Raised by Wolves

by Bridget Essex

  I stare at myself in the mirror as I pull Loren's brush through my hair. I'm smiling—I honestly can't stop smiling—and not just because of everything Loren and I have done and said in the very, very short amount of time that we've known one another. But because I can hear Loren humming in the kitchen.

  And just the sound of her voice makes me happy.

  I push open the bathroom door, and a cloud of steam rolls out with me. Loren glances up, smiling, standing in her tiny kitchen as she sets two plates down on the breakfast nook.

  “I made scrambled eggs,” she tells me, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “You're hungry?”

  “Famished.” I fold my long, lanky self onto one of her kitchen stools. Loren sits companionably beside me, close enough that my thigh is fully against hers. She's warm, and it's really nice to be so close as she hands me a mug of coffee.

  “Black,” she tells me with a small smile, picking up her own cup of caramel-colored beverage. “Just like you like it,” she says, her mouth turning up at the corners.

  I take a sip of the strong coffee and nod with satisfaction, and I'm about to say something when I notice that Loren's a little stiff. She's sitting up straight in her stool, tucking another strand of hair behind her ears and staring down at her plate of scrambled eggs like they contain all the answers to the questions of the universe.

  “What's up?” I ask her quietly, setting the mug of coffee down beside my plate.

  Loren glances sidelong at me nervously. “I...I'm really glad you didn't chicken out last night, Becca,” she tells me, her voice soft.

  I raise a brow, chewing on my lower lip for a long moment before I reply. “Me, too,” I tell her then, surprising myself.

  Loren's smile is now so bright that it eclipses the sunshine in her brightly lit apartment. All I can see is her when she smiles at me like that—as if I'm all she can see, too. I'm not used to being looked at this way...

  “So,” she says, drawing out the word as she picks up a piece of toast from a low stack on her plate, “I have to get to the shop in about half an hour, but maybe we could hang out tomorrow? There's this poetry reading that I was planning to go to, and I hate to go to things like that alone.” She takes a bite of toast, and as I try to figure out my schedule in my head, she's already shaking her head, second-guessing herself. “But if you aren't interested, I totally under—”

  “I'd love to go,” I tell her, surprising myself again; let's be real, I've never been to a poetry reading in my life. But Loren seems really excited about it.

  And it makes me excited that she's excited. So it makes sense to go, if only to see that smile on her face.

  Loren's relieved when she grins at me again, her face star-bright. “Awesome! Okay, well, it's at the Lyceum at six o'clock. Meet you there?” she asks, toeing my leg with her bare foot, drawing her toes up the inside of my calf. She has a mischievous little smile on her face when she does it, and my heart rate is increasing

  “Sounds like a date,” I say with my own bright smile (and before I can second-guess myself). “I get off work tomorrow at five, so I should be able to make it to the theater in plenty of time.”

  Loren picks up her coffee mug again, inclines her head toward me. “Where do you work?”

  “Sports Mountain.”

  Loren laughs. “Oh, yeah, I've seen the commercials.” She tilts her head back and starts to sing. “If your husband is a-poutin'—”

  I laugh and join in. “—take him to Sports Mountain!” I cringe now. “Pretty awful. And sexist. But the work's easy, so I shouldn't complain. And with my employee discount, I've stocked up on enough cozy socks and pairs of hiking boots to see me through a zombie apocalypse.”

  Loren leans forward with a sexy grin brightening her face as she fingers the collar of my shirt. “So practical. Are you a Taurus?”

  I've been watching her mouth, my heartbeat steadily increasing, but I look up at her eyes now. “Yeah. How'd you guess?”

  She rolls her shoulders in a slinky shrug. “Just a hunch.” She grins. “Well, I've used my bookstore discount to stock up on the classics. My feet might get cold from my low store of socks, but I'll have plenty to read while I wait for the zombies to eat my brain.”

  I'm leaning in for another kiss, but Little Red has other plans, and from the floor, the cat starts yowling and pawing at Loren's leg plaintively.

