A Werewolf's Valentine: BBW Wolf Shifter Paranormal Romance

by Zoe Chant

  He jumped up and ran out of the cottage, the door banging into the wall as rain slanted in.

  “Don’t slam the door—” she called, slumping.

  “I’m sorry,” West said at the same moment McKenzi turned to him, exclaiming, “I’m sorry.”

  She looked sick with regret. “I guess I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”

  He raised his hand. “I know you don’t have any reason to trust me. But I’m going to ask you, just the same. Will you let me handle this?”

  Her lips parted, her eyes huge and dilated. Beneath the pretty blue shirt her breasts rose as she drew in a deep breath, and heat kindled within him, but this time he banked it down. “Please.”

  “If you can help him,” McKenzi said, then sighed shortly. “At this point, I think we’d agree to anything.”

  He dipped his head, opened the door, and dashed out into the rain. It was coming down so hard that his human vision barely extended twenty feet. But that was all right. It got him to the other side of the next cottage, which was cold and dark, obviously empty. He shucked his clothes with practiced speed, tucked them in a roll under the stoop, and shifted.

  At once the wolf world overlaid the human world with scents. Rain and cold were unimportant details. The boy’s flight led straight up the hill, beyond a rambling ranch house, and onto a plateau full of scrub and dominated by live oak and eucalyptus.

  The trail led through those to the edge of a hill, where he discovered a raw gouge in the ground, where the sodden soil had given way. Rolf had tumbled down the hill, fetching up against a sturdy bush—in his wolf shape. His body, threatened by the fall, had managed that first shift on its own.

  West plunged down, sniffing the cub all over. He was alive—unhurt—but lay there shocked, tangled in his clothing. West nipped and tugged, and the now-meaningless cloth came free, leaving a terrified narrow-skulled cub with black flanks.

  West licked his muzzle, nudging him and giving him an insistent paw. Rolf rolled onto his belly, crouched and still shivering, his ears flat. West dipped his head, front paws out in a bow, then nosed Rolf into standing. Rolf slowly stood, ears twitching back and forth. Another lick, a twitch of the head, and West bounded away—Rolf following slowly, step by step.

  West circled back and huff-barked encouragement.

  Rolf’s ears flicked up, his tail rose partway, and this time, when West bounded away, Rolf bounded after. And so West showed him how to run, and leap, and sniff a trail, and mark a territory.

  Rolf copied everything West did.

  It had been years since West had been around young wolves, and he’d never been there for a wolf’s first shift. But he let his wolf take over, introducing Rolf to the wonderful world of wolf life with all its rich, tantalizing scents.

  When both were thoroughly wet, and Rolf’s tongue lolled from exhaustion, West barked sharply: Pay attention.

  Then he shifted to human form, and shifted back.

  Rolf whimpered, ears flattening, as he shook all over. West circled him, nosing him at shoulder and haunch and head: Concentrate.

  Then he shifted again. Rolf shook his head slowly, nose dipping, then suddenly he flickered, and a skinny, goosebump pale boy lay in the mud.

  “Good work,” West said. “Now shift back.” He turned into his wolf.

  Rolf tightened all over, gritted his teeth—held his breath and clenched his fists—then let out a strangled yell of effort that turned into a yip of joy as he, too, turned into a wolf.

  West circled him, pointed his nose toward the oak trees cresting the hill, then bent to sniff their trail, showing Rolf how to follow his own scent back to his home and safety.

  As soon as Rolf recognized his home territory, up went his tail and ears and he trotted ahead, through the oaks toward the summit of the hill. West followed more slowly, and paused behind a shielding row of scrubby bushes. Now that he had leisure to check the territory, his nose disclosed a network of old and new trails, all made by cats. He trod carefully, senses alert as he raised his head to sniff for Rolf.

  To his surprise, Rolf hadn’t vanished. Instead, he waited at the top of the rise, with the roof of the ranch house lying five hundred yards away. When West joined him, Rolf’s tail plumed, and he stretched out his paws in a play bow, his bright yellow eyes expectant above his wolfish grin, before he bounded away and streaked toward the house where a human figure appeared.

