Just Like Animals: A Werelock Evolution Series Standalone Novel

by Hettie Ivers

  I recalled having sex in the club. And then in Raul’s stretch Hummer. And then—oh, sweet baby Jesus, in my building’s elevator!

  And he had bitten me—several times.

  The memory of Raul’s werewolf confession—along with the unexplainable magical abilities he’d displayed the night before—came rushing back to me. I reached up to finger the spot on the side of my throat where he’d bitten me. It still felt tender. I glanced down at my body beneath the freezing, sobering shower spray and found a crescent-shaped pink mark where he had bitten my left breast at the club. There was another one on my inner thigh.

  It had all really happened. I’d fucked a werewolf subspecies last night.

  I moved on autopilot, washing quickly as my teeth began to chatter.

  Don’t freak out. Keep it together. Everything’s okay.

  As I toweled off, I realized there was also a bite mark on my ankle, my shoulder, and the back of my arm. And two on my ass and yet another on the back of my thigh.

  Grabbing iodine solution and swabs from beneath the sink, I stood in front of the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the bathroom door and methodically set to work assessing and disinfecting the affected areas, my brain switching into physician mode.

  Oddly, most of the bites looked like they were several weeks old, rather than mere hours. The new skin covering and surrounding them was the bright pink shade you see when an initial scab falls away. But the bite on my shoulder was deeper and still healing. On my neck, it appeared he’d bitten nearly the same spot twice—the bite marks overlapping and, like my shoulder, penetrating far deeper into the tissue than the ones on my thighs, breast, arm, and ass.

  “Bethy?” Raul wrapped lightly on the other side of the door.

  I jolted and dropped the iodine solution.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I responded a little too zealously as I bent to mop up the spill I’d made. “Fine. Be right out, okay? I’m just … doing my hair.”

  “Bethany, we need to talk.”

  “Okay!” Why was I shouting?

  “I’m really sorry for biting you last night ... so many times.” He mumbled the last part.

  “It’s no big. These things happen.” Did they? What was I even saying?

  “I can explain everything.”

  “That’s okay. I’m good.” The notion that he might have an actual explanation for biting me so many times was somehow more terrifying.

  “Most of the bite marks will be fully healed within a matter of days—I promise.”

  Most. Not all. “It’s all good. My mom’s a great dermatologist. She’s got advanced laser treatments for—for this exact um … sort of thing.”

  “Bethy, please? Just open the door.”

  Crap, the door! I was no safer behind it. Raul didn’t even need for me to open it. I recalled the way he’d magically transported us from the hallway to the inside of my apartment last night—not to mention how he’d magically transported us from the club to the car.

  I felt my psyche going into fight-or-flight mode. I had to find a way to get past Raul and out of my apartment before a full-blown panic attack set in. Think, Bethany, think.

  “Be out in a minute!” I hollered back, snagging my pajamas from their hook on the wall adjacent to the shower and yanking the bottoms on with clumsy fingers and trembling limbs.

  “Honey, I can hear you just fine. There’s no need to shout or panic. Everything’s going to be okay—I promise.”

  “What? Who’s panicking?” I returned with an exaggerated, ridiculous laugh, before checking my high volume. I often did shout whenever I panicked. It was a habit I’d picked up from my mom. “I’m just getting dressed.”

  “Baby, your heart rate’s sprinting a mile a minute, and I can smell your fear from out here. Please believe me that there’s nothing to be afraid of. I promise I won’t bite you again.”

  I could’ve sworn I heard him append that promise with a quietly mumbled “today,” but I couldn’t be sure because I was already too busy trying to process his previous assertion that he could hear my heartbeat and smell my fear.

  “I’m just anxious to get to work on time,” I further dissembled as my shaking fingers struggled with the final button of my pajama shirt.

  “Thought you were on call this weekend?”

  “Would you just back off me for a minute?” I snapped, forgetting to be cautious as annoyance superseded my sense of fear. “I need to be at the hospital this morning no later than eleven and available to work through the night and most of tomorrow—that’s what my on-call status means for this weekend.”

