Real Men Howl (Paranormal Shapeshifter Werewolf Romance) (Real Men Shift Book 1)

by Celia Kyle

  Drew reached for the gauze she’d wrapped around her leg after her shower, tugging on the material and yanking a hiss from her mouth. “Fuck that hurts.”

  “I know,” Drew soothed, “but I need to check out your wound.”

  Lucy ground her teeth to stop herself from sounding like a big baby over a little bite. She kept her eyes focused on the wooden ceiling, counting the knots in the wood as a distraction. Only when Drew gasped did she look down at her leg and sucked in a harsh breath to match his. What’d been a few gouges was now a throbbing purple and red gash.

  “Holy shit,” she whispered. “This morning it was just… Is this because I jumped out of the truck?”

  Drew ignored her as he pressed the edges of the angry injury. Air whistled between her teeth with each new wave of agony, but she didn’t cry out again. She managed to remain silent. Barely.

  He continued to poke and prod, eyes scanning the twisted wound. Finally, he looked up at her, a grave expression in his grey eyes. “I need to grab a few instruments.” Drew abandoned her and went to the door. “Don’t move, okay?”

  “Couldn’t if I wanted to,” she mumbled, closing her eyes and immediately falling into a drowsy state.

  Mason’s voice filtered through the wall behind her, barely audible at first, though it grew louder with each passing second. Strange because it seemed as if he was trying to whisper. The more she listened, the more clearly she could hear his voice—but not the others. She wondered how her hearing could be so strong when the content of the conversation blew away all other concerns.

  “If you’re not here about the fire, why are you here?”

  The other men’s voices mumbled so quietly she could barely pick them out, but then Mason’s burst in her head like a bullhorn.

  “A tip? What kind of tip? About what?”

  More murmurs, and then Mason cursed so loudly she winced.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! Frank-fucking-Riverson set fire to our pack lands, but you’re here to investigate an illegal change?”

  Lucy didn’t care that she couldn’t hear the others. Mason’s words were still pinging around inside her brain. Werewolf?

  “For fuck’s sake, it was an accident! Do you really think I sic one of my own pack’s pups on a human woman just to grow our numbers? Who called in that tip?”

  Pack? Pup? Human woman?

  If Lucy had thought her heart was racing before… No, she couldn’t have possibly heard correctly. The only answer was that she was delusional. That had to be it because she sure as shit wasn’t listening to four grown men talking about being werewolves!

  Lucy didn’t hear Drew approach, but she sensed his presence. When he reached toward her leg, she shot her hand out and locked onto his wrist in a death grip. Only then did she open her eyes to stare into his surprised face.

  “Drew, please don’t think I’m crazy, okay?”

  His brow pulled together in a frown. “Okay.”

  “Do you know…” She paused and listened hard to make sure the lunatics in the next room were still babbling at each other. “Mason and those other guys… they all think they’re… werewolves?”

  Drew’s eyes grew wide as saucers and his breathing became shallow. Great, he thought she was the crazy one. Squeezing his wrist as hard as she could, she tried again.

  “I know, I sound insane or delusional or something, but I swear to God they’re talking about it in the next room. I know you’re buddies and everything, but you seem like a really good guy. Please help me get out of here. I can’t end up like some too-stupid-to-live bimbo in a bad horror flick!”

  A shadow dropped over Drew’s eyes, but instead of helping her up and out of the Little Lodge of Horrors, he took a deep breath and shouted, “Mason!”

  Perfect, just perfect. As the sound of his crackpot leader’s feet running up the hallway thundered through the lodge, Lucy wondered if she should give them some tips on the best way to season her for their evening meal.

  Chapter Ten

  Mason strode into his bedroom, scanning the room for any threats. Lucy lay in the bed, fists full of blanket and eyes squeezed shut, body tense as she braced for oncoming pain. Drew stood at her side, a wicked-looking instrument in his hand. That was the moment Lucy’s eyes popped open and she met his stare across the distance. With her panic-filled gaze came a wave of her scent—the sweet notes now crowded by the stinging hint of fear.

