Wild: A Savage Alpha Shifters Romance

by DD Prince

Or maybe something more realistic, like date him for a bit before I moved here. Or not.

  I really hadn’t thought it all out, but I had been thinking about it.

  Or trying.

  Every time I tried to get in my head too much, he was there, doting on me. Being affectionate. Being sexual. Making me coffee or tea. Bringing me a snack. Wanting to talk to me. Purring in that sexy/sweet way that managed to just melt me into warm Ivy goo.

  The guy was really getting to me and I needed a bit of space to sort my head out.

  He wouldn’t let me go to the store alone. And he wouldn’t give me my keys, so right now I was kind of pissed.

  ***

  “You’ll look good in anything,” he says randomly as we’re coming into the town.

  “You mean dress shopping? Flattery is nice, Tyson, but I need to feel good, too. And that might not happen with the first store we go into.”

  I managed to fend him off sex earlier, bribing with the offer of a quickie when we got back if we got back in time for me to shower and do my hair without too much stress.

  “In other words, the sooner we go, the sooner we’re back and the more chances of a quickie,” I had said.

  “A quickie? What’s a quickie?” He had no idea what that meant.

  “Quick sex.”

  He blinked then barked out a laugh.

  I loved it when he did that, especially after he’d admitted to me in bed the night his family left that he loved to smile and laugh. He had never been around it; his uncle never laughed, and it felt foreign to him, but he liked how it felt. So, I started telling him stupid jokes. And he didn’t get some of them, but when he got a joke, the way he laughed felt like an accomplishment to me.

  “What do you call a werewolf with no back legs and metal balls?” I’d asked.

  “Huh?”

  “No hind legs and metal testicles…you know… balls?”

  “No. I don’t know about metal testicles. There’s metal balls? What on Earth for?”

  “It’s a joke! I’m telling you a joke.”

  He looked so confused.

  “Just follow my lead. Okay?”

  “Okay.” He didn’t look so sure.

  “What do you call a werewolf with no hind legs and metal balls?”

  “I don’t–”

  “Sparky!” I bumped his shoulder with mine.

  He stared blankly.

  “Sparky,” I repeated with a big smile.

  He didn’t get it.

  I tried to look up videos to show him how sparks would fly off the pavement if you dragged metal off it and it took some time and so the joke was ruined.

  He didn’t get it.

  I then took that opportunity to show him a compilation of people slipping on banana peels. At first, he stared with unconcealed concern, and then a few slips in, he was laughing uproariously, finally understanding why I laughed at him that first day here.

  This took us to Reddit, where I read him a bunch of Dad jokes and typical knock knock jokes.

  There were jokes he didn’t get, but he laughed at quite a few of them. And then later, while I was cooking dinner, I found him laughing in the chair with my phone in his hand, reading more jokes from the same page.

  This was so adorable I just crawled up into his lap and snuggled him.

  He read me three dumb jokes. I laughed at all of them. More than because they were funny, because he found them funny and his whole face was lit up with excitement while he told them to me.

  But then my phone made a sound and his face changed.

  “What?” I asked.

  He read the screen, “Ben. Are you all right? I heard about what happened at the tux fitting today. Call me. I’d love to talk. Miss you, Ivy.”

  Oh shit.

  I took the phone from him and tossed it aside.

  “I don’t miss him.”

  Tyson’s face was red, his nostrils were flaring, and he looked like he was about to go find Ben and rip his face off.

  “Ty, don’t worry about a text message from Ben. Trust me.” I put my lips to his. He let out a stuttered breath, like he was trying to calm himself down.

  “Did you love him, Ivy?”

  “Nope. Really, baby. It wasn’t even serious.”

  “But he fucked you.”

  “Pff. Trust me. Not remotely serious. Ben is old news, Ty.”

  I tugged on his earlobe with my teeth and he shivered. I liked that so I did it again and made a little growl sound.

  He whispered, “Your growl is cute.”

  “Is it?” I looked into his eyes.

  And his mind was no longer on Ben.

