by RJ Blain
I didn’t want to be eaten.
She wanted a mate.
I didn’t think Sanders was going to eat me. As long as I stayed close to him, my wolf remained calm and relaxed. The thought of going near Desmond worried her.
She didn’t want him; Wendy had staked her claim on him. While he was attractive, the idea of infringing on another woman’s territory repulsed my wolf so much her fretting made my stomach churn.
“Sanders, be realistic. Until she learns how to control herself, she’s going to attract every male, human or otherwise, who gets a sniff of her.” Desmond shook his head and sighed. “You’re being remarkably stubborn about this.”
“Maybe I don’t want just a one night fling,” Sanders snarled.
Whining at the anger in his tone and scent, my wolf encouraged me to duck my head and tuck my tail. Uncertain of what was going on and why it upset Sanders, I obeyed. Sanders adjusted his grip on my scruff, and with his other hand, he lifted my muzzle. My wolf didn’t understand what he was trying to do, and her confusion fed my worries.
“I’m fairly confident she isn’t the type either. If she were, she’d be much easier to take home. What are you going to do next moon? Like it or not, you’re going to rut just like everyone else. You have several choices and you’re not going to enjoy any of them. I know losing Mary was hard, but you can’t deny your instincts forever. You can bring Sara into your pack and protect her from the fact she’s rutting as much as you can. You might end up like Richard, able to delay the inevitable for a season or two. The best he did before he stole my daughter, the damned thieving weasel, was two seasons. Alternatively, you could attempt to form the mating bond with her after you’ve coaxed her back to being human again. Have a talk with her, explain what’s involved and what it means, and what’s in store for her if she doesn’t mate with you. Finally, you can hand her over to Richard, who will find suitable partners for her.”
Sanders flexed his hand, loosening his hold on my scruff for a moment. Taking advantage of the opportunity, my wolf took control long enough to cower across his legs, whining.
When he didn’t seize our scruff again, my wolf calculated the chances of running for the corner without getting caught.
Sighing, the man she wanted as our mate muttered, “I hate when you’re right.”
“You must hate me all the time,” Desmond replied, his tone amused.
The strong scent of cinnamon drew my wolf’s attention, and the scent reminded her so much of Rory and Isabella she launched off Sanders’s lap, hit the arm of the couch, and jumped, retreating towards the window. Her control strengthened until she ruled, leaving me as nothing more than a passenger.
Her fears—and mine—came true when a wolf stalked in from the other room, more than double my size, and far larger than either Rory or Isabella. My wolf sniffed and, with a single breath, determined the intruder was a female. Her coloration wasn’t so different from a real wolf, mottled gray and brown, although her ears and nose were the bright red of a fox.
My wolf snarled, retreating into the corner. She raised her hackles and arched her back to give the illusion of larger size. Lowering her head to protect her throat, she focused all of her attention on the biggest threat, the new female.
With each passing moment, my wolf’s fear surged and strengthened, until the intensity of it cut off our breath.
“I think your theory might be sound,” Sanders whispered. “She’s absolutely terrified. Desmond, please. Don’t torture her like this.”
“Easy, Sanders. I know you and your wolf are invested, but let Wendy work,” Desmond soothed.
My fear of being eaten infected my wolf. Would the other wolf eat us in a couple of quick swallows, or would she be like Rory and Isabella, eager to savor the struggles of their prey? My wolf whined.
Rory and Isabella hadn’t been much larger than us, and my wolf had taken them by surprise.
The new wolf was ready, her head lowered to guard her throat, her yellowed eyes watching our every move. She remained silent, padding towards me. My wolf crammed into the corner, tail tucked and ears cocked back.
Instead of the full-bodied bark I expected, my wolf squeaked.
Desmond laughed. “Sara, Wendy isn’t going to hurt you.”
Wendy was the other wolf? My wolf drew in quick sniffs to catch the intruder’s scent. Beneath the strong cinnamon and spice, a hint of Wendy lingered. Voicing another whine, my wolf flopped, rolled, and tucked her paws and tail. Exposing her throat, she trembled in fear and anticipation of another attack.
