by Zoe Perdita
The werewolf’s eyes shone in the dim light of the fir boughs. “Very good, boy. Very good indeed.”
The flush rushed to Caleb’s cheeks yet again. “What now?” he asked in a voice much smaller than the one he wanted to use.
The man’s lips twisted, and he pushed Caleb against the rough trunk of the tree. Without preamble, Peter tugged the young man’s shaft from his jeans, his palm and fingers grasping the length as if it were his own.
The smooth surface of his thumb slid over the tip, and Caleb bucked his hips into the man’s hold. Every caress sent a shockwave over his flesh – singeing his nerves.
“Ah,” he groaned, and held onto Peter’s strong shoulders. If he didn’t hold on to something, he was sure his legs would give out.
“It’s so much better when someone else touches you, isn’t it?”
Caleb nodded dumbly – his whole world blurring to nothing but the hand holding him and the lips brushing his neck. Each touch felt like a pinprick of light in the night sky – a brief star that burned and snuffed out, only to be reborn again and again.
He gasped for air, and leaned back into the tree – Peter’s touch, all smooth friction, dragging him closer and closer to the edge of his release. With a final sweep of the wolf’s talented thumb, Caleb’s hips bucked, and his load spilled over the man’s slender fingers.
In most cases, he’d be embarrassed by something like that – but with his heart trying to beat out of his chest he couldn’t manage it. He couldn’t manage to do anything but stare at the man in front of him and wonder what the hell just happened.
“Did you like that, boy?” Peter asked as he wiped the mess from his hand.
Caleb stared at the slender digits, and his stomach did an uncomfortable backflip. “Yes.”
The werewolf leaned into him, his lips so close the young man wondered if they were going to kiss.
“Good,” he breathed. “I knew you would.”
Wild was still asleep when Caleb woke the next morning. A cloud of fog rested over the mountain, everything dim and gray in the surrounding mist. Perfect weather for hunting, the white wolf thought, and leaned against the side of the porch with a cup of steaming coffee in his hands.
The floorboards creaked behind him, and the white wolf sighed. Hopefully, the whelp would eat his breakfast and wouldn’t bring up anything about them being mates. But Caleb doubted he was so lucky.
The door squeaked open, and Caleb turned to the young man. His mahogany hair stood on end and his cheeks were rough with stubble. His jaw and cheekbones were sharp and angular, just like his nose, but the look was softened by his pout and those round, green eyes.
He bit back the question he’d wondered from the time he learned the whelp’s name. What had his real name been? The one his pack gave him? Caleb couldn’t imagine the little wolf going by anything but Wild, although that wasn’t the case.
Or maybe it was. His old pack didn’t matter anymore, even if they left an undeniable mark on the young wolf. The past five years of his life left an even larger one.
“It’s a good morning for hunting,” Wild murmured, his eyes squinted into the fog.
Caleb nodded, and let out a slow breath. At least he hadn’t brought up the events in the bathroom the day before. “You up for it?”
The whelp turned a wide-eyed gaze toward him, his mouth dropped open. “Together? You want me to hunt with you?”
The white wolf drained his coffee. He tried his hardest to ignore the knot twisting in his gut at Wild’s surprise and the plea hidden in his eyes. “Why not? As long as your leg feels okay, I could use the help.”
“I thought you were big enough to hunt on your own?”
His lips twitched at the reminder, and he realized the whelp had never seen his wolf form. “I am, but an extra set of teeth is always useful. What did you usually hunt?”
Wild’s cheeks flushed, but he set his lips into a decided line. “Small game. Rabbits, quail and pheasants. Marmots and raccoons sometimes. And I can fish.”
Caleb nodded. Wild was closer in size to a small gray wolf than the hulking beast he transformed into. No wonder his old pack pegged him as an omega. “Did you ever hunt in a group?”
“What do you think?” the little wolf sneered, and balled his hands into tight fists.
“No. Well, I guess you’ll have to learn,” he said and set down his empty mug.