  But now here we were, in a tiff because on our way out the door, glancing at my car I asked, “Oh yeah, where are the keys?”

  The look on his face said it all. “Why do you need your keys?”

  I had my answer without him speaking another word. He didn’t want to give me my keys back. He didn’t want me to go anywhere.

  He didn’t say this.

  We stared for a minute at one another in what felt like a stand-off.

  I didn’t say I knew that this was his thinking and now it had been fifteen or twenty minutes of silent brooding in the car on the way to town.

  ***

  He stops in front of a discount department store. A lower-end one that would sell hardware, greeting cards, cigarettes, cleaning supplies, and maybe have a few racks of discount clothing options.

  I stare at the sign.

  “This is the store,” he says and turns the truck off.

  “Um, no,” I say. “I’m not buying a dress from here.”

  He looks confused.

  “A dress for around the house, a dress for traipsing to town or the beach, sure. Not a dress for a party where I get to meet the rest of your loved ones. And I need shoes. And not flipflops, either. I need something with a heel, something cute.”

  “I don’t love them. I don’t even know them yet, Ivy.”

  “Doesn’t matter. First impressions and all. I need something a little more upscale.” I pull my phone out and search for the closest dress shop.

  “We’ll go to the furniture store first. It’s three doors that way,” he says, reaching for the door handle.

  “No, Ty,” I inform. “The dress and shoes are the priority. Let’s do that first and then we can shop for furniture if there’s time. If. Furniture isn’t required in less than eight hours. A dress and shoes are. And I have to have time to get back and shower, do my hair and makeup. And what are you wearing anyway? We should get you some nice slacks and a new button-down. I wonder if they have a tall guy store around here.” I keep scrolling the options on my phone.

  “I have plenty of clothes at home.”

  “Ty, you have four shirts, three t-shirts, two pairs of jeans and, what, two pairs of lounge pants? That’s not enough of a wardrobe for anyone.”

  “It’s worked fine for me.”

  “For supernatural hermit reasons, yes, but you need clothes for tonight. Maybe some new shoes. You have a pair of hiking boots and a pair of sneakers. You need something a little better.”

  I knew the extent of the wardrobe because I’d reorganized his armoire yesterday and done the laundry the day before that.

  “Okay, twenty-five minutes from here is a bigger town with more shopping. Take this road to the end and then it’ll take you in that direction.” I point.

  “You don’t want to at least look?” he tries.

  “Do you want to waste time?” I retort.

  He shoots me a look of annoyance, but starts up the truck.

  We have to buy gas a few stores later and at the third store we go to, an hour and a half from his place, I find a great dress, a fabulous pair of shoes, and I find him dark slacks and a gorgeous navy, nearly black dress shirt with green stripes the exact same color as his eyes. I also get him great new shoes.

  Getting him to try clothes on is like pulling teeth. And he insists on paying, waving around a fat stack of cash,
which I find annoying, but also sweet.

  “This was not a werewolf issue, this is a guy issue,” I told him. “I could’ve shopped alone, but you insisted on coming and holding my keys hostage, so this is your reality, big guy.”

  “We’re done? Can we go home?”

  ***

  We don’t get back until four thirty, so I announce, “Okay, I’m taking a shower and then working on my hair before we have to head out. No sexy time!”

  “No sexy time?” He frowns.

  “Nope. There’s no time for sexy time.”

  “There’s always time for sexy time,” he says, stalking in my direction.

  I take off running with a giggle.

  He smiles, realizing I’m teasing, and he catches me by hooking an arm around my waist. “Since you have a dress, sexy time is the new priority.”

  “We have to get ready for the party.”

  “Fuck the party,” he growls against the mark on my neck and yep, full-body shiver from me.

  “No way. They’re expecting us. And I wanna show off my pretty dress and fantastic shoes.”

  “To who?” His eyes take on a dangerous glint.

  “Everyone. It’s the whole point of a new dress, silly.”

  He hauls me closer by grabbing my ass, directly against his crotch and I feel the hardness poking my belly.

  “Explain. And do it now.”

  Uh oh. What?

  He looks angry.

