“Left you here to rot. But we saved you. Don’t worry,” another one says.
The three men grin, their eyes golden and glowing. They’ve styled their hair into mullets, their clothes a range of campy and kitsch.
One guy’s even wearing a purple midriff shirt and frayed jean shorts. The kind that shows the tops of his ass cheeks.
“Kinda rude he didn’t bring you onto the porch,” the guy with the mustache says.
“Well, he tried for a few seconds,” the midriff one says. “Got you like a few feet, but his arms are too skinny. No muscle, you know?”
“Frail little omega,” the one with the Doc Martens and the fishnet top says. I growl at the insult to the man I just fucked, but they all laugh. “Don’t worry. We aren’t interested in the omega. We’re more interested in you, which is why we gave you snaproot.”
“What the fuck is that?”
“A special herb that helps people snap out of it.” They snort and giggle at how funny they think they are.
“Why did you help me?”
Their eyes rake down my naked body, covered in mud and leaves, and I see them wet their lips.
“Well, you’re an alpha, right?”
“Yeah, and who the fuck are you?”
I try to stand, but mustache-guy puts his Converse sneaker-covered foot on me and shoves. I fall backward into the dirt with a grunt.
“Well, you guys call us Howlers. But you’re oh-so-wrong,” he says with a grin, his canines slightly elongated.
“It’s insulting, really,” the guy with the midriff says. “Since we’re so much cooler than those guys.”
I look at the three of them but stay silent, wondering if they’re gonna tell me what they mean. Sometimes, if you wait long enough, people can’t help but expose themselves.
“Should we tell ’im?” Mustache asks, proving my theory right.
They debate it, the three of them whispering in hushed tones, in a language I don’t understand. Something ancient, something I’ve never heard before.
Suddenly, they stop speaking and stare down at me.
“We’ll tell you, but we want to eat first,” Mustache says. “And we’ve smelled your cooking. We think it’s just right.”
“What are you? The three fucking bears?” I murmur.
They howl at that, their teeth gnashing, their ears twitching slightly as they slap their hands against their legs, and then Doc Martens shakes his head. “Nah, Goldilocks. We’re just a few werewolves in search of food. Now you gonna let us in?”
“By the hair of our chinny, chin, chins,” Mustache says, only to be met with groans.
“That’s the three little pigs, dweeb.”
Converse’s foot leaves my chest, and I push myself to my feet, staring at them in disbelief.
“Werewolves? Fuck off. That’s not a thing anymore.”
“Shut up with the disbelief. We are what we are, and we’re sure as fuck real. Now come on.” They jostle me slightly, pushing me toward the house. I go as unwillingly as I can, dragging my feet and resisting slightly. My eyes search for Arbor as I walk forward. I don’t quite believe that he left. Would he really do that? Leave me to the Howlers roaming the woods?
I don’t think so, but then again, I don’t really know him. I just know the way he tastes, the way he smells, and the sounds he makes when I’m pushing in and out of his tight, wet hole. Everything else I know about him is from the job site. How stubborn he is, how professional. How much he hates being an omega.
How he’s part fae.
I twist the knob on the front door and step inside, smelling the scent of Arbor lingering there. But it’s quickly overwhelmed by the scent of the werewolves as they invade my space.
