Howl (Lost Moon: Unravelling Monsters Universe #2)

Chapter 8

8

brONTE

T he glamour I put in place holds as it should; humans walk past us but pay us no mind, despite the fact that I’m barefoot and very tall for a woman, and that West towers over them, his shirt unfashionably tight and his belt digging into his waist. While he acted completely unaffected while we were still in front of the other shifters, he’s now walking with a strange gait.

“How are your toes?” I ask, hazarding a guess at what the issue is.

“Crushed in these fucking shoes. I need to loosen my belt too; it feels like it’s about to cut off circulation to my lower half. Can your magic not alter clothing?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. It’s not an appropriate time, but I feel a sudden urge to laugh in that unhinged, ridiculous way that one does after a big event . “I never thought about clothes,” I say instead as we walk through the revolving front door and into the cool night air. “I don’t know, there’s probably a spell. Come on, let’s hurry up and save your lower half, I’m rather fond of all the bits below your belt.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. Especially those giant feet. You should ditch your shoes if they’re hurting you. Is now a good time to tell you I have a foot fetish?” I don’t , but hearing him laugh softly is worth making silly statements about myself.

He doesn’t kick his shoes off, but instead looks at me, his eyes dropping to my neck, where I know my skin is probably reddened. All the humour dies on his face, his brows furrowing, lips curling back in a snarl, and a deep growl rumbling in his throat. He catches himself, cutting the growl off, dilated pupils reflecting in the city lights as he looks up, directly at a human man who has stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, staring.

I hold my breath, but a moment later the human turns away with a shrug and a muttered “Must be hearing things,” and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“The glamour works.” I smile up at West, but he’s still frozen, his frown deep and angry, and the full-body shudder that runs through him makes it very obvious that he’s struggling with his wolf right now. I can guess why. I’m sure he wants to shift, to create a bloodbath, to take down both Elliot and his second.

“Do you need me to put us back under the universal glamour?” I ask him gently, squeezing his hand. He shakes his head, his eyes on the cars in the distance. I can see a few taxis heading our way.

“I’ll behave,” he says, the growl still present in his voice. “Will I actually be able to flag one of these down with your spell on us? Or will the humans not see us at all?”

“Oh, we’re not getting in a car, I forgot to say.” I look around, but there’s no alcoves, no alleyways, nowhere for us to hide. “There really is no privacy here. I’ll just have to use a stronger glamour.” I snap my fingers, the movement more habit than necessity, the strength of my external glamour increasing until it’s visible to the naked eye, a translucent dome glowing gold over us.

I recite the spell for portal magic, casting my mind to our destination, feeling the location of the hotel suite in my bones. West jerks backwards as the portal begins to form with a familiar tearing sound, the swirling magic before us casting him in a blue light.

“I can’t go to the First. My pack —”

“We’re just going back to the hotel. I promise.” His reaction is a problem, but one I’ll have to confront later. There’s no denying the connection we have, but I want it all. I want us to have everything we want and need all at once, but I’m no fool. I know it’s not possible. Something will have to give.

The confusing thing is that I don’t even know what I really want anymore. I don’t know if I ever did, even before I met West.

When the portal is fully formed it floats larger than us both, a spinning circle of opaque magic, glowing blue as portals always do. “Come,” I say, slightly breathless with the effort of using so much magic all at once, tugging on his hand. He hesitates only for the briefest moment, relief coursing through me when he steps forward. We move through together, the magic crackling like static over my skin, emerging inside the dark suite as planned. “ There ,” I sigh, the portal disappearing in an instant. “Thank you for trusting me.”

He nods. The silence in the room is loud as we stare at each other. “Well that was an eventful evening,” I say to fill the air.

“No shit.”

I reach out to him, touching his cheek, feeling the rasp of his five o’clock shadow under my fingertips. He closes his eyes, brows turned down as if in pain, pressing his lips into my palm the same way he did last night.

Oh, West.

“I’ve never been so afraid in my life, seeing you like that. Seeing him… I should have killed him, ” he says darkly. “You should have let me finish him off.”

I ought to be bothered by this declaration, but I’m not. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it.”

“He hurt you.” Gold eyes open, staring intensely. “He hurt my mate.”