  “You think I want men’s attention? Uh no.” I make a passable imitation of a buzzer sound. “Wrong. I just wanna feel good on a hot guy’s arm about looking half decent. Looking my best will make me feel less stressed out, though only marginally less, about meeting a whole bunch of new people.”

  “I’m a hot guy?” he asks.

  I laugh. Hysterically.

  He frowns.

  “You’re definitely a hot guy.”

  “The dress isn’t just for me?”

  “It’s for me first, for you second. Mostly for me though so I feel confident that you can feel proud of having me on your arm.”

  “I would be proud to have you on my arm if you were covered in dirt, Ivy.”

  “That’s sweet. And it ain’t gonna happen because I wanna look my best. Now … let me go so I can go shower.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “We both know what’ll happen if you do, Ty. It’ll be all naked and soapy and me having two orgasms before I get the shampoo in. That’ll delay us.”

  “Three or four orgasms,” he corrects.

  “How about just one big one?” I counter.

  “Deal,” he says and then he’s pulling me by the hand toward the bathroom while pulling his t-shirt over the back of his neck.

  ***

  My dress is awesome. I feel great.

  I’m having a great hair day and my werewolf looks so handsome it should be a crime.

  I’ve tamed his hair in a low ponytail at his nape, which he says he likes, and he is clean shaven and smells awesome. His eye is also healed, even though I haven’t been able to get eyedrops in for over 24 hours because he’s been a big baby about it each time.

  Not only did I buy him a razor and shaving cream, I also bought decent hair products when we were out today, too, instead of the budget 2-in-1 shampoo we’d been using, and my hair is thanking me for it with a great hair day. I’ve used my ceramic curling iron and given myself ringlets and Tyson likes it. He really likes my strawberry colored taffeta dress. It hits above the knee with a flare to the skirt, cap sleeves, and a keyhole neckline with a hint of cleavage.

  Tyson can barely take his eyes off me. My shoes are red, too, with a series of laces and a cute scalloped strap across the top of my ankle. My ankle feels mostly fine, but I bought wedges instead of stilettos for extra safety. He keeps staring at my legs and it’s taking a lot of effort to ward him off from sexing me again. If he had his way, we wouldn’t get out the door.

  “Are those shoes a good idea, Ivy?” he asks, as I climb up into the truck, with his assistance.

  “My ankle is fine.” I’ve still got it bandaged, which takes away from the overall look, but I can walk on them, no problem.

  “Don’t you hurt yourself,” he warns me, as if he’ll punish me if I do.

  I frown at him. His face softens and then he kisses me sweetly before shutting the door and rounding the truck.

  36

  Ivy

  We’ve pulled in behind a massive barn across the road from a general store and gas station. Someone gestures to an empty spot beside the door with a big smile. I see lots of big smiles in the parking lot, too, in fact.

  Are all these people shifters? There are people of all ages and not only are they all aware of our arrival and paying attention, but I also note that they’re a healthy-looking bunch. We walk hand-in-hand through the open barn doors, seeing twinkle lights and hearing music. Plenty of people are behind us in that parking lot, and while they keep their distance, I note with a glance over my shoulder that there are a lot of happy faces behind us.

  Bailey runs toward us, dressed in a pretty black party dress with her hair in a fancy updo and she’s in heels, doing so quite awkwardly, looking like she’s about to break an ankle. She embraces me. “You’re here! You’re gorgeous. Both of you. Come on!”

  We move further inside and the place is festive. And impressive. It’s a big, open converted barn that’s been clearly altered to accommodate all sorts of events. I see a long saloon style bar slash kitchen area, lined with barrels that have taps on the front, dozens of extra-large brightly colored picnic tables, comfy-looking seating and tables bordering the space, creatively made with wood pallets and wicker designed to look like haybales. There’s also a big dancefloor. White twinkle lights are strung from one end to the other along rafters and I also see plenty of dangling red lights, obviously added for the strawberry theme. Each picnic table has a weighted set of red balloons with white curled ribbon as a table arrangement. In one corner, a stage sits a few levels up with a DJ. Behind the bar area is a set of stairs leading up to the loft that has twinkle lights wound around the railings. I can see people up there, chatting, drinking beers.

