Page 44 of Howl for the Gargoyle

"It's why I booked this weekend with you," I murmured, the words almost lost under the music—someone else's band now, thankfully—and the food cooking on the stove.

"Is it helping?" Rafe asked.

I might've said I wasn't sure. My appointments with Rafe helped because I had a plan, even in the week leading up to the full moon, a promise of relief. And they certainly made the actual full moon less tense. Except…last night had been more than less tense. It'd been kind of amazing, actually—and not just the sex. Just being able to run, to know I was safe, Rafe was safe, and to know in that moment all I really wanted was to goof off with him, have fun. My werewolf wasn't a diabolical starved monster; she was- no, I was just anxious, not wanting to be trapped in a box and locked away.

"Yes," I said finally, nodding.

His smile was quiet, and he nodded back. "Good. Come here. I'll teach you to flip an omelet."

I knew how to flip an omelet, but I didn't mind the excuse to be close to Rafe, so I put together two drinks for us and then slid between him and the stove, his cool body pressed to my back.

This was not what I'd expected when I'd booked Rafe. I didn't expect to be playing chase in the woods under a full moon. I didn't expect to have a beautiful man at the mercy of my werewolf and for it to be about pleasure, not terror. I definitely didn't expect a morning like this, laughing over breakfast, being teased like I was with my lover, my friend, after a rowdy weekend of rolling around in bed.

We had tonight together still, and then I would be back in the city tomorrow, living in the real world again, going weeks on end just waiting for the next appointment. Waiting for the full moon. Excited for it.

"Hmm, that was a little too good," Rafe said as my omelet landed perfectly back in the pan. "You were just humoring me, weren't you?"

"Yup," I said, twisting back to press a kiss to his jaw, not thinking about the gesture too hard.

I knew what we were—client and sex worker. But I also knew we liked each other, enjoyed each other's company. Loved the sex in an extremely mutual way.

"Go sit. Gonna make the plates look pretty," Rafe muttered.

I hid my smile and went to the table.

"Want breakfast in bed?" Rafe asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"We'd make a horrible mess, and we have to sleep in that bed. How about breakfast on the couch?"

"Pretty sure we can make a mess on the couch too."

Which was true, but at least there was a coffee table for our plates.

I settled on the floor, sipping from my glass and adding prosecco in small doses. The sun was streaming through the windows, and I had a feeling the weather outside was perfect, fall's chilly bite balanced with the sun's warm glare. Maybe I would talk Rafe into a little outside picnic blanket fucking later. Maybe he would talk me into it. My eyes fell shut, the corners of my lips tugging up as I daydreamed in my sunny spot on the floor.

He huffed a laugh as he entered, and I sat up. He was still only wearing the apron, but he didn't hesitate to set his bare ass on the floor, across from me at the coffee table. He slid my plate in my direction, and I sighed at the sight. Crispy roasted potatoes, creme fraiche, veggie omelet, and perfectly golden rye toast.

"You spoil me."

"That's the idea," Rafe said lightly.

And even though I knew he was paid to be here, that the response was as much a confirmation of it as anything, I still savored the warmth blooming through my chest. Affection and playful conversation had become rare in my life since the attack, but it came easily with Rafe, and at the most unlikely time of the month in my new life schedule. I needed to get Natalie a really nice gift for suggesting MSA. Maybe talk Theo into helping me plan a surprise spa day for us. He wouldn't take much convincing, I suspected.

"You know…you're one of the most gentle, careful…controlled werewolves I've ever met," Rafe said, eyeing me over our plates. "Aside from the full moons, what makes you nervous about the tour?"

The topic should've thrown me off my appetite, but after the past couple days with Rafe it was impossible not to be hungry, and maybe I didn't mind talking with him about it so much. That was why I was here, after all.

"I don't feel in control. Or I guess…I’m aware of how easily that control could slip," I said, pausing for another bite, thinking over the words to tread carefully into the truth. "My dad is a musician too. I went on a couple tours with him when I was a teenager, and I saw what it was like."

Rafe stared at me, waiting.

I cleared my throat and sat up straighter. "Dad always said being on stage is kind of like… People think you'd be exhausted at the end of a show. That all the lights and the noise and rushing all over the stage would wear you out, but actually, it's the opposite. It's like you're a battery charging until suddenly you're just a live wire, overfull and ready to throw sparks. The energy has to go somewhere."

Rafe hummed. "Partying?"

I nodded. "Partying, drugs, drinking, fighting, fucking. And I probably shouldn't have, but I saw it all firsthand. There was no control, no attempt at it. Hedonism at its finest. And for my dad and his friends, and even me, it was fun. It wasn't the part I loved most about his tours—that was…the music, the sound ringing all the way into my bones." I closed my eyes, and for a moment I could almost feel a little kernel of that joy that used to burn through me. I shook my head to clear it. "But the party culture was definitely a perk for a barely adult girl, watching fame from a sideline."

I swallowed, stalled with a bubbly, bright sip of my drink. "The week before a full moon is kind of the same as the high after a set. I am so…so restless. And horny," I moaned, rubbing a hand over my face. "I'm so horny before a full moon, and it's like if I even think about giving in, I'm cornering the nearest convenient dick. So I can't—I can't drink, I can't flirt, I can't argue, or I turn into an irrational, snarling asshole."

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