  His wolf howled and demanded its release. It would eliminate the threat against their mate. Permanently. But Mason had one problem with obeying the wolf’s desires—he didn’t see a threat, only Drew.

  Drew, the healer.

  Drew, the unmated male.

  Drew, the man Mason had left alone with Lucy.

  Having never had a mate, Mason was nearly knocked off balance by a ferocious surge of jealousy. He glared at Drew, lungs hardly able to draw in air. The man he’d trusted to care for his mate must have done something for her to be so fearful.

  Mason crossed the room before Drew could so much as blink and wrapped his fingers around the healer’s throat. With the merest flex, he slammed Drew against the wall, the wolf’s feet dangling two feet above the floor. The other male’s hands scrabbled at Mason’s wrist, but he refused to release his prey.

  Only Lucy’s scream stopped him from breaking Drew’s neck. He spared a moment to glance at the bed and met her terrified eyes. The scent of her panic filled the room with a cloying stench that drove him mad, drove his wolf toward the edge of violence. No doubt about it, whatever had scared her before he entered was nothing compared to how she felt as Mason pinned Drew to the wall.

  Common sense told him that the only difference between then and now was his presence. It was enough to break through his hormone-fueled rage. He lowered Drew to his feet though he refused to release the wolf. He stared into the man’s wide eyes.

  “What did you do?” Mason growled through clenched teeth.

  Before Drew could speak, Lucy answered for him with a snarl of her own. “Nothing! Except for not answering my question.”

  Mason’s fury lessened while apprehension crept in. He released Drew and turned to face his mate. Who didn’t know she was his mate. Or that he was even a werewolf.

  “And what question might that be?”

  She narrowed her eyes and her nostrils flared. “Whether he knew you nutjobs think you’re werewolves.”

  Mason stopped breathing, and he was pretty sure his heart stopped beating as well. Shit!

  He hadn’t wanted her to find out this way. She would eventually have to learn the truth about the Blackwood pack, and her eventual membership, but he’d wanted to ease her into their world slowly. How had she discovered their secret? Drew?

  No, it hadn’t been the healer. The wolf was loyal to the pack above all. In truth, Lucy’s accusation was no doubt the reason why Drew had called for Mason.

  “What makes you say that?” Mason kept his tone cautious, soothing.

  Even in her sickness, she had enough pluck to roll her eyes at him. “Seriously? I heard you talking in the next room, plain as day.” She pointed a trembling finger at him, the shakes revealing her weakness. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

  He wouldn’t call her a liar about hearing the conversation, but he could easily have denied that their meeting wasn’t next door. Mason had escorted the National Circle through the pack house and back to the sitting room to have their little chat. No human could have heard their mumbles at that distance, much less any details.

  A spark of hope joined his rolling fear. She exhibited symptoms of transforming into a wolf—the only question was whether she could survive the transition. No matter what, Mason was going to do everything in his power to ensure she lived.

  He returned his attention to Drew and wrapped an arm around his old friend’s shoulders. He walked the healer to the door and Drew didn’t need to be told to leave. Drew gave Mason an encouraging nod and then left the room though Mason knew he’d stay nearby,
ready to help when he was needed.

  The National Circle waited nearby, the trio’s gazes not leaving Mason. He kept his voice low as he spoke. “Time to leave, gentlemen.”

  The beta and the enforcer backed away, but Roman—the alpha of alphas—didn’t budge. The other two glanced at each other and then followed Drew, leaving Mason and Roman to face off on their own.

  Mason ground his teeth as he glared at Roman. National Circle Alpha or not, Mason wasn’t about to allow him anywhere near Lucy. “You need to leave. Now.”

  To his credit, Roman kept his cool, but the way he crossed his arms made it clear he wasn’t leaving any time soon. “I’ll leave after Miss Morgan has answered a couple of questions.”

  Defying the National Alpha would normally earn a wolf all sorts of painful punishment, but the only thing that mattered in that moment was Lucy. A growl developed in his chest, but a feminine snort jolted him out of his growing anger. Both he and Roman glanced at the bed where Lucy remained, a firm glare in place.

