Sharpened Claws: A Gay Werewolf Romance

by Peyton Bogue

  Sage doesn’t end up leaving the precinct until close to six thirty, and Kai gives him a wink and tells him not to worry and that he’ll see Sage at the ball as they head to their cars.

  Rhys’s motorcycle isn’t parked on the street when Sage pulls up, and when Sage walks into their apartment, Rhys isn’t in any of the rooms when he checks. Sage hangs his suit up on the back door of the closet, frowning, his mind automatically wandering back to his fear that Rhys isn’t in control of himself because of the full moon, but steadies himself with a calming breath and heads for the shower. He’s sure that Rhys is fine.

  When he gets out of the shower, he quickly dries himself off and walks over to the mirror to dry his hair. He doesn’t really know how to style his hair, but he dries it with the towel and lets it air dry for a few minutes before he goes on the hunt for a hairbrush. He places a small amount of hair pomade into his palm, then runs it through his blond locks a tad messily. His hair sticks up slightly, but it looks soft and perfectly tousled, so he decides to leave it.

  He gets slightly worried again when he heads back out into the living room to see if Rhys has gotten in yet and finds the couch and dining room empty when he briefly glances over into the room. Sage walks back into their bedroom, moving to the closet to put on his suit, and reminds himself that Rhys is most likely fine and might just be running late.

  Sage debates for a few seconds on whether or not to wear his dog tags, but he decides that they’re not going to hurt anything and leaves them around his neck. He pulls the dress pants of his suit on, and they don’t hug his thighs like they had before, but they still accentuate the muscles of his legs. They're still a bit tight, but it doesn’t make him uncomfortable, so he continues with dressing himself.

  His dress shirt is plain white, and it fits tightly across his chest but doesn’t inhibit his range of motion. He grabs the black tie and carefully ties it around his neck, buttoning up the last button of his collar so it sits more comfortably around his throat. Like Sage had thought, the collar covers the remaining bruises on his throat as it scrapes lightly against his clavicle, and he flushes at the heat it sends pricking over his neck.

  The vest that matches the rest of his suit wraps around him easily, and he slings the suit jacket over his arm and leans down to grab his dress shoes and a longer pair of dress socks. He puts them both on, tying the shoes, and then stands, shrugging into the jacket.

  He looks at himself in the full length mirror in their closet, and Sage fixes his collar and loosens his tie a little, watching his reflection. The entire suit is midnight black, a nice contrast against his pale skin and blond hair. He looks average, he supposes. His shoulders are a little wider, and his biceps look broader against the suit jacket, still pulled taut against his skin even after it’d been properly tailored.

  He can still move freely, though, and he fixes his tie one last time before he grabs the other bag inside of the suit garment and walks into the bathroom.

  The mask inside the bag is a deep gold, almost brassy in the lighting of the bathroom. It’s supposed to tie around Sage’s head, but he finds himself somewhat dreading to put it on. It’s not overly big, just wide enough to cover the upper part of his face. He holds it up against his face in the mirror, frowning, but thinks it does a good enough job at mostly obscuring his features if Kharkovy were to glance at him.

  The sound of their front door opening lulls him away from the bathroom, and Sage drops the mask from his face as he heads down the short hall.

  Rhys’s gaze meets his when Sage fully steps into the living room. His eyes widen when he realizes what Sage is wearing, and he inhales sharply.

  Rhys's eyes trail over Sage’s body, skittering over the suit dazedly as if he doesn’t know where he wants to look the most. Sage feels himself flush under Rhys’s gaze, and the weight of it makes his skin prickle with heat.

  Rhys’s eyes trail over Sage’s legs, and he sucks in another sharp breath when he brings his gaze back up to meet Sage’s, his face coloring a little.

  “Wow,” Rhys breathes, and he sounds breathless. “You look—ah. . . really good.”

  “Thank you,” Sage says, smiling a tad shyly. He walks over to their dining room table and tosses both his mask and his phone onto the tabletop, turning around to face Rhys again.

  Rhys continues to watch him, his eyes fixed on Sage’s throat, right where the bruises are, like he can still see them even though Sage has covered them with the collar of his dress shirt. Sage swallows around his dry tongue, trying not to blush further at the heat in Rhys’s eyes. His bruises throb from the weight of Rhys’s stare.

