Howl (Lost Moon: Unravelling Monsters Universe #2)

Chapter 4

4

WEST

I wake suddenly, heart rate spiking at the unexplained noise until I sit up and register what’s going on in the dark: I’m on the couch and there is my mate across the room, her silhouette outlined by the soft glow of the bar fridge, a bottle of water in her hand and my business shirt skimming the tops of her bare thighs. She turns her head towards me, her mouth falling open, pupils large and shining in the dark.

Wait —

“Come here,” I say, my voice still thick with sleep as Bronte closes the refrigerator door, plunging the room into darkness once more.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I was thirsty. I’ll go.”

“No. Come here ,” I say again, desperate to see her up close. Her eyes were… she was taller…

Not in glamour.

“Don’t bark at me,” she says sharply, and I close my eyes, recalling too late that this mate of mine is unhappy with me. I admire her stubbornness but that does not change what I am, and I am an alpha to a pack back in Silicon Valley. I am duty- bound to them and I cannot and will not abandon those wolves — my wolves — so here I am, sleeping on the couch because this is what we decided on after we were done snarling and sulking our way through the tense conversation at dinner. Yes, we are in a hotel and I could have taken one of a hundred other rooms, but my wolf had fought hard against that fact, and Bronte had been equally as disturbed at the suggestion that I stay elsewhere. Even in the height of our frustration with each other, neither of us could deny that we are fated mates and that proximity to each other will always be painfully important.

She is upset with me for telling her the truth, and yet, there is a magical item out there that she is after, that has been stolen from her people, that is dangerous — her words — and she is withholding information from me. She knows that I know this, and yet all she was willing to say is that it has cultural significance and emits magic .

“Every being has some magic, even humans. They have the tiniest spark. Some items out there also have magic embedded in them,” she’d said with a vague gesture of her hand, “and if you have the ability, you can harness it. This stone is such an item. It can aid someone in their use of powerful spells, that’s all.”

I’d asked her outright if that really was all, and I didn’t miss the words she’d used in her reply: “That’s all the explanation I have for you.”

For me . Her mate.

Her mate.

“It wasn’t a bark,” I say now. “You’d know it if I barked at you.”

“There was a hint of it. I am a witch , Weston; I can sense it. It doesn’t align with my magic and I don’t enjoy the feeling of it.”

I can only vaguely see the outline of her now, a darker shape against a dark background. “You can see me, can’t you? You’ve used a counterspell to remove the glamour. I saw your eyes in the light.”

I count the seconds of silence, listening to the sound of her heartbeat. This is by far the strangest experience I’ve ever had in my life; to be by myself, going about my own business, and suddenly have her drop in quite literally from another world and turn everything upside down. Now all I want is her body beside me and around me, all I want to hear is the sound of her voice and the thrum of her pulse, I only want her scent — and the scent of me on her — in my nose.

“Yes, I took off the glamour,” she speaks, her voice small and forlorn. I wonder what she’s thinking, whether she dislikes me, whether she regrets stepping through that portal. I’ve never shied away from conflict, but this is one conflict I would gladly avoid if I could. Mate, my wolf whines, as if he’d gladly give up being alpha for her. He wouldn’t, and that’s the issue. We can’t.

“Would you come here, my mate?” I ask this time, doing my best to sound gentle. “I’d approach you but my eyes are still human in this scenario, and I’d probably stub my toe.”

She makes a small, unimpressed hum. “Somehow I doubt that,” she says quietly, but the shape of her moves closer, her footsteps soft on the carpet and barely audible at all. She is graceful, beautiful; I don’t need to see her to know this is the truth.

She stops at the end of the couch. I can’t see her face but I can sense her hesitation, and whatever residual frustration I held against her withers and dies. There’s an ache in my chest and my wolf whines along with it. Our mate is sad, and it’s my fault. I lift my hand, willing her to step forward and take it, holding my breath and waiting.

She does, and I exhale in relief at her touch, her skin so much warmer than my own. This is new to me. I’m not used to caring about what others think of me and my actions. I take my roles seriously and I do whatever needs to be done in any given situation, but there’s more to it with Bronte. While my focus has always been on my pack being safe and thriving, I want her to be happy .

