultaneously still and vibrate, the electrical current, the intense magnetic pull I feel toward her so overpowering I simply cannot breathe.
So I watch.
Watch the way she floats, the way her body rises and falls against the gentle waves. Watch the moonlight dance across her skin, the silhouette of her perfect curves against the backdrop of the night.