Until I Make You MINE (Wolves of Amrok Hollow)

by Jeanette Lynn

  We swung a moment longer. “They felt bad, you know, my parents, about how things went at the mixer. But then the book store happened...” Cough. “And then the shit after...”

  “I think this is their way of keeping tabs on us until Ansel gets out of crazy wolf pokey. Like they think I’m gonna hop on ya and go to town ‘cause the big bad wolf mate meat is away.” Fynn rolled his eyes dramatically. “I feel like a kid again, and I don’t even live at home. It’s like I did nothing wrong but I did everything wrong.”

  “I did it too,” I blurted. Hey, it takes two to tango.

  “Right, but you didn’t make the beast with two backs with your brother’s girl. Even if it was for semi good intentioned reasons.”

  “Semi good intentioned?” My eyebrows shot up at that and I blinked.

  Fynn glanced away, clearing his throat gruffly. “Let us not speak of it, eh?”

  Snorting, I nudged him. “At any rate, I was never your brother’s girl.” I’d never been anyone’s girl for long enough to feel like it, either. Though I wonder if I might be now.

  “No, really. They’re totally going to use this to their advantage. They’ll never trust me again.” Fynn sighed dramatically, the subject effectively off of our sexcapades. “I’ll be guilted into every family function until I shrivel up and die.”

  “We’re out here right now, alone,” I felt the need to point out.

  “You don’t honestly believe my, yours, or possibly our, parents aren’t eavesdropping their little hearts out? They probably have some sound magnifying device or their heads sticking out the windows to listen.”

  “You are kinda loud,” I teased, earning myself my own dramatic eye roll from him for my impertinence.

  “Who knows what they thought when the shit hit the fan. My own father is eyeing me like I’m some kind of sexual deviant, mate fiddling predator, and not in an I’m proud of you, son, kinda way.” Slumping against the back of the seat, Fynn scrubbed at his face. “We’re getting old, Em.”

  “We haven’t even hit thirty, bud.”

  “Okay, I’m getting tired.” Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back, lolling along the back of the top wooden slat supporting his back. “Maybe Eldritch was right. Maybe it’s time I started looking for a mate too.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He thinks Ansel’s going to be a total asshole about all of this, more so than his usual jovial self, until I’m good and settled.” Worry washed over Fynn, heavy on his scent. “I won’t give either of you up, I know I fucked up, and I don’t feel any real shame in it. Ansel’s Alpha-hole, spittles worth of Omega sprinkled in to give him a leg up, his wolfy spidey senses can pick that shit up. Eldritch says it’s like waves, waves of emotion, they come at you, crashing down around you if you feel them strongly enough. You can literally feel them. It’s the Omega peeking through, I guess. Basically, by not feeling remorseful enough, and Asshole being able to pick up on this, and the Alpha half taking it as a challenge added to it, I might as well just tell Ansel I’d be willing to hop into bed with you again, because that’s how his wolf will see it.”

  “Oh.” I couldn’t say I paid much attention to Omega stuff, never sensed any wave senses or anything. My folks had mentioned a time or two as they tried to encourage me to join the pack when I was younger, I was straight up Alpha female, and in that aspect kinda rare. I’d have been prized for it, had I come out with it and let my Alpha chick freak flag really fly. I didn’t want to be known, pursued, whatever, for that, though.

  It was a long standing joke that this quirk in my personality wasn’t exactly a wonderful thing. My don’t give a shit, not my circus, not my monkeys, was pretty epic. I didn’t do pack bullshit or drama. Eventually, Eldritch conceded my not joining was probably for the best. I had the wherewithal to get to the top of the ranks, easily, and I wasn’t cocky in knowing this, but had no desire to do any such anything a position like that entailed.

  “And you going is now mandatory, because you know I’ve now been made. My single days are numbered, Em. If you think for one second you’re going to leave me to the matchmaking hungry piranha mommas, you’ve got another think comin’.”

  I’d already resigned myself to my fate, more so because I wanted to try and help Fynn scope out potential mates for himself more than anything. I couldn’t help but feel guilty about his predicament. The dickwad had done what he’d done for me. He’d thrown his brother over for me, when all was said and done, no matter my warring emotions on the matter. I goggled at the idea. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Fynnigan Begin-again.” My foot pushed a little harder, the swing creaking loudly as we swayed. “What ever happened with you and that chick you met? The one you mentioned briefly the other day. Haven’t heard mention of her again.”