  “You can go suck a lemon, pal,” Her objection endeared her to Mason even more. “I’m not answering questions until I get a few answers of my own. Do you freaks really think you’re werewolves, or what?”

  Mason bit his lips to keep himself from smiling. He’d known she was one ballsy chick even before they met—throwing herself into the path of an oncoming car to save a child proved that—but seeing her tell off the National Alpha was more than he could have dreamed. Judging by the frown Roman gave Lucy, he disagreed though Mason caught the gleam of amusement in the man’s eyes.

  Lips twitching ever so slightly, Roman returned his attention to Mason. “We’re not leaving until we have answers, Mason.”

  The last of Mason’s patience evaporated, and so did his inhibitions about speaking freely in front of Lucy. Even if they left the room, she’d hear it all anyway. She’d already proven that fact.

  “Listen,” Mason jabbed a finger in the air in Roman’s direction. “I have an injured mate who’s asking questions, and she has a right to answers. I don’t need to remind you how this could turn out. Instead of taking a step back, you’re more concerned about bleating like a fucking sheep over a mishap involving a young pup!”

  “I’d stop pointing if I were you,” Roman’s jaw worked overtime and his green eyes flashed a dark warning.

  “And if I were you,” Mason curled his lip. “I’d figure out who called in the tip in the first place. Interesting timing, don’t you think? That you got a helpful call about the Blackwood pack breaking laws at the exact same time I’m dealing with an asshole starting fires in my forest. Convenient, don’t you think?”

  Roman examined Mason for a moment before he spoke. “Seems as if you already have a theory. Share with the class.”

  That was the alpha of alphas—demand, not ask.

  Mason didn’t care for the man’s condescending tone, but this wasn’t about only him anymore. This involved Mason, Lucy, and the entire Blackwood pack. The National Circle needed to know his thoughts, if they didn’t have suspicions of their own already.

  “Word spreads fast in small towns, Roman. Frank Riverson free of jail for more than an hour before I heard about his release through the grapevine. I’d be pretty fucking surprised if he didn’t have a whole lotta hate for the Blackwoods. After everything that happened, wouldn’t you?”

  Roman scowled. “How did you—”

  “Never mind all that,” Mason interrupted. “In addition to the fire, the pack house was vandalized. Two days after Frank’s release.”

  “You never reported that.”

  “I know. At first, I thought it might be local kids from town, no big deal. After the fire though, it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. I was preparing an official request for an investigation by the NC when all of…this happened.”

  He waved a hand back toward Lucy but kept his eyes laser focused on Roman.

  “Now you get some mysterious tip there’s some massive conspiracy involving our pups biting humans to grow our ranks.” Mason huffed in frustration. “You must see what’s going on here, Roman. You can’t possibly be that dumb.”

  Roman’s upper lip pulled back in a warning snarl and Mason had just enough control to not snarl back. The scent of Lucy’s fear had increased steadily as the two men spoke, and he’d do just about anything to be alone with her so he could calm her. He should placate the National Alpha, keep the man happy, but Lucy needed him more than Mason needed to kiss ass.

  Out in the main living area, Mason could hear his brothers talking to Roman’s beta and enforcer. Plastering a fake smile on his face, he motioned toward the door.

  “Listen, I’ll gladly talk about this until we’re all blue in the face. Later. Right now, I’ve got a mate to claim and that requires privacy. Got it?”

  Roman’s gaze shifted between Mason and Lucy and back again. With a nod, he finally left them alone.

  Chapter Eleven

  To Lucy’s hypersensitive ears, the click of the door latch catching sounded like the metallic thud of a prison cell slamming closed. Even worse, it felt like a death sentence. Oh sure, the big house in the middle of nowhere was filled to the rafters with smoking hot men—and not just regular hot, but a-nun-tearing-off-her-habit hot—but on the flip side, they all thought they were werewolves. Had she mentioned she was alone with them? In the middle of God’s nowhere? Awesome, right?

