Daddy’s Mail Order Mate (Twilight Meadows Wolves #3)

Chapter 11 - Gwen

This can't work. It won't work. All it'll do is humiliate me further and I'll probably just get myself hurt trying to stumble around the forest with a wolf chasing me down.

I stare at the broad expanse of Thorn's back ahead of me, blindly following after him in these unknown woods. My vision breaks off from him in a reawakened spike of old habit to try and find visual markers in the woods around me. I'd grown up constantly having to reorient myself around new places, thanks to the semi-nomadic nature of my childhood pack. In a way, I felt like a child again, tentatively trailing after Thorn in the hopes of his guidance and protection.

Ever since our first meeting, he'd always been protecting me, acting as a mentor and older peer before we started to nurture a childhood romance. He was the first person I ever truly felt I could trust all of myself too, which had only made his abandonment run that much deeper into my soul.

My throat vices practically shut, and pain resonates out through the rest of my body, centering on my constricting heart.

But what if it could work? Beneath the years of sorrow, I feel like there's some frozen fragment of the girl who'd loved him staring up at me from within. Hadn't she learned better, hadn't I learned better? But he must have rejected me because I was such a weak shifter. If I could just learn how to become a wolf again, maybe…

“Up here,” he murmurs. His voice is low, focused, almost monotone in its hushed intensity. Something washes through my nerves from my spine to my fingertips and all I want to do is get closer to him. I don't know what it is—the mate bond, my old feelings, something just fucked up with me… But whatever it is, there's something about how he speaks and how he carries himself that leaves me feeling utterly helpless to do anything but yearn after him. The composure and control, the shadowy strength kept in tight measure, every detail of his demeanor just woke something in me.

I let out a careful exhale that rattles ever so slightly and follow him out into what seems to be a small opening in the trees. There's a few traces of late wildflowers cropping up in the brush and detritus, speckling color along the forest floor kept well protected by a broad canopy of leaves.

He turns towards me and starts slipping off his jacket, and I force my jaw to be clamped shut to make sure I don't make any sort of expression when I realize he's about to start stripping down.

“You'll want to strip down as well. Feeling everything on your bare skin will help you feel more in tune with nature, and any pain or discomfort might help motivate your body to want to change.”

“That and I'd rather not ruin any of my clothes; I don't exactly have a disposable wardrobe right now,” I deadpan.

Thorn huffs in amusement and starts unbuttoning his shirt, and I remember that I should look away when I start to see the the line of his sternum sneaking down from well defined pectorals.

“That's one thing that's a bit of culture shock after being away from wolves for so long.”

He hums in question.

“How normalized nudity is. For human culture, outside of certain, uh, circles, it's not exactly normal to regularly see most everybody you know naked.”

There's a mild grunt in response.

My cheeks burn a bit as I start to slip off my backpack and jacket as well. I consider if I'm willing to sacrifice my underwear in the name of science just to give myself some decency, but…

Fuck it. Let him see. And I know that there's a part of me that wants him to see. For what reason? Maybe to let him get a glimpse of what he's been missing out on. Or maybe even in the hopes that he might think I'm attractive, if nothing else.

God, I'm such an idiot. The flush in my skin runs even hotter as I slip my shirt off, heedless of the fact that I didn't even make a pretense of hiding behind a tree to strip.

I look over at him, glare already sharpened as if daring him to insult me in some way.

But rather than him looking me in the eyes, I see his quiet stare locked lower, staring at my chest now covered by nothing except a simple neutral-toned bra.

Then his dark eyes flick back up to my face, and we lock gazes.

He exhales very slowly and looks away to start going for his belt.

I have to look away then, ears burning hot at the twinkling sound. My legs go a bit weak, and I silently scold my body for acting like he just rang a dinner bell. Stupid. I'm so fucking stupid for wanting him even now. All he's doing is offering to help me try to shift again. Nothing more.

With that thought ringing through me, I bruteforce my way through the rest of stripping myself down, looking at nowhere and thinking of nothing but the task at hand. The forest air is sharp and cool on my bare skin suddenly deprived of any layers, and I feel everything prickle and in certain degrees harden at the sudden chill. But I just fold my clothes as I go and wind up slipping them neatly one by one into the backpack I brought.

A train of thought frets and furrows in the back of my mind, suddenly paranoid about every little detail of my body. What if I look so much uglier than when we were young? It'd been almost half our lives by this point. So much of me had changed, and I know I never filled out well. Other women had often told me how much they envied my figure for being so tall and slender, but I often felt boxy, gangly, and bland. I lacked the fine curves and softness that men seemed to really find appealing.

