The moon up above isn’t quite to its highest point tonight. Not yet.
But we can all feel it coming.
On regular nights thebittenwomen hang out up here or in the adults-only parts of the caves, talking and dancing and fucking around—I mean that literally—with the full-blooded wolves.Bloodwolves are mostly male. I was the only full-blooded female born into this pack in more than forty years, just to pile on those expectations. When male wolves want to mate, they have to depend on finding females from other packs.
They used to go on raiding parties and take the females they wanted, but we’ve evolved. Or so we like to claim.
These days, all the North American wolf packs gather every five years to sort out things like territory disputes, protection capacity on different routes, enemies who need a more comprehensive spanking, and mating bids. The next gathering will be here, when the Wolf Moon is new next month, and it will run straight through to the winter solstice.
Wolf week,I like to call it.Ithink I’m hilarious.
Male wolves will use the week to fight for the available females. Theoretically any female can decline a mating at will, but in practice, that would cause a pack war. It never happens.
Most female wolves are better behaved than me.
On the other hand, no one will be fighting over me, either. They never have and they never will. Everyone knows I’m Ty’s and only Ty’s.
So really,Ihave nothing to complain about, as Johanna always reminds me. She was stolen by my father from one of the Canadian packs, and the way she carries herself reminds me of the stories she used to tell when I was small. Stories all about the place she came from. Winter forever. Very little warmth. Sharp, overbearing mountains and ice stuck to her fur like daggers.
A lot like her gaze sticks to me now from across the hilltop, but I don’t look that way for long.
Ty is sitting on the rocks on the far side of the hilltop up above everyone else, and I can’t help but look at him. He’s lounging on the highest rock like it’s a cozy sofa, still wearing his skin, and not for the first time in my life—or even the first timetoday—I’m forced to contend with the fact that I find this man irresistible no matter what form he’s in.
Man. Wolf. Both. All.
I was fucked before I was born. Full-on fated matefucked.
It could be worse. At least he’s hot.
Thoughhotdoesn’t do him justice. He’s the biggest male here. He measures over six foot five in his human form, and he’s much, much bigger in fur. He’s wearing a ripped black T-shirt and old jeans, his feet in his favorite motorcycle boots, and the rest of him is nothing short of a festival of hard muscle. He’s beautiful, covered in ink that adores him like everyone else here, all of it highlighting his dark-gold splendor.
His hair is like gold at night, long and thick when I grip it. He’s wearing it back tonight, but it never stays there. His beard makes him look both less pretty than he really is, with those remarkable cheekbones that could make another man seem angelic, and significantly more dangerous even in relaxing moments like this would be if we weren’t us and tonight wasn’t a full moon.
His mouth is a sacrament and, like a sacrament, is often cruel. Deliciously cruel, exceptionally mobile. And usually dirty as hell.
Everyone can see that he’s ripped. I knowexactlyhow ripped, because I’ve had my own mouth on every single part of his fascinating body. More times than I could begin to count. There’s no part of him I haven’t climbed, worshipped, or both.
Nothing makes me feel more like the typical sweet, soft, subservient wolfling girl I’m not than Ty. He’s the only thing that ever has, if I’m honest. But that’s private.
As usual, even glancing at him pokes that simmering fire that’s always inside of me and always about him. Ty is heat and fury, a mighty howl, and a bottomless longing within me. Before he was all of that, he was still there. As a new cub, when I was fractious, he alone could soothe me. As I got older, long before there was anything sexual between us, I still felt drawn to him.
I knew he was mine before I knew what that meant.
And even though I know he was fully aware I was here before I set foot into that falling-down building—he can feel me wherever I am, the same way I can feel him, and that’s less a superpower than a curse sometimes—he deliberately doesn’t look at me now.
Just a little slap to remind me of my place. Luckily for me, I like it rough. I likehimrough, even when I know he’s furious with me. Maybe especially then.
We fight fire with fire, Ty and me. We’ve been doing it for years.
I stay where I am, standing there outside the ring around the fire with my head slightly bent toward the rock where he’s sitting. It’s a show of respect, because no one can join the pack without the king’s acknowledgment.
I don’t mind it when he takes his time. He needs to show everybody else that he’s not as pussy-whipped as the very daring have been known to suggest—though never directlytohim, of course. No one’s that suicidal.
The truth about Ty Ceridwen is that he does what the fuck he wants when the fuck he wants, the end.
In the outside world, he’s all leather and threat. In these hills, he’s the king, undefeated by all challengers for a hundred years. In bed—or anywhere else we might find ourselves—he’s demanding. Endlessly creative. Gloriously sure of himself, and me.
Tonight, when he finally deigns to look at me, his gaze pounds into me like a blow.
