Howl (Lost Moon: Unravelling Monsters Universe #2)

Chapter 5

5

brONTE

I t’s dawn when the body lying underneath me moves, and I hum in question, not yet awake enough to think beyond the words mate and warmth and come back . Weston slides out of bed while I blink sleepily at him. He stands with his back to me, muscles rippling under tanned skin.

He was naked and I had my arms and legs wrapped around him.

Goddess, he has a perfect ass.

“West?”

“I can’t hold him in any longer.”

I have no idea what he means until he shudders suddenly, a tremble that overtakes him, and there is the briefest flash of magic as he crouches, changing, morphing, shifting .

Oh. Of course.

West’s wolf is larger than I expected, dominating the space, his coat a glossy black, and when he turns towards me his eyes are luminous in the light that peeks through a gap in the curtains. He’s beautiful in a deadly, predatory way. I have no doubt that he is dangerous. But not to me. That thought pops into my head unbidden, but I somehow know it to be true. This wolf would lay his life on the line for me if he had to.

“Hi,” I say quietly. West stares at me, unblinking, and I’m pretty sure he’s testing me. That theory is confirmed a moment later when his lips stretch in a canine smile, all his sharp teeth on display.

“Come here,” I tell him, echoing his bossiness from earlier in the night. He steps forward, tail wagging until his muzzle nudges my hand. I reach further, running my hand over his forehead and behind one ear, scratching at the fur there. He closes his eyes, tail wagging faster, and I smile.

“Can you fit on here, do you think?” I ask, patting the mattress. West makes a noise I interpret to mean maybe , and I shuffle backwards beneath the blankets, making room for the giant wolf that leaps onto the bed a moment later. He settles beside me, his huge head lowering between massive paws, the weight of him causing such a dip in the mattress that my body rolls towards his.

“This reminds me of my childhood,” I say after a moment. I reach out, tentatively placing a hand on his side, my fingers threading through thick fur. “I always felt so small when all the adults changed under the full moon. I feel tiny next to you now.”

He makes a huffing sound that I interpret as amused agreement.

“I’m glad you could let your wolf out,” I whisper, continuing this strange, one-sided conversation. “I can’t imagine going so long without turning. Though I suppose one day that might happen.”

That piques his interest, his ears perking up.

I’m not used to being around shifters, who maintain all the consciousness of their usual unshifted selves, but without the ability to fully explain their thoughts. From appearances only, they seem to be giant versions of the wolves found in the wild — animals — and so different from my kind. His gold eyes, however, are so full of intelligence no one could ever doubt what he really is.

“Pregnant werewolves can turn. The moon still has the same impact on our bodies, and the pup inside isn’t affected. But after the birth… it varies, but it can take up to a year before you can turn again.”

There’s no mistaking what his choked bark means, widened eyes making me laugh. I’m surprised he didn’t already know that fact, but then again, it’s not necessarily something that we weres like to advertise widely.

“Who is going to take care of a tiny newborn, if everyone is changed under the full moon? We think that’s why we evolved that way. It’s too dangerous, too cold, too many threats for the littlest pups. Think about it; do all of your pack shift at once and leave the children unattended?”

He shakes his huge head.

“Will you protect me when the time comes, and I can’t do it myself? When my wolf won’t come forward, even for the moon?” Will you protect me when I have your pups?

His eyes dart immediately to the door, his lips pulling back in a vicious snarl, and the deepest, darkest growl I’ve ever heard rumbles in his chest.

It’s a warning for the universe, and a promise to me.

“I just don’t understand,” West begins, interrupting himself to take another huge bite of his hotdog. We’re both sitting on the grass in Central Park, trying to get to know each other, I guess.

It is the oddest thing to be so comfortable with someone who is still, essentially, a complete stranger. I don’t know Weston Livingston, and yet I simultaneously feel like I do — West Livingston is my mate , and my wolf is very insistent about that fact.

I watch the humans passing by as I wait for him to speak. It’s a sunny day, and it seems the late-spring weather has drawn everyone here, the park filled with the noise of hundreds of chattering conversations. West insisted on coming here to see the spot where the portal opened, despite me telling him multiple times that he wouldn’t find anything. “I’ll find their scent,” he’d growled, and I suppose in that regard he was right. The scent trail was faint, but it was still there, and easy enough to follow all the way to the gate, even with us both in glamour once more.

He finishes his mouthful now and starts again. “I don’t understand why you jumped through a portal with no real plan of what you were going to do next. Do you not have any sense of self-preservation?”

I frown at him, chewing on my own hotdog. I can’t quite decide if this is the best or worst thing I’ve ever eaten. “You are so offensive,” I say when I can speak again.

“Explain it to me in a way that makes sense.”

