Sharpened Claws: A Gay Werewolf Romance

by Peyton Bogue

  Rhys huffs, crossing his arms. “Sage,” he says slowly, his words heavy, “your safety means everything to me. I’m not going to risk your protection just because you’re being naïve and dense.”

  “Right,” Sage says sharply, leaning out of Rhys’s space abruptly. “Because that’s what I am to you—a burden instead of your boyfriend.”

  The sharp curl of smoke floods Rhys’s senses suddenly, and he inhales sharply, breathing in more of the abhorrent scent of Sage’s anger. He steps back slightly, caught off guard and overwhelmed as the smoke floods his head in retribution.

  “Sage—” Rhys says, stunned, as his hand automatically reaches out to comfort Sage, to get that scent to disappear, but Sage just leans away from him, his eyes pulled downward in desolation.

  It’s like a slap to Rhys’s face, the way Sage flinches away from him, and Rhys blinks his eyes back to Sage’s in desperation, a haunted expression on his face. Sage doesn’t meet his gaze, just stares steadfast at the marble in front of them, stiff as a board as his body practically radiates indignation.

  “Just—don’t,” Sage says, his mouth twisted in displeasure. He takes another breath, then pushes himself away from the island, turning and stalking around the other side of it angrily, and then disappears out of the kitchen door without another word. Rhys hears their bedroom door close a moment later, and he slumps against the counter, placing his head in his hands.

  Of course Sage wouldn’t want to wear the moonstone. He’s told Rhys multiple times that it makes him feel safer knowing that Rhys could most likely find him anywhere just from his scent if something bad were to happen to him. How can Rhys ask Sage to do something like this and make himself feel unsafe?

  Rhys sighs deeply, frustrated with himself. He can hear Sage shuffling about in their bedroom, and the sound of the ensuite bathroom door opening spurs him into action.

  Rhys opens their bedroom door quietly, closing it before he makes his way over to the bathroom. Sage is brushing his teeth when Rhys leans against the doorframe, staring at his reflection angrily. The smell of smoke hits Rhys’s senses again, and his nostrils flare unceremoniously in response. His insides churn at the scent, making him spiral deeper into the guilt he feels, and he can’t help but wince slightly, trying not to grimace.

  Sage jumps when he catches Rhys’s eyes in the mirror, clearly not having heard Rhys walk into their bedroom, and sighs loudly as he turns the water on and spits into the sink. He looks up at Rhys as he wipes his mouth off, crossing his arms stubbornly after he’s set the towel back down.

  “Please don’t be mad at me,” Rhys says consolingly, careful still to keep his distance. He knows when Sage doesn’t want him near, and he’ll respect the distance Sage is putting between them until Sage curls up in his arms again, even if it makes him feel awful and horrible as the space between them increases.

  He can’t stand the thought of Sage being mad at him. The last thing he wants right now is for Sage to be angry with him. He’s never been able to handle it very well. His wolf is practically vibrating underneath his skin with the urge to hold Sage in his arms, to make it so that Sage is happy again.

  Sage inhales deeply through his nostrils in response, shaking his head. He bites the inside of his cheek, clearly frustrated with Rhys but also doesn’t know what to say.

  “You’re not a burden to me, baby. You’d never be a burden to me,” Rhys continues, his voice soft and apologetic. “I’m so sorry that I made you feel that way.”

  “I don’t want to feel like you’re being forced to protect me, Rhys,” Sage replies, his jaw clenched. He exhales sharply, and Rhys sees him bite at the inside of his cheek again, something he always does to try to dispel his tension. “I know what you’re really saying. I know that I’m just a human—that I’m breakable and fragile in your eyes. But I told you that I can take care of myself. I’m not naïve,” and Rhys cringes at that, frowning even harder, “and I’m sure as hell not dense enough to not know that I don’t stand a chance against a werewolf.” He drops his arms, running a hand up through his hair. “Do you know how many times I’ve been in really bad situations where I could have died?” Rhys’s heart clenches painfully at the reminder, and he feels his wolf howl mournfully. “And I’ve made it out alive out of all of them. Even the times in Afghanistan when I almost starved to death. Now, I get into these situations with Kai on a daily basis, and you know what always calms me down the most when I think about the danger that I’m in?” He pauses, and Rhys catches sight of the fire in his eyes. “Knowing that I have you to come home to every night and knowing that you’d be able to keep me safe. Because you’d do everything you could to find me if something were to happen to me, and you can’t do that if I wear that stupid necklace.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rhys breathes out, feeling his whole body deflate. God, he’s been such an asshole.

