Sharpened Claws: A Gay Werewolf Romance

by Peyton Bogue

  “Are you okay?” Sage asks him quietly, and when Rhys nods in answer, he continues, “Can I ask now about why you wanted to bite me? Can you explain it to me?”

  Rhys looks up at him, frowning, and Sage is a little surprised when he sees Rhys’s eyes tighten with confusion.

  “I don’t know why I wanted to bite you,” he answers honestly, shaking his head. “It’s not because I wanted to turn you. I promise. I don’t know what came over me. It was like my wolf was desperate for it, Sage. I’ve never felt like that before.”

  “That’s okay,” Sage says gently, moving so he can wrap his arms around Rhys’s neck. When he does, Rhys relaxes against him, leaning down to bury his face into Sage’s neck and inhales deeply, as if he needs Sage’s scent to make him completely calm. “You didn’t actually bite me, Rhys. You don’t have to feel guilty.”

  Rhys pulls away from him, looking into Sage’s eyes sharply. “It doesn’t scare you? That I almost forced that on you? It scares me. I can’t believe I—”

  “Rhys,” Sage cuts him off gently, tangling his fingers in Rhys’s hair. “I will never be scared of you. It’s disconcerting, I think, that you’ve suddenly got this urge when you’ve never had it before. But we’ll figure it out, baby. We always do.”

  “How can you be so calm? I was freaking out, Sage. The thought of biting you. . .it made me feel so many things at once. I don’t want to do that to you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Sage kisses his forehead, sweeping his thumbs across the back of Rhys’s skull soothingly. “I know you don’t, Ree. I think this whole thing is just something to do with your control. We’ve still not figured out why you can’t really control yourself lately. Maybe it’s just the full moon,” he says softly, “but that’s still a week away, baby. You’ve never been this affected by a full moon before. I just think that maybe there’s something else we haven’t found yet, and maybe that’s why you’re feeling this urge.”

  “When did you get so reasonable?” Rhys asks, and a small smile begins curling at his lips. Sage’s heart flutters at the sight of it, relieved to see that Rhys isn’t panicking anymore.

  “I’ve picked up a thing or two while dating a werewolf,” Sage says seriously, and Rhys’s smile widens, “and one of them is that I’m the rational one in this relationship.”

  Rhys laughs, moving his arms around Sage’s waist and pulling him closer to his chest. “Rational,” he repeats, scoffing mockingly. “Just because I’m overprotective of you doesn’t mean that I’m not rational.”

  “It totally does,” Sage argues, grinning at Rhys’s laughter, but Rhys gives him another wolfish smile, and then he leans in quickly, connecting their lips together again before Sage can continue.

  They kiss for a moment, and Sage lets himself get lost in the feel of Rhys’s lips against his. He pulls back after a moment, and Rhys watches him, his eyes bright and no longer guarded.

  Sage hesitates before he speaks again, unsure if he should even ask what he wants to. It’s not that big of a deal, he knows, but Rhys has kind of plagued his thoughts slightly with so much talk about biting him, and he can’t stop his mind from wandering.

  Against his better judgment, Sage bites his bottom lip nervously and looks into Rhys’s eyes, quietly asking, “You don’t want me to be like you, do you?”

  “What? A werewolf?” Rhys asks, his eyes pinching as he narrows them confusedly at Sage. He's clearly thrown by the change in conversation.

  Sage nods, twirling his fingers into Rhys’s hair, feeling as if he’s got a lump stuck in his throat.

  “No, I don’t,” Rhys says softly. “Where’s this coming from?”

  “You just. . . kind of freaked out, I guess. Like turning me was a really bad thing. I just thought that maybe. . .you just don’t want me to be like you,” Sage replies, shrugging.

