Until I Make You MINE (Wolves of Amrok Hollow)

by Jeanette Lynn

  “It doesn’t-” My hand went to my lips and my fingers brushed them. They still tingled from his kiss. I was trying to say it didn’t mean anything but couldn’t find it in myself to say it out loud. Whatever this was, and I had no clue just yet exactly what that might be, it was far from nothing. “I don’t know what this means,” I murmured without meaning to.

  Ansel raised a single eyebrow at me. “Already told you. And despite that fucking adorable look on your face right now, I think you know exactly what that means,” he waited a beat to add with a smirk, “Roly.”

  My scowl could peel paint. Aiming that blistering look on him, my upper lip curled over sharpening teeth. “Asshole.” I fairly snarled the moniker.

  “Roly.” He practically purred the word. Thick fingers snagged my wrist when I was about to take off and the book in my hand was ripped from my grip. “You don’t want that one. You don’t read those kinds of books.” Another book was shoved into my hand, while he waved the book I’d blindly chosen, some hardcore soft book that looked like it had fade to black sex scenes, if any at all, I wouldn’t have chosen if my life depended on it. Glancing down at his choice, a title I’d never heard of before, though the author name sounded familiar and the blurb on the back had my interest piqued, I looked from the couple on the cover, a tentacle lower halfed man with a wholly human woman in his arms, the couple locked in an embrace, waves crashing around them.

  “Krakens and shit. You’ll like it,” he said with a nod.

  My eyes narrowed and I gave him a long look. “And you would know this because?”

  “I’ve read it,” he drawled wryly, making sure I knew he was implying he thought I was slow that I hadn’t caught onto the fact.

  “You read?”

  “And write, and use full sentences when I speak. Oh, and sometimes, if you ask really nice, I perform tricks, too.” Smirking when my eyes narrowed to slits and my lips tightened, he leaned in, until his face was close, too close. “Woof, Roly.”

  My hand smashed into his chuckling face and I pushed him away. “Asshole.”

  “Keep telling me how much you- Omph. Jesus, Roly.”

  “Quit calling me Roly, you dense troglodyte, or I’ll beat you with Introduction to Physics!”

  “First or third edition? The third is expanded and hard back,” he started to say, still clutching his gut from where I’d gut checked his ass, bent over, his free hand holding onto the bookcase to his right for leverage.

  “I hate you,” I hissed, whipping around, my newfound book pretty clutched in my hands, eyeing the rest of the series sitting shiny and new along the shelf, and oh so very lonely looking as they waited to become someone’s precious. Soon, my pretties, I promised them. Rushing around the corner, glad he was no longer within my sight, for fear of the insane wolf overlord doing horrible, wonderful, things to me, addling my brain, I had the register in my sights when he bellowed from the back, “Bullshit! You love me, Emmy Desiree Warhola!”

  My steps slowed as the world sluggishly came to a dead stop. Well, the patrons in the book store did at Ansel’s not so quiet declaration. About to announce that I was going to murder him, I goggled as he rounded the corner I’d just escaped past, a stack of books in his arms. Recognizing the author name along the spines, Tiffany Roberts, my eyes were suddenly glued to them. NO! Not my pretties! MINE.

  His lips tipped up into that familiar, annoying smirk, but the effect wasn’t nearly as devastating with all those books in his arms. Leaning in, I hissed, “Have you lost your mind? Are you high? What the hell are you doing, Gurgen?” The, those are mine, bitch, was heavily implied.

  Grabbing my book, adding it to his pile to walk them over to the counter and slide them across the smooth, black and white speckled, galaxy themed looking top, he gave Cherry a short but polite smile. Nodding to Cherry, she added my books with his.

  “Wait- I’m not... those are- No. I don’t. He’s not- Those are mine and his are-” I spluttered, trying to explain. My gaze darted from Cherry to Ansel. “I’m not paying for your books!”

  “You’re not,” he agreed easily.

  Cherry read off the total and Ansel nodded. Pulling out his wallet as I went to pull my mini backpack off my back to grab my wallet out, it was a race. Naturally, Mr. Pushy won.

  “Ansel,” I grated out.

  Sparing me a quick glance as he handed over several twenties, he leaned into me, dark eyes dancing. “It’s Asshole to you, Warhola. Or Ans-hole, if you prefer.”