  Guilt tugs at his heart, and he suddenly feels a deep ache settle into his chest. How could he have been so inconsiderate of Sage’s feelings? All he ever wants to do is keep Sage safe, happy, and whole.

  Jesus, he’s an absolute idiot.

  “I’m so sorry,” Rhys repeats again, his voice heavy with regret. He swallows around the dry tongue in his mouth. “I didn’t even think about that, Sage. It didn’t even cross my mind that you wouldn’t want to wear that stupid moonstone because it would make you feel unsafe. The last thing I want to do is make you feel exposed and vulnerable like that, like I wouldn’t be there for you when you needed me the most. I love you so much, Sage, and I would do anything to make sure that you’re safe and protected. This crosses a line, and I get that now. I’m so sorry I even asked you to wear it.”

  Sage looks into his eyes, and Rhys can see the way the walls he’s built up around himself during their small argument have begun to wither and crumble. Sage sighs deeply and pushes up from the bathroom counter, walking straight into the warmth of Rhys’s chest and wraps his arms around Rhys’s neck tightly.

  Rhys brings his hands up to rub at Sage’s back, gently moving his hands in circles as Sage buries his face into Rhys's neck.

  “I don’t feel obligated to keep you protected, Sage. I want to keep you safe because I love you and I care about you. I love you so much and if anything were to happen to you, Sage . .” Rhys trails off, closing his eyes tightly, unwilling to even acknowledge the thought of Sage getting hurt. “I would lose my fucking mind. I can’t live without you. The thought of this omega hurting you makes me so goddamn angry that all I want to do is rip him apart with my claws. I’ve already lost the rest of my family, and I can’t lose you, too. I’m sorry for being so selfish. If I lost you. . .”

  Rhys’s throat tightens and his arms pull Sage even closer into his chest. He can’t even say the words out loud. If he lost Sage, it would be like losing his family all over again, like his heart has been ripped straight from his chest, leaving a gaping hole never to be filled again. Sage is his family, the only family he’s got left. He’s the reason that Rhys’s heart continues to beat in his chest. He’d break if he lost Sage. There’d be no telling what he would do. He doesn’t even know if he would be able to live if he lost Sage.

  Images of the battered and beaten Sage from his nightmare two nights ago overcome him, rattling around his brain in warning, and he inhales shakily, shaking his head again.

  “We don’t know what this werewolf is willing to do, Sage. I just wanted to protect you with the only ways I knew how. I’m so sorry, baby.”

  Sage exhales deeply against the tendons of Rhys’s throat, and the arms around Rhys’s neck lose some of their traction and fall down slightly so that Sage can place his hands on either side of Rhys’s neck. He looks into Rhys’s eyes deeply, love and vulnerability glistening brightly behind his beautiful blue irises.

  “I know how you are, Rhys. I know how hard it is for you to fight your protective instincts,” Sage says, his tone serious even as his eyes soften. “I’m not trying to berate or belittle you. I just want you to underst
and how I feel. I thought that you only wanted to keep me safe because you don’t want this other werewolf to take what you consider to be your property, like you own me or something.”

  “Sage—” Rhys starts, his eyes wide as he shakes his head in disbelief and surprise.

  “I know now that’s not what you were doing,” Sage rushes to assure him, rubbing his thumb along Rhys’s cheekbone in reassurance. “But that’s what it felt like that to me. I don’t ever want to be a burden to you. And you don’t get to decide anything for me. We’re a team, Rhys. We talk about these things equally, and we’re going to get this other werewolf out of your territory together.”

  Rhys snaps his mouth shut, unable to form words for a moment. He didn’t even realize he was being that boneheaded, that he was being too stubborn to even see his mistake from Sage’s perspective, and now that he is, he doesn't even know what to think.

  Sage has just blown his mind wide open, and it leaves him befuddled and confused. Here he goes again, acting like an obstinate overprotective werewolf who is too blinded by his fear of losing the one person he can’t live without to realize how much of a scumbag boyfriend he’s been by doing the one thing he never wanted to do—force any type of decision on Sage.