  Rhys sighs, glancing down for a moment, seemingly trying to gather his thoughts again. When he looks back up, his face is unreadable, but his eyes are hard and serious. “It’s not that I don’t want you to be a werewolf. If you want me to be completely honest,” he hesitates, but Sage nods again, and he continues, “it would be easier if you were one. I’d be less worried about hurting you all the time, about losing control of myself around you. You’d never get sick, never get seriously injured ever again. You wouldn’t be taken from me, in that way,” his voice softens, and Sage feels his heart skip a beat. “For me to give you the bite—to make you become a werewolf so that I’ll never lose you—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head slowly. “I try not to be selfish with you, Sage, and I know that I sometimes don’t succeed, but biting you, to me, is the most selfish act I can imagine. I would do it for you, if you asked me to, but more than anything, I’d be changing you for myself. That’s the most selfish thing I could ever do. And it’s not what you want, because you would have asked me this sooner if you’d wanted me to give you the bite.”

  Sage freezes. His fingers stop moving in Rhys’s hair, and he feels as if his heart has stopped beating in his chest. He looks into Rhys’s eyes, frozen in Rhys’s arms.

  He’s never actually really thought about it, if he’s being honest with himself. He supposes that Rhys’s reasoning is valid, though. It’s never occurred to him to ask Rhys to turn him into a werewolf. Rhys is right; that’s never been something that he’s wanted.

  In a way, he understands Rhys’s perspective. It would probably be easier for Rhys if Sage were a werewolf. He wouldn’t have to constantly worry about Sage as much anymore, that he’d get hurt and injured and take weeks to heal. He wouldn’t have to hold himself back all of the time when he’s around Sage, and he wouldn’t have to constantly try to keep his strength contained so that he doesn’t accidentally break Sage in half if he falters for a split second. In their current situation, Sage wouldn’t need Rhys to protect him against their uninvited omega if he himself was a werewolf—he’d be stronger, faster, and could take care of himself. He’d be able to do the things Rhys does without a second thought.

  But he’d also have to hide himself from the rest of the world. Rhys and Kai—the people that he cares about most in the world, his family—would know what he is, but everyone else wouldn’t. How would he be able to hide his strength from everyone else on the force? How could he justify knowing when a suspect is lying to him when he’d have no other proof than the blip in their heartbeats? How would he be able to cover up getting hurt—if he were shot—so that no one would see his body healing within minutes? Someone would notice. Someone wouldn’t hesitate to expose him. Rhys has kept this secret from everyone for his entire life for the sole purpose of not being exposed. Sage doesn’t know if he could do a good enough job at hiding that secret.

  He can’t put himself in that kind of danger. He can’t put Rhys in that kind of danger.

  It’s just—being a werewolf is never something he’s considered. If he chose to become a werewolf, at this stage in his life, it wouldn’t be for himself, not because he wants to. It’d be for Rhys. And the thought of Rhys wanting him to become a werewolf makes him feel off kilter. Would Rhys prefer him as a werewolf instead of a breakable human? Would Rhys love him more if he were a werewolf?

  Sage has never thought of it like that. He’s always assumed that Rhys loves him for him, not because of what he is but because of who he is.

  And Rhys thought he was being selfish with Sage, because he loves him so much. Jesus Christ.

  “I will never take that choice away from you, Sage,” Rhys continues. “Whether or not you choose to become a werewolf is completely your choice. I won’t turn you just because I can’t stand the thought of losing you. What you are, human or werewolf, doesn’t matter to me. This,” he takes Sage’s face in his hands, pressing their lips together softly, “you. You’re what matters to me.”

  Sage is stunned silent as all of his growing panic completely disappears from him at Rhys’s reassurance. How could he ever think that Rhys would care about something like that? That Rhys wouldn’t love
him regardless of what he was?

  “I could get a swelled head listening to the way you talk about me,” Sage says, a tad breathless.

  Rhys chuckles. “Will you answer a question for me?” he asks suddenly, still holding Sage’s face in his hands. “Honestly?”

  Sage nods quickly, gazing into Rhys’s nervous eyes.

  “You don’t want to be a werewolf.”

  Sage’s heart stops in his chest again, and then his pulse accelerates quickly. He sighs. He feels as if he’s been caught. He doesn’t want to upset Rhys by agreeing with him, but he knows that Rhys would want to know how he feels.

  Rhys waits for him to answer, watching Sage’s face carefully and listening to Sage’s erratic heart, an unreadable expression on his face.

  Sage doesn’t know if he should answer, if he should voice those fears he’d just dismissed. He doesn’t want to lie, though. Not to Rhys.