  “I—um,” Rhys chokes, clearing his throat. He takes a deep breath. “You look stunning, Sage.”

  Sage does preen at that, his blush deepening.

  “You’re all set, then?” Rhys asks, running a hand through his hair. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of Sage.

  Sage nods. “Yes. You aren’t ready, though, Ree. You need to leave soon.”

  “I know,” Rhys says, shifting his weight. He takes a step back, picking a wrapped bundle off of the side table by the door, then walks over to Sage. He clears his throat again, moving his hand in front of him.

  Sage smiles widely when he sees that Rhys is holding a bouquet of red roses out towards him, and he reaches out to take them from Rhys's hand, his heart fluttering. “You got me flowers?”

  Rhys nods, grinning at him. “I might not be your date tonight, but. . .” he trails off, giving a small shrug, and moves to place his hand on Sage’s hip.

  “You’re the one I’ll be thinking about,” Sage says immediately, moving the roses closer to his face so he can inhale their heady scent. He grabs the stem of the one closest to his hand, tugging gently to free it from the rest of the bundle. “When I’m with Hazel, I’ll be thinking about you.” He offers the single rose to Rhys, who gives him a wolfish grin, and takes it, moving to run the petals over Sage’s jaw.

  Sage’s smile widens, and he inhales one last time before pulling away, heading towards the kitchen. He unwraps the package holding the bouquet together, reaching up to a top cabinet and pulling down a glass vase. He quickly fills the vase with water, grabbing the stems and gently putting the remaining flowers delicately into the glass. Rhys comes up behind him, putting his single rose alongside the others in the water with a quick kiss to the side of Sage's head.

  “Thank you for the flowers, Ree,” Sage says softly. “I love them.”

  “You’re welcome, baby,” Rhys replies, and Sage moves the vase where the sun will reach it the next morning, turning around and pulling Rhys closer to him by the lapels of his leather jacket. Rhys goes with him, giving Sage a wide grin before reaching up and running his thumb along Sage’s jawline, tilting his head down as he pulls their mouths together.

  Rhys kisses him slowly, the feel of his lips sensual as he slowly licks his way into Sage’s mouth. Sage melts against him, leaning further back against the island and pulling Rhys in towards his body.

  Sage feels hot under his collar, his pulse racing in his ears when Rhys kisses down the column of his throat. Just the feel of Rhys’s lips on him has Sage biting back a moan. He needs to leave soon to pick up Hazel, but the way Rhys is pressing into him, as if the last vestiges of his control have finally completely crumbled, makes Sage ready to start begging him for more.

  “You’re so gorgeous, Sage,” Rhys whispers into his ear, biting at the lobe as soon as he gets the words out. Sage chokes on a gasp, his entire body thrumming with heat.

  “Rhys,” Sage says, his voice breathy as he fights to hold in a groan.

  “I hate that anyone else gets to see you like this,” Rhys continues, biting down lightly on the sensitive spot underneath Sage’s ear. Sage’s breath hitches. “I hate that she gets to see you like this.”

  “Ree,” Sage repeats, his fingers tightening in Rhys’s jacket.

  Rhys nudges Sage's collar down his neck, loosening Sage’s tie as his other hand tightens on Sage’s hip
. He mouths at the skin of Sage’s neck, his breathing ragged.

  “I want to rip this suit off of you, Sage,” Rhys says, a low growl in his throat, and both of his hands move to Sage’s waist before he grabs both of Sage’s thighs and gently lifts him up and onto the counter.

  Sage inhales sharply when he makes contact with the countertop, and he groans when Rhys moves into the open space between his legs. Sage doesn’t remember spreading them, but he gasps when Rhys works a hand between his thighs, palming at the growing hardness between his legs.

  Rhys is still working his mouth over Sage’s neck, pointedly lowering it so he can kiss over Sage’s collarbone. Sage tilts his head back, encouraging Rhys to keep going, and Rhys growls again, biting down and sucking hard. Sage’s eyes roll back into his head at the spark of heat it sends down his spine, and he moans deeply, shifting his hips.

  Rhys licks over the new bruise, leaning back to admire the red splotch on Sage’s skin. He’s breathing heavily, his eyes bleeding in and out of that gorgeous red, and his mouth is sinfully parted, swollen from Sage’s own lips.

