Page 33 of Wrestling With Werewolves

Good, get naked, Big Daddy commands.

Around us, the other wolves have already begun to shed their clothes, shifting and running from the bar out into the street once more. The centaurs and pegasi follow, one nearly knocking the front doors off the hinges as he barrels through them and rockets into the night sky.

This isn’t supposed to be sexual, but as Lola pulls her shirt over her head, revealing dark skin encased in beautiful, elegant lace, I let out the groan I’d held.

She looks up at me, releasing the clasp on her bra and tossing it on top of a nearby table. “You alright, Richard?” She reaches for her pants next, pushing the zipper down and stepping gracefully out of the fabric. Matching panties tease me until she slips those down her muscular thighs. She picks the clothing up and drops it into a pile with the bra and shirt while I resist the urge to throw her onto the table and bury my face between her thighs.

My entire body trembles, fingers twitching. I’m certain Big Daddy’s light is shining from my eyes. Everyone has left the bar, and she stands gloriously naked in front of me, dark brown nipples pebbling to points under my stare. I drink her in, all the way to a bare, shaved pussy that makes my mouth go dry.

She spins slowly in place, teasing me, showing me the fullness of her beautiful ass, the twin dimples at the base of her spine. Gods. I’m panting, mouth open, nostrils flared as I scent air drenched with pheromones designed to attract me, specifically, because my fucking wolf is right, damn him.

Mine, he agrees.

Rational thought evades me as I step closer to her and press my fingers to her lower back. Flattening my palm, I run it up her spine, goose bumps trailing my touch. When I get to her neck, I tighten my grip around it and spin her to face me.

Wolfy amber eyes flash with need. “Richard,” she pants, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her nipples brushing my bare chest.

Her eyes cut left at a sound. Growling, I whip around to see a shadow at the door. Someone’s coming. Probably Connall to ask where the fuck we are.

She shifts in a flash. When she’s all wolf, I stand in awe of her stunning body. Her fur is the deepest of blacks like her human hair; it even has a soft curl to it. Her coat is shorter than mine, the curly fur flat against her skin. Her eyes are the beautiful whiskey gold of her wolf, the same intelligence shining through.

The door slams open then. Two centaurs and Rowan yell at us to get moving.

I sense them from the corner of my focus, but I can’t stop staring at Lola’s beautiful wolf.

Big Daddy is anxious to get out and meet her for the first time.

For the love of Alaya, please behave, I caution him.

Pack run isn’t for sex, he snaps at me. I’m not new at this, you know.

I relax my muscles, allowing my wolf to take over while I pray to Alaya that he doesn’t decide to go rogue and mount her right here in the bar.

He barks out a laugh between us as I pray hard and allow him to take over.

My turn.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER - LOLA

I’ve never been so thankful to be shifted. Our human forms are so much more emotional and indecisive and complex. Being my wolf is…peaceful, and moons know, I need that right now.

Because that touch.

A shiver racks my frame as Richard shifts in a flash of cracking muscles. His wolf emerges, swiveling his head to look at me. He’s far larger than me in wolf form, his fur the same salt-and-pepper as his human form’s hair. Those luminescent green eyes are as beautiful and piercing as ever. He stalks forward and rubs his cheek along mine, grumbling softly as he brushes his head and neck along my fur.

I don’t think; I simply return the move as if we’re the oldest of friends. But as the bar’s front doors swing open again, I know we can’t hide in here forever. I slap Richard with my tail before trotting toward the door. Rowan and another male stand there in wolf form, holding the door for us.

We jog into the moonlight, and the sight that greets me makes my heart skip with happiness. A huge group of wolves in every color mill around in the street with a few dozen centaurs. A handful of pegasi fly lazy circles above us. I’ve never been on a run with anyone but wolves. This feels…significant somehow. As if every resident of Shifter Hollow is so much a part of the pack, that even the other monsters run with us.

Richard stops beside me and lets out a howl to indicate the beginning of the run. Because this is such a big group, I wonder how often they do the pack run. We do a parade in Santa Alaya once a year because there are simply too many wolves to do a typical run. It’s usually celebratory and done to commune with our goddess, Alaya. But it’s also a way for our wolves to connect as a pack, to strengthen bonds with each other and our shifts.

Richard’s Second, Connall, leads. He sprints up the street and into the pitch-black night. If this pack works like every other pack outside of Santa Alaya, Richard will be in the back, helping the pups, older wolves and any stragglers. His wolf looks over at me, green eyes luminescent in the night. He steps forward and snuffles my ear, scenting me as my wolf pauses, letting the pack alpha do whatever he wants.

And that’s when I know I’ll be at the back with him. I’m drawn to be by his side, to be there helping the young and old ones alike. To serve. To bring harmony.

I yip my excitement, and his wolf lets out a happy little chuffed response. We trot up the street after the pack, breaking into a lope as the clouds above us split, the moon’s rays shining down in thick beams that spear the forest ahead.

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