Howl (Lost Moon: Unravelling Monsters Universe #2)

Chapter 3

3

brONTE

I t’s him, I think for what feels like the hundredth time as I remain frozen, caught in his penetrating gaze. Like me, he’s under the universal glamour that exists in this realm, and his brown eyes and blunt teeth disguise him as a human. Even so, I would know him anywhere. Seeing him in person is so surreal; here is the man who has occupied my thoughts for the past two weeks, and I feel torn in a thousand different directions about it. He’s a shifter — not the werewolf I’d mistaken him to be — and yet my wolf keeps telling me he is our mate, her chants repeating like a beating drum that I feel on a soul-deep level. I should be focusing on the Maheras Stone and those pixies that stole it, and yet here I am, standing here staring at this incredibly attractive man, barely resisting the urge to cross the room and walk into his arms. I want him to hold me. I want him to touch me. I want his knot, and we both know it. I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain he wants to give it to me, too.

I’m like a bitch in heat.

That’s not something that happens to our kind, but I’m beginning to realise that this fated mates phenomenon must come close to it. I’d thought the deep baritone of his voice and his rich scent were potent in my visions but they were nothing compared to the experience of meeting my mate in the flesh, his mere presence sending me into a lust-filled haze. My pussy aches, my nipples are hard beneath my shirt, and I have never been more aware of my clit than I am now.

I am a moth to his flame, a planet to his sun. This must be how the moon goddess feels as she orbits around her lover. I want to bask in the heat of him. I want his scent all over me, I need him to —

My eyes dart down to the obvious bulge at the front of his pants. He’s just as desperate as I am. I take a deep breath, my eyes wide and cheeks growing hot as I meet his serious gaze once more, remembering how his body had looked in the soft morning light when he’d turned to face me. His erection had been thick and long, jutting upwards, the swollen knot at the base of his shaft begging to be touched.

“Are you alright, Bronte?”

I nod once and turn away from him quickly. It’s embarrassing how overwhelming this lust is, how wet my pussy is, how all I want to do is fuck when one of the most powerful items in the First Realm has been taken. I should be trying to track it down, not fantasising and wondering — and hoping — that he feels the same way.

I cross the room to the nearest window, staring out at the lights of the city and the huge park directly below. Much of it is dark, the pathways within the park illuminated like veins across a body. “This is New York, right?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder, looking for some easy conversation to break the silence. “I recognise it from some human movies I’ve watched.”

“This is New York,” he confirms. “That’s Central Park. How did you not know where you were heading?”

I guess he isn’t interested in safe conversations. I shouldn’t be surprised; he’s more direct, bossier, more commanding than I imagined him to be, but I still feel just as safe with him as I did when I glimpsed into the future.

“The pixies opened the portal. I simply chased them through. It was a split decision.”

“A reckless one.”

“Why is it reckless?”

His brows draw down in a frown as he closes the distance between us, until he’s standing by my side. He smells so good . Instinct screams for me to take that final step towards him, to press myself against his strong body, my nose to his throat, to feel the warmth of him against me and to taste his skin. Light brown eyes search my face, and I have the sudden urge to perform a counterspell right now, to remove the glamour so that we are both in our true forms. I think I’d lose what’s left of my rational thought if I did that.

“Because now you’re trapped here,” he says quietly, drawing my attention back to the conversation at hand.

I shake my head. “I’m not trapped. I can open a portal right now, if I want to. I could be back home in an instant.”

In the quiet I can hear just how rapidly his heart is beating, and I wonder if his wolf is just as upset as mine at the prospect of us being apart. She’s crying at the thought, her claws daggers that tear though my heart. She is me — the rawest and most vulnerable pieces of my soul — and that’s what I mean when I told him we are similar; shifter or were, we all have our wolves, and they are our guides, our instincts, the core of who we are.

“You’re a witch,” he states, and I nod in reply. I can see the wheels turning in his mind, his eyes searching my face. “You’re a Maheras, aren’t you?” he asks, the measured pace of his words, spoken in that deep voice, at odds with his hammering pulse. I nod again, and his jaw clenches. “Of course you are. Are you in the core coven?”