I nod. “And you hurt him back. Very badly. You served your justice, and I appreciate it.” I run my hand down his neck and chest until it sits over his heart, the beat of it steady under my palm. “Besides, I can heal a few bruises.” I nod at his hand. The dried blood isn’t his, but his knuckles are still swollen. “Let me fix you.”

He’s quiet as I lift his right hand, examining it closer. “Your poor knuckles,” I murmur.

“I’ve had worse,” he whispers. When I look up at him I’m caught by how open his expression is, the hard exterior he puts on in front of others cracked open. This is the man no one else sees. “I’ve had worse, and I’ve done… I’ve done far worse things, Bronte, than what you witnessed tonight.”

“You were an enforcer,” I guess, knowing the moment that the words leave my mouth that it’s true.

He nods. “Prior to becoming pack alpha, yes. It’s often the case with young alphas, a way to keep them busy if they’re still in the pack and not a lone wolf.”

“Sounds violent.”

“It was. You’ve seen the scars on my leg. That was from a bite, from another shifter in a rival pack.”

I have seen them, but I barely noticed them at the time. Jagged and silvery, running all the way up the back of his thigh, they hadn’t looked like a bite, but I know that’s very typical when it comes to how scars show when the victim has received them while shifted or changed under the moon. It’s one of those commonalities all wolves have. “I was more focused on your ass, if I’m being perfectly honest,” I say.

I love his smile. I love the way it touches his eyes when he stares into mine. “I can show you again, if you need it.”

“I think so,” I say with mock seriousness. “Just for accuracy, I should know what those scars look like.”

“Of course.”

We both stand frozen. I bite my lip, watching his eyes darken as he follows the movement. It’s almost enough to forget about the blood, but I can still smell that bastard on my skin and clothes, and suddenly that’s all I can focus on. “I think we should wash,” I say. “I want to feel clean.”

“Yes.” His nostrils flare, disgust crossing his face for the briefest moment, and I’d be mortified if I didn’t already know it’s the smell of Elliot’s second that he’s reacting to. “I agree.”

“I will heal you first, though. Here.” I nod at his hand. “I can’t undo damage that’s already done, but I can speed up healing, and give it a nudge in the right direction, if necessary.” My magic glows gold in the dark, illuminating his hand as I begin the process, feeling out the injury and inflammation, and giving his body that extra boost to hasten its own natural processes, burst capillaries absorbing back into the body. The bruises turn purple, then fade to yellow, before disappearing entirely, the process taking less than a minute from start to finish.

Healing requires more energy than most other spells and charms, but I’m not about to tell him that. I can handle this tonight. There’s no way in hell I’m letting anything stop our plans now that we’re here, because I’m certain we’re on the same page when it comes to that .

“Let me hear you. You’re perfect, and I’m going to make you scream.”

The memory of West in that vision flits through my mind, and I resist the urge to press my thighs together, remembering the feel of his fingers buried inside me. Mate, my wolf says, as if I need reminding.

“What about yourself?” he asks, pulling me back to the present. “Your neck.”

I take a deep breath. “I can heal myself, but I want to see it first. It’s not a necessity, it’s just… I don’t know, I’m morbidly curious now if it’s as bad as your wolf seems to think.” I let go of his hand and start walking towards the bathroom, the sound of his quiet footsteps close behind me.

“You know what my wolf thinks?” He’s finally ditched the too-small shoes, and the clink of his belt tells me he’s getting rid of that too. By the time he comes to stand behind me at the bathroom sink, he’s loosened both the first few buttons on his shirt and his bow tie.

My neck is not that bad. Reddened, yes, and maybe it will bruise. I lift my hand to it, pushing my magic through my fingertips. Healing myself is an odd, almost uncomfortable feeling, warm and pulsing and almost ticklish all at once. When I’m done I meet West’s gaze in the mirror, answering his question. “You almost shifted, so yes, I think so. I think if I’d given the word, you’d have torn right through that building, and anyone connected to Elliot’s pack would have not walked out of there alive.”

“Hm. If you’d given the word ,” he says, pressing into my back, trapping me between himself and the vanity, his cock hard against the curve of my ass. He closes his eyes as he buries his nose in my hair. “You think you can command me?” he asks quietly.

