Page 33 of Whisper Woods

His voice is low and husky, and it should be sexy. Especially on nights like this when all our instincts are heightened. But instead it’s like nails on a chalkboard. Even Wolf is objecting, pushing his way to the forefront of our shared consciousness. The hairs on my arms raise with his hackles when Jacobson takes another step closer.

“I’m good, thanks.” There is a bite to my words that smarter beings might heed as a warning, but not Jacobson. He takes another step closer and I have to battle to keep a rein on Wolf from snapping. If I wanted company I’d have stayed at the pack grounds. And even then, Jacobson is the last fucking being I’d want to keep company with.

“Naw, come on. Don’t be like that. There’s apparently a big bad beastie lurking in the Woods tonight.” Gods, he’s right behind me now, leaning in close, his breath hot and irritating on my ear. “We should stick close. Stay safe…”

“Are you really fucking serious?” I throw the stone I’ve been turning over in my hand into the water. It lands with a startling splash in the dark.

The air shifts as Jacobson bristles, his own wolf rising closer to the surface at my aggression. “What do you mean?”

“You really think after you gave me shit for all those years for being into guys that I’m, what? Gonna blow you? Fuck you? Just ‘cause Colin fucking died and took his archaic dumbass ideas with him? Now Dad’s pack leader, is it okay to suck dick? Go lick corion ass, Jacobson.”

With each word my anger escalates. Because that’s the thing with full moons. If you’re not going to fuck, there is a good chance you’ll fight.

I stand, taking advantage of my size, finally facing him. The creek bed is slippery under my bare feet, but I don’t care. Jacobson is smaller than me in wolfandhuman form. His black hair is longer now, shaggier than he ever had it under Colin’s reign as pack leader—just one of the many dumb ways Colin used to exert control over the pack. His face is tight with anger, his dark brows drawn in, his mouth a sharp slash across his face. I can almost see his wolf; they share the same long snout.

Jacobson’s body is taut, like he’s about to pounce. He’s never been truly skilled with fighting, always relying on his sneaky, underhanded style to get ahead. He’s never been shy about hitting below the belt.

“Fuck you, Seff.” He spits and my hands clench, the only give to the fury pulsing through me. “You always thought you were better than the pack. Above it all. Now you think you’re the Gods’ tits just ‘cause your dad’s pack leader.” He actually spits this time, the glob of saliva landing on the stone by my big toe. Wolf rages at the insult, growling and tearing to break free and eat his innards as a midnight snack.

“But you ain't shit. Just a pathetic, weak little beta.” Jacobson jumps, surprised by my bark of laughter at his attempt at an insult. Me? A fucking beta? Even if the idea wasn’t outdated bullshit, I am definitely one of the biggest and strongest in the pack. It was their whole problem with me—well most of it anyway—all this strength and I refuse to use it for their whims.

The first chuckle unleashes the dam of feelings and my anger dissolves intobelly-cramping laughs, until I’m doubled over, clutching at my stomach. I must look pretty psychotic because Jacobson is eyeing me warily, taking a cautious step backwards. I swear even his balls are shrivelling up a little.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” He snarls, with significantly less confidence now.

I look up, wiping at the dampness in my eyes to see the twisted look on his face. And just as quickly, the fury is back, Wolf stepping to the forefront, no longer willing to play.

“What did you say?” The growl in my voice is the only warning before I’m launching over the rocks of the creek bed to slam into Jacobson, sending us both to the muddy banks.

Thank fuck we clear the rocks, because when hit the ground it’s hard. Even with Jacobson pinned beneath me, the impact rattles me.

Wolf is too close to the surface, making me reckless, egging on my anger, demanding that I let him free to fight Jacobson himself. But tonight I’m the feral one, not Wolf, and I’m sick of Jacobson’s shit.

Jacobson squirms beneath me, pummelling my sides with his fists, trying to find a soft place for a hard hit while he kicks and bucks his hips to get me off him.

Good fucking luck. I leer over him, Wolf’s snarl reflected on my mouth. When Jacobson gets one swift jab to my abdomen, just hard enough to wind me, I snatch up his hands with lightning speed, pinning them above his head. Usually this position would be fun, but not with him. And not when the dickhead tries to headbutt me.

My fingers tighten around his wrists, threatening to crush them in my grip, and to stop him from doing anything else stupid, I pin the fucker by his throat. Rage thrums through me, adrenaline coursing through my veins making my body tingle.

Leaning down so I’m right in his face, I can’t help but taunt Jacobson in his pathetic fight for freedom.

“Who’s the beta now?” I growl, Wolf howling in my head where he’s caged—very much against his will.

“You’re insane.” Jacobson just doesn’t know when to quit. I press downharder on Jacobson's throat until his eyes bulge, his movements becoming jerky and uncontrolled.

Jacobson's face flushes a horrible mottled red colour in the dark and it’s enough to shock me back to reality. This isn’t me, risking everything for myself, for Dad, for the pack, over a dumbass insult.

Horrified at how far I let myself fall into the feral pit all wolves have within themselves, I force myself to regain control over the aggression raging through me. The full moon may stir it up, but I’m responsible for myself.

My grip on Jacobson loosens, his colour returning to something less gross, but before I can climb off him, maybe even offer an apology, a loud crack reverberates through the trees, distracting us. Wolf scents the air in search of whoever—whatever—is out there.

Smoke? The disturbingly familiar scent, the one that’s haunted my dreams and fantasies for a year now, taunts me.

It couldn’t be? I must be confused. It’s been so long since I’ve smelt it. I have to be—

Jacobson takes advantage of my distraction, sharply bucking his hips to unseat me enough to allow him to jerk his arms free. He manages to land a solid punch to my guts in his scramble.

He gets to his feet backing away from me, eyeing both me and the trees with frenzied, wild eyes. I ignore him, kneeling in the mud, dick mostly hard from the adrenaline and the fight, staring at the trees, willing the scent to be real.

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