“Yes,” I answer before I can stop myself.

“Bronte Maheras, that’s your full name, isn’t it? Where do you sit within the family? How close are you to the High Witch?”

“So many questions!” I fire back defensively, his obvious understanding of werewolf politics catching me off guard. This man is no fool; every action of his seems calculated. Still, I’m not about to let him boss me around. “You’re really continuing on with this whole job interview thing, aren’t you?”

“Hmmm, ” he grumbles, and I know that if he were in his true form that would be a proper growl . As it is, I still shudder in response, need coiling tighter in my core. Mate, my wolf whispers as softly as she can, and I close my eyes, dizzy from the magic that weaves around us, tendrils of fate clinging to us both. I wonder if he can sense it too. I can tell that he doesn’t practise the craft, but he does have magic, the alpha bark he used on me potent and grating.

“Bronte,” he says, the edge still present in his voice. “I am trying to gather all the information here.” His frown softens slightly as I look up at him. “I assume your family will come for you.”

“They won’t know how to find me,” I tell him. “A portal isn’t traceable, I know that for certain. They’ll come through to this realm, I am sure, but it’s going to be like finding a needle in a haystack for them. I could be anywhere on this planet.”

“You said you could go back.”

“Do you want me to go?” The question is out before I can stop it, my tone just as sharp as his, my stomach churning at the thought that he might not want me the way I want him.

“ No .”

His response is quick and desperate, his hand gripping my elbow as if to hold me here in this realm, and I breathe a sigh of relief. He doesn’t want me to leave. I stare up at him, the tension between us thick in the air, and when his eyes drop to my lips I am certain that he is about to kiss me.

“I promised you a drink,” he says instead, swallowing heavily and releasing my arm. His broad chest heaves with an exaggerated breath as he turns away. “There’s a small bar here in the dining room. Come. I’ll order us room service.”

Weston glances at me over the rim of his glass of whiskey, trapping me in his gaze once more, and I resist the urge to drum my fingers against the table-top. There’s something about him that exudes power — but of course there is. He is an alpha , as he reminded me earlier. He was born to lead in a way that does not exist for werewolves. I’ve felt it too. When he used his alpha bark his magic had scraped up my spine, never finding an opening to infiltrate my thoughts because it can’t , and my hackles had risen automatically, the one time I have felt something other than lust toward him all evening. Shifter barks don’t mesh well with werewolves.

When he looks at me like this , though, his desire obvious even as I can see him considering what to say next, it’s easy to forgive him. I am the sole focus of his attention, and there’s something so very private about it that makes the breath catch in my lungs and my heart beat faster.

“Are you going to tell me how old you are, or do I need to start guessing?” he asks quietly.

I take a sip of my wine, a fruity white that’s the perfect blend of sweetness and tang. “I’m twenty-five,” I reply, feeling my cheeks heat. I know he’s a little older, but between the visions and the glamour it’s hard to guess the exact number — in the First Realm we spend decades upon decades looking almost exactly the same. “What about you?”

“I’m thirty-three.”

“That’s not a big gap at all between wolves,” I comment, pulling my gaze away and staring at my glass. It’s the first time either of us have referenced anything to do with us as mates , and even with some warning on my end, it still feels like a very strange turn of events. I would have never predicted that he was a shifter; fated mates across our kinds is unheard of, and it makes me nervous every time I think about the reality of our situation. He is from this world. His pack, I presume, is in this world. I’d been caught up in the fairytale in my head of a werewolf mate who would come with me back to Lykia and move into my chambers in Maheras Castle — because that is what any werewolf man would do — but Weston… he’s different.

He’s everything.

“You’re taking this remarkably well,” he says, gesturing between us. His voice is deep and rich, and I could listen to it all day. Let me close my eyes and have him read me a good book, and I would be a happy woman indeed.