A dollop of mustard lands on my brand new jeans and I swear softly under my breath as I swipe at it with my finger, leaving a yellowed stain on the fabric. West somehow organised an entire wardrobe for me without my knowledge — including a range of sizes to fit my body in both my glamoured and true states — and it all arrived this morning. “It’s fine, you can change as soon as we get back,” he says. “Tell me what you were thinking when you came through.”

“I told you I can see the future. Is that not explanation enough?” I ask defensively. From the look in his eye, it’s not, and I sigh. “I saw you in this realm. A portal was opened, leading to this realm. And yes, I was chasing the stone, but I…” I trail off, heat flushing my cheeks because it is idiotic, and I don’t appreciate him pointing that out. “I took a leap of faith for a mate I had seen , okay? The stone being stolen was merely the catalyst for it. Would you rather I hadn’t?”

He shakes his head, staring at me thoughtfully with his brown eyes. “I didn’t realise that was why you came through. That you were seeking me.”

“Everything happened so quickly. Everything is still happening so quickly. I don’t like feeling like I’m not in control of a situation, and I haven’t been in control of the situation since you first appeared in my head.”

What are we doing here?

“Hey.” There’s something special about hearing a usually gruff man use such a gentle tone, and he’s wearing the same open expression that he did in the night, when he brought tears to my eyes. “I know there’s a lot going through your mind right now,” he says quietly.

I nod, feeling the weight of everything sitting on my chest. “I don’t even know where to start. We’re just sitting here when time is ticking and…” I stare at a squirrel as it runs past, the movement drawing my eye instinctively.

“So we’ll make a plan. We’ll talk through options. You’re going to need to give me more context, but I will help you. It’s only ten in the morning. There are plenty of hours in the day yet.”

“Those pixies could be anywhere.”

“Exactly. They could be anywhere , right? Even back in your realm. You said your family would likely be searching for them, too. You could just leave it to them. Why is it your responsibility?”

“Duty,” I answer quickly, my eyes still trained on the squirrel. It feels safer when I’m not looking directly into his intense stare.

“I understand that.”

“And…” I hesitate, at war with myself over how much I can say to him. I trust him, I really do, despite barely knowing him, but the full extent of what the Maheras Stone can do is something that has been so closely guarded, and is so unique , and I am not sure how a shifter would react to it. “I said yesterday that the fae are the threat. My grandmother has been going on about it a lot lately, and I’m beginning to realise I should have been paying more attention. If they get their hands on the stone…”

“It’s really that powerful?”

“Yes.”

“What can it do?”

There’s that question again. I’d given him a vague answer yesterday and he’d grown quiet, his demeanour changing in an instant. “You hesitated a little too long on that answer, Bronte,” he’d said, and my wolf warned me that although this man was our mate, he was also dangerous to anyone not on his side.

His statement had made my hackles rise immediately, and I’d shot back with a, “You still interviewing me, then, boss man?”

It had been a tense dinner, and I don’t want to repeat the experience now.

“It can make the person — or people — who wield it much stronger. Much stronger,” I say. It’s not a lie, it’s just not the full truth when it comes to werewolves.

“Stronger physically?”

“And magically. I told you yesterday, it amplifies magic. So if the fae get their hands on it… They’re already draining more of our magical reserves than before. There’s a reason why so many of the Houses are encouraging higher reproduction rates at the moment; we need more bodies with decent magic reserves to uphold the universal glamour here, and the wards against the fae in the First. So you see, I’m very stressed out at the moment. There’s a lot happening all at once.”

I’m overwhelmed.

West can see it. “I’m not a patient man,” he murmurs. “I’m used to getting what I want and getting it quick, but for you I will be as patient as you need me to be. Whatever you need from me, I’ll do it.”

Tears prick at the back of my eyes, and I swallow back the lump in my throat, breathing around this feeling in my chest. I’ve always been a crier, forever wearing every emotion far too close to the surface for someone that’s supposedly meant to rule a House in the future. Why is it that I can stand up and lecture acolytes for hours on end, can wield magic as a weapon, can fight with tooth and claw under the full moon, but when it comes to things like this I can’t seem to hold it in?

“Do you swear it?” I ask, papering over my vulnerabilities with a tone that’s far braver than I feel. “Do you swear it on the moon goddess?” The shifters don’t even pray to the goddess anymore, and I don’t know why I keep throwing werewolf culture in his face like this.

His fingers graze my chin, gently turning my gaze back towards him. His eyes search my face and I know he sees right through me.

“I swear it on my life,” he says quietly.

I drag my gaze away, blinking. “I didn’t peg you for such a romantic.”

