Sharpened Claws: A Gay Werewolf Romance

by Peyton Bogue

  Sage chuckles breathlessly when he sees the wood in Rhys’s hand, the vibrations from his laugh sending aftershock waves through Rhys’s abdomen and Rhys groans, then growls lightly as he looks at Sage, who’s eyeing him fondly.

  If Sage is freaked out or alarmed by his red eyes or elongated canine fangs, he doesn’t show it. He just moves his hands to Rhys’s jawline, giving him an affectionate smile, even as Rhys pulls away from him slightly and drops the piece of the headboard abruptly, as if it had burned him.

  “Are you okay?” Sage asks him softly, running his thumb along Rhys’s lower lip as his eyes roam over Rhys’s face, searching for any signs as to why Rhys is putting space between them like this, especially after they’d just gone through an intense round of making love.

  “I’m fine,” Rhys lies as he slurs around his canines, and he’s thankful Sage isn’t a werewolf so that he can’t hear the lie from the slight blip in his racing heartbeat. He doesn’t even know how to talk to Sage about wanting to bite him, about claiming him like that. He feels. . .confused, mostly, because he doesn’t know what’s come over him, but he also feels horrible. He would never bite Sage against his will. He’s never even thought about doing that before.

  Sage eyes him warily, looking towards the piece of wood again. “Are you sure?”

  Rhys nods. “That was just. . .” He tries to come up with a word, but his head is filled with cotton, and his wolf still burns with the desire to sink his teeth into Sage’s throat. He grimaces, overcome with uneasiness and guilt. “Intense.”

  “I know,” Sage replies, his fingertips lightly stroking over Rhys’s jawline. “You broke the headboard.”

  Rhys looks down at the wood again, sighing. His head feels jumbled, as if there are too many thoughts racing through his head and not enough space for them in his brain.

  “It’s okay, baby,” Sage tells him softly, misinterpreting Rhys’s sigh as he shifts closer to gently take Rhys’s face in his hands, to evidently soothe him for breaking their headboard when Rhys is panicking inside because he almost bit Sage. Rhys shifts even further away from him as he leans away, pulling out of Sage entirely. He doesn’t trust himself anywhere near Sage’s throat. Not when he still has his canines out. Not when this desperate desire is so thick in his throat that he feels as if he could choke on it.

  Sage frowns at him, and shit, he looks a little hurt by Rhys’s efforts to keep them separated. He doesn’t understand why Rhys is suddenly acting like this, why he’s acting so guarded after they literally just made love.

  “Sorry,” Rhys mumbles, and it sounds even more unclear from around his canines. He closes his eyes briefly and concentrates, willing his canines to retract back into his gums. They slowly disappear, and Rhys feels his eyes begin to dim, and he snaps them open quickly. He needs a level head right now. He needs to figure out why this sudden urge to bite Sage has completely overtaken his thoughts.

  Rhys pulls his sweats up around his hips a second later, and Sage watches him with another wary look, and Rhys doesn’t even need to scent the air to know how nervous and confused he is. He can tell just from the way Sage is suddenly tensing up uncomfortably on top of their blankets, shifting so he can pull the sheet over his naked body.

  “Rhys, what’s wrong?” Sage asks confusedly, and the sound of his voice, cautious and careful, as if he’s trying not to sound hurt and panicked, tugs on Rhys’s heart strings painfully. “Are you still upset about our argument?” A pause, and when Rhys doesn’t respond, Sage stutters, “Did I—Did I do something?”

  His voice goes a little shrill at the end of his sentence, and Rhys’s entire body recoils with guilt. He’s causing Sage to panic, and alarm bells sound through his head like a warning as his wolf practically growls at him to calm Sage down, to make it so that he’s happy again.

  If Rhys weren’t panicking, he would think this was almost comical. Sage thinks that he’s done something to hurt him, when Rhys is the one who almost bit Sage against his will.

  “No, baby, you didn’t do anything to me. I’m okay, sweetheart,” Rhys rushes to say, his body screaming with the urge to make Sage calm down, to get him to stop panicking.

  He moves back towards Sage, his inability to keep himself under wraps be damned, and takes Sage’s face in his hands, desperate to soothe Sage's erratic heart, to apologize.

  And then, of course, that’s when he sees it.