  “Eh.” He shrugged. “You know how it goes. Sometimes you win some, sometimes the chick is a one and done, never returns your calls.”

  “You liked her?”

  “She was a cool chick, but I’m not hung up about it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “No, I mean, about the position I put you in. I-”

  “Em.” His voice was stern, deepening. “I offered. You know it wasn’t like that. We both had it all hashed out. And honestly, I can’t say, looking back, thinking on it, I’d want to take it back. Any of it. We shared something special, to me at least, if briefly, but it’s done.” When I looked at him, askance, he just shrugged. “Figured a few things out about myself I probably wouldn’t have otherwise.”

  “I’m curious yet afraid to ask.”

  “Never been with a take charge in the bedroom chick. I liked it. You know, the domination thing. I liked it a lot.”

  Blinking, glancing away, my face flushed. “Ah.”

  “Yeah. Make a note of that while we’re checking out the shewolves at the river run.” Fynn was anything but shy, smirking at the uncomfortable blush staining my cheeks.

  “Chicks not afraid to take charge are hot,” he mused, but the comment wasn’t directed at me.

  “Gives you a starting point, you know, looking for your one.”

  Fynn chuckled. I was relieved we hadn’t lost that ease we’d always had with each other, for the most part. “It does, though, doesn’t it? All the more reason to give up and accept we’re going to this tube-a-palooza coming up. Even if they’re usually more sausage fest than clam bake.”

  “Oh my god, Fynn.” Chortling at his sausage to clams comment, I shook my head. “But seriously, you’re really considering taking a mate? You ready for that?” This really wasn’t something to take lightly. Mates were forever. Which gave me pause, wondering why I was so damned okay with the idea of Ansel being my forever.

  “I am.”

  “Still can’t help but feel like this is all somehow my fault, like all my bullshit inadvertently pushed you into this.”

  “Nah.” He shook his head, eyes shining as they glinted off the backyard lighting. “Been a long time coming, I was just being stubborn is all.” We rocked a bit longer. “I’m lonely, and I’m feeling it.”

  “You once were lost, but you diddled your best friend, and now you’re found?” I sang softly.

  Fynn burst out laughing. “Please, tell me what you really think, Em. You sure do have a way with words.”

  “My momma always tells me so,” I sang, making him laugh harder.

  Sobering, he opened his eyes, his wolf shining in them, rimming his pupils. “I love you, Em.”

  “I know you do, Fynnigan Gurgen.” Holding out my pinky finger, I waggled it at him. “Still best friends? Ride or die, bitch?” His pinky hooked on mine and we shook on it.

  “You’re still ugly, though,” he put in with a grin

  “And your eyeballs are still spread too far apart,” I quipped.

  “Your butt’s too big.” Laughing, he added, “Just don’t tell Ansel I said that or he might claw mine clean off.”

  “Yours is shaped like a box.” I wasn’t offended in the
least. And, no, I would not be ratting him out. “And your feet are too small.”

  “Like your boats are any better.”

  “Your eyebrows are cockeyed. I wondered for a long time if your balls matched.”

  “Yours are too symmetrical. They look angry. Like, all the time.”

  “My balls or my eyebrows?” I shot back, snort laughing as he spluttered, then burst out laughing. Not bothering to give him a moment’s pause, I tacked on, “Your wolf is mangy.”

  “Yours looks like it ate mine for breakfast.”

  Mine was double his in size, but not because I had more cushion for the pushin’. Fynn’s wolf was a glorified Delta that shifted. A D team forest dog. “You’ve got mange.” My lips twitched but I managed to keep a straight face.

  “Oh my god, it was one time, and it wasn’t mange! It was a fungal infection!”

  Throwing my head back, I laughed uproariously. “Fynn?”

  “What?” he barked, still incensed.

  “I win.”

  “Aw, you cheated,” Fynn muttered on a pout. “Low blow, Em. Low frickin’ blow.”

  “I won, though.”

  “By default. Rotten bastard.”

  “By your own fault,” I quipped, cackling.

  “Em? Fynn? You two out here?” Mom called. We’d long ago stopped asking why she acted like she didn’t know.