  “I’m sorry,” Rhys repeats again, frowning hard. “I never want you to think that I’m forcing you to do something. I don’t think you belong to me, baby, and I hate that I made you feel like that. We are a team. I’m so sorry that I ever made you think that we weren’t.”

  “I know you’ve been tense lately,” Sage says, leaning his forehead up to rest against Rhys’s, “and you have every right to be. You’re trying to protect me, and I get it, but I’m not going to wear that moonstone, okay?”

  Rhys nods, bringing his left hand up to cup it around Sage’s neck, stroking over Sage’s pulse point with his thumb. “Okay,” he agrees.

  Smoke no longer swirls through Rhys's senses, and Sage’s calming natural scent pulls some of the guilt and frustration out from inside of his chest. He feels some of the tension that has been constantly building inside of his body for the past month completely leave his stiff shoulders, as if a weight has been lifted off of them now that he knows that Sage isn’t mad at him. He knows that Sage has forgiven him.

  Sage strokes his thumb over Rhys’s cheekbone again and tilts his head up so he can press their lips together. All of the remaining apprehensiveness and anxiety completely drains out of him as Rhys is left with a flood of tenderness and warmth at the feel of Sage’s lips on his, and Rhys can’t help but to draw Sage closer, soothed by the insistent pressure of his mouth.

  The overwhelming taste of peppermint on Sage’s lips only pulls Rhys further into him, the intoxicating kiss making his body thrum with electricity. Both of Rhys’s hands move to rest on either side of Sage’s throat, and the quick beats of his pulse underneath Rhys’s fingertips makes him feel content and happy as a tranquil feeling settles into his heart.

  Rhys pulls back after a few seconds, not wanting to get lost in the feel of Sage’s lips against his until he knows that they are both on the same page, that Sage isn’t still feeling angry by Rhys’s actions.

  “Are we okay?” he asks softly, his forehead resting against Sage’s. He tries not to sound too guarded or resilient or stoic like he knows he can be sometimes. He needs Sage to understand how sorry he is.

  Sage nods against him, giving Rhys a soft smile. “Yeah, Ree,” he says, running his right hand up from Rhys’s face so he can twist his fingers into Rhys’s dark hair. “We’re okay.”

  “Thank, God,” Rhys says a tad dramatically, deflating, and Sage rolls his eyes fondly.

  Rhys isn’t typically dramatic or lively about anything, preferring to stay out of the limelight as much as possible, but this is the side of him that he doesn’t let anyone else see—the side that lets his guard down, that lets himself be vulnerable, where his brooding and stoic mask cracks a little and he lets more of the playful, lighthearted Rhys be exposed, the side that grovels at Sage’s feet because he hates it when Sage is mad at him. The side that only Sage gets to see.

  Sage chuckles at him, but he has a smile on his face that he couldn’t drop if he tried.

  He tightens his fingers in Rhys’s hair infinitesimally, and he feels Rhys tilt his head down so that he can bring their lips together again. The heat from Rhys’s still shirtless torso against his clothed chest makes Sage shiver. Rhys’s constant overheated skin draws Sage in further as his entire body ignites at the feel of Rhys’s lips on his, at the apology Rhys is pressing into his lips. His head spins when Rhys bites gently at his lower lip, tugging it between his teeth when Sage’s breath hitches.

  Rhys’s hands slip down from Sage’s throat to run down the sides of his ribs, and each gentle pass of his fingertips makes Sage’s heartbeat increase erratically as they settle onto his hips. Rhys grins at the sound of the sporadic beating of Sage’s heart, reveling in the way it makes his wolf keen.

  Sage shifts slightly, bringing his hands down to push lightly at Rhys’s shoulders but doesn’t move them off as he follows. It is a testament to how much Rhys trusts him that he goes along willingly towards the direction Sage is moving him in, as if he’s not a solid wall of impenetrable muscle that wouldn’t budge an inch if he didn’t want to. A thrill runs down Sage’s spine when Rhys continues moving until his back collides with the bathroom wall next to the door, his half-hooded eyes searching Sage’s as he takes a deep breath, waiting.

  Sage can see that Rhys isn’t trying to assume Sage’s next move, or expects him to keep going, even though the glint in his eyes isn’t anything but hopeful and slightly flirty. Judging by the way he looks right now—his eyes deliberately sweeping over Sage’s face, his gaze lingering over Sage’s lips haughtily, as if he can’t help but stare at Sage’s cherry red mouth a tad desperately—he wants everything that Sage is willing to give him. He might be slightly stunned and a little confused by the sudden heat that begins to stifle between them (and Sage is a little shocked, too) but he’s not going to put a stop to it. Rhys is completely at Sage’s mercy in this moment, completely content to follow Sage’s lead, and Sage suddenly feels overcome with desire as he looks into Rhys’s eyes and pounces.