  Rhys inhales sharply, guilt raging steadfast in his abdomen. He tilts Sage’s head back to get a better look, and Sage just goes along with him, utterly confused as he continues to stare at Rhys with a pained look. He clearly doesn’t understand what’s happening or what’s going on.

  Rhys tilts Sage's head completely to the side, so that Sage’s neck is bared, and it looks even worse from this angle. The stark discoloration of his pale skin makes Rhys’s chest tighten.

  There, on the side of Sage’s throat, are bruises ranging in color from dark red to purple, all the way from his clavicle to his jawline, and impossible to mistake for anything besides love bites.

  Rhys didn’t end up biting him, sure, but the left side of Sage’s throat is absolutely covered in hickies.

  He looks like he got mauled.

  Sage is going to kill him.

  “What, Rhys? What?” Sage asks, his hands coming up to tighten around Rhys’s wrists as he continues to sound confused. He’s not looking up at Rhys in a panic anymore, but Rhys can tell that he’s freaked out, that Rhys’s silence is making him worried.

  Rhys remains silent, unable to form words. Seeing Sage’s neck covered in love bites like this, knowing that he’s the one who has marked Sage up like this, makes his wolf preen. He’s proud of himself for doing this, and that’s actually really awful. Rhys knows that Sage likes it when he leaves marks on him, but he’s always gently reminded Rhys to keep them hidden because it is incredibly unprofessional to walk into a police station and be covered in love bites, and Rhys knows that. He knows that he’s basically gone and completely disregarded the one thing that Sage has asked of him when they are deep into their love making just because he was blind in his haste to stop himself from biting Sage. He feels awful.

  And Sage just keeps looking up at him with a frown, beyond confused, but he’s still rubbing his thumbs against the inside of Rhys’s wrists, trying to comfort Rhys, even though he’s still freaked out and has no idea why Rhys is looking at him like he’s just slapped Sage across the face.

  “I—” Rhys starts, but his throat tightens, and he can’t get the words out. He frowns and looks down at Sage cautiously, then gently moves his hands to pull the bedsheet off of Sage’s body. Sage lets Rhys’s wrists go and allows himself to be pulled from the bed as he watches Rhys carefully.

  Rhys gently manhandles Sage into the bathroom and pulls him so that he’s right in front of the mirror above their sink. Sage gives him another look, but Rhys just looks towards the mirror, refusing to meet Sage’s eyes, and Sage follows his gaze questioningly.

  The moment Sage’s eyes find the bruises on his neck in the reflection of the mirror, he gasps audibly, his right hand flying up to gently run his fingertips over his throat.

  Sage’s eyes follow the trail the bruises make down the column of his throat to his collarbone, his face unreadable as he pokes at one of the discolorations gently, gasping at the slight throb as the bruise fades into his skin and then reappears a second later.

  “Oh,” he says quietly, exhaling deeply, and Rhys can hear his heartbeat accelerate, the sound of it echoing despairingly through his ears.

  “I’m so sorry, Sage,” Rhys says, guilt seeping into his words. “I didn’t—I don’t know what—”

  He cuts himself off, making a low, revolted sound deep in his throat.

  Sage snaps his eyes to Rhys’s in the mirror, but Rhys doesn’t meet his gaze. Rhys can’t take his eyes off of the marks on Sage’s throat at he stares at them with a sorrowful look on his face, and Sage is honestly shocked to see him look so upset, his sad gray
eyes dancing over the bruises as he stands perfectly still behind Sage.

  It takes Sage a moment to process that morose glint in Rhys’s eyes, to come to terms with the way Rhys is looking at him.

  Rhys is miserable, looking over Sage’s neck with so much guilt lingering among the shadows marring his face that Sage tries not to shake from the weight of his remorse.

  “It’s. . .” he trails off, the words stuck in his throat. He swallows harshly, still running his fingertips over the bruises, and tries again. “It’s okay, Rhys. I’m not—I’m not mad.”

  Rhys’s eyes do meet his in the mirror then, and Sage isn’t surprised when he’s met with the Alpha red of Rhys’s irises again as the gray fades from them abruptly. Sage turns around, dropping his hand from his neck so he can reach out to Rhys, trying to pull him closer, but Rhys doesn’t move, rooted to his place on the bathroom tile.