  “That’s not a question,” he finally mutters.

  Rhys looks down at their bodies, frowning, his face carefully blank. “I was wondering why you feel that way,” he says.

  “I don’t want you to. . . I don’t know—get mad at me, or—laugh, or—”

  Rhys’s eyes widen, shocked. “Get mad? The last thing I would do right now is get mad at you, Sage. Or laugh at you. I just want you to be honest with me.”

  “Promise?” Sage mumbles again.

  “Yes,” Rhys replies, his eyes serious.

  “It’s just. . .” Sage trails off, the words escaping him. “You are amazing in everything that you do. The things that you do on a daily basis—your strength, your senses, your enhanced reflexes—they’re all so amazing. Who wouldn’t want to do the things that you can do? It’s just something that I’ve never really wanted. I don’t want to. . . change myself to make you love me more. I don’t want to become a werewolf just because you don’t like me as I am now.”

  Rhys exhales sharply. “You’re worried that I wouldn’t love you anymore if you stayed human?” he demands, and his voice sounds so confused, like he can’t even comprehend Sage’s words, why he would ever feel that way. Then, before Sage can answer, he shouts indignantly, “Sage!”

  “I know that it’s kind of naïve of me—”

  “No, it’s not, baby,” Rhys says gently, shaking his head. “I don’t think you realize how much I love you, baby. I’m in love with you, Sage. I don’t care if you ever want to become a werewolf or not. None of that will ever matter to me. I love you as you are. I’ll always love you as you are.”

  Sage knew that Rhys would most likely think that his fears might be a little silly, but Sage can’t help but feel relieved. If Rhys will always love him because of who he is. . . well, that’s all that mattered, anyway, even if it does make him a little greedy.

  The word selfish suddenly makes his cheeks color.

  “I like you too much as a human, anyway,” Rhys continues, staring into Sage’s eyes as he strokes his thumb over Sage’s jaw. More blood rushes to Sage’s cheeks at his teasing grin, and Rhys laughs gently. “The sound of your heart,” he sounds more serious now, but still smiles brightly, “your scent. They wouldn’t be as prominent if you were a werewolf. You would be able to hide them from me. But I’d go crazy if I couldn’t hear your heartbeat anymore.”

  “Well,” Sage says quietly, trying not to swoon with the way Rhys is eyeing him lovingly, “that’s a relief.”

  “I love you,” Rhys says, tilting his head down until their noses are touching, and Sage’s entire body feels electric at the touch.

  “I love you, too,” Sage whispers against Rhys’s lips, and then Rhys presses their mouths together insistently, and, like always when they kiss, Sage feels his heart flutter in his chest as he’s pulled into Rhys’s overheated embrace, and the entire world melts away around them.

  NINE

  It isn’t until the next day, while Sage is sitting in his desk chair at work and waiting for Kai to get in, that Sage realizes tht he and Rhys had never gotten around to talking about their omega problem, or how to force the said omega out of Rhys’s territory.

  Rhys had been relaxed significantly yesterday after he’d calmed himself down by trading lazy kisses with Sage in their bathroom for twenty minutes. It wasn’t until he’d been reassured by Sage again that Sage wasn’t mad at him for anything—their argument from that morning, the bruises on Sage's neck, or feeling the urge to bite Sage—for Rhys to completely relax and allow himself to be pulled into their enormous shower so he and Sage could clean themselves up.

  When they’d gotten out of the shower, the bruises on Sage’s neck had looked even more red when he’d caught sight of them in the mirror. Rhys had eyed them warily, frowning, and Sage had rolled his eyes and pulled him into a quick kiss, telling him to stop looking so sad when they had the rest of the day to spend together after they’d broken apart.

  Rhys had just huffed a little, smiling, before securing his towel around his waist and following Sage out of the bathroom.

  Sage had meant it when he’d told Rhys that he wasn’t mad about the bruises. He wasn’t exactly thrilled that Rhys had accidentally marked him in such an inconvenient place to cover, but he wasn’t mad. Secretly, the bruises actually made him feel hot all over, and a thrill went down his spine whenever he ran his fingertips over them. He hadn’t lied when he’d told Rhys that he found them arousing. Rhys had lost control of himself yet again, just for a split second, but in the most pleasing way possible. Sage couldn’t be mad at him over that, not when he’s always liked it too much when Rhys marks him.