“Neither did I,” he deadpans, and his deep chuckle makes me smile. “I’m not a likeable person. I had a woman tell me that once. Her exact words were, ‘You’re a handsome guy but your personality doesn’t match your face.’ ”

“What?!” I laugh. His grin mirrors my own, and he shrugs, taking another bite of his hotdog.

“ I like you, West,” I tell him, meaning every word.

I sit cross-legged on the bed, back in my true form and a new pair of jeans, conscious of the fact that West is watching me with that intense look of his. My fingertips glow ever-so-slightly gold with the barest hint of my magic, but I hesitate, glancing back up at him. “Do you…”

He rises from the chair in the corner. “I’ll go make some business calls.”

“I’m sorry. This isn’t a skill I actively practise, and —”

“It’s fine, Bronte.” He stops just inside the bedroom doorway, and for a moment I think he might say something else, but instead he gives a small shrug and leaves.

I lose track of time as I try and tap into the sight . Forcing it has never worked for me, and it doesn’t work now. Every time I get close to that sliding, falling feeling, it slips through my grasp, and I have to start again. I know there’s better ways to practise this skill, that I should be mindful, perhaps brew some tea slowly, but right now I don’t have time to spare. What I need is to look into the future of those pixies and see exactly what they’re going to do with the Maheras Stone.

Using my magic this way was West’s idea, and I feel stupid that I didn’t think of it sooner. Then again, this failure is probably why it never came to mind. I groan, flopping backwards on the bed, closing my eyes and listening to the deep rumble of West’s voice as he talks business in the next room. The words stock prices and dividends mean nothing to me, but I can tell from his tone that it’s important.

It could have been worse. I smile to myself, eyes still closed, entertaining myself with just how much worse this situation could have been. Fate could have thrown anyone my way, and yet here I am, lying on a plush bed in an equally plush hotel suite, listening to the most delicious voice making utterly boring things sound sexy because I know just how competent and confident he is.

I love that voice. I’m no longer listening to his words at all, just the sound of him. It wraps around me like a lullaby.

I wake to the sound of the shower going in the adjacent bathroom, the running water a steady, calming sound, such a stark contrast to the horny confusion I feel. I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep for, but my dreams were nothing but a jumble of erotic moments, all of West, his tongue on my cunt, his teeth at my neck, his cock rock hard within me. Were they visions or dreams? At this moment, I couldn’t care less. I just need to get off.

My fingers quickly undo the button and fly of my jeans so I can slide my hand beneath the fabric of my underwear, my middle finger finding my clit. I’m already soaked — a wet, slippery mess — and I’m too desperate to come to do anything else but close my eyes again and give in to the urge.

I think about him — his scent, his hefty dick, his knot, and that piercing gaze of his — and I’m already so close, my thighs trembling.

A grunt from the bathroom has me freezing, mouth open, on the brink of an orgasm. Now that I’m listening past the sound of the shower I can hear what I hadn’t picked up before, the water not quite drowning out the repetitive nose, a quiet fap fap fap at an ever-increasing pace.

“Oh fuck, ” I whimper. He’s masturbating, growling now, and I can picture it in my mind. If I wasn’t already so close to coming I’d be leaping out of bed to join him, to offer him my needy cunt, but as it is all I can do is rub my clit frantically, listening to the sounds my mate is making. He groans and I come hard, throwing my head back with a moan, my cunt pulsing around nothing.

It’s not enough. My pussy still feels empty. I need that knot. I need my mate.

The absolute desperation I feel for him is startling, and the shock of it is the only thing that keeps me pinned in place on the bed. I’ve never craved a person like this before. Even now I feel so unsatisfied, like I’m crawling out of my skin. I want to be filled, to be fucked. This bed smells like him and I close my eyes, willing him to step through the door, to come to me. I won’t go to him, not yet , but if he were to climb on this bed right now I would gladly spread my legs and welcome him home.

Instead I lay there as my heart rate slowly returns to normal, listening to the shower stop, the sound of the glass door opening and closing, footsteps on the bathmat. They’re all the day to day noises I usually tune out, but in this moment I can’t do anything but focus on him in that room, wondering if he’s doing the same. I listen to him dry his body, brush his teeth and begin to shave, the scrape of a blade cutting through stubble taking me back to my childhood when I lived in the same apartment as my parents and listened to my father’s morning routine.

Weston would have heard me come, I have no doubt about that, and it’s what made the moment so erotic, knowing we were thinking and doing exactly the same thing.

I don’t think we’ll make it another twenty four hours without giving in to this lust. I don’t think there’s any point in fighting it. Part of me thinks I should resist it because there’s too many unknowns, too many variables. Our lives don’t mesh.

Mate, my wolf whines, just as desperate as me.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, rising, pushing my messy hair away from my face. The sun shines through the windows and the alarm clock reads 2:17; it’s time to get ready for this gala of West’s, the one run by a wealthy shifter.