  It was McKenzi, who looked at the wolf cub dancing around her, then exclaimed, “Rolf?” Then, “Oh my God, it’s you, isn’t it? This is so awesome, this is amazing! Let’s go call your Dad—no, wait, go get some clothes on. I’ll get my phone.”

  She ran back to the cottage as Rolf trotted, tail high, to the ranch house.

  West followed more slowly, his nose sorting scents. He reached the place where McKenzi had been standing, and recognized immediately her wonderful salty-sweet spice aroma. But it wasn’t isolated. He sniffed again, recognizing it, and then his wolf brain made the connection. Out of that tangled network of many, many cat scents new and old, one of them was hers.

  She was a cat shifter.

  Five

  McKenzi

  McKenzi took maybe five steps before she thought, where was West?

  She glanced back, to see Rolf standing on the porch of her parents’ place, his tail wagging as he let loose a happy howl.

  Then from among the barren oaks trotted a huge silvery gray wolf, as big as a Rocky Mountain gray. It halted, nose lifted, ears alert, as her inner cat bristled—but then she quieted again, watchful, listening, as the human part of McKenzi thought, This is the most beautiful wolf I’ve ever seen.

  She glanced at Rolf, who pranced in a circle on the porch, then back again. Clearly he knew this wolf, and wanted him to come to them.

  And then it hit her.

  “West?” she called as she ran to the top of the road, as rain pelted her. Normally she loathed getting rained on, but now she scarcely noticed. “Is that you?”

  The wolf stilled, eyes raised. They were gray, instantly recognizable. Light filled McKenzi as she laughed and cried at the same time. “Was that it? That was it? Rolf . . . he’s never shifted—we thought he wasn’t a shifter—that was amazing—oh, please, come inside, okay?”

  She wiped her straggling hair out of her face, and saw that Rolf had shifted to his human self in order to open the door to the ranch house. And he’d left it open, but luckily the porch kept rain out. She heard his teenage voice breaking as he yelled, “Aunt Doris! Grandma! I shifted! I’m a wolf . . .”

  McKenzi turned and splashed back to her cottage, her mind in a whirl. By the time she’d thrown off her clothes and pulled on something dry, West was back, dressed again. She didn’t think, but ran to him, and threw her arms around him. “I don’t even know what to say. Except thank you.”

  He bent his head, his whisky voice soft. “You’re . . . a cat?”

  “We’re all cats,” she said, cupping her hand to the stubble on his chin. “That is, my sister’s actually a raccoon, and my uncle—Rolf’s dad—is a bloodhound. But the rest of us? Cats.”

  “Your uncle didn’t know?” West murmured. “His son was a cub?”

  “I guess not,” McKenzi said, drawing him into the warm kitchen, as she quickly toweled her hair. “We haven’t talked that much. When my aunt left Uncle Lee, he was pretty broken up.”

  “He lost his pack,” West said, his voice low and soft.

  “I kinda get that. He had a tough time when he was Rolf’s age, Dad told us once. Found a pack, but one was a real jerk. I don’t know much about it, but as soon as he graduated, Uncle Lee moved away. He only moved back after his wife dumped him and took everything they had.” She glanced toward the door and lowered her voice. “Uncle Lee is a sweet guy, one of the sweetest guys you’ll ever meet, but he’s kind of a loner.”

  She stopped talking then as the front door opened and Rolf crashed in, splattering rain drops everywhere as he rushed up to West. “My dad is coming
as soon as they finish their milk run,” he said. “He said, he wants to meet you. A wolf! I didn’t know I was a wolf. I thought I was nothing. When did you know you were a wolf? Are there wolves in your family? I don’t know if there are any in my family. My mom never said anything about her family, and we don’t see them anymore.” He talked so fast he had to stop for breath.

  “I think I had wolves in my family,” West said slowly. “Not sure. Maybe those memories are only dreams. I grew up in foster care.”

  “Oh.” Rolf caught himself up. Then said, “But you’re a musician! Like my dad was. He was in a bluegrass band. But they didn’t make it.” His gaze lowered. “That’s what that dickwad Jeff Olsen said once, when I punched him right in . . .” He flexed his hands, his shoulders tightening, then he backed up. “I gotta go.” And he was gone again.