  “All right, all right. Got it.” His heavy sigh carried through the door. “Relax. Take your time. I’ll just … be waiting for you.”

  I braced my hands against the sink counter and took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm myself and clear my head. Everything would be fine—he’d said so. And he had promised not to bite me again. Today.

  Jesus Christ, he had canine senses and could hear my heartbeat and smell my fear. I needed to get a grip—and quickly—before he poofed himself through the bathroom door.

  I turned the water on, grabbed my ultrasonic toothbrush, and went to work cleaning my teeth and swishing with mouthwash an excessive number of times in order to buy myself time, while hoping the noise would help mask the sounds of my internal organs going into panic mode.

  I just had to go out there and act natural—like the werewolf thing was no big deal. Then I’d thank him for the super-hot sex last night and excuse myself, saying I had to get to work.

  Right. And that would be that, I mentally assured myself with a nod to my reflection in the mirror. I rinsed one final time, smoothed the wrinkles from my pajamas, and opened the door.

  Raul was standing there, waiting. Blocking my exit.

  He was so tall and built he filled the entire doorway. And I was thrown off-kilter the moment I saw him—and the concern lining his handsome face. He reached for me, and I took several steps back, my bare feet nearly slipping on the damp tile floor in my haste to keep distance between us.

  Hurt flashed in his eyes, but he raised both palms in the air in a nonthreatening gesture. “Hey—s’okay, Bethy.” He backed up out of the doorway, allowing me space to pass. “I just want to talk to you. There’s no reason to be afraid.”

  In truth, I was only partially concerned that he might hurt me because of the unknown factor his new species classification presented. I was more afraid that if he touched me, I was liable to shag him again, werewolf or not. There was a crazy animal magnetism thing happening between us that compelled me to toss sound judgment and sanity right out the window whenever I stared at his face for too long.

  Or heard the sound of his voice. Or got close enough to smell him. Or touch him ...

  I needed to keep my head on straight when I was around him.

  When I still hesitated to move from the bathroom, he bit his lip and nodded solemnly at a spot on the floor. “Alright then. I’ll just go to the other room and wait for you there.” He turned and walked away without another word.

  I stepped from the bathroom, my eyes following his retreating form—shamelessly eyeballing the way his fine ass filled his jeans and how the muscles of his broad back strained against the material of his T-shirt.

  Closing my eyes and giving myself a mental shake, I counted to ten and followed after him, out of my bedroom and into the living room, where I found him standing next to my little dining table—that was dressed with a tablecloth and flowers and laden with delicious-looking food.

  I stopped in my tracks. “Wow.”

  He winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “Too much?”

  Dear Lord, grant me the strength not to drop to my knees and blow this werewolf right where he stands.

  I looked from the serving dishes, which were piled with sliced fruits, pastries, pancakes, bacon, and eggs, to Raul’s nervous yet hopeful brown eyes, and saw the neighborhood surfer boy I’d grown up with.


  “Raul, I’m sorry. I overreacted. I’m still processing everything that’s happened.”

  His smile was tentative as relief smoothed the worry lines on his face. “It’s understandable.”

  “I really had a lot of fun … catching up with you last night.”

  “Catching up?” His smile broadened, reaching his eyes. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

  I felt my cheeks heat, and I couldn’t help but crack a smile.

  He took a small step toward me. Then another. “I had a lot of fun, too.” He looked like he was about to say more, but then his demeanor shifted and he gestured to the table. “Could I interest you in some breakfast before it gets cold? I promise to sit on my side of the table and only bite the food.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Ha ha, you’re so funny.” I shook my head and walked to the table, allowing him to pull a chair out for me. “It’s a little soon for biting jokes, don’t you think?” But as I said it, I was already grinning from ear to ear.

  “Agreed,” he said with a chuckle, handing me a cloth napkin before setting to work piling food onto my plate. When he was done, he served and seated himself next to me at the table. “I really am sorry, Bethy.” His eyes were sincere. “I didn’t mean for things to happen the way they did last night.”

