Page 33 of Wolf Trial

“That’s not my name, by the way,” I said, but I didn’t really mind what he called me when he looked at me like that. Not calm, not even. As if he was dying of thirst and I was the first drop of water he’d seen in days.

“It means—” Leander began.

Verne’s hand covered his mouth, piquing my interest and curiosity until he met my eyes and asked, “Do you want me?”

My mouth went a little dry, the words working themselves through my whole body until I clenched, dripping down my thigh. I might have felt self conscious about how wet I was, but Verne had my entire attention and there wasn’t space for embarrassment.

“Yes,” I answered, surprised by the ragged quality of my voice.

“Do you want Leander?” he continued, his hand coming up to mould to my jaw, his thumb resting over my wild pulse. The moonlight loved him; I could tell by how it made his deep skin glow, by how it set his eyes alight and turned them to pure magic.

“Yes.”

Leander’s hands tightened where they brushed over my wrists, and the brief feel of them gripping me, binding me in his hold, had my entire body flashing hot. “Fuck,” he grunted. “You have no idea how badly I want you too, Starlight.”

Verne shot him a quelling look, and returned his focus to me. “Do you want Lainsz?”

A laugh burst from me, caustic and low. “Fuck no.”

Fuck yes, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I didn’t even look at where he’d leaned his naked ass against a tree, having the nerve to watch.2

Verne’s smile transformed his whole face from serious to enthralling. I blinked, dazzled for a moment until Leander’s laugh echoed from the treetops, startling birds into flight.

I focused on that—Verne’s smile; Leander’s laugh—to shut out the grinding, gouging pain in my chest that had been there since Lainsz’s rejection. Why should I want that prick? I didn’t care what my wolf wanted—I was still in denial about having a wolf in the first place—I couldn’t stand the bastard, and I wouldn’t touch his big, mouth-watering cock if there was a gun to my head. Uh, I mean his tiny, pox-ridden cock.3

“It’s mutual,” the prick himself said, his voice sliding over my body as if he’d put his hands on me.

I gritted my teeth, shutting it out as I returned my attention where it belonged: the men in front of me. “So, ignoring that piece of shit,” I said with more acid than I meant, “You want me, I want you, and I fully consent. Maybe, uh, not here? I don’t fancy getting twigs in my ass crack.”

Leander snorted, his thumb sweeping over my pulse. “Back to the cottage?” he suggested, as if I knew what the cottage was.

I smirked. “You mean you don’t live right here, in the wilderness like boy scouts?”

“The cottage is metaphorical,” Verne said, grazing his thumb over my cheek before letting go. “It’s that patch of dirt over there. You see that log? That’s my bed.” I gave him a flat look. Undeterred, smiling, he went on, “That pile of leaves is our sofa. It’s comfier than it looks.”

“You’re so full of shit,” I laughed, and became very aware of my nakedness when I began to walk and everything jiggled in time with my steps. Heat crept into my face. I tried to ignore my boobs as they gleefully bounced around, freed of their usual enemy: the boob cage.

“I’m not looking,” Leander assured me quickly, lacing his fingers with mine on my right, while Verne walked at my left. Hopefully Lainsz walked his fine self into hell.4

I faced Leander, allowing myself to take in his tanned face—arranged into a neutral expression that didn’t fool me—his eyes—wide but dark, stained with lust—his wavy hair—messy and wild, an earthy brown colour but dipped in blue at the bottom, like he’d leant over a painting and his hair was the casualty. He was exactly the kind of guy I’d have been drawn to on Earth, and yet… there was definitely something untamed about him. An edge that told me he was more than human.

“Looking at what?” I asked.

“Um.” He blinked. “The trees.”

“Yeah, a likely story.”

Verne, to his credit, definitely didn’t look, even if my boobs acted like I was on a trampoline, my ass thought it was an appropriate time to start twerking, and my thighs shook what their mama gave them. He was a gentleman, through and through. Not what I would have assumed of an alpha. Mostly, I pictured those alpha male bros who threw their weight around, handed out orders as freely as STIs, and thought women existed to obey them. Verne was… almost the exact opposite of that. But then, I’d known him a whole hour. Probably best to reserve judgement until—nope. No until. After tonight, we were done.

One night, to dull the edge on this mating instinct, and then I’d… actually, I didn’t know where I’d go. But that was a problem for later, when I had access to my full brain and wasn’t fighting hard not to watch their dicks swinging. Wolfie Sadie didn’t care that it was rude to gawp at someone’s junk; she wanted to stare at those dicks with all the focus of a visually challenged person taking an eye test.5

“Oh,” I said when the path widened ahead of us, a clearing appearing around the world’s cutest fucking cottage. It was a textbook cottage; really the epitome of the word. Small, stout, with a thatched roof, brown walls, windows with glass so thick I couldn’t see through them—whorls imprinted on the old panes—and a little chimney puffing grey smoke into the dark sky, obscuring the view of two of the moons.6 “Cottage.”

Verne’s smile was wider on one side, baring a sharp canine, and so fucking attractive I had to choke back a whine. “You got me. I lied about the patch of dirt being our home.”

“Shocker,” I drawled, shivering when Leander led me up the dirt path and pushed open the solid wood door. Someone had recently painted it; the crimson paintwork was glossy and perfect. Scents hit me as I walked into the cosy, low-ceilinged room, concentrated and more intense than in the forest. Marshmallow and wood fires and black coffee slapped me around the face, and I inhaled sharply—and then dragged a deeper, indulgent breath into my lungs.

My reaction was physical. Not just in the shiver of need that moved through me; the tightness unwound from my shoulders, the press of anxiety on my chest vanished, and even my pessimistic thoughts seemed to swirl away. I’d be fine. I was home now; everything else didn’t matter.