  My growl disturbed several patrons. “He’s on drugs,” I muttered under my breath, startling Mrs. Binx, who stood gaping behind us in line. “There’s no other explanation. Someone ground up magic mushrooms and sprinkled them over your Cocoa Puffs.”

  Out of all of this, Ansel’s deep, booming laugh probably startled the poor, unsuspecting townsfolk the most. Ansel didn’t laugh. Not out loud. Not in public. And most importantly, not so loud the sound boomed, echoing off the walls of the small shop.

  Bagging the books up, Cherry watched our byplay, her eyes wide in her round face. “Here you are. All set.”

  “Thank you.” Ansel took the bag, shoving it into my hands. I caught it with a grunt, the bills in my hand to pay, along with my wallet, almost tumbling right out of my hands.

  “Ansel, I- Would you-”

  Plucking my wallet and money up, he shoved the bills into the billfold and turned me, jerking me around unceremoniously until my back was to him. I could hear him as he unzipped my backpack and crammed my wallet into it, then zipped it back up.

  “Are you- Don’t- You can’t just- Stop manhandling me!”

  Jerking me towards the exit, steering me along by my backpack, he started speaking as if I wasn’t scrambling so my feet didn’t drag or trip me up as he toted me along wherever. “Now you have the rest of the series. Kraken dudes. Awesome reads. There’s another chick, alien test subject stuff. Alien-aliens. Another favorite. A whole series of books on it. Gotta save something for a mating gift, right?”

  My hands clutched my bag of book pretties tighter. What the dirty chicken nuggets? “I’m not mating you.”

  “No, of course not. Indecent exposure. I have no plans to spend our honeymoon in jail, and a mating in a book store is kinda cliché, no?” He peeked at Cherry from over his shoulder while my mouth gaped like a fish’s. “No offense.”

  “None taken, darlin’,” Cherry said between poorly smothered laughter.

  “Help,” I mumbled helplessly, much to their amusement.

  “Maybe later. We gotta meet Sparky.” He kept on trucking, his hand sliding from my backpack to my back to discreetly curl his thick fingers into the back of my jacket, fisting the material.

  “You weren’t invited.”

  “‘Course I was.”

  My brain finally kicked in and I started to struggle in earnest. “What has gotten into you? You’re acting like a crazy person!”

  Stopping just outside the shop, he turned, still fisting my jacket, and he leaned in. Growling softly, I leaned away. The leaning shit was getting old. It brought him too close to me and with it the scent of him and his aftershave. “Maybe, for the first time in a very long time, I’m feeling more myself than ever, Roly.”

  “Call me Roly one more time, Ansel, and I’ll-”

  “And you’ll what, Emmy?” Brown eyes flushed with gold-rimmed turquoise.

  “I’ll... I’ll-” I forgot myself momentarily. Just, poof, thought gone. What the hell would I do? He was way too fucking close. One whiff of him, his scent thick, permeating the air, and my mind blanked. I’ve smelled that asshole tons of times, and never had he had this effect on me.

  I suppose, I ventured, he’d never been so god damned doggedly horny for me suddenly, either. The smell of his arousal, the douche, was mouthwatering.

  No. No, this wasn’t happening. I didn’t want Ansel and he didn’t want me. We’d both lost our minds. The magic mushrooms were in all the cereals, it was a conspiracy. We were both trippin’ balls. It would
all pass, fast as this strange frenzy had overcome, erm, us.

  “Kiss me.”

  “What?” I could probably win an award for longest mackerel gum flaps in a conversation.

  “You heard me,” he growled out softly. “I said kiss me.”

  “Here! Over here, guys!” Like a cold bucket of water had been dumped over my head, the moment was gone. My gaze whipped in Fynn’s direction and, ripping myself out of Ansel’s firm grip, I practically ran across the way to the café.

  Muttering something under his breath I couldn’t make out over the thundering in my ears as my heart beat ninety to nothing, his words tapering off into a snarl, Ansel stomped after me.

  Fynn caught sight of the look on my face, a beyond hunted look—my ass was feelin’ straight up hell hounded—stalked like prey—and a slow smile spread across his face. “I forgive you,” he said as he motioned to the two chairs available across from him. Kicking the one meant for Ansel out until it was at the far end of the small square table, I plopped down into mine.