I'm suckerpunched by the thought that Rowan's mother was probably a bombshell. Thorn, with all of his own attractiveness and appeal, would certainly only share his bed with someone of a similar caliber.

What the hell am I even thinking right now?

I zip up one of the bag's pockets a bit too violently; it nearly jams up before I double the zipper back and slow down the rest of the way. So preoccupied in my own thoughts, I glance sharply over towards him.

Which is definitely a mistake.

He's staring down at me where I'm crouched down to handle the bag and in the middle of slipping off his boxer briefs. And even though I'm a few feet off from him, my sight line pretty readily moves to crotch height.

“Jesus,” I can't stop myself from exclaiming under my breath at the accidental glimpse of him.

I swear I almost see him smirk and I whip my head away, scowling even though I must be completely red in the face by now.

“Yeah, yeah, you must be used to that by now. Don't let it get to your head and give me your clothes.”

I hold out my hand blindly and flex it in expectant demand. Neither of us say anything as I get his clothes packed away as well, and I try to not fixate on the lingering warmth in the fabric or the trace of his scent that billows up when I shove them away.

“There.”

“We'll leave everything here and come back for it.”

“I’m looking forward to sitting naked in the woods feeling sorry for myself when this doesn't work while you come back here to grab the bag.”

“Stop thinking like that.”

“Wow, I'm cured. Thank you Thorn. Whatever would I have done without your guidance.”

He clicks his tongue and I see his legs move in my periphery. Suddenly I am very fascinated with making sure all the pouches are securely shut.

“Your wolf is a part of your psyche. If you don't believe you can change, you won't be able to.”

I sigh sharply.

“And how am I supposed to believe I can change when I can't? ”

“You’ve shifted before.”

“Barely,” I grumble, too caught up in my own frustrated thoughts to think twice about standing up.

He doesn't say anything, and I scoff a bit under my breath.

“Nothing to say to that?”

He just makes a deep, guttural noise that puts me on edge… And sets off a pang between my legs that I am far, far too aware of now that I'm naked. The startling nature of the sound makes me look up at him, and I couldn't say anything if I wanted to.

His eyes bore into me, the heavy set of his brows setting off the predatory angle they always had to a new degree. I somehow feel even more naked, made entirely vulnerable under the weight of his gaze. There's a hunger to his eyes that almost frightens me. Almost.

I force my lips shut to smother the sound that tries to bubble out of me.

For god's sake, am I really going to be running through the woods with wet thighs?

He's stood a bit in front of me now, and every inch of him is perfect. Not perfect as though it was unmarked, though—his skin has a broad mapping of scars, no part of his body left without at least some trace of old injury. Some are thick and raised, others silverskin lines. Burns, lacerations, gunshots, bites, and who knows what else besides are housed on him like a gallery collection. The fact that he has so many despite the supernatural healing of a werewolf means that he has seen so much violence that even his body couldn't keep up with the toll it's taken over the years.

And those scars decorate a physique so immaculate it'd make a sculptor weep. It is the body of a man born, bred, and raised for combat. All the sharp lines of him just make the curved swells of his arms, his ass, his thighs all the more enticing to look at.

I realize I’m practically drooling from both ends by the time he speaks up, breaking me from my gawking spell.

“I'm going to run you down, Gwen,” Thorn declares in his deepest gravel, with a finality that leaves me shivering. “Understand that the only way you have any hope of getting away from me is if you shift. You do not want me to catch you. Is that clear?”

My hands fearfully fidget in front of me before I grit them into fists to keep them still. What would happen if he caught me? The threat in his voice when he warned me just now feels so real.

“Y-yes.”

He walks towards me, and my eyes want to go everywhere but they are trapped by the magnitude of his stare. My heart leaps into my throat and I shift back a step by reflex. Panic sparks in my mind, wondering if it's already started, if I need to run now, right now —

“Gwen.”

“Yes?”

“Yell ‘red’ if you need me to stop. Otherwise, I am not going to. Even if you cry, even if you beg, even if you bleed, even if you scream, I will not stop . Not unless you say that word. Understood?”

“Yes.”

He paces around to my side, making to walk behind me, his eyes not breaking from mine for a moment.

“What do you say if you need me to stop?”

