Page 15 of Monsters After Dark

She abandoned her plans of keeping distance between them, needing her knees on either side of his nose to get enough leverage to pop the clasp. Joseph didn’t move. Moira hooked a finger into the metal basket and shuffled back before pulling it off his face and pushing it away.

The second it came off, he shook his head, snarling and licking his muzzle. It wasn’t hard to see why—the short, dense fur along the bridge of his snout was ruffled, and several creases marked where the metal basket had pressed into his skin. Moira wrinkled her nose.

“I guess they didn’t expect anyone with a head your size when they designed those. Most of the werewolves here are smaller than you.”

Joseph grunted and sneezed, side-eyeing her as she reached for her bucket.

“I’ll have to feed you by hand, I guess. They left you in an odd position.” She pulled out the largest piece of the cow liver she’d cut, holding it between two fingers. Moira tried to breathe evenly as she lowered it toward his muzzle, but dismay rose in her chest as her hand trembled so hard the meat shook. Thankfully, he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Joseph angled his head and opened his mouth for the liver, which Moira dropped once it was so close he couldn’t miss. His jaw snapped shut like a steel trap and she jumped, her cheeks heating with embarrassment.

The meat disappeared in seconds, so Moira reached into the bucket for another, and then another, until he’d eaten fifteen pounds of meat and the bucket was empty. The expectant glance he gave the bucket after she’d fed him the last piece made her feel bad.

“Sorry, Joseph. That’s all I have for now.”

She lowered her hands to her knees, palms up to prevent the blood on her fingers from getting on her clothes, and smiled at him. Joseph angled his head toward her, and before she could react, his tongue darted out against her fingers. Moira startled at the warm drag against her skin. He paused with his tongue pressed to her palm, his pretty ice-blue eyes focused on her.

Moira’s cheeks warmed. “Sorry. Little jumpy today, I guess.”

Unbothered, he resumed his licking until her hands were clean. When he stopped, she held them up and inspected them. “Thanks. At least I don’t have to worry about getting my pants dirty now.”

Moira assessed him more closely now that the threat of violence had waned. His tangled coat was matted with old blood, scabs, and refuse from the forest. Scars dissected his muzzle, ear tips, and scattered over the rest of his body. Whether they were new or old was hard to say, since weres healed so quickly. She hated to see his beautiful fur in such a condition.

She always helped the boys with grooming when they returned from missions; it was part of their routine, how she bonded with them. They’d bathed before she’d met them, but brushing their coats or tails didn’t seem to have crossed their minds until she’d suggested it. Being men, she doubted they’d prioritized grooming in their human lives, and it certainly wasn’t on their minds as wolves. But they enjoyed it when she did it.

“I don’t think you’re feral,” she murmured, resisting the urge to bury her fingers in his ruff. “I think you just don’t tolerate assholes.”

He chuffed, a sound weres made to show their amusement, and Moira felt a smile forming without her permission.

Joseph turned his attention to sniffing her knees, which he could barely reach with the tip of his nose, and the hot puffs of air against the fabric made goosebumps rise along her arms. His ears tipped her direction and his pupils dilated as he snuffled at her, and a chill slid up Moira’s spine. He was scenting the other weres on her, and she recognized the intensity of his expression.

The twigs trapped in his tail scratched against the concrete as it lashed to life, a quick flick that made the hair on the back of her neck rise in warning. Overstimulation. Moira leaned back slowly.

“I think maybe it’s time I—”

The intercom crackled to life over the enclosure, stopping her words midstream. Joseph snarled, his head whipping toward the noise.

“Excellent progress, Dawkins. Let’s move to the next stage.”

Moira’s eyes widened in disbelief, panic swelling as she scrambled to her feet. “No, he’s not ready yet!”

“We told you, it’s now or never. We don’t have time to take it slow.”

A choir of electronic beeps erupted behind her, and Moira’s heart sank. One after the other, the pressurized clasps disengaged, and the riot of clattering metal and flurry of motion that followed cemented what they had done.

They’d released him.

Afraid to move, Moira clenched her hands at her sides and kept still. It was hard to ignore the instinct to run, but she knew better. He’d give chase, and she didn’t know him well enough to say how it would end. She felt him step up behind her, the heat of his massive body bleeding through her clothing even though he hadn’t touched her.

His head descended over her shoulder, cheek bumping the side of her head as he lowered his muzzle to her throat and inhaled a noisy breath. Moira’s heart fluttered with anxiety as he scented her, knowing how badly things could go.

She’d been in this situation before, at the mercy of a were whose animal instincts were more likely to take charge because of overstimulation. Moira thought she might have been able to fully defuse him, had her bosses not chosen that exact moment to speak up and release him. The presence of the men who’d hurt him and were keeping him here had only agitated him, and combined with the scent of the other weres on her, it was proving to be a tough challenge for him to overcome. Weres were territorial by nature, and when confined, they exerted their dominance over whatever they could—other weres, guards, and even handlers like Moira. It was their way of trying to maintain control where they had none.

Joseph rumbled—a low, throaty noise like the purring of a large feline—and stepped in front of her. He was so tall Moira was only eyelevel with his sternum now that he was free of his bonds, bipedal and moving upright like a man. He blocked out everything behind him, including her view of the observation deck.

“Joseph…” Moira lifted her eyes to meet his gaze and kept her posture neutral. Purring was something weres did when they were aroused or feeling affectionate. Considering the situation, Moira was betting it was the former. “Please… try to calm down.”

He stepped forward, forcing her to shuffle back. He sucked in another lungful of her scent and resumed rumbling as he took another step toward her, and then another, herding Moira away from the center of the room toward the back of the enclosure.

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