  They’d both been hungry after they’d showered, so they’d dressed quickly and headed back out into the kitchen. Rhys had carefully moved the wooden box from the countertop out of the way, reminding Sage not to forget to take the wolfsbane still inside the box with him to work the next day, and started making pancakes.

  It was technically still morning, anyway, even if they had gotten a later start to it than normal.

  When Sage had peeked over and looked into the sink, the basin was clear of the dishes they’d used two nights prior for their spaghetti dinner, and he'd grinned widely.

  Rhys is messy sometimes, so he forgets to pick up after himself if Sage doesn’t remind him, and Sage is bit of a neat freak. He always makes sure that the kitchen is clean and that the dishes are done before they go to bed, but Rhys had promised Sage that he’d clean everything up so that he could get Sage to bed faster, and Sage is relieved that he kept up his end of the deal.

  Sage decides to go on a run an hour after they’ve eaten, and Rhys flat out refuses to let him go by himself, and Sage doesn’t argue, more than happy to let Rhys accompany him as they run through Prospect Park. It’s stopped raining, and everything is still damp and wet as they maneuver through various trails and bike paths. They end up running ten miles, and Rhys isn’t sweating at all and doesn’t seem remotely winded as they climb the steps back up to their apartment. He gives Sage a wide grin as he unlocks their front door and tells him that he’d warned Sage that racing was a bad idea. Sage stares back at him with an unimpressed glare.

  Sage, by extension, is panting heavily, he’s covered in sweat, his cheeks are flushed with exertion, and his muscles ache with fatigue as he snarks back that Rhys could have at least taken it easy on him. Rhys just gives him another wolfish grin as they both walk inside and replies that he was taking it easy and that it’s not his fault that Sage challenged a werewolf to a race.

  Sage had needed to wear a sweatshirt to try to cover the bruises on his neck while he ran, and when he peels it off, the undershirt he’s wearing sticks to him uncomfortably, so he takes that off, too. Those bruises are going to be a pain to try to cover tomorrow, but he pushes that thought to the back of his mind as he heads for the shower once more.

  The day had passed pretty quickly after that. They’d lazed around on the couch for a while, catching up on some of their T.V. shows, and Rhys had rubbed his back to soothe Sage's aching muscles until he’d fallen asleep a
gain.

  For dinner that night, Rhys had fixed up a quick meal of chicken and potatoes, and they’d eaten together at the island again, talking to each other softly about the next upcoming week. They don’t have much planned besides attending Laila’s wedding in the next couple of weeks, but Rhys is steadily getting more and more bikes down at his garage, and he’s probably going to be busy in the upcoming week.

  Sage and Kai’s case has ended, but they both still have some filing to do for it, and it hasn’t escaped Sage’s mind that he still needs to have that talk with Hazel that he’s been meaning to have with her. He’s probably also going to have to make a statement to Internal Affairs about discharging his weapon at the truck stop, but Mikalina hadn’t seemed worried about the suspect’s autopsy or that I.A. wouldn’t conclude that Sage’s judgement wasn’t sound, so he pushes that thought away for the rest of the night, content to hold on to the last few hours of his day off before he has to wake up early tomorrow.

  He’s feeling good when he wakes up in the morning, and he snuggles deeper into Rhys’s arms for a few more minutes before he has to pull away so he can get in the shower. Rhys is awake when he exits their bathroom fifteen minutes later, sleepily watching Sage from their bed as he props himself up against the broken headboard, his eyes trailing over the bruises on Sage’s neck once more.

  Sage decides the easiest way to try to cover his love bites is to wear the only fitted pull-over he owns and zip it up almost until the two sides of the collar meet in the middle. When he glances in the full length mirror in their closet, he sees that the bruises aren’t completely covered from where the crest of one peers out from beneath his collar, but he can’t do much more for hiding them, and he tells himself that anyone who just glances at him won’t be able to see the bruises on his neck unless they’re specifically looking for a hickey.