  Music is on low, playing P!nk’s Get this Party Started. There are dozens of people and it feels like every one of those sets of eyeballs points in our direction.

  “See? Effort was important,” I say to Tyson softly. He’s taking it all in. He doesn’t look spooked. He doesn’t even look concerned. He’s looking around and there’s a calmness coming from him, I think, unless I’m misreading him.

  For someone who has spent most of his life with just one other person and the last few years alone, I’m surprised he’s not radiating a vibe of fish-out-of-water.

  I see his eyes move to a taller pub-style table by the bar with several guys. A few sitting, a few standing. Riley’s there. The sitting ones all stand up as eyes swing to us.

  Holy crap. That table is full of sexy, hot men. All of them look like they’ve put effort into their appearances. I’m glad I forced Tyson to buy new clothes for himself. My eyes bulge.

  Cat, dressed in a flattering polka dot maxi dress and gladiator sandals, her long and curly hair up in a twist, emerges from a cluster of ladies by a long table that’s loaded with food platters. She and Riley are coming to us from opposite ends of the room. They arrive at the same time. More people are moving our way, including a group of other men, men who are a bit older.

  And then people are making introductions and names and handshakes are shared rapid-fire. I do a lot of smiling and nodding, Tyson’s holding my hand and seeming not only receptive, but also at ease. More people flood the space around us and form an orderly line. Suddenly, we’ve got a receiving line that goes out the door with absolutely everyone here. My hands are getting shook dozens upon dozens of times. Some people shake his hand. A few older ladies grab and hug him. He seems completely at ease.

  And then two little old ladies and a tall, older man approach and despite being a
dvanced in years, they’re also fit-looking.

  Riley whistles and people take notice of the three elderly people, move out of the way to let them cut the line, and Cat makes introductions.

  “Ivy, Tyson, my mother, your grandmother, Aria, known to her grandchildren as Nan. My father Lawrence. Your father’s mother, Grandmama Carolyn.”

  It feels emotional, but I hold myself together, not letting myself cry and ruin my makeup or make myself look stupid, until I catch the eyes of Cat who is openly weeping with joy as she watches her son greet and get welcomed by his grandparents, who are all looking emotional, even his grandfather who whispers something in his ear as he shakes Tyson’s hand. Ty has kissed both the older ladies on the cheeks and they’re both beaming with happiness. Another lady, close to Cat’s age, bounds over to greet Tyson with a hug.

  She hugs me next.

  “I’m Aunt Lucy,” she says, “Riley, Brody, and Trina’s mom. I’m Cat’s sister, too. We married brothers.” She smiles and gestures over her shoulder. A man with long, dark hair and a salt and pepper beard steps up behind her and holds his hand out to Tyson. “Atticus Savage. I’m your uncle.”

  And he looks like he is, too. The resemblance is uncanny.

  Tyson stares for a second and then takes the man’s hand and pulls him into a hug.

  Whoa.

  My chin wobbles as my eyes meet Cat’s and I try to blink the tears back, for her, for Tyson, for my own self composure, but it’s really, really difficult and the tears come anyway. I manage to stop myself just short of sobbing, but this takes a lot of effort.

  I don’t know if Ty even knew he had family beyond Cat and Riley.

  We spend a few minutes talking with the grandparents and someone snaps pictures of Tyson with them, Tyson with his mom, me and Tyson. My face hurts from all the smiling.

  Five large, strong-looking, and ridiculously handsome men are with Riley and I know by looking at them that these have to be the other alphas of the pack. I recognize one, I think, that helped the day I was bit by the snake.

  They all shake his hand and nod at me. Until the very last one of the group stops in front of Tyson and his eyes bounce between Ty and me. He’s a big, built, handsome guy with dark blond hair and dark eyes.

  Riley steps up and gets between him and us. “This is Mason. Mason isn’t feeling his best. Mase? Hold it together, brother.”