  Leaving McKenzi staring at West as the clue stick hit. Did he even know?

  Rolf had imprinted on West. Wolves did that. Rolf might not have been able to shift until he had a pack to help him. And now he was part of a pack—a pack of two, but . . . it was a pack.

  And West would soon be on the road, because that was their deal. No expectations, no promises to regret and to break.

  The urge to grab hold of him and make him stay was so strong it actually hurt somewhere behind her ribs, leaving her unsteady. She’d never felt that way, ever, about anyone, and had no idea what to say.

  He looked back at her, blinking rain from his eyes—

  “I could kiss you,” she said. Yeah, stay in this moment. That’s right. Don’t think about the future.

  At the same moment, he said again, in a tentative voice, “You’re a cat.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” She peered at him, sorrow crowding her throat.

  “No. It’s a . . . new thing.”

  She reached him, took his shoulders in her hands, and kissed him. “Look,” she said. “The rain is bad, and the roads will be dangerous. And I owe you big-time. So let me pay you back the best way I know how.” With each word she backed him toward the bedroom, her hands tearing at his coat.

  Inside, her cat had gone still. Was it because he was a wolf? But she’d been with shifters as well as non-shifters, and had never felt much difference. In fact, they pretty much all ran together in her mind. If she got laid once a week, that was usually plenty—a little drink, a little fun, then out of her space.

  The rest of her life was her family, and the town, but here she was tearing the clothes off a guy she couldn’t get enough of: hands, mouth, skin, she wanted to touch him everywhere.

  She kissed him, hard, then whirled away just long enough to click the lock on the front door.

  Then he was on her, pressing her against the kitchen wall as he possessed her mouth, hands cupping her breasts, those rough, callused thumbs ravishing her nipples through her shirt.

  “I should have seen it, your being a cat,” he whispered, when they broke for breath.

  “You like cats?” she asked, grinning as he ran his hands slowly up her sides, catching her top with his thumbs and pulling it up. She shimmied out of it.

  “I’ve never been with a cat shifter before,” he admitted.

  “Oh, wolves only, is it?”

  “Only one wolf,” he said, his gaze heating as she flung her bra onto the dish drainer.

  “Ready for a walk on the wild side?” McKenzi grabbed him by the hips and pushed him into one of the two kitchen chairs, then knelt at his feet and pushed apart his legs.

  A laugh escaped him, and then a gasp as she got his pants unzipped. “Cats like to play,” she chortled as his cock emerged, ramrod hard. “Come to me, my little cat toy,” she said, and took him into her mouth.

  He tasted incredible. As she nibbled down the ridge of his cock, enjoying how it jumped, how his breathing hitched, she felt powerful, full of heat and fire. She settled in to tease and torture him into coming his brains out, but he suddenly pulled free, and grabbed her. “It’s gotta be us both,” he said in a guttural voice. “With you . . . In you.”

  She was already kicking off her jeans. His hot gaze followed the fabric down, then he took hold of her, turned her around, and with a hand between her shoulder blades, pushed her down onto the kitchen table.

  “I ssssssso like where this is going,” she hissed.

  His hips thrust up against her, his cock pressing against the lace of her thong. She groaned, urgency driving her wild as she tilted her hips up into him, grinding against him.

  He slid her thong slowly down her legs, which were trembling with heat by the time he gently lifted the fabric over her heels. Then he was back, kneading her butt and stroking up her waist to her ribs, and under to palm her breasts.

  She arched her back to give him better grip, her reward his fingers massaging her tender nipples as his knees nudged her knees wide apart. She stood on her toes as he slid into her at last, at last, then pulled out slowly, enticing her with his cock at her opening.

  “Uh,” she keened. “Now, now, now!”

  “Now,” he said, and rammed himself home. She tipped her hips more to pull him all the way in, clenching on each stroke. One of his hands slid over her hip and down under, that versatile thumb finding her clit, and massaging deeply on every thrust, rocketing her skyward in a frenzy of want. Two, three, four thrusts and then his teeth found her neck, grazed, and bit.