Wild scowled, but said nothing else as Caleb shed his robe and slippers. The young man’s eyes trailed over his body like a starving man looking at a banquet, lingering on the scar on the larger wolf’s calf.
“Is that how you were turned?”
Caleb fought the urge to touch it, to run his fingers over the reminder of his weakness. “Yeah.”
Wild bit his bottom lip, like he wanted to say more, and the white wolf fought every urge in his bones to do anything other than shift.
Then his body bent forward, the sudden pain of the change charging through his nerves like lightning. When he turned his great white snout at Wild, the young man stared with his round eyes as wide as the full moon herself.
“You are an alpha,” he whispered.
Caleb’s hackles prickled at the accusation, but he couldn’t say a damn thing to refute it in his wolf shape. Instead, he stood and waited while Wild shifted as well. The little wolf stepped next to him, his slick brown fur picking up hints of red and black, even in the gray morning light. If the whelp ran, would he be able to resist the chase?
Yes. He had to.
Without a word, he turned his back to Wild and stalked into the woods, heading over the stream and up the mountain. Brown pine needles crackled under their feet, and emerald green ferns brushed their fur. Caleb set a careful pace, sniffing for metal traps and signs of deer along the forest floor. Above them, the ash, birch and maple thinned to fir, pine and cedar, standing like ancient sentries, their branches still in the mist. The only sound to break the silence was the gentle pad of their feet and the periodic rustle of a bird or squirrel. Even their breath was still in this world.
Caleb caught the scent of the deer in a clearing. They sneaked behind a large boulder downwind of them for a better look. The elegant creatures huddled together, chewing on the fresh growth that littered the forest floor. Several deer stood near their fawns, and the white wolf discounted them immediately. The meat was softer, but he wasn’t going to kill a mother or her child – that much was certain.
As quiet as a mouse, Wild hunched next to him, his green eyes aglow in the flat light of the misty forest, and his black nose twitched as he sniffed the air. His whole body vibrated with excitement, not an ounce of hesitation to be seen in any of the smaller wolf’s slick muscles.
This is home to him, Caleb thought. This wolf form is what he’s used to, not the human face the white wolf made Wild put on at home. But he wasn’t just a wolf – he was a werewolf and he belonged to both worlds, even if he forgot that over the years.
Caleb sniffed the air and caught sight of the doe he wanted – an older animal with no young and a weak flank. If he didn’t take her down now, a cougar or another wolf would soon enough. She lingered near the edge of the trees – the perfect place to snatch her before another deer spotted them.
Slowly, the white wolf crept toward his prey, and Wild fell in step behind him. Hopefully, the little wolf kept a distance from her kicking legs. A deer in the throes of death could land a painful strike if so provoked, and he couldn’t warn Wild about it now.
Caleb cast the smaller wolf one last glance, and hunched his hind legs when they were close enough to the deer. With one great leap, he jumped from the safety of the trees and the animals scattered like a great wind blowing about dry leaves.
Good. That’s what he counted on.
The doe with the weak leg tried to keep up, but she couldn’t due to her injury. Caleb skidded around her and cut her off, baring his fangs right before he lunged for the kill. His teeth sunk into her neck, piercing the great vein there, and she ki
cked once before her body fell, limp and lifeless in his jaws.
Wild padded up next to him, his ears perked, and he sniffed the air hungrily.
Caleb let the animal fall out of his grasp and turned back into his human form, wiping the hot blood from his lips. It dripped over his chest and thighs, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about that until he got home.
Wild shifted as well. “You didn't need my help,” he said, his eyes lingering on the flaccid length between Caleb’s powerful legs.
“I could use your help carrying her home. She’s heavier than she looks.”
The young man’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms. For a split second, the white wolf worried the whelp would say something else about their destiny to be together, but he turned his nose to the air instead and frowned. “Do you smell that?”