  “Forgive me?” Debating on setting my books down at my feet, cradling the bulging bag of them in my lap, my arms wrapped around them, I stared at my best friend’s smirk, giving him a strange look.

  “You weren’t avoiding me.” Fynn’s brown eyes twinkled, shit starter that he was. Dropping his playfulness for a moment, he pointed a finger at me. “I don’t care what Asshole does, don’t avoid me. It’s fucked up, Em.”

  “I’m sorry.” I meant it.

  Grunting, Fynn leaned back in his chair. With an airy wave, he gave a short nod. “You are forgiven.”

  Holding back the urge to roll my eyes at him, the corner of my mouth tipped up in a lopsided, wry smile. “Big of you.”

  “I know.” He gave a sniff. “I’m growing.”

  “In the gut or ass, or as a person?” I sassed, chortling out a laugh when he jerked, feigning offense, and almost tipped right out of his chair. Grinning while he struggled to straighten in his seat, I felt the walking heater’s approach and I just knew. Drat. Why he still followed, this sudden hot pursuit making me uneasy, I stiffened when his hand curled around the back of my chair. He put pressure on it just until it creaked, as if to alert me to his presence.

  “Asshole,” Fynn greeted with a nod.

  “Sparky,” Ansel shot back, his deep voice rumbling as his hand left the back of my chair and he stepped up beside me.

  Reaching out, leaning over, Ansel picked up the chair I’d just kicked out, flipping it so it was facing backwards, and sat it next to me, straddling it. Arms settling along the back of the chair, resting his chin on his crossed arms, his lips twitched as he glanced from Fynn to me.

  “About damn time, boy.” Fynn shook his head, then motioned to the drinks on at the table. A black coffee, iced coffee with caramel drizzle and almond milk, and Fynn’s white mocha, something-something, chai... latte? something or other.

  “Put in the order for food on the way in,” Ansel grumbled out in that deep voice of his. Glancing at me, he did a double take spotting my book bag. My hands stiffened on my bag as if I feared he meant to take it away from me.

  Eyeing me, his head canted to the side and he smiled, the same kind of slow, knowing smile Fynn had been sporting moments ago. The resemblance between them when they did that was uncanny. “You can hold your books, Warhola. I won’t take ‘em from ya.”

  Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, I slowly, making sure he was watching, a dirty look plastered to my mug, lowered my bag to my feet. Settling the bag between my legs, the straps of the canvas book bag settled over my knees, I sat back in my seat. Reaching out, I nabbed the iced coffee. My dirty look intensified as I removed the wrapper from my straw and shoved the straw into my drink a little more forcefully than it probably warranted. I’d guzzled down a good quarter of my drink before Ansel spoke.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  Ignoring the condescension dripping off his words, deciding a subject change was in order, I glanced to Fynn. “What did he think he ordered for everyone?”

  “I’m sitting right here, Roly.” Bringing the coffee Fynn had ordered him to his lips, he smiled at me from over the rim.

  “Roly,” Fynn shook his head, “now there’s a nickname I haven’t heard in forever.”

  “That’s because it was mean,” I gritted out. “And I’ll pound you into the ground if you think to start it up again.”

  “Aw, come on, Em, it wasn’t that bad.” Fynn tsked, taking a sip of his drink.

  “I guess you forgot how I’d gotten it then,” I grumbled, glancing away. I was being ganged up on, man!

  “You were such a little pill,” Ansel replied with a shake of his head. “Followed me everywhere. A pill bug.”

  “Fynn said it was because I lived in that purple striped shirt and you told your mom my chunky little arse looked like a roly-poly in it.”

  Ansel’s gaze shot to Fynn and he scowled. “You told her that?”

  “Of course he told me that, you arse,” I cut in before Fynn could defend himself. “I’m his best friend. We basically tell each other everything.” Almost everything, I amended.

  “I say a lot of shit,” Ansel said after a long pause. “And that was taken out of context.” With a dark look, he told his sibling, “That wasn’t meant to be repeated.”

  “You don’t deny you said it?” My fingers tapped the side of my drink cup.