  She exploded in the hottest orgasm of her life, her eyes blinded by twinkling lights. Still floating among the stars, she was vaguely aware of a couple of more thrusts, then his long, hard shudder.

  Then his weight rested against her back, and his cheekbone on her shoulder. Tenderness flowered through her, almost with the strength of her orgasm, leaving her weak-kneed, nearly delirious.

  His hands caressed the nape of her neck, and she murmured, “You bit me.”

  “Was that bad?” he whispered.

  “It was hot,” she said. “Um, it won’t turn me into a cat-wolf, right?”

  The table shook with his silent laughter, then his weight lifted away, and he helped her up from the table. “This place is small,” she said, “but my shower fits two.”

  They were in it under the stinging heat five minutes later—and as she tipped her head back and let the water run over her, she thought, condom. Her eyes flew open.

  She hadn’t forgotten a condom since . . . ever. She had an implant, so wasn’t worried about pregnancy, but . . .

  As if he read her mind—or maybe he felt her tighten up all over—he said, “I don’t want to say I lost my head back there, because it was pretty much front and center—”

  She couldn’t help a spurt of laughter.

  “—but if it helps, I got myself checked out last summer, when I visited a doctor.” He made a vague gesture toward the scars she’d noticed earlier. “Haven’t been with anyone since. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s two of us who totally spaced out on the protection front.” She leaned against him, still craving that skin to skin contact. As her hand ran up his sides, her fingers found one of those many scars. “Tell me it’s none of my business, but did this hospital stay involve this one?” She caressed his ribs.

  “No. That’s from a knife fight when I was in Chicago,” he said.

  “And this one?” She stroked his lean hip.

  “Broken bottle. Another fight.”

  “And this?” She kissed the top of his shoulder.

  “Gunshot wound. That was the doctor visit. Some assholes in four wheel drives went wolf hunting.”

  She gasped, cold shivering through her. “Did they know?”

  “Oh, yeah. That was incentive,” he said, low. “And there’s nowhere to hide in upstate Texas.”

  She slid her arms around him, aware that for that one second, she never wanted to let him go. She couldn’t articulate why it was so good, why he was so good, and was afraid to even go there, and so she hid her face in the hollow of his shoulder so he wouldn’t see the truth . . . whatever that was. And she was no more ready to d
efine that truth than she was to face it.

  Stay in the now, she told herself as clean water poured all around them, and his heart beat beneath her ear, and his warmth pressed all down her body. And then he drew his fingers up her spine . . .

  When her hot water threatened to go out they finally got out of the shower and dressed, he in his worn old jeans and black tee. They were both ravenous.

  By the time she’d fixed them some big, fat BLT’s (and he liked them the way she did, crunchy bacon, crunchy lettuce, and plenty of mayo and cheese), it was suddenly time to get ready for work.

  He’d gone back to the banjo, and she remembered that Amelia’s boyfriend played in some band.

  She said, “West, I know we made no promises, and if you want to take off, it’s cool, but if you stay, I was thinking, this friend has a guitar, and I never really got a chance to hear you sing except that once.”

  He turned his head, and his changeable wolf eyes darkened for a long moment as the rain poured down and down, then he dipped his head. “Sure. I’d like that.”

  Inside her, the cat—so oddly quiet until now—gave one, tiny, purr.

  Six

  West

  Three times, he was thinking.

  They’d made love three times in less than twenty-four hours. That had never happened, not even with his first, a frisky young wolf named Carley, who had stayed with him because he was good with his hands, and knew where to find food, but when she found a big, strong alpha with a pack, she’d flicked her tail and turned her back without as much as a goodbye.

  His early songs about his search for love had been full of howls of hate and betrayal, but later songs about her changed to a song of regret, even mirth, about feckless, reckless youth. He’d come to see that Carley wasn’t at blame. He’d thought it was love because she’d been his first. But he wasn’t hers.

  He could see it now, looking back, they had not been mates, not even a pack. He’d liked the sex and the warmth as they slept through the cold New Jersey nights as wolves before rising and running, but his heart had still been in the search for his missing pack. And, well, her heart found what it was looking for.