The man caught a hint of it over the other scents in the forest. Blood. And not the blood of the deer he’d just killed. It came from the left, and Wild walked ahead of him. Caleb tried to look elsewhere, but the little wolf’s perfectly tight ass and wiry thighs commanded attention.
He swallowed the lump in his throat. He was supposed to abstain from giving in to the urge, but seeing Wild naked made the promise that much harder to keep.
Then the little wolf gasped, and Caleb rushed to his side. The young man stumbled back into his bloody chest, raising a hand to his nose, and the white wolf peeked over his head at the sight below.
An edge of boulders gave way to a small ravine, about ten or fifteen feet deep, and at the bottom lay a slaughtered deer. Her glassy, lifeless eye stared at them, though she hadn’t been killed by anything natural, such as a misstep or a fall. No. A thick metal bolt stuck out of her chest, blood pooled around it like a fountain in the winter.
Caleb glared. No normal hunter would kill a deer and leave its body to rot in the woods. This was a warning – a very special warning designed for were-creatures who could read it. That was the only thing that explained the remoteness of the kill. Plus, only a very special type of hunter used a crossbow to kill its prey.
Now they knew for certain who set the traps – a wolf hunter.
Chapter 7
Wild stared at the dead deer. The body was already stiff, meaning it was killed at least an hour or so before they got there. A few ants crawled over the hide, and his empty stomach twisted into knots. He’d seen death in the forest before, but never like this. Never so senseless and wasteful.
“My gran told me about hunters,” he said, and Caleb gripped the little wolf’s shoulders, his fingers pinching down to the bone.
“What did she say?” the other wolf asked blandly.
“That they kill wolves. They hunt them down just like prey.”
He scanned the trees with his keen green eyes, like the hunter still waited for them somewhere close by.
Caleb sighed. “So they do. Come on. Let’s get her home and make breakfast.”
Wild turned his chin up and twisted his neck to look at the taller man. No good. He stepped forward and turned instead. His back felt hot and sticky with the same blood that coated Caleb.
“That’s it? Don’t we have to do something?”
The man raised an eyebrow. “What do you suggest? They left that deer here to warn the surrounding were-creatures. And, probably, to rile us up too. It’s not the only animal they’ve slaughtered, but there may be more.”
“So we just go back to the cabin? What if they find me?”
He was just trying to survive after a long, hard winter and now he’d put his very own mate in danger – the same man who saved him from a trap. The same man who pushed him aside as if they didn’t belong together. But he still let Wild stay – why?
Caleb’s brow furrowed. “Look. There isn’t a damn thing we can do by sitting around and talking about this right now. We’ve got a kill to skin and prepare, unless you want the meat to spoil.”
He scowled at the white wolf. “Fine.”
The man narrowed his eyes, and let out a heavy breath through his straight nose, but he said nothing more.
Together, they carried the kill through the woods, and the cool morning air dried the sweat on their skin. Wild wondered what human hikers would think if they spotted two naked men dragging a deer through the forest, but Caleb didn’t seem to have any qualms about it.
They’d be able to smell the humans before they saw them, in most cases.
When they got back to the cabin, Wild couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder, as if someone watched him. His skin prickled as they took the deer into the lean-to and got to work. Caleb was deft with a blade, and he’d taught the little wolf how to save as much meat as possible with quick, sharp swipes that sheared the flesh from both skin and bone. Like usual, they worked in silence, the smell of blood so strong it almost blocked out Caleb’s alluring scent.
Almost but not quite.
When they finished, he helped the white wolf carry half the meat to the smoke hut and hang it up. The fragrance of finely cooked flesh tickled his nose, whetting his appetite. He’d never gone long without food here – a huge difference between living in the woods and fending for himself.
The rest of the venison went into the huge freezer, and Caleb stretched the skin out to dry. He used as much of each kill as possible. Then they stepped back into the lean-to, and Caleb pumped warm water into a basin and scrubbed the dried blood from his flesh. The little wolf stared, his heart aching as the man’s powerful hands slipped over his skin – the same hands that held Wild the night before.
