by BA Tortuga
“Mmph.” Gus almost scrambled up on top of him, humping madly, kissing him back. Hard.
One hand found Gus’s ass, fingers digging in, pulling them tighter together. Gus took the friction he needed, rocking and rolling, biting at his lower lip. He figured everyone heard it when Gus came. The howl almost deafened Sam.
He didn’t mind. The scent of them together was perfect, overwhelming, and all he knew.
Gus panted, face against his neck, hands clenched on Sam’s hips.
“Bed. Bed, together.” They needed time, just to breathe.
“Yeah.” Gus lifted him and turned, brazening it out and carrying him. The front room was deserted, though, so everyone was giving them their privacy.
He nuzzled into Gus’s throat, purring with his entire body.
Gus curled up with him after locking the bedroom door, humming a little. “God, you feel good.”
“I do.” He got them naked, got them skin-to-skin. Sam hadn’t believed Marina when she said time with Gus healed him, but damned if it wasn’t true. Every time they touched he felt better.
They settled, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, breathing. “We’re going to go soon. Going to find another place.” It wasn’t a question.
“We have to be gone before the moon. That’s only a few days, and I want to be somewhere safe. Not permanent, maybe, but safe.”
He nodded. “Somewhere I can be outside.”
“Somewhere we can run.” Gus smiled for him, like the thought was so cool. They had run together once, but never under the moon.
“Together. I could hunt.” Maybe.
“I think you could. I think you have great instincts.” Gus nuzzled his throat.
He let his chin lift, let himself purr. “Really? Is it like dancing, do you think?”
Tilting his head, Gus shrugged. “I don’t dance, babe, but I bet it is.”
“Good.” He hoped so. He wanted it to be.
“It’s exhilarating, for sure.” Gus chuckled again, shaking his head. “We’ll have to make sure Gray doesn’t go nuts.”
“Gray’s an exceptional ratter.” Not bad at herding puppies either, come to think of it.
“Well, as long as he doesn’t follow his nose too far, we’ll be okay.” Pulling back a tiny bit, Gus stared at him. “Are we good?”
“We’re good.” He nodded. “This is where I apologize for being a psycho, right?”
“No. You have a right. You just have to remember I have your back.”
“Always. It’s a good feeling.”
“Love you, babe.”
“I know. Freak.”
“Don’t push it, Puss.” Gus kissed him, curling up with him.
He took one hand, lifted it to his mouth, bit the inside of Gus’s wrist. “Me? Push? Why would I do that, Pup?”
Epilogue
The northern edge of Nevada had everything they needed. Enough prey to keep them busy when the moon was full, enough room for all of them to run, not enough people to worry about, and no other wolves.
Gus lifted his head, scenting the wind. He could smell each member of his pack, could tell exactly where they were.
Mona was curled up near her house, grandmothering and herding pups. Marina and Lizzie had cycled together, given birth within days of each other, bringing their tiny pack’s number from seven to twenty in a week. Gray was with his mate, the two of them running while Pete proved that he was still more of a horndog than a hunter.
Gus’s mate, though, was a ferocious hunter—graceful, deadly.
Sam had taken to it as well as he had to dancing, maybe better. His instincts were incredible. It had taken Sam less than a moon to find himself, to sink into the shadows and learn how to time the kill. Those back legs were never going to be like new, but they were strong again, letting Sam leap and run and do things to his mate that made Gus want to lick the air just thinking about it.
The scrub brush seemed suddenly still, too quiet, and he knew Sam was close, crouching, watching.
Gus’s ears went up, his nose vibrating. What? What had Sam seen?
He sniffed, eyes going wide. Elk. His mate was feeling ambitious tonight. He checked the direction of the wind. Sam needed direct line of sight; Gus could hunt by scent and sound, so he could move off and flank.
There was a small herd, with an older beast at the back, trailing behind. Sam’s scream set the herd moving; the leap culled the older elk out.
The chase was on, and Gus’s instincts kicked in. Sam would go for the throat and the suffocating bite. Gus would go for the legs.
Together they took the cow down, Sam dispatching her quickly, jaw clamping. Such a good hunter, so sleek and pretty. Gus barked his approval.
Sam screeched happily, then started cleaning his face, so fastidious, so fine. They would have to eat their fill here and then work to get something back to the others. Sam would let him do most of that, though. He’d found it was way more catlike to hide the kill and come back to it.
Which as a human was whoa, ick.
Sam did offer him the best parts, even letting him eat before holding him down and grooming him. That was a rough damned tongue. Gus had learned not to fight it, though. Those paws were huge and so damned strong.
Bright green eyes glinted at him, catching all the light of the moon, right before Sam head-butted him, playful now.
Gus snorted, tail lifting to wag. He could have a nap, but running under the moon was still new to Sam. Gus wouldn’t deprive him of the fun.
His muzzle was licked, and then he got a glimpse of happy tail before Sam bounced off to hide. It was his kitty’s favorite game. It was fairly easy for Sam to hide at night. The black fur just looked like another shadow. Thankfully, he’d know that smell anywhere.
It was home.
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About the Author
Texan to the bone and an unrepentant Daddy's Girl, BA Tortuga spends her days with her basset hounds, getting tattooed, texting her grandbabies, and eating Mexican food. When she's not doing that, she's writing. She spends her days off watching rodeo, knitting and surfing Pinterest in the name of research. BA's personal saviors include her wife, Julia Talbot, her best friends, and coffee. Lots of coffee. Really good coffee.
Having written everything from fist-fighting rednecks to hard-core cowboys to werewolves, BA does her damnedest to tell the stories of her heart, which was raised in Northeast Texas, but has heard the call of the high desert and lives in the Sandias. With books ranging from hard-hitting GLBT romance, to fiery ménages, to the most traditional of love stories, BA refuses to be pigeon-holed by anyone but the voices in her head.
BA loves to talk to her readers and can be found at http://batortuga.com/.
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