Page 36 of Wrestling With Werewolves

“Come here.”

Richard’s command hits me with all the power of a pack alpha’s directive. It’s like he can reach into my body and pull me toward him on an invisible tether. Without conscious thought, I set my wine down and crawl in next to him—not touching, but close enough that his sunshiny scent fills my nostrils.

My eyes drift over his body, the hard planes and lines of him. His chest is covered in tattoos—compasses, north stars, pine trees, wolves. If there’s a shifter-themed tattoo, it can be found somewhere on his upper body. But even the dark ink can’t hide the dips and valleys of thick, packed-on muscle. His chest is broad, coated with a fine dusting of dark hair. His abs are outlined in detail, a muscular vee leading down his belly like a damn homing beacon.

“You’re staring, omega.” Richard’s wolf is present in his voice, and when I look up, his eyes flash green. “I know you’ve seen naked alphas before.”

A flash of heat runs through me. “Of course.” But they weren’t you, I want to add.

He stretches both arms above his head, tucking his hands behind his neck. “I spoke to your father before the challenge. Nothing new at home.”

Papá…riiiiight.

I flop onto my back next to Richard, sighing as I sink into the comfortable surface. “Yeah, I spoke with him earlier today as well. Sounds like I’m here for the foreseeable future, until he feels comfortable bringing me home.” Then it’s back to my typical grind.

Do I sound bitter?

Richard rolls onto his right side, propping his head up with one hand. “You sound bitter, omega. Talk to me.”

I roll to my left, matching his position as I shake my head. “I’m bitter about being a political pawn, about having to think about the repercussions for my father of every step in my life. I am bitter, at least a little bit. I don’t know what it feels like to be free of the pressures of our court.”

Damn, I really laid it all out there.

Richard is quiet for a moment. “When your mother was alive, Marco was different. She was like you—artistic, creative, kind, wise. She never really cared about climbing the political ladder. Marco was always more interested in it. But when they were newly mated, he didn’t focus on it so much.”

This is news to me. I scratch at the space between us, my fingers needing to do something to dispel a sudden need to know every single thing about my mother that Richard can tell me.

He smiles as if he can read all of that in my expression. “Your mother tempered him. She was the peace to counter his supreme dominance.”

I pick at the beanbag’s fuzzy surface. “It’s hard to imagine that since I don’t remember her.”

Richard shakes his head. “When Maria died, Marco lost all appetite for the things she loved. I think it hurt him too much, the memory of her. So he threw himself into politics, rising fast. By the time he became king, I hardly recognized the pup I grew up with.” He looks at me with a remorseful expression. “He’s a great alpha, but losing your mother broke something in him that he’s never taken the time to heal. Which is why he’s so cautious with you. And I suspect why he tries to keep you from the music. She loved it like you do.”

I grit my jaw at hearing my father described this way. I’ve gleaned most of this from living with him my entire life. I knew Mamá loved music too. “He doesn’t really talk about her,” I admit.

Richard reaches out and places his hand over mine, his palm warm and comforting. “What do you want to know, Lola? I knew Maria well, and I’d be honored to talk about her.”

Tears fill my eyes. Papá never wants to discuss her for more than a moment. What do I want to know? Suddenly, I can’t think of a single thing. My mind’s gone blank, too filled with processing emotion to consider what I could learn from Richard about her. Not to mention the weirdness surrounding the fact that the male in front of me, the male I’m lusting after, was friends with my parents before I ever existed.

“Another time,” I whisper.

“Alright,” he rumbles, the luminescent green from his eyes fading.

Come back, I want to shout. Let me see you.

But his wolf has gone, probably leaving because emotional chatter isn’t really their thing. Our wolves are pure instinct.

“Your wolf disappeared,” I tease. “Guess he’s not really into feelings and moms.”

Richard groans and removes his hand from mine to rub at his chest. “I’ve got to go see Arkan’s father, Vikand, soon. I’ve never felt so disconnected from my wolf.”

Sorrow fills me for him. I can’t imagine that.

“He speaks to me,” Richard says softly.

I stare in shock. “Hearing your wolf is supposed to be the highest level of connection shifters can have. I’ve only ever known a few shifters who could do that.”

Richard’s eyes shift to the stars as he considers my confusion. After a minute, they drift back to me. “Turns out Big Daddy and I don’t agree on much.”

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