I take a deep breath as his arm curls around me, his thumb brushing the underside of my breast. “I think you want to please your mate.”

“I want to do a lot of things to my mate.”

I hum in agreement. “So do I. I —”

I’m falling again, the sensation of dropping even more unexpected this time. “ Fuck, ” I hiss, reaching back on instinct, clutching at his shirt.

“Are you alright?” West asks calmly. It’s not the reaction I was expecting, and I stare at his face in the reflection, blinking, trying to make sense of why things feel off. “Bronte?”

We’re in a bathroom, but it’s not the same, the fittings here more opulent, the tiles pure white instead of marbled grey. Oh.

“Mama! Look, lello bus!” There’s a little boy pulling at the fabric of my skirt, holding a toy vehicle up for me to see. I recognise his eyes and his scent and him all at once — he is the man I met in my earlier vision, made small, a tiny child with rounded cheeks. My baby.

“That’s lovely,” I tell him, my sight blurring. He grins, showing off his baby teeth, sharp canines and all. We’re not in glamour.

“Bronte.”

I glance up at West’s reflection, and this time he frowns at me. “Are you alright, or still feeling nauseous?” he asks. “You can skip tonight, if needed, it’s only the pack.” I shake my head as his hand smooths down over the gently rounded curve of my stomach, and all at once I feel both the shock and the joy, the knowing that my future self has and the sudden realisation as I touch my own belly and confirm that yes , there’s another pup in there. There’s a movement from within, the strangest little bubble, faint and fleeting, and if it didn’t repeat itself I’d think I was imagining it.

“I just felt her move,” I say, somehow knowing this one is a daughter. West’s hand presses gently against me.

“Too soon for me to feel anything,” he murmurs, bending his head to kiss my neck. I shiver at the sensation, nipples pricking, aware of the little boy — our son! — still clinging to my leg. “You smell too good,” West growls against my skin, and it’s only then, as his mouth moves to close over it, that I see the scar on my shoulder. His bite.

A silver mark, two perfect crescents, the bite of all his teeth. I shiver, suddenly aware of the mental bond between us, I can sense it and —

I gasp, heart racing, eyes wide as I stare at our reflections. West is frowning, his grip on me tight as I take in a series of deep breaths. I want to tell him what I just saw, but —

“What just happened?” he asks sharply. He moves to the next question before I can answer. “It was a vision, wasn’t it? Is this what happens to you?”

I nod, swallowing heavily.

“You were blank , Bronte. Empty. Staring.”

“I know. How long?”

He shakes his head. “Too long. It’s fucking dangerous. I don’t like it.”

Does he think I like it? I’ve already told him that I don’t. “I can’t control it; it just happens.”

“Well you need to,” he barks, barks, his alpha magic jarring in my bones.

“ Don’t bark at me, shifter! ” I hiss, and he steps back as if I’ve slapped him. I hate the hurt that flashes in his eyes as I turn to face him, hate the way his expression closes off an instant later, cold and unyielding and entirely my fault.

“Is that how it’s going to be, werewolf? ”

We stand staring at each other in this too-small space, too angry, too upset, too confused, too trapped in this.

Too different. Goddess, we’re so different from each other, both wolves and yet not the same at all.

Too horny, too perfect. Still strangers — but we fit so well together. I’ve seen our future. I’ve met our son. I’ve felt our daughter move within me. I want that. I want them. I want my babies. My babies , my wolf echoes, whining.

I want the happiness I know we can have. I can sense the potential. It’s right there .

I’m crying, tears running down my cheeks, too full of emotion. West looks remorseful, at a loss for what to do with me. I swipe at my face, blinking rapidly, taking in a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I say, another pang of guilt stabbing my heart because it was wrong of me to call him a shifter in that tone , the same one I’ve heard used too many times by too many werewolves. “I’ve told you not to bark at me.”

“You have,” he acknowledges. “It comes out when I’m stressed. You…” He takes a deep breath, eyes wide and naked fear on his face. “I didn’t realise you’re so vulnerable when that happens. What if someone attacks you while you’re in that state?”

The look on my face must say it all, because a growl rips from his throat, his lips curling back in a snarl.

“That’s how he got to you? Tonight? For fuck’s sake, Bronte.”

“It’s not my fault!”

“You should have told me this is what happens to you.”