  “That would be our cue,” I muttered, and went to stand.

  Fynn slapped my knee, then shoved me back, using me to stand as I yelped and flopped back into the swing. “Come on, old woman, let’s get you inside.”

  “I’m a year, almost two, older than you,” I pointed out helpfully as I helped myself to my feet.

  “Right, don’t beat yourself up about it. There are plenty of men out there willing to take on the elderly.” Giving my back a patronizing pat as I stood, he took off up ahead. At my indignant huff, he tossed over his shoulder, “Your momma made pie. I should eat your dessert, too, you know, help you out a little. No one wants a Roly Poly old woman.”

  “Fynn,” I growled out warningly, but he was already jogging ahead. “Fynnigan!”

  Fynn was going at a run, disappearing behind the trees. His scent was strong, though, and easy to follow.

  With a snarl, I gave chase, Fynn’s laughter as I stomped like a pissed off elephant trampling through the woods after him startling everything within a mile radius. “Fynn! Don’t you dare!”

  “It’s pie! Pie, Em. I smell that lovely, delicious pie!”

  Apple pie, my nose told me. Grammy’s recipe. My mouth was already watering. “Fynn, I will murder you!” I bellowed.

  Fynn’s deep belly laugh sent an owl in a nearby tree shooting off into the night, giving away his location.

  His howl as I caught him and pounced, sinking my claws into his ass, could be heard from miles around.

  Chapter Six

  “People are giving me funny looks.”

  “You’re wearing a bathing suit. Your ashy legs have never seen the light of day. Maybe they’re surprised you shaved your stems and didn’t stomp in looking half sheddin’ yeti. Maybe your human appearance is startling to mere mortals. Plebeians.” Fynn eyed my ensemble, a simple black two piece with little white polka dots, the bottoms high-waisted, the top offering the support the busty wanted and deserved, without letting any of my shit hang out, and even had a little ruffle along the edges of the cleavage line I couldn’t leave the hell alone. I felt... pretty, classy, tucked in and held together. Mom really had knocked the online suit shopping out of the park. And for the price she paid for our suits, mine and hers, this was my birthday present and partial Christmas. I couldn’t say I minded.

  Knowing he wasn’t going to be in attendance, my eyes still darted about the crowds gathered looking for him. Ansel was, last I’d heard, still in lost your shit timeout. “My legs aren’t ashy. Shut the fuck up, Gurgen.” My legs were smoother than his dad’s bald head, and had been moisturized to within an inch of their being. Nudging my sunglasses up the bridge of my nose, I went to adjust my sun hat. I wouldn’t last long out here if it grew any hotter. I always ended up with a migraine. Glaring sunlight was a bitch.

  “Y’all hear that? I think I hear banjos... Everyone stay close together now, don’t want anyone disappearin’ on us.” Rowdy walked up beside us, an inflated unicorn pool float under his arm, super hero themed swim trunks hanging off his lean hips, beyond hairy, pasty white legs out on display. There was a very large D in the middle of that familiar emblem where there should be an S, right over his crotch on his swim shorts. Blinking, it took me a moment to realize there were a million tiny overlapping eggplants in the background of his chosen swim trunks. Super hero shorts, these were not.

  “Good lord,” I muttered under my breath, yet laughed.

  Taking my comment as if in response to Rowdy’s, Fynn snorted. “Roddy’s folks came in for the event? Where’re they at?”

  “It’s not Deliverance, it’s DiGiorno. My momma’s Sicilian and Greek, little bit Puerto Rican on her mother’s, my Grandmother’s, side, Daddy’s Dutch, Irish, and about a half dozen other bits that means he’s paler than paper, blonder than Ken, and burns to a crisp, and both of their asses hail from the wilds of Califor-ni-a. Try again, pup,” Rowdy proclaimed, with a sniff, puffing his pale chest out, his sun kissed arms bronzed in comparison to his milk white but well-muscled torso. The farmer’s tan was strong with this one. His white belly practically glowed in the heat of the sun.

  Byron, striding up in a tiny, eye blindingly orange pair of bathers, walked up to stand beside Rowdy. Glancing from Rowdy’s rainbow haired inflatable unicorn, to the man himself, he lifted an equally unique pool float, tapping the unicorn’s white head with it.

