It’s sweet. It’s what we want. We lunge again.
He throws open his door, and as fur sprouts on his exposed skin, he uses his claw to cut me free of the seatbelt, wrestling my writhing body out of the cab and then pitching me through the air. I land wonky, my bad back leg immediately giving out.
My wolf shrieks with pain.
His wolf howls.
Shit.
I crawl away, front legs dragging the back, as quick as I can, so when he bounds out of the truck, six hundred pounds of fur and fangs, he doesn’t land on top of me.
I look over my shoulder, panting, to see how close he is. How angry.
I swear, his wolf smiles. He raises his snout and howls again at the clear blue sky. It’s a warning. A promise. He’s not holding back anymore.
I run.
We’re in a fallow field, and I bolt as fast as I can on three legs, dragging the fourth. There’s a windbreak in the distance, and I head there on instinct, even though it’s not thick enough to lose him, and I’m small and lame and my human mind knows that if he wants to, he can catch me in one modest leap.
My wolf and I aren’t scared. We’re furious. We sprint, tongue out, and the sensation is still so new, and yet so natural, that it almost distracts us from our fury. The dirt is dry and clumpy beneath our paws, and the rich scent of life returning to the earth wafts from the ground.
There are squirrel tracks. A groundhog hole. Crows pecking in the distance. The pain in my bad leg fades as my limbs warm. The world is alive. It’s bright and satisfying and soothes my bitter disappointment, tempers my rage.
There’s a hawk circling high above, and a stream babbles ahead, the wet mossy slickness of it fizzing in my snout like soda pop bubbles.
We’ve been the wolf, but we’ve never run free before. And it’s amazing.
It’s so distracting, so wondrous, that at first, I don’t realize Killian’s wolf isn’t chasing us. He’s trotting a few feet behind, keeping an even distance. My wolf snarls at him over her shoulder on principle. He slows his pace so he’s a foot further back.
This is what his wolf wanted last night, both of us in fur.
What is he going to do?
Whatever he wants. He’s a giant.
Shit.
I pick up speed and duck into the windbreak, but of course, he has no trouble keeping up. The trees are spaced evenly, elderberry and dogwood, then arborvitae and oak.
My wolf isn’t mad anymore. She doesn’t really give a crap about mushrooms or the market, and now that Killian’s wolf is trailing her heels, as she thinks is right, she’s fine. She slows down and turns, letting out a series of sharp, bossy yips.
Killian’s wolf skitters to a halt, standing still and tall, and then he lowers his head, baring his neck the slightest bit, a sly, unrepentant look in his bright golden eyes.
She better not fall for it. He’s a jerk, and he does what he wants.
She pads forward and nips his exposed neck. He rumbles. She licks the fur where she pricked him with her delicate fangs. He nuzzles her, licking, nipping in return. She squirms, tongue lolling. She likes it. She wants more.
She fell for it.
His rumble picks up volume.
She whines and bats him with a paw. He rolls onto his back, cuffing her gently. She slides her flank against his exposed belly, an echo of his purr in her throat.
Oh, dear Fate. They’re making out.
She’s going to present. I can feel the urge rising. She doesn’t care about anything except rubbing her scent on him. Everything is forgiven. Already forgotten. What does anything matter but that he’s here, where he’s supposed to be, and the sun is shining, and all is right with the world?
He prods us with his snout until we’re on our belly, and he’s above us.
Heat flares in our core.
He straddles us. My wolf arches her back and huddles her ribs to the ground. She pushes up on her good hind leg.
Oh, no. This isn’t good. I grab for our skin, but she’s inhabiting it totally.
Killian’s wolf runs his snout down our spine, and then he noses our backside.
He’s sniffing us.
I’m going to burst from embarrassment like a squashed tomato. Splat. Like the mushrooms. I am never telling anyone about this. Ever.
He nips our back haunch. She wriggles her hips. Her want floods my mind. It’s joyful. Fated.
I tug as hard as I can, but she’s on another plane. Blissed out and quivering with excitement. She gets real low, raising her hindquarters, whimpering. Killian’s wolf purrs his approval, and she eats it up.
He covers us. Something hard brushes my good leg. I’m flailing, banging, screaming inside, and she’s oblivious. She wants it so bad; she has for so long. He’s hers, and she wants what belongs to her. It’s only right.