Page 111 of A Wolf in the Garden

“Yeah, it’s a bit jarring seeing those, to be honest. At the time I thought we were so mature, but looking at them now…” I laugh. “We were young. Legal, butyouthful, and maybe a bit stupid with our risk taking.But look at your eyes in that one,” I add, pointing to the close up of his face.

He holds the photo up beside his face, and brown eyes stare out of the picture at me. Both versions of the man are beautiful. “Do you miss them?” he asks. “Do you wish I was like that still? Human-looking?”

I shake my head. “No.” Even so, my vision blurs. “I don’t,” I whisper, “but sometimes I miss the feel of that time, back when nothing had ever hurt us. We were so innocent. We were invincible.”

Van sets the pictures back in the box and sits down on the bed beside me. His hands stroke through my hair, down my neck and back up again. “I was still hiding a lot from you, back then. And panicking about when I should tell you that I wasn’t human, and how you’d react. Whether you’d accept me.”

I like to think I would have accepted him immediately, but I know deep down it wouldn’t have been that easy. It’s one thing to have taken just a few days to properly process that he’s a wolf — post-Unravelling, with my own body and identity changed — but back then I was young, naive, unaware. I don’t think I would have taken it half as well. I would have come around, but it would have taken time. It would have been messy.

He knows it too. I can tell by the look in his eye, the wry curve of his full lips.

“Evander Livingston, I love you unconditionally, you know that, don’t you? I love everything about you.”

“I know it.”

“Make love to me,” I request, my voice no more than a breathy whisper. My heart feels too full and too bruised, and I need… I need him to hold me, to keep all these pieces of me together. I need thatnow.

The press of his lips to my neck is soft, gentle, a contrast to the firm grip of his hands around my waist. I move, sliding off the bed and stepping between his legs, sighing as he sucks and licks and nibbles. Goosebumps break out across my skin, a shiver runs over my scalp, and my fingers dance over his ribs as I step closer to him. He sucks my neck some more and I laugh quietly, realising he means to mark me like old times, a hickey for everyone to see, as if the mating bite on my shoulder isn’t enough.

“You are the best thing I have ever tasted,” he says with reverence, his hands pulling my body flush against him, his cock pressing hard against my stomach. My dress is pulled over my head and my panties torn in two, the lace standing no chance against my wolf’s strength and urgency. I help him to tug his pants down past his knees, and then he is lifting me until I straddle him, my hand on the hot length of his erection, guiding him in place.

I stare into his eyes as he presses inside of me, a moan escaping his lips as I lower myself further, rolling my hips, feeling the stretch of him within me. I kiss him with fervour, and that’s all we do for a long time; kiss and touch and fuck slowly, his thumb drawing languid, teasing circles on my clit, until my thighs are burning with the effort of rocking against him and my body is coated in sweat, until my pussy aches for release.

I reach underneath me to cup the weight of his heavy balls, his groan against my neck and the way they draw upwards in my hand telling me everything I need to know. “Fffuuuck, Ellie…”

I hum, gently kneading his balls at the same time that I clench around his cock, squeezing his dick with my cunt as best as I can. He kisses me furiously, growling into my mouth, his hips jerking upwards with less control this time; one, two, three frantic pumps before he’s pulling free, leaving me feeling hollow. It’s short lived; he lifts me like a doll and lays me on my side, sliding behind and entering me again with a single deep thrust that has me crying out, and it’sso fucking hotwhen he takes control like this. He rubs my clit in earnest, his hips thrusting relentlessly, and combined with the new angle I come undone within seconds, moaning incoherently as I pulse around him. Fingers dig into the flesh of my hip as he pounds into me, his other arm a tight bar around my chest, hand clutching my breast, our bodies slapping together until he knots me with a shout, the pressure of the swelling flesh inside me sending me over the edge once more as I am filled with the heat of his load.

In the aftermath there’s no sound except the ringing in my ears, though I can feel just how heavily Van is breathing behind me as he curls around me, the way he always does when I am knotted in this position. Minutes tick by, and I close my eyes, enjoying the way Van’s big hands roam all over my body, squeezing and touching and worshipping.

It’s the middle of the day, but this morning has been draining, and I’m exhausted. “Sleep, baby,” he whispers to me, and so I do.

* * *

After a late lunch we set ourselves up on a picnic blanket in the vineyard’s olive grove, making the most of the fact that there’s no guests as we sit under the largest tree. Now that I’ve given myself permission to do some forward planning, I switch on my tablet, bringing up the half-finished design I have for the large space behind Van’s — behindour— house. It’s a nice opportunity for me to ask Van for input too. He’s no stranger to gardening himself, though his experience has always centred around the plants common on a vineyard. He’s an amazing cook too, so it’s nice to talk about what we can grow to eat.

“Is it worth growing garlic here?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Honestly, I hate to say it, but not really. In the last few years garlic crops have been hit really hard by rust. We can give it a go, plant them this coming winter for next year’s summer harvest, but personally it’s one of the few plants where I’m happy to accept that it’s just easier to buy from a supermarket.”

Van lays back, stretching out across the mat, the entirety of his long legs ending up on the grass. We need a jumbo-sized blanket — or two — to fit him properly. His warm hand snakes under the skirt of my maxi dress, stroking my calf, his eyes deep in thought as he watches me.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

I don’t think it’snothing, but since he’s not giving anything away, I turn back to my design, sketching while Van continues to trace lazy patterns on my leg. I add in a second raised vegetable bed to the design, pulling up my running list of seeds I want to order, and continue to add in plants. “It’ll be a proper food forest,” I murmur, getting lost in the flow of designing. “Permaculture style, even more so than my current garden. Although, I want to try out some more traditional Maori techniques for growingkumaraandhue, but I have to research that first and see if it varies that much from the techniquesKorotaught me. There’s studies that have been done on the ancient gardens at Ihumatao, I should start there.”

“Yeah? That sounds good.”

I snort, because I know he has no idea what I’m talking about at this point, but it’s cute that he’s being supportive anyway. I appreciate the way he’s willing to learn aboutte ao Maori,including the language. It’s far more effort than any of my exes ever made.

I finish the sketch of another garden bed that I labelexperimentation with trad. techniques, and look over at Van. “What were you thinking, before, when I said about the garlic not being worth it?”

His eyes crinkle at the corners with his smile. “You’re still stuck on that, huh?”

“Because I can tell there’s something going on in your mind, and I want to know. It’s going to bug me if you’re keeping secrets.” I look back down at my design, beginning to sketch in the shape of a moonflower vine, placing it near the outdoor tub. I want to smell those flowers when they open up every evening.

“I’m not keeping secrets, baby. I was thinking about that garlic, and wondering if your magic could be used in the garden. Do you think you could help it grow?”

---