  Sage crowds against him, tenderly pressing their lips together again. Rhys’s hands rest against Sage's hips again, pulling him gently so that Sage is pressed against him completely as their bodies slot together like missing pieces.

  Rhys’s breathing stutters when Sage deepens their kiss, biting down hotly at Rhys’s lower lip as he begins to make hot little noises in the back of his throat and curls his tongue against Rhys’s.

  The heat between them ignites as Sage pulls back from Rhys’s lips to begin mouthing down along Rhys’s jaw and throat. Rhys’s head smacks hard against the wall as he leans back to allow Sage better access to the pale skin of his neck, and neither one of them break apart as they steadily grow more and more frantic. Rhys groans lowly when Sage sucks a mark into the right side of his throat, his hands firmly squeezing at Sage’s waist.

  His neck is one of the most sensitive areas on his body, and when Sage gently bites at the skin over his pulse point, Rhys moans brokenly and his hands tighten on Sage’s hips as heat from the air around them begins to pool between his thighs.

  Rhys’s eyes flutter shut as he revels in the feel of Sage’s lips on him, inhaling deeply. The scent of honey and cinnamon fills his nostrils and makes him flush with desire, and he growls approvingly at the smell of it. Sage kisses at Rhys’s throat, the patch of skin beneath his lips hot and feverish, and he slides his left hand up Rhys’s ribs, his fingers trailing over the taut skin of Rhys’s chest, over his erratic heart, towards his neck. The angle isn’t quite right and the position of his body slotted so tightly against Rhys’s makes Sage's movements stiff, but he still fans out his fingers into Rhys’s long hair and circles Rhys's neck more firmly to squeeze gently at the base of it, his thumb pressing into the thick tendon he finds there, and Rhy
s groans.

  Sage’s mouth finds Rhys's again, and Rhys feels him whimper into the kiss wantonly, and the sound of it makes Rhys's wolf practically howl with desire. The pressure of Sage’s body against his only makes Rhys crave more of him, more of his mouth, his kisses, the tender and loving touch of his hands. The scent of Sage’s arousal swirls through his head until he feels lightheaded, as if he’s so overcome with lust and desire from the just the smell of Sage that his knees might buckle underneath him.

  Rhys can’t take it anymore. He moves his hands down from Sage’s waist, bending quickly so that he can hook his hands around Sage’s thighs. He doesn’t disconnect their lips, too worked up now to be hesitant when Sage so blatantly isn’t, and feels Sage move both of his arms around his neck to pull Rhys even closer. Rhys moves forward, pulling Sage’s body towards him, and then he’s lifting Sage up into the air, turning him around so that Sage is the one with his back to the wall. Sage’s legs wrap around Rhys's waist immediately, and he lets out a moan when his back makes contact with the wall, the scent of his arousal hot in the air.

  His arms fall from around Rhys’s neck so he can move his hands to either side of Rhys’s jawline, licking into his mouth hastily. Rhys kisses him deeply, pressing Sage even further into the wall as his hands tighten around Sage’s thighs, and he’s unable to hold back another growl.

  Sage is straining beneath him, the evidence of his arousal pushing up against Rhys’s solid abdomen. He lets out another breathy moan at the friction, sliding his hips down again when Rhys just continues to press him into the wall, completely willing to hold him there and hungrily devour his lips.

  Rhys moves to kiss down the left side of Sage’s neck, and when he moves his lips from Sage’s mouth, Sage immediately tilts his head to the side to allow Rhys better access to the long line of his throat, his head thrown back against the wall as he pants breathily, clearly worked up and wanting more, needing Rhys closer.

  When Rhys sucks on Sage’s pulse point, Sage shudders and his hips thrust down again. Rhys leans his entire body into Sage, careful to make sure that he’s not weighing Sage down or putting too much pressure on him. The way their bodies are pressed against each other, Sage’s entire weight resting down against Rhys’s, and the hard line of Rhys’s stomach, makes the perfect amount of friction between them, and Sage grinds down needily, gasping at the contact.