Of course the man said nothing about their time in the bathroom or his refusal to admit they were mates. But he hadn’t kicked Wild out either even after he knew for certain a hunter was about.
Swallowing the ever-present lump in his throat, the smaller wolf stepped forward and picked up the soap. He scrubbed his arms and hands, though his fingers itched to touch Caleb. But if he did, the other wolf would only push him aside.
It was just like back in his old pack. Everyone discounted him as unworthy, and he’d proven them all wrong. Now he had to prove to his own mate that he was worthy of being there, worthy of belonging with the white wolf.
“Your back,” the man rumbled, and Wild widened his eyes.
“What?”
“You have dried blood on your back. Turn around.” His voice was husky, gruffer than usual, and it sent a surge of excitement through every nerve in Wild’s body.
Slowly, he turned around and felt the first slick swish of warm water and soap against his flesh. Blunt fingers and a large, square palm, scrubbed his back – hotter than the water. The touch was enough, as it usually was, to excite Wild’s senses. He closed his eyes and chewed his bottom lip, imagining those hands winding around the front of him, taking in his whole body in slow, gentle strokes.
Then a splash of water slipped down his skin, and another and another.
“There,” Caleb breathed, his words tickling Wild’s ear.
Didn’t he notice the painful ache between the little wolf’s legs? His cock stood at full attention, pressed into his lower stomach and begging for release.
“Claim me,” Wild begged, leaning back into his mate’s powerful arms.
The man’s slick hands grasped his shoulders, his breath blowing through the smaller wolf’s hair.
“What did I say last night?”
Wild scowled, though he wasn’t about to move out of Caleb’s hold. “Why not?” he mumbled. The other wolf never said. He simply stepped out of the room and waited for Wild to join him for dinner. “I know you feel it just like I do. Is there something wrong with me?”
The fingers on his shoulders tightened their hold. “No. Yes – you’re young. A whelp – and I’m a changeling, remember? We don’t follow the same traditions as you.”
Wild gritted his teeth. “How can you say that? You don’t have a choice! You have to claim your mate – that’s the way it is.”
“Oh, is it now? I don’t have to do anything I don’t wan
t to do.”
Wild wiggled out of his grip, glaring. “You don’t want me?” It felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach.
Caleb closed his ice blue eyes, and the little lines around them stood out more than usual. Looking down, the smaller man noticed the arousal nestled in a garden of pale curls, similar to the hair on the white wolf’s chest.
Wild’s fingers itched to grab it and stroke the head, like the man had done to him the day before. But he was just an omega and Caleb the alpha – even if the man claimed it wasn’t the case. Even if he was a human who was turned into a wolf, that didn’t change what he was now.
The little wolf’s eyes stung – his heart felt like someone pricked it with a bolt, just like the dead deer in the woods. He leaned his head in the crook of the taller man’s neck, where it fit perfectly as if it were meant to be there always, and took a deep breath.
Caleb grumbled something incomprehensible, but he didn’t pull away. “Wild, I already said I can’t give you what you want.”
His voice rumbled through his chest, and the smaller wolf pressed his lips against the bulge of muscle on the man’s shoulder. Caleb’s breath caught in his throat at the touch, and Wild felt the shiver traverse through his entire body. The man liked it – even if he denied it, he liked it.
“Wild,” he growled, but the little wolf didn’t stop. Carefully, he stood on his toes and kissed the man’s sharp jaw, the edge of his cheek smooth.
Strong hands grasped onto Wild’s slender hips, digging into the flesh and bone like they’d never let go. In the back of his mind, the little wolf wished he wouldn’t.
“What’s wrong with this?” he asked, his body pressed flush against his mate. If only the man would do what he was supposed to do – claim him like he should.
The white wolf’s eyes narrowed, a cloud of lust slipping over them before it cleared. Then he grumbled as his fingers glided over the smaller man’s stomach, the strong palm grasping Wild’s need once again.