  “Rhys, I promise it’s okay. I’m f—”

  “Do not say that you’re fine with it,” Rhys says, his voice ice cold even as he looks at Sage with pleading eyes. “That’s not fine.”

  Sage eyes him carefully, moving forward so he can grab Rhys’s face. “I am fine with it. It’s kind of the worst possible spot, I’ll be honest,” Sage says, and Rhys sighs mournfully, keeping his head tilted down, “but I swear to you, Rhys, it’s okay.”

  He moves to tilt Rhys’s face down to meet his gaze, and with another sigh, Rhys lets him, his eyes looking into Sage’s guiltily when their faces meet.

  “Baby. . .please,” Sage starts, leaning his forehead against Rhys’s, “don’t be upset. I’m not upset. I’ll have to try to cover them for work tomorrow, but, sweetheart, it’s not the end of the world. You got a little carried away, Ree. It happens. I’ve left worse marks on you before.”

  “I heal quickly,” Rhys says quietly, letting Sage gently pull him closer. “It’s not the same. The marks you leave disappear in seconds.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Sage teases, lightly stroking his thumbs down Rhys’s cheeks. “I know that you didn’t mean to leave them, but we were really caught up in each other, Rhys. If you didn’t have enhanced werewolf healing, you’d probably have scratch marks down your back right now.”

  His words have Rhys grinning a little, and he lets out another sigh, finally letting himself relax as he moves to wrap his arms around Sage’s waist.

  “Don’t feel bad. It’s hot, Rhys. Stop being upset,” Sage tells him softly, and Rhys’s grin widens slightly, and he lifts his head up to press a quick kiss to Sage’s forehead.

  “I’m still sorry,” he says. “I went too far.” He hesitates, looking at Sage nervously. “You’re not mad?”

  “No, baby, I’m not mad. You did kind of use my neck as a chew toy, but I’m not mad,” Sage says, and even though he’s trying to be lighthearted and teasing, his words immediately have Rhys frowning again. “I didn’t even feel you marking me.”

  Rhys tenses, his thoughts drifting back to how close he’d come to biting down into Sage’s throat. He becomes stiff against Sage’s body, and Sage pulls back slightly, confused at the shift.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks softly, looking into Rhys’s eyes. Rhys is suddenly overcome with guilt again, and his eyes flutter back to Sage’s neck, unable to stop his hands from clenching into fists from where he’s still got them on Sage’s hips. “Rhys, please talk to me, baby. Why are you acting like you’ve done something worse than just leaving a few marks on me?”

  “Because I almost did,” Rhys says, and he screws his eyes shut, willing himself to stay calm. He knows that if he gets too upset, he’ll start to shift. He doesn’t trust himself right now, not when Sage is still looking at him like he genuinely doesn’t think that Rhys has done anything wrong.

  Sage moves away from him, curling his body up a little. He’s trying to hide himself, Rhys knows, because he’s still completely naked from where he’s pressed against Rhys’s entire body. Sage is most likely getting the sense that this is something serious, that Rhys isn’t just freaking out because he’s upset that he marked Sage in an incredibly visible place.

  Sage’s eyes dart around the bathroom, trying to find his discarded clothing. This isn’t a conversation he wants to be naked for, not when Rhys is looking so desperate and guilty, and especially when Sage is still sticky with white arousal and can feel the evidence of their lovemaking slipping down his thighs. He pulls away from Rhys completely, moving so he can pick up his basketball shorts from the ground on the other side of the bathtub.

  When he picks them up, he notices that they’re completely ripped in half, and then he realizes that he forgot that Rhys ripped them off his legs in his haste to get him undressed, and Sage's cheeks color a little. He finds his briefs and his long sleeve over by the shower and tugs them on quickly, making a face when both of the garments stick to him uncomfortably, before he turns to Rhys again, who’s leaning back against the counter of the sink and staring down at his feet, his face carefully blank and stoic.

  Rhys looks up when Sage faces him, his eyes no longer red, and sighs deeply. Sage just stares into Rhys’s eyes, waiting.

  After a moment, when Rhys continues to stay silent, Sage asks him quietly, “What do you mean, Rhys? What did you almost do?”

  Rhys shakes his head again, bringing one of his hands up to run his fingers through his hair. It’s one of his tells. Rhys only does that when he’s nervous.