  “Singing for your breakfast, Little Red?” Loren smiles down at her and pats her head, pushing her stool back from the counter and standing. I'm finished eating, and I stand up, too.

  “I'd better go,” I tell her, regret making my words low as I wrap my arms around her. “You have to get ready for work, and Little Red needs to eat—or else.” I draw my thumb across my neck, chuckling (and only half-joking).

  “Becca,” Loren begins, and she nervously licks her lips, her eyes wide. “I... Oh, God.” She's blushing and ducks her head. “Sorry, this is embarrassing. I...I don't want to make things awkward between us,” she says, gently fingering the collar of my shirt again, playing with it nervously, “but I just wanted to let you know... I don't usually do...” she trails off, turning her hand in the air, “stuff like...this.”

  “Stuff like this?” I ask her quietly.

  Loren takes a deep breath. “Well, sex. On the first date.” She bites her lip as she stares at my face closely, waiting for my reaction.

  “Oh.” I don't quite know what else to say.

  “But,” Loren draws out the word, her fingers under the collar of my shirt now, hot against my skin. “When you caught me in the bookstore...” She holds my gaze and laughs, the sound warm and lovely, “it was like a scene from a romance novel.”

  “What, the old damsel-in-distress thing?” I ask, lifting a brow.

  “No,” Loren murmurs, her voice dropping low as her eyes glitter. “The old damsel-in-the-arms-of-a-really-hot-woman, suddenly-willing-to-throw-all-caution-to-the-wind thing.”

  I laugh softly, wrapping my arms a little tighter around Loren's waist. “That happen often in romance novels?”

  “Sure,” she grins, “all the time. I'm the clumsy main character who still, inexplicably, insists upon doing things that require balance, and you're the...” Loren pauses, her head to the side as she gazes at me carefully.

  “What?”

  Loren's mouth is so very, very close to mine as she stands up on her tiptoes now, the front of her body pressed tightly against me.

  “You're the tall, dark stranger who sweeps her off her feet,” she whispers, “effectively saving her from breaking her legs.”

  There is heat roaring through me, heat and want as I lower myself slowly down the front of her body, until I'm kneeling in front of her, down on one knee. Loren's mouth is parted as I lift the hem of her long t-shirt with my fingers, trailing my fingertips up her thighs. That shirt is all she's wearing—she's bare-legged—and I lower my head until my lips are brushing against the heated skin of her right leg. I begin kissing her over and over softly, slowly, and Loren wraps her long fingers in my hair, pulling as she gasps above me.

  “I solemnly swear to protect these legs from any future run-ins with the mean, old floor,” I tell her then with a low laugh, glancing up at her through my lashes.

  Loren is breathless as she runs her hands through my hair now, her grip on me loosened. “Sure you want to make that oath?” she asks me. “I fall a lot.”

  I stare up at Loren, my arms clasped around her legs, my mouth warm from kissing her skin, and I can't help but think to myself and I never fall, not for anyone, but I'm beginning to fall for you...

  “I love a challenge,” I murmur to her, and when I glance up at Loren again, I see how dark her eyes are, how fast her breathing is coming, as I trace my fingers over and over again down the backs of her thighs. I grin impishly up at her then, and I lower my mouth to her skin again. The skin of her legs is hot, and so very, very soft. Dangerously soft. I learned it last night, tasting, touching, kissing every square inch of her, but he
r legs were probably one of my favorite parts. I inhale her deeply as I brush my lips against her left thigh. I know now that the light floral scent of her comes from the body wash she uses in the shower, and it's so fresh right now, as is she, every curve of her skin still extra-heated from the shower, perfumed, clean and fresh and new, and begging—begging, oh, so much—to be kissed.

  But I will myself to get up, and I do, standing and wrapping her in my arms and kissing her fiercely one last time. This leaves her laughing, breathless. I catch the scent of her arousal, and it rushes through me; I want her—again—so much...

  But regular life is calling us.

  And don't people say absence makes the heart grow fonder? Something like that. I don't quite know if I believe it; I don't really want to leave her. But I do, backing away and gripping her hands tightly until just our fingertips are touching, and then not even that.