  “It’s fine.” I bit my lip and rolled one shoulder, suddenly feeling shy. “I can’t believe you made all this,” I said as I began to dig in, wanting to change the subject—and regain some level of normalcy. “I’m always either eating out or grabbing something from the hospital cafeteria. I don’t even remember the last time I ate a home-cooked meal.”

  He sucked air through his teeth. “Ahhh—well, you see, the thing is …” He paused to clear his throat. “I don’t get the opportunity to cook very much anymore, and since I feel so out of practice with it, I thought it’d be best this morning if—”

  “This is all take-out?” I exclaimed in shock. “I mean, I figured the pastries probably were, but—”

  “No. It’s all home-cooked, even the pastries. Just not by me.”

  I took a bite of perfect scrambled eggs as I considered how best to decipher his words.

  “I had a friend come over and cook while you were sleeping,” he further confessed. His smile was sheepish—but not as much as I’d expect, given the circumstances.

  “A friend?” I asked as nonchalantly as possible. A stranger had been in my apartment? While I’d been asleep?

  “One of my chefs,” he clarified after a beat, his posture and tone turning guarded.

  Not a good sign. I took a sip of coffee and nearly choked on it as I realized he’d just said “chefs”—plural—and was reminded of my mafia suspicions. Did werewolves have their own crime syndicate, I wondered?

  “Does this chef have a name?”

  “Do you not like your food?” he evaded with a tight smile.

  My pulse quickened despite my efforts to remain calm. “I love my food. I’d also love to know the name of the person who was in my home preparing it while I was unconscious.”

  He sighed. “Look, Bethy—”

  The sound of someone outside my apartment door, inserting a key into the lock, interrupted us. And nearly stopped my heart.

  Only two people had a key to my apartment, and today wasn’t a cleaning day, which meant …

  “Oh, good God.” My fork slipped from my hand and clattered to the hardwood floor. “Gregg’s at the door.”

  I sensed the blood draining from my face, making me feel faint as it occurred to me I hadn’t thought of my fiancé even once since last night.

  “Calm down.” Raul took my hand in his, clasping it atop the table. “It’s not Gregg. I promise. I had the locks changed last night.”

  And just like that, things went from bad to so much fucking worse.

  11

  Bethany

  “Um … what?”

  The knob turned and the door pushed open.

  “Not now, Mike,” Raul said, right before a tall, handsome stranger entered my foyer and shut the door behind him like he’d done it a dozen times before.

  “Right. I know you’re busy, but I need a moment of your time, please,” he addressed Raul directly. He seemed vaguely familiar to me. “Could we talk outside?” He gestured over his shoulder to my front door. “There’s been a development. Time was of the essence, so I took the liberty of improvising.”

  Raul looked annoyed. “Improvising?”

  “Fully deviating, actually,” Mike replied before turning his attention to me. “Hi, Bethany. I’m Mike. My apologies for the interruption.”

  “Hi. Have we—”

  “You two met last night,” Raul supplied before I could ask, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.

  “Oh.”

  Mike laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t say that we were properly introduced,” he expounded, his grey eyes awash with humor. “But I helped hold you down once or twice while Raul—”

  “Outside! Right now.”

  At Raul’s sharp command, Mike turned and exited my apartment as quickly as he’d entered it a moment ago, chuckling and muttering, “You’d best be joining me.”

  Raul released my hand. “Please excuse me.”

  His chair scraped noisily against the floor as he scooted back from the table, and he arose so quickly and with such force that it toppled over behind him when he stood. He didn’t bother to right it as he stormed out my front door after Mike.

  I overheard them exchanging rapid words in Portuguese in the hallway a moment later. The arguing seemed to escalate quickly. Raul growled in anger, and I caught him tossing out the word “motherfucker” amid all the Portuguese. Mike said something in response, and then the hallway went completely silent—as if they’d done more than simply stop talking. It sounded as if they’d vanished from the hallway.