“I’m sorry, should I just tell you everything about me? You want to sit down and go through my medical history next? You want to know what I ate for breakfast three weeks ago? We’ve known each other for a day! How am I supposed to tell you everything in that time? I barely know you. You’ve barely shared anything beyond the basics.”

“Br —”

“You’re being fucking unreasonable if you put it on me , that I should have told you more about something that rarely happens!”

“It just happened twice in one night!” His voice is booming, echoing against the walls.

“That’s never happened before!” Part of me is aware of how loud we both are, how this is going in exactly the opposite direction of where I wanted things to go tonight. “What are you going to do?” I press on. “Follow me around all day? Never leave my side? Stalk me while I use the toilet?”

“You’re my mate. I’m not leaving your side, I thought that was obvious.”

“I am being literal, Weston. You can’t follow me into the ladies’ room, can you? It was a freak event and I don’t know why we’re arguing about it like this , as if I’ve done something wrong, instead of being pissed off about what happened to me .”

Another round of silence, longer this time. I don’t like feeling as if we’re on a battlefield. I don’t want this chasm between us. One step forward and two steps back… it’s hard to not worry that this is how it’s going to be, even when the rational part of my mind says you’ve only just met him and give yourself some grace and he’s trying, too.

“You said you’ve studied pack structure,” he says quietly, that frown ever-present. “Did you learn about alphas, other than the bark? Did you learn that our bodies change with that first shift, that we’re never the same again? That we can love the alpha we’re raised under one day, and then hate him the next, as soon as our wolf is set free? That the hormones that flood our bodies make us protective, possessive, that we cannot bear the thought of anything happening to our pack? That we would lay down our bodies to defend every one of them? That it extends to mates? Did you learn that, Bronte? That I would die a thousand deaths for you, because you are mine. You are mine. My mate, my wife, my woman. I cannot handle seeing you hurt,” he finishes. “It kills me.”

I want to reach out to him, to hold him and have him hold me. I want that intimacy — not the sexual kind, but the comfort, the togetherness I felt tonight. The ease at which we became a team.

But I’m also stubborn, and deep down I know that my reaction set this all off because he wounded my pride. I am a witch, and I’ve done a shit job at being one when it comes to my divination. I should be able to control it. I shouldn’t let it control me. It is dangerous, and I hate being told that I’m wrong.

He’s worried, and rightly so. I’ve been lucky up until this point, but that might not always be the case.

“I learned that it was a biological imperative to protect your pack,” I tell him. “But you explain it better.”

“It’s more than just biology, Bronte. They’re a part of me.”

I nod. I know. I’ll never feel it, never be part of a pack the way he is, but I can understand it. I felt it, for a moment, the bond that exists between us as mates in the future, the way our souls were intertwined. I was wearing his bite with pride.

I know I’d bitten him back. That bond was strong.

The tension in the room deflates slowly. I point to the shower. “I need to wash the scent off,” I say, and he looks at his hands.

“I need to wash away the blood.”

It’s a truce. We meet in the middle, and I turn silently, lifting my hair out of the way. His hands are warm on my back, lingering as he unzips my dress slowly, peeling it away from my skin. It falls to the floor and my underwear chases it, West’s hands tugging the fabric down until it drops, nothing but a puddle of fabric at my feet. I don’t speak as I climb in the shower, don’t look his way, don’t ask if he’ll join me, because of course he will. I close my eyes under the warm spray, listening as his clothes drop and the glass door opens.

I move to the side, blinking water out of my eyes as he steps forward. This suite is fancy but this shower is still small for two wolves, and our bodies brush, the last vestiges of anger giving way to arousal once more at the press of flesh against flesh.

Still, we keep up the air of efficiency, getting through the business of washing away the intrusive scent of that man and his blood, soaping up multiple times, even as West’s cock waves like an erect flag in front of him. I try and fail not to look at it. He stares blatantly at my breasts, so much so that I give a little shimmy, making him laugh.

“Like what you see?” I ask.

“Of course. You’re beautiful.”

I suddenly feel shy. There’s been too much build up, the idea that we’re about to have sex so present it’s almost suffocating. “Let me wash you,” I offer, and thankfully he turns around.