  Sage whimpers at Rhys’s half-hooded gaze, biting his bottom lip. This definitely is not helping Rhys hold onto his control right now.

  “Rhys, I have to—” Sage cuts himself off, clearing his throat when he can’t continue. “I have to go.”

  “I know,” Rhys says, looking at Sage under that hooded gaze with dilated pupils. “I’m sorry. I just saw you and. . . ”

  He doesn’t finish his sentence, his eyes trailing over Sage’s body again as he bites his bottom lip, but Sage has a pretty good idea at what he was getting at.

  “You like the suit, huh?” he teases, still breathless as he tries not to writhe under Rhys’s piercing gaze.

  Rhys nods once, running his hands up Sage’s sides as he fixes Sage with a heated look. “Like it? You drive me crazy, Sage. God, you’re so beautiful. So goddamn gorgeous,” he says deeply, his voice low and gravely.

  His words have Sage’s breath hitching again, and the hardness between his thighs twitches against his dress pants as his blush deepens.

  “You—” Sage tries, swallowing. “You need to get ready. And I’ve got to fix my tie.”

  The truth is, if he doesn’t stop this now, he’s not going to. If Rhys doesn’t stop looking at him like this, like he’s imagining every dirty thing he wants to do to him, as if he’s desperately trying to hold himself back, to stop himself from holding Sage up against the nearest wall and make love to him until Sage can’t even breathe with how much he wants Rhys, Sage is going to lose it. It's taking all of his restraint, and the knowledge of what they need to do at this ball tonight, for him to stop himself from pouncing. He’s already got the words half formed in his mouth—it’s right on the tip of his tongue to start outright begging Rhys to keep touching him—but he takes a deep breath and swallows the words down. He knows that he needs to leave.

  The worst part, Sage thinks, is that if he so much as muttered the word please, Rhys probably wouldn’t be able to hold himself back anymore. The moment Sage starts begging Rhys, it’s Rhys’s undoing. Sage can’t do that right now. Not when Rhys is hanging onto his self-control by the skin of his teeth. Not when he’s told Sage that he’s afraid he’ll want to bite Sage again if they give into each other. And especially not when they’re about to try to convince another werewolf to leave Rhys’s territory. They need to get their heads on straight.

  “I’m sorry,” Rhys repeats, kissing Sage’s forehead, and sounding so genuine that it makes Sage’s heart skip a beat. “I got a little carried away when I was thinking about Hazel seeing you like this. If she had trouble keeping her hands to herself before, she’s definitely going to now.”

  Sage chuckles a little, still trying to catch his breath. “Baby. . .”

  “I know,” Rhys says again, a low growl in his throat as he kisses Sage’s brow. “I'm just jealous. It’s a ball, Sage. She’s going to get to dance with you and. . .touch you. And you look beautiful. There’s no way she’s not going to enjoy seeing you in this suit.”

  “You know that I wish I was going with you, Ree,” Sage says gently, moving his hands from Rhys’s jacket to run his fingers up through Rhys’s hair. “I hate that you’re going to see us together like that. It doesn’t mean anything, sweetheart. It’s all pretend. You’re the one I’ll be coming home with tonight.”

  Rhys seems to relax slightly at that, but he still growls softly again. Sage tilts Rhys’s head down to kiss him again, smiling when they part.

  “I’ll be thinking about you the entire time, Ree,” he says. “If we have to dance together, I’ll be thinking about your hands on me. I’ll be wishing it was you that I was dancing with. You’re the only person I want to dance with, anyway.”

  Rhys’s frown turns into a wide grin, and he chuckles, pressing another kiss to Sage’s lips. He whispers, “Okay,” against Sage’s mouth, giving him one last lingering peck before he takes a few steps back. “I don’t want to mess up your pretty suit.”

  Sage laughs at that, shaking his head fondly, before pulling his dress shirt and vest down to lay flat against his body again, re-tucking the white cotton into his pants. He’s still feeling hot beneath the surface of his skin, but he’s letting himself calm down.

  He quickly makes his way into the bathroom on the other side of the kitchen, his gaze drifting over the new bruise on his collarbone. His blush deepens that the sight of his discolored skin, and he takes a deep breath as he makes quick work of fixing his collar and tightening his tie. His pupils are still dilated, and his lips are swollen, but he otherwise looks the same as he had before Rhys had pounced on him.