He's behind me now and I shudder. My mind is crowded with too many thoughts, too many feelings, to the point that I just feel choked and overwhelmed… Yet entirely in his thrall.

“R-red.”

“Good.”

All goes still and silent.

Then, I hear him breathe out…

And the voice behind me is all menace and whispered thunder, practically salivating with a pressure I can only describe as predatory.

“ Run, little doe.”

I freeze at that, but then—

The growl. It sounds like a promise of hell itself behind me, and I almost stumble forward with a yelp. I catch my balance just soon enough to keep me from eating dirt right away, but not so well that I don't spend the next few strides desperately scrambling to try to get my feet under me.

The mild discomfort I'd felt being barefoot in the woods piques to pain as I start blindly running, but I barely register it. All of my senses are flooded, overloaded really. Each breath is already wearing my throat raw as I do my best to bolt ahead in a sheer panic. Even without looking back, I know he is behind me, but I can't tell if he's stayed still or is breathing down my neck, and I can't trust myself to not stumble over something if I look back.

So I don't. I just keep running and let the forest blur around me, trying to get my bearings and try to figure out a path before me. Just when I start maybe getting close to a sense of equilibrium, a howl sounds off somewhere behind me and later I might feel embarrassed about the shriek it causes. I clap my hand over my mouth, knowing he must have heard. But of course he'd already know where I am.

I'm so slow, awful, ungainly. Each step is too faltering and loud to not be missed by Thorn in his wolf form. I feel my pulse race humming bird fast through my entire body, which by this already feels like it's covered in a cold sweat.

I hurry down a slope, wincing as the branches scrape at my legs when I need to crouch into a slide to keep myself from just falling down it. I don't have the time to spare to check if the stinging of my thighs means I'm bleeding or not. As soon as I’m near the bottom, I practically leap out to try and go into another sprint.

By instinct, I map out a winding pathway through the trees before me. As I go, I try to take advantage of my height to force out each stride as long as I can manage at this speed. I'm not particularly fit, so it doesn't take very long for my muscles to burn so badly that it occupies most of my senses or for my lungs to struggle for each gasp of air.

If I could just shift, I could be faster, quieter, better—

I'm not enough. I've never been enough. Not as a human, not as a wolf.

I feel tears welling in my eyes, and my foot catches on a tree root and sends me scrambling to the forest floor.

A sob wracks my body, both in raw physical agony and my emotions running riot inside of me. I push my arms up but my legs burn in protest, betraying my efforts to get back upright.

Why can’t I just give up? I can lay down right here. I can shout ‘red’ and let this whole farce be over with. We could limp me back to the settlement with the last scrap of my pride burned to ash and I can properly surrender being a wolf for the rest of my life.

But a fire crackles in me, all smoke and ash, and I get myself up onto my knees with a primal scream to fight through the pain locking my body into uselessness. This is my body and it will do what I need it to, because that's the only way I survive, and I always survive, no matter what—

Why can’t I just give up?

Why do I have to keep going, even when I know I'm going to fail?

Tears run down my cheek and disturb the light trace of dirt from my landing. There's no time to wipe either of them away. With a pained grunt, I lurch to my feet, hands bracing on the tree that had tripped me in the first place.

An uncanny sensation slopes down my spine and sets my skin on a knife's edge.

I carefully glance behind me.

Massive, all black, with haunting amber eyes, the wolf I know to my bones is Thorn stares at me from thirty yards away. His jowls pull back and against the black night of his fur, his teeth are too bright, white, and sharp. The growl that stirs from him is not some idle churning; no, it is vicious to the core. That is the last sound some poor prey animal hears before it’s bled out on the forest floor. He is powerful and terrifying and—

Mine.

My legs almost give out from under me, and I distantly recognize that it's not just the exertion. It's this strange dizziness working its way through me that feels… Surreal. The best way I can describe it is like growing pains of the soul, like my very mind is cracking through scabs and bleeding itself out to move again.

I lean myself into the tree for a split second in a spell of complete weakness before I grit my teeth and shove off of it. I’ll either trip or I'll run, and I'm going to take the gamble, because I refuse to give up. Not until there's nothing left of me.

I manage to keep myself moving, even though I'm having to rely on the forward intertia of the gentle slope to keep it that way. But I feel him in pursuit, a dark shadow lurking after me. I even catch the edges of sound from him following behind beneath the mad scrambling racket of my own movements.