He has a beautiful back. I’ve always been a sucker for them, whether male or female, the lines of the body so artfully drawn by nature. His body is perfect, perfect and mine, and it’s a joy to run my hands over his skin, to feel his muscles shift beneath my palms.

There are scars here I didn’t see before. Small scrapes, patches of lighter skin against his tan. I would die a thousand deaths for you, he said, and I know he means it. How many times has he put his body on the line for his people already?

He’ll do it for the stone, if it comes to a fight over it, if we find the pixies. I should tell him.

“The visions,” I say instead as I continue to soap his back, “they were both…” I have to pause to swallow back the sudden lump in my throat. “They were wonderful.” He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, and it’s somehow easier to tell him this way, talking to his back, speaking softly under the spray of water. “I met our son. He was on a vineyard. I think he lives there, in the future. I caught his scent first, and I thought there were two wolves, but it was just him, both a were and a shifter. He’s perfect, West. He looks just like you. You could be twins.”

“Are you sure? How do you know?”

“He called me Mom . My wolf recognised him. I told you, I’m both versions of myself when I’m there. She said he was my baby.”

“He was an adult?”

“He was your age, I think. He even…” I hesitate, wondering for a moment if I should bring up the topic. It’s going to come up eventually. “He even had a bite on his shoulder. He has a mate.”

West is quiet, washing his hands once more. I can’t blame him for wanting to be certain the stink of blood doesn’t linger under his nails. “Tell me what you saw,” he requests quietly. “Tell me everything.”

I do. I tell him in detail, what I saw, what I scented. How I couldn’t recognise the location.

“I don’t know of a place like that,” West says. “Nothing comes to mind.”

“The city across the water looked human. And much smaller than this city here.”

He has me repeat my description of our son multiple times, focusing so much on the communication device that I slap his butt playfully. “You’re trying to get business information out of this! I’m telling you about our future child, and you’re focusing on what is apparently a cellular phone .”

“I’m focusing on both,” he laughs. I go to slap him again but he catches my wrist, turning suddenly, his raw power much stronger than mine. I’m pressed against the tiles in an instant, covered by his huge body. Even at my height, he still manages to make me feel small.

He bends his head, lips brushing my ear. “Tell me about the other vision,” he murmurs, his hands running down my sides, grasping at my hips. I press closer to him, his erection brushing my stomach.

“I was pregnant.”

He stills, gold eyes meeting mine, and there’s something in that look that I haven’t seen before. It’s electric, a spark between us. For wolves to love the concept of breeding is not new — it is the most common kink among our kind, everyone knows that — but I didn’t realise it was his thing.

“I want your babies,” I say, tempting fate. It’s not hard to do when fate appears to be already written. West presses further against me, until our bodies are flush. “It was our second pup,” I add. “A daughter. I felt her move within me. Our son was just a little boy; I recognised his scent. It was him again.”

West’s pupils are dilated, so round it’s as if he’s drunk on the idea of it. He licks his lower lip, staring down at me. “You want me to fuck a baby into you? A shifter pup? You want my cum like that?”

“I thought we already established that you were going to knot me tonight,” I shoot back. His brow furrows.

“But I’m being serious now, Bronte. You’re a witch; I presume you can use those birth control spells like others can. Don’t ask me how I know,” he adds, and I make a mental note to ask him exactly how he does. He must have been with a witch before — which isn’t an unreasonable thought, but the flash of jealous rage I feel certainly is.

“I’m not currently using a spell. I can use one. I…” I don’t want to. I want our children. I want my son.

It’s irrational, stupid, and reckless. That’s what he’s implying. He’s asking if I’m sure. We say we’re mates, but no bites have been exchanged, no bond has been formed. I could walk away from him and all of this.

No! my wolf snarls, as if I’m actually entertaining the idea of a life without him. I’m not. He’s mine, I tell her. He’s ours, and tonight I am feeling reckless. I don’t feel like waiting.

“I want your knot. I want your pups. I want my children.”

I should be thinking about what this means for me, Bronte Maheras, heir to one of the most powerful Houses in the First Realm. I push all thoughts of that aside, focusing on the man in front of me, and the promise of our future.

I brush his wet hair back from his forehead. “I want you,” I tell him, and that’s the crux of the matter.

I want him, and that’s not going to change.