  When he emerges from the bathroom, Rhys is still leaning against the counter, watching as Sage tucks his detective’s badge into one of the inner pockets of his suit and situates his gun against the small of his back, draping the jacket across his back so that his gun is hidden.

  Sage walks towards the front door, grabbing the golden mask he’d thrown onto the dining room table and pockets his phone. Rhys moves towards him, frowning again, and asks, “Do you have your wolfsbane?”

  Sage motions with his head towards his briefcase that is propped against the side table, replying, “I’ve got to get it out of my bag.”

  Rhys nods, watching as Sage leans down and takes the small herb out of the outermost pocket, quickly tucking it into his breast pocket. Rhys wrinkles his nose at the smell of it, like he had a few days ago when he’d shown the herb to Sage, and Sage furrows his brow.

  “Will Steele be able to smell this on me?” he asks.

  Rhys shakes his head. “He might smell something, but he most likely won’t know what it is. Most bitten werewolves don’t know what wolfsbane is.”

  Sage nods, relaxed by the answer. He raises his eyebrows at Rhys again, asking, “Should I bring some of this to Kai?”

  “I’ll bring more with me,” Rhys answers, walking towards the side table. “I’ll try to give some of it to Kai. Did you tell him what it was?”

  For a moment, Sage feels a tad panicked. He doesn't know how it had slipped his mind to tell Kai about the perverse effects of wolfsbane, but now he really wishes he would have. He doesn’t want to leave Kai, and by extension, Mikalina and Hazel, unprotected.

  “That’s okay,” Rhys assures him, most likely smelling Sage’s panic. “I’ll tell him what it is. It’s just a precaution, anyway.”

  Sage nods again, walking over to the door. He grabs his car keys, glancing up at Rhys questioningly when Rhys continues to block the door.

  “Please be safe,” Rhys says after a moment, his stoic face tense. His eyes are hard and serious, and Sage gives him a small nod. “I’ll be listening the entire time. If you feel like you’re in danger, just say it. I’ll be at your side in a heartbeat.”

  “I’ll be alright,” Sage says, tilting his head to press a reassuring kiss to Rhys’s lips. “Everything is going to be fine, Rhys.”

  Rhys doesn’t smile or nod, just
continues to watch Sage’s face. He moves out of the doorway a second later, pressing a kiss to Sage’s forehead. Rhys’s face is unreadable when he pulls away from Sage, crossing his arms over his chest as his normal scowl settles over his face.

  “I love you,” Sage tells him, taking a step away from the door to run his hand over Rhys’s jawline. “No matter what happens tonight—I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” Rhys says, uncrossing his arms to rest them gently on Sage’s hips as he inhales deeply, breathing in Sage’s calming scent.

  They stay like that for another moment, their hearts beating as one, before Sage reluctantly pulls away, giving Rhys one last soft smile before he disappears behind the door.

  ◆◆◆

  “You look. . .” Sage trails off, not quite sure how he wants to finish his sentence as Hazel stands in front of him, a small smirk curling at her lips. Sage blinks at her, dumbfounded, as he stands in the small alcove of her condo. His mind goes completely blank as he takes in her appearance.

  Sage had been able to calm himself down tremendously as he’d driven to her condo, but all of that residual calmness is quickly leaving him again. When he’d looked at himself in the reflection of the Camaro’s window after he’d stepped out of the car in front of Hazel’s front door, he was still a tad flushed and his eyes were glassy, but if Hazel were to ask him about it, he could most likely pass himself off as nervous about the ball.

  He wasn’t completely lying, he’d realized, as he’d walked to Hazel’s front door. Sage hasn’t taken someone out on a date who wasn’t Rhys for almost three and a half years now, even if this date isn't really a date.

  But he knows how to be a gentleman, so he’d steadied himself as he knocked gently on the wooden door, taking a short step back and inhaling deeply through his nostrils.

  He wasn’t entirely prepared for what, or rather, who meets him.

  The first thing he notices when Hazel opens the door is that she’s already wearing her mask, a matching plated flimsy thing that’s obviously meant to coincide with his own golden mask. It’s more intricate than Sage’s, he notices, with the slits of the eyes pulled upwards to resemble a slightly feline stare, and more whorls and swirls protruding from the cheekbones that draws even more attention to her brown eyes.