The other wolf stood over us, and with one ear cocked back, she stared at Desmond.
Coughing in an effort to swallow a laugh, Desmond turned in the armchair, kneeling on the cushion to rest his elbows on the back. “Wendy, very gently seize Sara’s throat in your teeth. Light pressure, just enough she knows you’re the dominant one. Place a paw on her shoulder and use enough pressure to hold her down, but once again, be gentle. She’s tiny and it’ll be easy to hurt her. Don’t be shy. You’ve seen me do it hundreds of times.”
My wolf whined at the feel of Wendy’s teeth, once again waking the memory of Rory’s and Isabella’s fangs tearing at my legs and arms before my wolf had come to my rescue.
“Okay, Wendy. That’s enough. See if you can calm her wolf down,” Desmond ordered.
When Wendy released us, my wolf’s relief was so great she relinquished control. I froze, uncertain of what to do. If my wolf had any idea of how to interact with another of our kind, one who didn’t want to eat us, she didn’t share her knowledge. Her presence faded, and her exhaustion bled into me.
Wendy nudged me with the tip of her nose before dragging her tongue along my neck. When I didn’t fight her, she kept me pinned with a paw and went to work on my fur. I remained baffled and alarmed by how close she was and how she left none of me untouched by her efforts.
My wolf, however, found the attention soothing, and when Wendy nosed at my side and tried to roll me over, my wolf encouraged me to obey. I did so, although I pressed one flank against the wall. Wendy seized my scruff and lifted. I tucked my paws and tail. Holding me off the floor, she carried me to the couch, lurched up to place her paws on the arm of the chair, and deposited me on Desmond’s lap.
I froze, whining when he took hold of my neck.
“Sara, please relax,” Desmond chided. “Isn’t it obvious we aren’t going to hurt you? I understand you’re frightened, but if you don’t start trusting us at least a little, we can’t help you. We need to know what happened to you to make sure we stop it from happening to someone else. You need to go change back to being human so you can talk to us. Wendy can help you, but you need to try to relax.”
My wolf didn’t want to relax. She wanted to find somewhere safe and dark to hide.
I didn’t want to be human when there was a wolf nearby.
“Wendy, I know this is asking a lot, but take her into the bedroom and see what you can do with her when us males aren’t frightening the living daylights out of her. If she rolled over for you so easily, you might not need my help. I think that would be better for all of us. If you do need our help, well, we’re a yip or howl away.” Desmond leaned over, setting me on the floor so his wife could once again seize my scruff in her jaws. Carrying me in her mouth as though I weighed nothing, she headed down the hallway into a bedroom.
Hooking the door with her paw, she closed it behind her before heading to a corner, where she set me down and pinned me to the floor. Our eyes met, and while she made no sound, my wolf understood what Wendy wanted.
My wolf didn’t want to return to human form with my frail flesh and inability to defend against fang and claw. I didn’t care, so long as the suffocating pressure from Wendy’s gaze eased. The battle of wills occurred in utter silence while I remained a bystander.
Wendy won.
Transforming hurt, and unlike Wendy, who shifted from wolf to woman with silent grace, I choked on my cries, shuddering as my bones stretched
thin, broke, cracked, and reformed while my muscles snapped and pulled. Wendy crouched beside me, murmuring encouragement until I collapsed limp to the floor, unable to do anything other than focus on catching my breath.
“You’ll get used to it,” she promised, reaching behind her to pull a white bathrobe off the back of a chair. The thought of moving hurt, but without any hesitation, she held me upright and slipped my arms into the robe, arranging it around my shaking body to her satisfaction.
Leaning me against the wall, she backed away, keeping an eye on me while she dressed in a set of plaid flannel pajamas. “It’s true, isn’t it? You really have no idea what you are, do you?”
Swallowing didn’t ease the tightness in my throat. Without my wolf offering me her insights or flashes of courage, all I could force myself to do was nod.
Wendy knelt in front of me, her hands resting on her legs. “Were you told anything at all? Trust me, it’ll be easier to answer to me, Sara. The two brain-dead males in there don’t know when to back off.”