  He’s quiet for another minute as he looks at Sage cautiously, clearly struggling to sort through his thoughts and find his words. Sage stares back at him, crossing his arms as he waits.

  “I almost bit you,” Rhys says a second later, swallowing audibly after he’s gotten the words out, like they tasted bitter on his tongue. “When you were on top of me, and then I flipped us over, I almost bit you.”

  Sage’s entire body freezes, and he stares at Rhys in shock. That’s definitely not what he thought Rhys was going to say.

  He opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say dies in his throat.

  “Okay,” he says instead, biting the inside of his cheek.

  Rhys’s eyes snap down to his, and his jaw clenches tightly. “Okay?” he repeats, his voice self-deprecating. “No, Sage. It’s not okay.”

  “Yeah, Rhys, I get that,” Sage responds, taking a deep breath. Rhys growls deeply in his throat, but Sage knows that it’s not directed at him, just at Rhys’s own discomfort.

  “You wanted to bite me?” Sage asks after another silent minute passes, trying to make himself process Rhys’s words, to understand what Rhys is telling him.

  “Yes.”

  “You literally wanted to bite down into my throat?”

  “Yes,” Rhys repeats harshly, growling again.

  “Okay, I’m just—okay,” Sage breathes out, running a hand down his face. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to wrap my head around it, that’s all.”

  Rhys just remains silent, tense and defensive. He growls again, his entire body rigid, and Sage blows out another deep breath, trying to sort through his thoughts.

  “Rhys, I’m sorry. I was just trying to understand what you were saying. I don’t really know what else to say.”

  “God, Sage,” Rhys says, and then his eyes turn guilty again, and he’s frowning once more. “You shouldn’t be apologizing. I’m the one who’s sorry. I don’t even know why—” he cuts himself off again, taking another breath. He’s shaking, Sage realizes, his hands trembling at his sides. “I almost bit you, Sage. Do you even realize what that means?”

  “That you wanted to turn me into a werewolf?” Sage replies slowly, questioningly, and he immediately regrets the words when Rhys’s entire face falls and he growls miserably.

  “No!” He says harshly, agonized, as his hands ball up at his side, his knuckles white. “I would never turn you against your will, you know that!”

  “I know, I know,” Sage rushes to say, taking a step forward to try to reach out to soothe Rhys. “I’m sorry.”

  “I didn’t
even know I was marking up your neck. That’s why I stopped moving. It was like my entire body was overcome with the urge to bite you, like my wolf was practically begging me to do it, and then my goddamn canines were out, and I didn’t know what to do. I’ve never, ever thought about that before, Sage. I promise. And I would never bite you without your consent. I don’t even want to turn you,” Rhys says, and he sounds so guilty, so abhorred by the thought of turning Sage without Sage’s permission that he’s beginning to shift again because he’s so upset.

  Sage rushes to him then, watching as Rhys’s canine fangs elongate again, how his claws sprout from his fingernails, and brings his hands to Rhys’s face, trying desperately to get Rhys to look at him.

  “Baby, please, I know, sweetheart. Please calm down, Ree. You’re getting upset, baby, and I need you to take a deep breath. Everything is okay.”

  Rhys must hear the growing panic in Sage’s voice or can see how Sage is looking at him worriedly again as his eyes begin to bleed that familiar luminescent red, and he takes a deep breath like Sage had asked, digging his nails into his palms to shock his body.

  Rhys flinches minutely at the pain, keeping his fists closed as he screws his eyes shut. He continues to breathe deeply as Sage’s hands stroke over his face softly, trying to soothe him and calm him down. It takes a few more minutes, but Rhys slowly starts to relax against him; his canines disappear back into his gums, his claws retract slowly back into his fingernails, and when Rhys opens his eyes a couple of seconds later, the Alpha red fades from them, and Sage is left staring worriedly into Rhys’s beautiful gray irises.

  “Sorry,” Rhys says for what feels like the hundredth time this morning, breathing heavily. He looks into Sage’s eyes slowly, as if he’s afraid of what Sage’s reaction is going to be to him, but Sage just leans forward and presses a kiss to his lips, shaking his head.

  He lets Rhys go a moment later, though, watching carefully as Rhys begins tp wash the blood off of his hands in the sink. He dries his hands off with the same towel Sage had tossed back onto the counter earlier, and when he turns around again, his head is downtrodden, and his eyes are full of shame.