  “See you tomorrow at six,” I murmur.

  Loren nods, her lips parted, her eyes shining. “It's a date,” she tells me, then blows me a kiss as I leave her apartment.

  I walk back to the bus stop, my leather jacket slung over my shoulder, because the day is warm enough to warrant it (and, to be honest, we werewolves are a little more hot-blooded than the average human). I find that I have a little spring in my step, and I feel—my entire body feels—as if it's lighter than air.

  God, I'm even whistling. Like, what the hell? Whistling?

  I'm happier than I can ever remember being.

  But when I board the bus, finding a seat near the back and watching the buildings blur past me, the cold, hard truth settles in.

  And the reality of what might happen soon.

  I know that the reason I never get close to anyone isn't because I'm afraid of commitment. Well, not entirely. It's mostly because I'm just not into coming out. As a werewolf.

  Most people (practically everyone) thinks werewolves are make-believe. The stuff of myth. It would blow the average Joe's mind to find out that werewolves—and vampires, for that matter—are, in fact, real...and everywhere. To most “normal” people, we exist only in the movies, in television shows and book series.

  We're not three-dimensional. Not real.

  As I sit on the bus, feeling the lumpy seat beneath my legs, I lean forward a little, placing my head against the seat in front of me as I close my eyes, remembering. Because I dared to come out only once, and that was a long time ago. When I was in high school.

  I told Minnie Reynolds that I was a werewolf after we made out in the softball field dugout because Minnie Reynolds was everything I ever wanted in life. She was gorgeous (legs for days! Blonde hair! I've kind of always had that type.), made me laugh, had been my best friend for years before we realized that we were pretty attracted to each other. I'd beaten that first hurdle: hooray, we were both gay.

  I thought that if anyone would understand, it'd be Minnie. It wasn't easy being gay in the nineties, and we were in it together, the both of us. So I thought the werewolf thing? It'd just be icing on the cake.

  So I told her in the dugout, and at first, Minnie just laughed. Thought I was kidding. Cracked a joke about being an animal in bed (we hadn't even done anything “in bed” yet, but we were trying to get to that point, though we were both so damn nervous.)

  When people laugh or joke with you about something because they don't believe you...you give them proof. And that's exactly what I did. No one else was around, so I thought it was safe enough, and I transformed into a wolf right in front of her. So that she could see that, hey, this was no trick. And that I wasn't joking. I really was exactly what I said I was.

  But when I transformed? Minnie screamed. And screamed and screamed, and backpedaled so fast that she tripped over her own feet and went sprawling onto her bottom in the dust. But then she scrabbled up, and without looking back, she turned and ran like hell toward the school.

  I transformed back immediately, of course, right in the middle of her sailing through the air, and I tried to call her back. Tried to plead with her, reason with her, go after her. But Minnie wanted nothing to do with me.

  The next day, I found out that she'd left our school, had transferred to another one. And, like my werewolf uncle with his human wife, I never saw Minnie again.

  But that wasn't even the worst part. The shame of her revulsion, the shame of driving away my best friend, the girl I'd been in love with for years... No, the worst thing was that I was so miserable, so unhappy, and my mother wanted to know what was wrong. So, in a fit of sobbing, I told her everything. I told her how I'd transformed into a wolf in front of Minnie. And how very much Minnie hated me now because of it.

  But then the whole pack found out, because Ma is Alpha—and a gossip. And everyone chastised me for being so “careless” about my identity. About who I was. Because I'd potentially put everyone at risk by trusting someone who had ended up being unable to deal with the truth.

  After everything that happened with Minnie, and my uncle, I have never dared come out to any of my lovers since. Mostly because I rarely spend more than a single night with them. I let Minnie get close. I trusted Minnie. And look where that trust got me.

  But now that I'm going on a second date with Loren...

  I groan a little, letting my head thunk gently against the glass of the bus window.

  Things might get complicated.