She steps closer, and I swivel in my seat so that she can stand between my legs, the warmth radiating off her. There’s nothing under the shirt of mine that she’s wearing — I know this because I’m the one that had her clothing sent down to the laundry while she showered — and it’s so tempting to touch her. She smells good enough to eat, and the fact that she’s wearing my clothing — and my scent along with it — is short circuiting my brain. I want to taste her cunt and then pull her onto my lap and have her ride my cock, but I’m behaving right now and leaving my dick exactly where it is: painfully trapped inside my underwear.

“Did you sleep?” I ask, opting for a neutral topic.

“Not really. Like I said, I’m sorry that I woke you, I was trying to be quiet.”

“It’s fine.” I run my thumb over the back of her hand and listen to her shuddery exhale in response. “You should rest. Tomorrow will be busy.”

Her throat clicks as she swallows. I’m hyper-aware of every sound she makes, of her racing heart and the scent of her arousal, and yet I know how torn she must be. This is not a normal situation for either of us.

She speaks, but I don’t understand the words that flow melodically off her tongue, and it takes me a moment to process what is happening as a golden glow envelops me. In the soft light of her magic I see Bronte in her true form for the first time. She is magnificent; a goddess with all the power of the universe at her fingertips. She touches my face, full lips stretching into a shy smile, showing off her sharp canines. “I’m still annoyed at you, but I’m not going to deny you this,” she says, before switching languages once more. Her voice is hypnotising, and a moment later I feel the changes within me that come with a counterspell against the universal glamour — the sudden increase in muscle mass, in height, in strength, the ability to see, to bite , and to shift.

Within me my wolf pushes at my skin, desperate to get out. He knows he’s closer to freedom than he has been in months. Wait , I tell him, staring up at Bronte.

Everything is as it should be when the magic subsides. The colours of the world around me are muted as they always are in the night, and yet they feel as vibrant as if I were standing under the sun at noon.

It’s because of her. “Thank you,” I say, my voice barely even a whisper, the strange feeling in my chest constricting my lungs and making it hard to breathe. She shakes her head, her eyes welling with tears that she blinks back as she brushes my cheek, her thumb rasping against the stubble that is now longer than it was mere moments ago.

“Always.”

I close my eyes as she traces my brows, my nose, my lips, mapping my face with her fingertips. It feels so natural to turn my head and press a kiss to her palm, breathing her in. I don’t know what we are going to do with our lives, but what I do know is that I need her. I could try fighting it, but this is just as much a part of being a wolf as shifting or howling at the moon. Some people meet their mates this way , and there is no point fighting destiny.

Why would I ever want to? She is everything.

“I saw you,” she whispers. The smell of salt is in the air, and when I open my eyes I’m unsurprised to see tears tracking down her cheeks. “I see visions sometimes, of moments yet to pass. I saw you here, in the bedroom just there, in this hotel, and I knew immediately that you were my mate.” She makes a small, frustrated noise. “I assumed at the time that you were a werewolf, because what else would you be? Tall, handsome, with those beautiful eyes of yours. You said my name, and I was half in love with you already. I’ve thought about you for weeks .”

There are few times in my life where I have been lost for words, but this is one of them. The idea that she can see the future sends an icy chill down my spine. I’ve met enough witches to know that’s not a standard skill.

“It just makes things more complicated,” she continues. “I have been lying in that damn bed, unable to sleep, staring at the spot where you stood, thinking about what I saw and wondering how the hell we go from this to that in the two days you’re here in New York. Damned if I know, and all the while my wolf and I… we…”

I rise to my feet, stepping into her personal space. On instinct I place my hands on her waist, and she closes her eyes, shaking her head with a sigh. There’s no more tears, but that doesn’t mean much when she’s so obviously unhappy.

She thought I was a werewolf. She thought she was getting a man that would forever defer to her, given her position.

“We could go around in circles for days, arguing about the future and how things will play out. Though perhaps you already know? Have you looked? Do you dislike what you’ve seen?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” she says quietly. “I’ve only seen the two of us together twice. I don’t control when the visions come, they just appear. And no, I don’t dislike what I saw. I saw you, as you are now.” Her eyes dance over my face before lingering on my lips.

Standing this close to her was a mistake. A mere inch separates our bodies, and all I want to do is close that gap. My dick is rock hard, my knot — fuck — my knot is aching to be squeezed. I want to spread her wide and fuck her hard and come in her and never leave her body ever again. Endless sex with my mate, that’s all I want.