But as I make it down to the edge of a little stream, there comes a furious noise and a clack of teeth snapping shut right behind me . I choke on a silent scream and try to leap in a panic over the water, but I don't quite have my footing right and fall on the opposite bank.

I swiftly turn onto my back and try to scramble, vision whirling to find him. The wolf looms silently back where I was, but just as I make to try to turn and get myself back up, he leaps. My palms ache as I try to get more distance, but he pounces perfectly on me.

I’m engulfed in the dark mass of him, all coarse black fur and the scent of wolf, his wolf—something I never thought I'd experience again. I feel one of his paws scrape at my arm and force it to the earth, pinning it down like the rest of me. His huge ruff of inky fur sits like a regal mane around the tapered line of his face. Just as I am helplessly trapped by his body and those piercing eyes, his teeth bare once more and he growls.

A feverish chill wracks my body, and I feel myself tremble and ache to go limp.

There's a warning in how he hovers near, and then in a blur, those teeth wrap around my shoulder near my neck. I feel his fangs press into my skin, and my free hand blindly flails up to grasp into his fur. My knees knock together before I find them spreading open. I arch up off the forest floor beneath him, on this insane precipice of pain and longing, before…

“ Mate ,” comes my voice in throaty surrender.

I didn't think about saying it. It just… Happens. I don't know if I'm calling him that, begging for acknowledgement as his mate, a pleading for the act itself, or any combination therein. But the word leaves me and it feels right , like a prayer I could never tire of.

The wolf whose mouth silently threatens to maul me open goes deadly still.

I quiver, uncertain of what's to come.

Then all at once, my hand isn't gripping into fur anymore. It's digging into bare human flesh, his back taut beneath my palm. A human mouth has my shoulder caught in his teeth. A man, not a wolf, is on top of me.

Thorn is on top of me.

Before I can react or have any sort of practical lucidity take over, all of his weight drives forward into me. I gasp from not only the air being forced out of me, but the burning pleasure of feeling his body grind like stone into mine. He nips at my neck now, and makes a low growl with such forceful potency that I can only whine in response.

My legs sprawl as open as they can, perfectly accomodating him bracing into me, shaking in submissive welcome. I feel his hard cock pulse and rub against me and all I want is it inside me, now—

My other hand grips into his hair, desperate to touch him and have something to hold onto for dear life. I buck and writhe up into him, body begging as much as it feels it can get away with before he might put it back into its rightful place. There's a swarm of words that try to claw their way up out of me, wanting to beg and demand and cry out for him in every way imaginable. But all I can do is moan in some raw, primal way that sounds barely human to my own ears.

It seems to do the trick, though; as soon as I make that sound, his face presses against mine cheek to cheek and he rocks back, then forth—

I gasp sharply at the feeling of his cock blindly grazing at my entrance. It deflects off and just skims up. A desperate whine clenches out of me and I tilt my hips up in silent effort to align us. His body is oppressively heavy over mine and I love every second of this suffocation.

He braces himself up on his hands with a clear impatience, but then we make eye contact.

In the first split second, I see Thorn locked in a lusty trance so vivid that just the look on his face sets my walls panging on nothing in need. But then the glazed black of his blown out eyes seems to focus in, and I see it settle into a sober bleed of shock.

“Gwen,” he breathes out.

The heady rush of it all starts to fall away, and I remember my own name.

I remember why I'm here.

I remember that it's more than a little shocking to have him on top of me with the two of us seconds from raw animal fucking on a forest floor.

I try to find my voice and anything to say with it.

But all I can do is speechlessly stare up at him. By reflex, my legs try to close up in surprise and shame, but all that does is pin around his hips. He tenses and I see his jaw grit painfully tight, probably to mask whatever sound that must have tried to set off from him.

“I'm going to get up now,” he explains more slowly than I've ever heard him speak before. It's almost like he’s forgotten language—frankly, I feel like I'm in the same boat.

I nod meekly and do my best to curl up and cover myself as he coaxes himself back up off of me.

“Just… Stay.”

I make a noise trying to agree.

He wades into the cold stream, crouches, and splashes himself for a good twenty seconds. Then there's a dull thud as he punches into the earth once, then twice. Before I can even formulate a question or offer my concern, I watch as he shifts back into his wolf form and bolts back the way we came.

I carefully bring my legs up to myself and stare down at my scuffed up body. But then I have to bring my hands up to my face and smother a confused, embarrassed scream.

I’d known this was going to end with me humiliated and naked out in the woods. But not in my wildest imagination did I think it was going to wind up like this.