  Mason snared a chair and dragged it toward her side of the bed. Lucy’s gaze darted around the room, searching for a weapon—some way to defend herself from the crazy. With Mason’s strength and speed, she’d never make it to the door before he caught her. Her only hope was that someone had inadvertently left a bazooka lying on the bedside table.

  No such luck.

  Mason spun the chair around and straddled the back. So very manly. So very sexy. His green eyes burrowed into her, making her skin crawl in the most pleasurable manner. Even as sick as she was and as nutso as he was, the heat between them threatened to engulf her.

  This is how girls in horror movies die, dummy!

  Right! She’d almost forgotten she was trapped in a house with a bunch of crazies. If she’d learned anything from scary movies, it was to never walk into a dark room after hearing a child-like giggle and to always play along with the bad guy’s delusion. He might cut someone in half with a chainsaw if they didn’t.

  “I won’t taste very good, you know,” she blurted the words out. “Not even Gordon Ramsey could make Lucy Stew taste good with all the infection in my body. There’s puss and goop and icky creepy crawlies in my blood. I’d probably give you food poisoning.”

  Mason’s laugh started out soft, then his belly joined in, and soon it was rumbling up from his toes. At the sound, a good portion of her fear evaporated like a puff of smoke on a windy day. He wiped a tear from his eye and grinned down at her.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you’re not on the menu for dinner. We don’t generally eat humans, and not just because we’re half-human ourselves.”

  Lucy’s fear should have surfaced again, but there was nothing but calm in Mason’s presence. It gave her the courage to ask questions that might have challenged an otherwise insane person’s beliefs.

  “So, you’re…”

  “A werewolf.” Mason didn’t hesitate to answer. Nothing but a hard certainty in his gaze.

  “Uh-huh.” Lucy was doubtful and hesitated to ask him anything else. Don’t poke the crazies, right? Even the hot crazies.

  He cocked his head slightly, like a curious dog—er, wolf. “Even if you believed every word I said, that can’t be your only question.”

  Curiosity overpowered Lucy’s remaining wisps of fear. Even though the idea of werewolves—like, real werewolves—was completely ludicrous and beyond imagining, this was a golden opportunity not many people would ever have. To ask a “real” werewolf questions normal people often had, such as…

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” she smirked when she caught the meaning
of her words. “So to speak.”

  Mason’s expression didn’t change. He simply sat with his forearms resting on the back of the chair, eyes on hers as he waited patiently. Though a part deep down inside Lucy sensed he was anything but patient.

  “Are werewolves born or made? Every movie I’ve ever seen suggests they’re all made. Someone goes nom, nom, nom and boom, werewolf. But if that’s how they’re made, how was the first werewolf created? Movies don’t address that.” She frowned. “Talk about a plot hole,” she grumbled.

  “First of all, don’t believe everything you see in movies,” he winked. “Second of all, we’re born this way. Usually.”

  “Usually?”

  Mason’s attention turned to the lamp on the bedside table instead of at Lucy. “There are very rare occasions when a wolf’s bite can transform a human into a werewolf.”

  Lucy narrowed her gaze. He’d chosen those words so carefully. Too carefully. “Do you mean it’s rare for a wolf to bite a human, or that it’s rare for a human to survive a wolf bite?”

  Mason shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Both.”

  A deep sense of foreboding settled on her. More vague-speak. He wasn’t telling her something. Something that was obviously important, or he wouldn’t avoid spilling the beans. It was just a matter of asking the right questions.

  “In what situation might a human survive a wolf’s bite?”

  He finally met her gaze again. “When they’re fated mates.”

  Heat pooled in her cheeks at the mention of mates. He’d seemed to be calling her that earlier. Did that mean he was going to try biting her? Anything could happen when someone was fully committed to their delusion. Maybe shifting topics would keep his mind off biting her neck.

  “So, who are the surly dudes? Psycho, Rando and Thor?”

  “Psycho must be the alpha, but what’s a Rando?” Mason asked, clearly puzzled by the slang.