I should tell him about the visions. “I think it’s the nature of it,” I say instead, my eyes searching his face, looking for further confirmation from him. “It wouldn’t make sense for us to be uncomfortable within this… setting,” I add, trying to figure out how best to piece together my thoughts and frame it in a way that isn’t entirely lewd. ‘My pussy has been wet for you from the moment I scented you, and all I can think about is your dick,’ is the truth, but I can’t quite bring myself to voice that out loud. Weston may be my mate, but he is still very much a stranger.

My attempt at being vague is in vain. “And by setting you mean…?” he asks with a cocked brow.

“What do you think I mean?”

“I don’t like to play games, Bronte.”

“Neither do I!” I laugh humourlessly, because this is ridiculous. “What do you want me to say? You have a nose, after all. I assume it works. I assume you wolf is… saying things.”

“Such as?”

“You tell me, Weston,” I demand. “What is your wolf telling you?”

“I’m trying to be a gentleman.” His lips twitch, and there’s a gleam in his eye that wasn’t there a moment ago. He finds this funny.

“ I am a lady.”

“I thought you werewolves were supposed to be progressive. Matriarchal. Focused on feminine pleasure and not afraid to speak your mind.”

I scoff. “I am not afraid, I promise you that. You have no idea what I am capable of. Yes, we are matriarchal, which is why I am sitting here wondering why this man won’t tell me what his fucking wolf is telling him when I have asked him a direct question.”

Weston’s laugh may be the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. It transforms his face, making him seem so much more boyish, and I can’t help but grin along with him as he leans back in his chair, his eyes dancing over my form. “I like seeing you all fired up,” he says, a smile still lingering on his lips. “You’re very beautiful, and I like that flush on your cheeks.”

I don’t know what to say to that, but I don’t have to worry, because he continues after a moment. “You want to know what I’m thinking? What my wolf is telling me about you?” I nod, and he drains the rest of his glass, setting it down on the table with a thunk .

“I’ve caught you looking at my crotch,” he says with the same direct tone I imagine he would use in a board meeting. “You know my cock has been hard for you since the moment I found you. And yes, I have a nose, and I can smell exactly how dripping wet your cunt is for me. You want to know what my wolf is saying? That you are my mate. I want to fuck you. Repeatedly. You’re not a virgin, are you? Because if you are, I’m going to have to exercise a hell of a lot more control than I want to, when the time comes.”

I close my mouth, which fell open at some point between the words dripping wet and fuck , and shake my head wordlessly.

“Good. Do you like sex?”

“Is the sky blue?” I ask back. “Yes, I like sex.”

He nods, eyes intense, holding my gaze in a way that makes me feel lightheaded. I want to press my thighs together and squirm in my seat, but I force myself to stay still.

“I want to knot you,” he says, and I close my eyes because fuck , I feel so turned on and so empty right now, and all I want is his thick knot filling me. This is backwards and fucked up and yet it feels entirely natural and completely right, my logical brain quickly losing the battle to my basest desires.

“I want that too,” I whisper, eyes still closed. I take a deep breath, sighing it out with a shudder, willing myself to be a little more level-headed. When I open my eyes I square my shoulders, meeting his gaze. “But not tonight. I… I would tell you I don’t want anything tonight, but that would be a blatant lie. I want it all, but I don’t think we should.”

Who the hell discusses sex like this? Us, I suppose. I have no idea how we’re meant to navigate this situation. With other partners it’s always just been a natural progression from a look to a kiss to a bed. One night stands have been it, my future position leaving me unwilling to commit to any semblance of a partnership. Now fate and magic and my own wolf are stacked against me, urging me to spread my legs and welcome this man home. Forever.

When Weston nods my shoulders sag with relief, even as my wolf whines. We sit in silence, staring at each other, until sounds from the hall — footsteps and squeaky wheels — have both our heads turning at the same time.

“It’s humans with the food,” Weston says quietly, rising from his seat. I do squirm as he adjusts the hard bar of his cock so that it’s less obvious in his pants, and the smirk he gives me tells me he knows exactly what I’m doing as I search for even an ounce of friction on my clit. “I agree about holding off tonight,” he says just as there’s a loud knock on the door. “As painful as that may be, I think we need to be level-headed about this.”