“I heard that, Wendy,” Desmond called out from the other room.
“You were supposed to,” Wendy muttered as she rose and went to the door. “Please stop eavesdropping, Charles. Well, Miss Sara?”
She shut the door before returning to my side, sitting just out of arm’s reach of me.
I shook my head.
“Charles likes to think he’s clever, but I prefer to work with actual knowledge, not interesting stories and guesses. Let us help you, Sara. We can’t unless you tell us what happened to you. I’ll ask questions, just nod, shake your head, or shrug if you’re uncertain or don’t know. We can start there. Is that okay?”
I nodded.
“Were you asked if you wanted to become one of us?”
“No,” I whispered.
“Do you remember any sort of ritual by either a wolf or a human? Anything with a pattern? Anything you may have mistaken for a wolf dancing or prancing around you before you became a wolf? Were there any markings on the ground?”
I remembered Rory drawing circles on the ground around Isabella before she had turned into a monster. Shuddering, I shook my head. After they transformed into beasts, I wasn’t sure what had happened beyond the pain of them tearing into me.
Why was it so difficult to say the truth? My wolf recoiled from the memories as much as I did, although there was a hint of pride in our victory and survival.
“You were really attacked?”
Nodding would have been easier, but it wasn’t better. It wasn’t what I needed to do. My guilt swelled, and all I could remember was Isabella’s face, her laughter, and the times we had spent together. She had welcomed me when I had been afraid, and because of that, she was dead, and my wolf and I had killed her. “They were hungry.”
Wendy flinched. “I see. You fought back.”
“She fought.”
“Your wolf? She fought for you when they hunted you?”
My wolf prodded at me to answer, and the words bubbled out of me. “She’s always hungry,” I confessed, staring at the carpeted floor. “Useless males she thinks of as food. As prey. Rory wanted to make me suffer because I had left him, because I moved away. Ran. Rejected him. He took my best friend. She became like him. They hunted me. They were hungry. They ate.”
Wendy sucked in a breath. “You were still human.”
“Human,” I echoed, unable to focus my eyes on anything. “They were hungry. The wolf wasn’t. They weren’t food prey. They were a threat, so she killed them.”
There was something more to it than that, a scent my wolf remembered, something that made her stomach churn and quelled her appetite. Killing them hadn’t been good enough for my wolf. She hadn’t stopped, not until she painted the desert with their blood. “She smelled something. Something that made them unfit for food. Not prey.”
“What did you do?”
“I left their bodies. He… had a cabin where he held us. I showered before going home.”
“You showered? As a wolf?”
Both my wolf and I were puzzled. I cocked my head to the side. “Not as a wolf. Human. Showered and dressed as a human. Crossing the desert would have been easier as a wolf. I don’t know how to drive.”
Rory had left a car parked nearby, a sporty little thing. Unlike the one he had in New York, it hadn’t had so much as a speck of rust on it.
“Who helped you become human?”
“Did someone help? I don’t remember,” I murmured. Becoming human had been a pain-filled blur.
“I see. So you went home. What happened?”
“She’s always hungry. I fed her until I ran out of money. I returned to work so I could keep feeding her,” I whispered.
“You said you were throwing up.”
“Yes.”
“We call it ritual sickness. Your body is changing because you’re no longer quite human.”
Using me, my wolf sighed.
“No longer quite wolf,” I said on her behalf.
“No longer quite wolf,” she agreed.
“I was a vegetarian.” The confession helped, as though saying what I had once been lifted an invisible weight off my shoulders. “Sometimes had fish or eggs. Rarely bacon. Only a couple of times a year. Couldn’t afford to eat much. Can barely pay the rent as it is. Clothes are expensive. Work’s expensive. School’s expensive.”
Wendy grimaced. “You went from a vegetarian to a voracious carnivore overnight.”
“She needs to eat.”
