Leif
Alec’s face was priceless—shock and curiosity, and some amusement. He expected nothing else, really—most people assumed he was telling a story when he disclosed the truth behind why he was living alone in the woods without a pack. Werewolves did not do well alone, both mentally and emotionally. Like their natural counterparts, werewolves were gregarious, with magics inherent to them as a species that were meant to be connected to others of their kind, an interwoven tapestry of magic and souls that kept them strong, both as individuals and as a people.
Werewolves weren’t meant to be alone.
“It’ll sound like a fairy tale,” Leif warned, leaning forward just enough to grab a log from the stack beside the hearth and place it on the fire. He usually went to sleep in the deeper hours of the night, though he was known to sleep through the morning entirely and wake midday. He had no need to work, no nine-to-five ordeal for him, so the hours he kept were more inclined to favor the wilder side of his nature.
He used the iron poker to arrange the logs burning on the grate, and got up to sweep in the ashes and coals, banking the fire out of habit. His bed was deeper down the mineshaft—there was no space for a bed in the cabin section of his home, even with the additional space from the old cave entrance.
“I used to love bedtime stories,” Alec murmured, perhaps picking up the hints from Leif that it was time to sleep. “But I won’t ask you to tell me if it’ll be too much of a bother.”
“Not a bother.” He paused, putting away the fireplace broom and tidying a bit around the hearth. “Those I’ve told have either laughed it off as a tall tale or eyed me with pity and some fear, as if the curse will rub off on them merely for knowing about it.”
“Mundane humans?” Alec asked, fingers tugging on the furs in his lap.
“Some. Others were practitioners, curious about my lack of pack on my travels. I’m far from my ancestral lands, and lots of folk look askance at a lone wolf—it’s less romantic a thought when most lone wolves are exiles from packs for atrocious behavior.”
“You hardly seem atrocious to me,” Alec said firmly. “You could have left me in the cold and damp, but you brought me to your home and fed me, took care of me. Unless your plan is to fatten me up and eat me.” That last bit was said with a teasing lilt and flushed cheeks.
“Eat you? Nah, not unless it’s for something other than food, little greenbough.”
Those high cheekbones grew redder, and the honeysuckle sweetness of arousal filled the cabin, making a low growl ease out from his chest.
Alec’s blush was delicious, and he wondered if theyoung man tasted as good as he looked. But then he scolded himself, reminded that Alec was recovering from being held captive and needed sleep. He went to the armchair and held out his hand, and Alec took it with flattering alacrity.
“I can tell you a bedtime story if you like,” Leif offered. “You need sleep. My bed is clean and warm, and it’s yours for the night.”
Alec accepted his help, getting slowly to his feet, a slight wobble helping to remind his libido that seducing his guest was bad manners.
“Where will you sleep?” Alec asked, a wicked gleam in his gray eyes belying the innocence of his tone.
Leif grumbled a bit under his breath, and Alec snickered, a hint of flirtation under the exhaustion and aches. “In my fur, under the moon,” Leif replied. Wouldn’t be the first time.
He hated seeing Alec take such painful steps, and he indulged his instincts and swept the young man off his feet and into his arms, cradled to his chest. Slim arms went around his neck and Alec pressed his forehead to Leif’s temple, not at all put out by the presumption, if the sweet scent of arousal and the tight grip were anything to go by—but consent before and during sex was important, and Leif needed the words instead of relying on scent, so he went no further than carrying his guest down the mineshaft.
The lights along the walls came on as he went deeper into the den, motion-activated lamps hanging from the walls on iron hooks, the wiring recessed into carved tracks in the ceiling and walls so nothing hung down in the way. There was a slight slope, not much, but about thirty feet later and a few feet below the main floor of the cabin lay his bed. It was a raised wooden platform about two feet off the ground, circular, about ten feet in diameter and more thanenough space for a fully transformed werewolf alpha to stretch out. The bedroom ceiling was carved rock, and he had plenty of headroom even when standing on the platform as either man or wolf.
“Is this your bed?” Alec asked, voice a low murmur as if he were falling asleep already.
“Yes,” Leif answered, and he set Alec down on the edge of the platform, the stone around the bed long polished by his paws and human soles over the decades. “Now it’s your bed until we can get you home.”
He had more than enough furs and blankets to keep his guest warm, along with pillows of assorted colors and designs in rich earth tones. Lights hung from chains around the bed, coming to life with a low, soft glow that was more than enough to prevent stubbed toes, or to read a book if he were so inclined.
The temperature was a tad cooler in the mine, but not too bad, and not damp like an unaltered cave might be—he made sure over the years to make it a comfortable, if lonely, place to live.
He helped Alec sink into the furs, covering him in soft blankets until the young man was all but invisible, just the top of his head peeking out. Leif went to the control switches for the lights and turned the lamps on the wall leading up toward the bathroom on, in case Alec needed to use the toilet in the middle of the night.
Alec’s breathing was slow, steady, far closer to sleep than wakefulness. “I’ll be in the cabin if you need me. Sleep well.”
He turned to leave but Alec made a soft noise of distress, and Leif looked back to see Alec peering up at him from the blankets. “Don’t go yet. Tell me the fairy tale.”
“It’s not pleasant,” Leif stalled, not wanting to see pity or fear in Alec’s eyes.
“Scary stories never bothered me,” Alec said, and one hand crept out from the blankets and fingers wiggled at him in entreaty. “I don’t want to be alone.”
He eyed Alec for a long moment, but the pleading in those pretty gray eyes slayed his resolve and he took the offered hand, the gentle tugging making him sit at first on the edge of the platform, and Alec shuffled back a tiny bit. He tried not to smile but lost the battle, and he acquiesced without a fuss, sliding down to lie on his back beside Alec.
A rustle and some grumbling, and he found himself with an armful of fae, Alec sprawled on his chest, head tucked under his chin. “That’s better,” Alec breathed out, gradually relaxing, even with them plastered together, thin cotton sweats and his loin wrap all that were keeping them apart. Alec was warm and snuggly and smelled of wildflowers, and he fit with utter perfection in his arms.