“There’s a lot to discuss.”

“There is,” he says, heading for the door.

Two humans wheel in carts filled with tray after tray of cooked meats and vegetables, salads, cheeses, and desserts. It’s an excessive amount, but I’m beginning to understand that Weston’s lifestyle is one of excess. This suite is not considered normal lodgings for humans — I know that from the human TV shows and movies I have consumed over the years, my hidden collection of VHS cassettes having long been a source of entertainment.

This place is too opulent, too large, the decor speaking of wealth compared to the regular dwellings and hotels depicted. The wealth reminds me of my own home, and I know tipping is the custom here, but I’m pretty sure the wad of bills that Weston hands the human staff is larger than necessary. “Mr Livingston. Ma’am.” They both nod, dismissing themselves now that the plates are laid out between us.

“I know what this reminds me of,” I say as the front door clicks shut, leaving us alone again. “The wealth. This hotel, this .” I gesture around us. “ Pretty Woman . I watched it last year, as soon as I could get my hands on it.”

“Are you the prostitute, then?”

I toss the first thing I can find at his head, which happens to be a bread roll. He laughs, catching it easily, tearing it open and buttering it as I speak. “Sex work is the world’s oldest profession, and that is on both sides of the divide. There’s nothing wrong with it, but no, I’m not . I think there was a very clear imbalance of power in that movie. She had no wealth or power of her own. She was entirely dependent on him. She had her own principles and I appreciated that — when she left him after he continued to treat her like a commodity I thought good job , but then she took him back! I enjoyed the romance of it, but I didn’t like the implication that she had to be saved by a man.”

He nods. “Humans tend to be very binary in their thinking. And sexist. I’m here in New York because I have an event to attend — it’s going to be a mixture of humans and shifters. The humans are in the dark, obviously, but it is being hosted by the alpha of the New York superpack. She is one of the most powerful alphas, and wealthiest, in this realm.”

“And the humans have no idea.”

“The humans think her mate — sorry, her husband — is the reason for all the money they have accumulated, but the businesses he ‘runs’ are only so successful because of all the pack members embedded at each level of each organisation, all listening to her. She’s a very smart woman, but she has very little patience for human bullshit, and she was realistic enough to know that putting him in place as her puppet back in the fifties was the only course of action.”

“That’s infuriating.” I choose a plate of steak, cutting into it as I consider what to tell Weston now. I suppose there’s not really any sense in hiding anything from him. “You asked where I sit within my family,” I start, popping a bite of meat in my mouth. It’s beautiful and tender and exactly what I’ve been craving. I hadn’t realised how starving I was.

“I already know,” he replies as I chew, wearing his usual frown as he cuts into his own meal. “You’re the granddaughter, aren’t you? The heiress?”

I wonder what gave it away. “The heir, yes.”

“The next High Witch? The next head of House Maheras?”

“How do you know so much about my family?”

He gives me an unimpressed look. “It’s not hard to. House Maheras is one of the most powerful houses in the First Realm. They are up there with the dragons in terms of current political power. Your grandmother’s abilities are well known.”

“Her abilities or her personality?”

He snorts. “I’ve heard she’s a bitch.”

I should feel guilty talking about her this way. I should feel bad for this level of disloyalty. “ Talking to a shifter ,” she would hiss if she could see this moment right now.

“She is a bitch,” I admit, unable to hide the smile on my lips as I take another sip of wine. “So, now you know. I have my own wealth and power.” That statement is a bit of a lie; my grandmother still holds all the power, and I don’t necessarily want any of it anyway. The wealth is not my own, but held collectively.

Still, I’m not some damsel in distress, and I need Weston to know that. He may be an alpha, but I am a witch .

“I don’t know how we’re going to make this work,” he says, his eyes still focused on his food, and my stomach twists in nervous anticipation of his next words. They’re just as bad as I expect them to be.

“I will not give up my pack, which means you’re going to have to give up the claim to yours.”