  I sipped my coffee, contemplating whether they’d magically poofed somewhere. And then I began quietly giggling when I realized how insane it all was—the notion of people “poofing” places.

  No, not people, I reminded myself. Werewolves. Because Raul was a werewolf. And he’d bitten me.

  I was soon laughing so hard I had to set my coffee aside to wipe the tears of humor from my eyes.

  Mike was probably a werewolf too. What if all the well-built “manny” friends of Raul’s at the club last night had been werewolves? Should I ask? No, no, that might be rude. Or dangerous. Yes. I settled on dangerous, deciding it was best to know as little as possible.

  I reined in my giggling fit when I heard a key being inserted into the lock of my front door, and the manny named Stephen, the one who had addressed Raul as “Sir” last night, entered.

  Apparently, everyone but me had keys to the new locks on my apartment. Were they planning on giving me a set?

  “Come, Kitsune,” Stephen called into the hallway behind him, holding the door ajar for my Akita puppy, who ran in after him and headed straight for his water bowl in the kitchen.

  “That—that’s my dog.” I stood, dumbfounded, as Stephen shut the door behind him. I was the worst new mommy ever. I hadn’t even noticed my own puppy’s absence this morning.

  “Yes. I know,” Stephen replied, his mouth set in a thin line. “I’ve been tasked with training him for you.”

  Tasked? “Excuse me? Why would you—?”

  My front doorknob jiggled and opened yet again as Raul and Mike abruptly returned.

  “You can go now, Stephen,” Raul told him.

  “No way,” Mike objected. “Stephen stays. I am not handling you by myself.”

  “There’s nothing to handle,” Raul said through clenched teeth. “I’m fine.”

  “And your wolf?” Mike gave him a raised brow.

  “Under control,” Raul insisted.

  O-kay. Yeah. Now was about the right time for a girl in a werewolf slasher flick to casually back her shit up out the door.

  “I’m just gonna go get dressed for work now,” I mumbled quietly, taking a step i
n the direction of the bedroom and hoping they would keep arguing and not notice me.

  Raul’s head whipped in my direction. His eyes took in the plate of food I’d barely touched, and he was at my side and steering me back into my seat at the table a second later.

  “You need to eat more, sweetheart. Are you feeling okay?” Raul crouched next to my chair and placed a hand to my forehead. “You only got a few hours of decent sleep last night.”

  “I feel fine.”

  In the background, I overheard Mike and Stephen begin conversing in Spanish, and my ears pricked up. I was by no means fluent, but I understood a fair bit of Spanish. The dialect they were using sounded different from the Spanish I was familiar with, though.

  “It’s my fault.” Raul’s fingertips caressed my cheek before trailing down the side of my neck to the double mark he’d left there. Brushing my damp hair aside, he fingered the spot. “Still hurt a little?”

  I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

  His frown indicated he wasn’t convinced. His other hand fell to my lap, parting my knees as he palpated the bite mark on my upper thigh through the fabric of my pajama pants. “How about this one?”

  I swallowed. “Also fine.” His touch was examining, not sexual, yet my arousal kicked in nonetheless.

  I had a feeling Raul knew it, too. He held my gaze as he continued to rub a larger circle around the mark on my inner thigh, his fingers inching ever higher. “Less tender than the bites on your neck?”

  I nodded.

  “Good.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Then I’m not sorry for waking you up last night to heal it.”

  My breath caught. “What?”

  He leaned closer. His hand curled around the back of my neck, and he said in a low voice, “You looked beyond gorgeous straddling my shoulders.” The tip of his tongue skimmed over his bottom lip. “I’m already dying for another taste of you.”

  It hadn’t been a dream. I’d actually ridden Raul’s face last night.

  I was at once mortified and terribly turned on. I should’ve realized the sex was too good to have been a dream.

  He drew closer, his nose touching mine, as he whispered, “The way you rode my fingers and squirmed against my mouth was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”