“If she’s still hungry, you can order as much room service as you can stomach, Sara. We’ll pay for it. That’s part of our job. You won’t feel so hungry all of the time in a few weeks. You’ll always eat more than a human now, but you’ll find it’s not so bad once you’ve had a chance to adapt.” Wendy smiled. “Except at buffets. We all eat a lot at buffets. It’s a weakness. You’ll find even the most submissive of wolves becomes competitive when food is involved.”
“Or males,” I muttered.
Wendy answered me with a nod. The moment of silence stretched into a minute, and she sighed. “Especially when prospective mates are involved. You’ll find males are worse when it comes for competing for mates than females. There are a lot fewer females. Your wolf wants a mate, doesn’t she?”
“She only cares about sex and food,” I whispered.
“She likes Sanders.”
“She likes anyone who feeds her.”
Wendy laughed. “Except my husband.”
My wolf, once again puzzled by Wendy, prodded me into saying, “He belongs to you.”
“In his opinion, it is the reverse, I assure you. But yes, he is my mate and I am his. Your wolf is wise to be wary of mated pairs.”
While my wolf didn’t care about Sanders’s past circumstances, I did. “What happened to Sanders’s mate?”
“She was murdered, along with several other women.” Wendy sighed, twisting around to stare in the direction of the sitting room. “They were together for a long time. I think he fears betraying her memory by allowing himself another chance to be happy and mated. My mate is responsible for keeping him out of trouble. There is a group responsible for policing our kind and other supernaturals. They have decreed that due to his rank and situation, he’s not to mate with another Normal like Mary. They want Charles to select a mate for him who is, ah, a better match.”
“A better match?” I demanded.
“One of us. A Fenerec.”
My eyes widened. “Fenerec.”
“What you, as a Normal, would have called a werewolf. You’ll find most of us view that term as offensive. But, yes, that’s what we are. We are Fenerec. As a female, you’re a bitch.”
“A bitch.”
Wendy grinned. “A bitch. Dominant males who lead a pack are Alphas. A dominant female who leads a pack is also an Alpha, although any bitch mated to an Alpha male is called the pack’s Alpha female, no matter how submissive she is. It’s not uncommon for Alpha males to mate with either extremely domina
nt or submissive bitches. They either want a challenge or they need someone to protect.” Drawing a deep breath, Wendy said, louder, “Alphas are obnoxious like that.”
“I heard that, Wendy,” Desmond called out.
“You were supposed to, dear.” Lowering her voice, she said, “Charles is a very dominant Alpha. When he tells you to do something, you should do it.”
I nodded. My wolf remained baffled by what Wendy was telling us. She understood the concept of pack, of having a family of other wolves, but the rest confused her. “So I should do what these Alphas say?”
“That’s typically wise. Should you decide to mate with Sanders, it is your right to pull his tail, although you’ll find you will need to learn certain subtleties while you do so. He is a good Alpha. There are many bitches who would do almost anything to have a chance to be his mate.” Wendy grinned at me. “He’s good enough looking, he’s very nice, he’s generous, and he only uses force when absolutely necessary.”
“Do… do Fenerec choose mates without knowing them well?”
Wendy lounged next to me, leaning against the wall. “All of the time. Mating isn’t an exact science, not unless you’re aiming for puppies—and if you are, it is. Sometimes, a pair who has never seen each other before will succumb to the rut and wake up the next morning with a permanent mating bond. Other pairs will court each other for years first. You’ve been hunting Sanders all night long, and he has been interested in you since before the full moon.”
“What did you mean by aiming for puppies?”
“Children, Sara. If you want children, mating is pretty ritualistic. Males are infertile unless certain things happen. I believe it’s because unmated Fenerec will rut with anyone who catches their eye. Keeps unexpected puppies from happening. Having puppies is something Fenerec pairs must plan for. Granted, mated pairs can accidentally figure it out. Our wolves have a lot of instincts when it comes to making puppies, but it does take a bit of effort.”
I flushed. “Oh. What’s involved?”
“Do you like children?”
My wolf did. I wasn’t sure what I thought about having children of my own. Every time I watched children play, I doubted I could take care of someone the way a baby deserved. “I have never been with a man I wanted to have children with.”