  “Product of Prune Pickers right there,” I joked to Rowdy, while Fynn gave Byron’s pool float a good once over.

  Rowdy threw his head back and laughed. “There’s one I haven’t heard in forever and a day. Prune Pickers... Your Grammy teach you that one, Emmy?”

  “Of course,” I admitted with a grin.

  “Hell, I miss that woman’s food. And her insults.” Patting his flat, washboard belly, he smacked his lips. “That woman’s pot roast. Your mammy could cook!”

  It was times like this I missed Grammy myself, wished I could call her up and spill all my problems to her. She had a way of putting shit into perspective without telling me to do a damned thing. Grammy was one hell of an Omega.

  “I shoulda gone with the board shorts,” Fynn lamented, his hands on his slim hips, trying not to look at Byron’s giant orange bulge too long. I admit, the orange banana just dangling out there was a lil distractin’.

  Byron’s deeply bronzed skin was slick with tanning oil or sunblock, something fruity smelling with a hint of coconut. Ol’ Fynnigan’s swim trunks were form fitting, molding to his leaner than most here frame, his sports sunblock already dried on, light, oil free—it was nothing in comparison to Byron’s dick bulging display. Hell, I noticed, and I liked to think I had more manners than most. At least Fynn wouldn’t shoot into space if he tumbled down a Slip N Slide. There was that. Heh. Ol’ Byron was a bruiser, while Fynn was a decently sized guy, but in comparison to most present, poor Fynn just seemed puny in comparison. Deltas were common enough, just not around these parts. Deltas tended to gravitate more towards non shifter populations—it was just easier for them to assimilate, seeing as most were practically the same as a nonshifter, with the majority of them unable to even semi shift. I had a feeling it was moments like this Fynn was feeling it.

  “Nice suit, by the way, Emersyn,” Rowdy added with a nod, then tromped to the water’s edge to join the rest of the other fellow river float joiners. “I’ll be sure to rub in seein’ you in it into Ansel’s face when he’s on the mend. Haven’t been able to goad him into a decent fight in a good long while now.” Smirking, leaving me spluttering where I stood, Fynn frowning as he glanced over his shoulder at our parents, our fathers working on getting the air pump runni
ng to fill up our deflated inner tubes.

  “You’re a dick, Murphy,” Byron called after Rowdy, shaking his head. His dark mop of unruly black locks, thick and wavy, fell forward into his eyes. His typically meticulously groomed ‘do was untamed, ready for water play, today. I’d heard Rowdy and Byron were cousins on their mothers’ sides, but aside from their jokey natures, Byron and Rowdy couldn’t be more day and night. Rowdy was rough and rowdy looking, gruff, crag lines and sun damage, wide eyes, hooked nose, and large ears that stuck out the sides of his wide head, he kept his hair cropped so close along the sides of his head it almost looked like he shaved it all clean off, leaving a thick, stick straight line of hair cropping up, going this way and that at odd angles, all over the top of his head. Byron looked like he moonlighted as a model, for risqué book covers or underwear ads, I just couldn’t decide, and was more of the antithesis to Rowdy’s gruff demeanor and often times crude comments. Unless B was talking to Rowdy, then, of course, all bets were off.

  “Your pool float looks like a giant maxi pad, Munoz,” Rowdy taunted, dropping his unicorn into the river to flop back onto it. Grinning as he floated backwards, he flipped the highest ranking pack Beta off.

  “In your dreams, Rodrigo.” Byron smirked and, lifting his maxi pad looking float over his head—and, god, I’d never think of it any other way now—went into the water at a run.

  Rowdy saw it coming, his eyes widening as he struggled to sit up, but his thick ass was wedged in the donut hole of his unicorn. “Oiled up bastard, don’t you-”

  Byron, grinning, gripped the unicorn’s rainbow tail, trapping Rowdy, and beat him over the head with his maxi looking float. “You need this more than me! Here! Maximum protection! You feel it, Murphy? Huh? Soaking it up?!”

  “Let go of Priscilla’s ass, you grabby handsy unicorn mauler! She’s a lady- Ack!” Rowdy laughed as he batted away Byron’s maxi float thwacks, tilting precariously to his side as Priscilla, queen of the river floats, dipped under his weight.