  Chapter 5: Mixed Signals

  “Thanks,” I tell the pizza delivery guy, grabbing the two boxes from him and shutting the door behind me.

  Rob yanks both boxes from my hands and leans over them, his eyes rolled back in his head as he sniffs the pizza, a look of pure bliss on his face. “We should have gotten four pizzas. Why the hell didn't we get four?”

  “Dude, two pizzas for two people is already quite enough,” I tell him with a laugh, yanking the boxes away from him and trying to make my way into the living room.

  “Werewolf metabolism—gotta love it,” he jokes as I set the pizza boxes on my makeshift coffee table. Which, admittedly, isn't really a coffee table but is, instead, an overturned cardboard box. Rob wrinkles his nose, pulling open the pizza box and grabbing a slice. “By the way, this place is a sty, Becks,” he tells me. Rob never really beats around the bush. “Just look at it!” He gestures with the pizza slice at my somewhat messy living room. “You've got sweatpants on the floor, mud all over the tiles. And you don't even have a proper couch.” Rob points to the couchless couch cushions beneath his bottom. “Gonna have to up your game if you plan on inviting Loren over here,” he says, waggling his eyebrows and shoving the entire slice of pizza into his mouth with the methodical patience of a wolf.

  I roll my eyes as I grab my own slice of 'za. “What makes you think I'd invite her here?” I ask him imperiously, taking a bite of delicious hot dough and super-melty cheese. Pizza, in my humble opinion, should be a religion.

  Rob swallows his slice and then grins sidelong at me slyly. “Because. Whenever you spend the night with a woman, you always text me the details afterward,” he says with a shrug, then uses his greasy fingers to pull his cell out of his front jeans pocket and wave it in front of my face with a look of glee. “But after your encounter with Loren? No texts. No details. Nothing.” He pockets the phone again after wiping it on his leg but glances at me with a brow raised as he scoops up another slice of pizza. “You're really into her, aren't you?” he asks in all seriousness.

  I chew on my slice of pizza thoughtfully, then swallow, licking my fingers. “Okay, totally honest right now,” I tell him, leaning forward. He does, too, both brows raised. “I wanna lie right now,” I tell him with a little grimace.

  “Don't lie,” he tells me with a sigh.

  I chew on my lip for a minute, then take a deep breath. “Dammit, you know me too well. Yeah.” I lean back against the wall helplessly. “Yeah, I'm into her. And...I don't have a clue what to do about it.”

  Rob laughs, shaking his head and rolling his eyes to indicate how clueless I am. “Uh...that's kind of
obvious, Becks. You go out with her again, have more amazing sex—”

  I snort and wallop his shoulder with one of the couch cushions. “How do you know we had sex?” I ask him imperiously.

  Rob doesn't skip a beat. “Your lips are all swollen, and your hair's a disaster. You had sex,” he tells me with dripping sarcasm.

  “I had a shower and went through an entire day of work with this hair; it looks awesome,” I tell him, pointing to my head, and he stares at me with unblinking eyes until I frown, then grin at him, giving myself away.

  “Whatever. You're a jerk. We had sex,” I tell him, because I tell Rob everything, “and it was awesome. She's...kind of awesome,” I tell him, starting to chew on a fingernail.

  He swats my hand away from my face. “No chewing,” he tells me, like he used to when we were kids. “All right. So you had good sex and a really good night. That's wonderful. So what are you worried about then? She sounds like a dream! Like everything you've ever wanted! There's nothing to worry about,” he tells me quietly, searching my face, all joking put aside.

  I groan. “There's everything to worry about, Rob. If this gets serious, I'm going to have to tell her about...you know.” I shiver a little, and not in a delighted, sexy-feelings kind of way. “And when she finds out I can transform into a big hairy animal at will, she's not gonna find that sexy. She's going to be scared off,” I tell him, utterly miserable, “or she'll think I'm crazy, or she'll call a dogcatcher or the Weekly World News and sell my photo for big bucks, or—”

  He shakes his head. “Or she'll process the information and come to terms with it.”

  I give him a withering look. “Yeah, right.”