I don’t want to get ready. I want to get naked.

Fuck.

I’ve never been quite so aware of my own vagina before, and I take back any jokes I’ve ever made about men thinking with their dicks, because I am not in control right now — she is.

I pull the bathroom door open and West’s heady scent hits me, thick and enticing and just as much a turn on as the sight of him in nothing but a towel, the white fabric slung low over his hips as he pauses, razor blade halfway to his foam-covered cheek. Wet hair hangs over his brow, and his gold eyes rake over me through the reflection in the mirror. Too late, I realise I forgot to even do up the fly on my jeans, and my cheeks flame hot. When his eyes finally settle on my face it is with such an intense look that it steals my breath away.

Wolf men — both weres and shifters — have a reputation for being attractive, but Weston is in a league of his own. I thought I’d appreciated the sight of his body last night, but seeing him here under the bathroom lights is like staring at a work of art. He’s all pure muscle and raw alpha power, and it’s so damn easy to get caught in his gaze.

There’s more to this all than just lust. Even now I can sense the tug of magic between us, a thread that is desperate to bind us closer. With that look in his eyes and the smell of sex in the air — of spent seed and wet pussy — it’s enough to make my teeth ache with a desire I’ve never felt before; to truly bite, to clamp down and slice through flesh. I want to leave a mark on him that says he is mine .

“Sleep well?”

I can’t help the soft laugh that escapes me. He’s standing there, asking me that as if nothing is going on between us, as if he can’t smell my sex, as if he’s not affected, as if I can’t see the huge tent at the front of his towel. “Yes, I slept well,” I reply, biting my lower lip for a moment, watching the way his eyes drop to my mouth. “I didn’t mean to take a nap.”

His eyes meet mine again in the mirror, his expression open and unguarded, and I get the sense that very few people ever see him this way. “You looked like you needed it.”

“Using magic takes a lot of energy. I’m usually better at holding out until bed, but…” I shrug.

“A lot has been going on.”

“Yes.”

A lot is an understatement. I feel drunk on him, my body swaying forward, and it would take very little for him to tug on that invisible string that ties us, to convince me to fall into him right now.

“I’ll be done here in a minute, and then I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Thank you.”

He continues to shave, slowly scraping foam and stubble away with his razor. Somehow, he makes such a mundane task look utterly sexy. If he finds it odd that I stand here watching him, he doesn’t say anything. I lean against the doorframe, mesmerised by the ripple of muscles under tan skin, fingers itching to touch his broad back, to splay out over wide shoulders. I want to press my face to his neck and breathe in his essence. I have never felt like this for another person before. “Your outfit for the gala arrived while you were sleeping.”

“Thank you. I’m a little nervous,” I admit. He nods.

“That’s normal. I don’t enjoy these things myself, but they’re a necessary evil. I usually manage to sit through this one each year without socialising that much, but I get the feeling tonight will be different. Turns out when you list a company on the stock exchange, there’s suddenly a fuck ton of people that want to talk to you.”

“Right. We have similar events at the castle, and with my position in the House... I grin and bear it.”

“Hm.”

“I hate the small talk,” we both say in unison. His sharp canines flash as he meets my gaze in the mirror again, making me feel giddy. He gets it. He knows what it’s like.

“I can do it. Put on a performance,” I say. “I always do.”

“Same.” He huffs, wry humour curling his lip as he rinses more foam off his blade. “The humans think they know me. They have no idea.” Something in his tone makes me think he’s referring to more than just the fact that he’s a shifter, but before I can ask him what he means he’s rinsing his face over the sink. I bite my lip, nipples and cunt and clit aching as he removes his towel, using it to scrub his face dry. His knot looks so swollen, his cock thick and erect and just slightly curved in the most perfect way, and my knees nearly buckle under the temptation to kneel before him.

He walks towards me, pausing at the doorway, our bodies so close I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. I still need to lift my chin to look him in the eye. He’s the biggest wolf I’ve ever met.

My mouth waters with the idea of having a taste, but I stay on my feet. Let him make the first move. Let him kneel first.

Seconds pass slowly, the humourous twitch of those full lips stretching slowly into a wide grin. “You’re cute.”

If he means to be condescending it’s ineffective, the impact of his words negated by the other twitch I can’t help but notice in my periphery, his dick jumping as it strains upwards. “Careful,” I say, infusing my voice with the slightest growl. “I bite.”

Gold eyes crinkle at the corners, and his chuckle is a deep rumble in his chest. “I’m counting on it, sweetheart.”

I shake my head as he ducks through the doorway, my eyes trained on the perfection of his naked ass as he walks right out of the bedroom.

Goddess, what a pair we are.