  “I won’t deny I said you looked like a little roly-poly in the striped shirts you were always wearing as a little kid, or that I hadn’t noticed and told my mother of this in passing, but that wasn’t why I started calling you my Roly.” He waited a beat to add, “Roly. Plus,” he held up a hand, “in defense of the roly-poly clothing comment, I was ten and had a much bigger mouth with less of a filter than I do now, and had long since been calling you Roly.”

  “It’s true,” Fynn agreed. “He said that sweater dress you were wearing last year at my parents’ Christmas thing didn’t suit you, when we all know that’s Ansel for he thought it was butt assed ugly.” Fynn nodded. “Because it was.”

  Ansel scowled at Fynn. “Stop helping me.”

  Fynn shrugged. “You got it, bossman.”

  “When they ask what happened, Fynn, just refer to this when the producers of Snapped approach you. If either of you are still alive.”

  “Now you’ve pissed her off,” Ansel grumbled.

  “I think you did, bruiser, with that stupid Roly comment.” Fynn pointed his cup at his brother. “The bacon stealing didn’t help any either.”

  “I bought her books,” Ansel growled out softly. “I doubt she’s thought of the bacon incident until you just reminded her, dickwad.”

  It was true, I had forgotten all about his bacon swindling ways until Fynn dug it up again.

  “You still haven’t said what you ordered,” I reminded, catching both of their attention. I was rather food motivated. So sue me. My stomach growled a little, like a tiny monster lived in my gut.

  “Breaded mozzarella wedges, stuffed jalapenos, a double side of ranch for you, blue cheese burger and potato wedges for me, and the soup of the day, broccoli cheese, with extra sourdough bread and crackers, for weirdo over there.”

  “Oh.” The man had our number. To a T. I had nothing to say to that, yet tons of questions cropped up.

  Fynn whistled, the sound long and low. “Stalker,” he said between fake coughing fits. Cough. Cough. “Stalker.” Cough.

  “I notice shit,” Ansel said in way of explaining.

  “And the book store drop in?” Fynn queried with a knowing smirk.

  Picking up and balling up my straw wrapper trash, Ansel flicked it at his sibling’s head. The little paper ball smacked the younger wolf right between the eyes, the wadded paper pinging off of his forehead to places unknown. “Maybe I was there for me.” Looking from Fynn to me, he arched his eyebrows at me and hooked a thumb at his sibling. “He can read and write too,” he said with an overdone innocent look.

&
nbsp; “Oh, shut it,” I muttered, my hand flying out, the flat of it smacking his broad chest, but one glance down at my books had me squirming in my seat. Slipping my backpack off my shoulder, I started to rifle around for the money he’d shoved in there.

  Pulling out too many twenties, I frowned. “Hey, wait. I didn’t have this much. I- You added some, had to have...” I trailed off, my frown darkening into a scowl. “Why would you add money?”

  “Who says I did? I didn’t say I did. Did you hear me say I did, Fynnigan?”

  “Didn’t hear a word, Ansel,” Fynn replied with the same quaint gentility that Ansel had adopted. What, we’re suddenly mockingly straight out of a historical now?

  “I do declare, Sparky, Asshole, you’re both douche wagons of the highest order,” I tittered, fluttering my lashes.

  Our food arrived then. We waited until the server left to start speaking again.

  “I don’t know why she’s complaining.” Ansel spoke as if I wasn’t there. “Used to do it all the time when we were younger.”

  “Ah,” Fynn interjected, “you tried to. I, ah, mighta pocketed the extra for myself...”

  “You stole money from Roly?” Ansel gave Fynn a thunderous look.

  “Geez, not that overbearing Alpha wolf shit again,” Fynn muttered, like he wasn’t suddenly eyeing his brother a tad worriedly.

  “Wait, you tried to sneak extra money into what? My wallet? Piggy bank? Why?” My head tilted as I studied Ansel. Then, to Fynn, “What gives, asshole, you jacked my not my money from Asshole to me?”

  “It wasn’t usually much. A couple bucks here and there from his allowance. The dude mowed like four lawns all summer for years. Not like he was rolling in dough.” Fynn lifted his spoon to his lips but didn’t slurp up a spoonful. “I suppose that makes it all worse somehow, doesn’t it?”

  “You’re a shitty brother,” Ansel told him. Spotting me examining his food in his peripherals, he grabbed a napkin, set half of his burger down in front of me and a handful of fries, and then stole several of my wedges and jalapenos.