“When’s the last time you were down there?” Roscoe asked in that strange, stilted accent.
“I’m always down there. I just never saw ’em!”
“Well, you’re looking into the future, bud—”
The scenery melted into a bunch of flaming blobs before reforming into an all-out orgy. The tall one in the harness was behind one of the younger ones, thrusting while the other three gathered together in front of me.
“Fuck me!” I demanded, my features turning wild as the half-turn temper boiled to the surface, causing the werewolves around me to grow excited and impatient. My face grew hot with embarrassment as I turned into everything I despised. This wasn’t me. This couldn’t be me, right?
Watching from a third person perspective really brought to light the half-turn state I couldn’t escape, but it also made me remember everything Mosavi had warned me about. This wasn’t just me wanting sex—it was something more akin to eating or drinking. It was vital to my survival, and it was the Whasha that awakened it.
The feral in the middle lost himself in the moment, grabbing me by the hips, fully intending to give me exactly what I wanted, but Roscoe shot up and faced the wild werewolf head-on.
“No,” he growled, pulling me into his arms. The feral bared his teeth, and he stood roughly a foot taller. Roscoe was not a confrontational person, especially when the physical odds weren’t in his favor, but he firmly held his ground. Before either of them could scuffle, the larger, harnessed werewolf pulled away from his mate and stood between the two, shoving away the frustrated feral before nodding to both of us.
The vision faded, except for a rippling haze as my eyes watered. Roscoe had lied when he said he’d get off on watching them have their way with me. He was ready to fight to keep that from happening, and the disappointment from earlier melted into the rest of the colors.
“He didn’t let them do it.”
“Good mate you have,” the feral said, placing his finger close to his mouth. “No chewing. No swallow, only spit.”
I nodded as I repositioned the small wad of slobbery herbs to the other side of my mouth before spitting the excess saliva.
“I need to ask you a question,” I said, turning to face him again.
He nodded.
“Were you with the ones I met the first time in the forest?”
He nodded again.
“Then why did you guys almost attack us last night?”
“We test the fat one there to see if he remembers what to do.” He pointed at Roscoe’s ankle bracelets. “Those were given to him by Whasha.” His speech seemed to sync more with his lips, his words less broken. “You should be feeling the full effects by now.”
“I—damn. What the hell is going on?”
“It is a lot to explain, but I am sure you’ve been told some of it by that elder who pretends.”
“Mosavi?”
“So that is the name he has chosen.”
“That’s not his name?”
The feral slowly cracked a knowing smile. “He consorts with witches and pretends to be the opposite of what he is. He is a living contradiction, and the reason I stay in these woods so close to town.”
“Why?”
His eyes flashed a brilliant silver before fading as he looked down at me. “What do you feel?”
I shrugged. “I don’t understand the question.”
His irises flashed again, this time remaining pure silver, just as Mosavi’s had that night he’d taken control of Roscoe.
“What are you doing?”
Once again, his eyes faded to their original amber. “That is why he chose you.”