“You have to show me where I was in your vision,” I say instead, grasping at the first distraction I can think of. “I’m curious now.” I step back from her, holding her hand, willing her to follow. “Come on. Come show me.”

She shakes her head in disbelief, but takes the bait. “You’re ridiculous.”

I get described a lot of things, but never that. I’ve never been the class clown, never been the funny guy, but I want to see her smile. “Tell me exactly where,” I say as we approach the bed. “Where was I? What was I doing? You direct me.”

“What?” She lets out a nervous laugh.

“It’s not fair, Bronte, that you’ve experienced something I haven’t. I want a reenactment. Tell me where to stand. You did say I was standing, right?”

“Yes, but it was the morning. There was daylight.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

She shakes her head again, pointing to a spot on the floor.

“Here?” At her nod, I step into place. “What was I doing?”

There’s a flush on her cheeks and a smile in her eyes that wasn’t there before. “You were facing the window, and then you turned around and looked at me.”

“And said your name.”

“Yes.”

I turn so my back is to her. “So how do you experience these visions? You said you’re in them… do you see yourself?”

“No. If I’m in them, I see them through my eyes. I experience them as if it is me, and I feel both my emotions, and the emotions of my future self, simultaneously.”

“That must feel pretty strange.”

“It really does feel odd.”

I nod, turning slowly to face her. “Bronte,” I say, earning me a small smile. “That wasn’t accurate enough, was it?” I ask. “You said it was daylight — was I wearing a suit?”

She shakes her head.

“My tux?” The gala hosted by the alpha of New York’s superpack is tomorrow night. It’s fortuitous timing, because if anyone on the East Coast can help us with Bronte’s missing stone, it’s Anita. I may not believe my mate is telling the full story, but I do believe her when she says it’s dangerous, particularly if it falls into the wrong hands.

“No, you weren’t in a tux.”

“A t-shirt?”

She shakes her head.

“Underwear like this, then.”

The shake of her head is more pronounced this time, her lips twitching with amusement.

“You’re kidding me. I was naked?”

She tilts her head to the side, grinning as she stares directly at my cock, the outline of my erection obvious through my white underpants. “Don’t act so shocked. You’ve been parading around with that since you woke up,” she points.

“I can’t help it. This is what you do to me.” I grab it through the fabric, giving it a quick squeeze, grunting as my fingers graze my sensitive knot. She bites her lower lip, and I mirror her. I want to bite that lip of hers myself. Reluctantly, I turn away from her again. Facing the window, I push my underwear down my legs, kicking it to the side.

“What are you doing?! ”

“Striving for historical accuracy. I’m guessing I was erect, if I was in the room with you.” I keep my back turned to her. “Let me know if I wasn’t… if that’s the case, we’re going to have a problem here.”

“I thought you didn’t care about accuracy, since it’s 2AM right now and I said it had been daylight. And how is it historical, when it’s in the future for you?”

“I care about this. It’s your history,” I add, “even if it’s my future. Quite frankly, I’m offended that I’ve missed out on this before.”

She’s silent behind me. I wait, thinking about the fact that she said I’d been on her mind for weeks, and now I know that it was this that she’s been thinking of: me, naked, with a rock hard dick.

“West,” she says softly. No one calls me that, but it sounds right coming from her lips. It’s who I am for her . I turn slowly, in awe of her and of this moment. She is so beautiful that it steals the breath from my lungs.

“Bronte.”

Her eyes are full of unshed tears once more, but this time I know she’s not unhappy, she’s just… emotional. The same way that this is getting to me.

I approach her, and she steps into my open arms like she belongs there, like I am her safe haven. Her breath feathers over my neck a moment before her lips press to my throat, her whole body sighing into me. Wrapping my arms around her is the most natural thing, and I have never felt so at peace as I do now. How could anyone deny that this is meant to be, when it’s like this?

I lose track of time, holding her, rubbing her back, loving the way she buries her face in the crook of my neck. When I feel her growing heavier I pick her up like a bride — my bride — laying her on the bed and sliding us both under the covers. She presses her body against mine, my arm around her, her head on my shoulder and one leg slung over my hip, relaxing against me as if we’ve known each other for years and not mere hours.

I wait until I hear her breath even out. In slumber, her body is limp against mine. She’s completely trusting, and I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this gift of a woman. She is too good for me.

I press my lips to my mate’s head, and sleep.