Page 52 of Hunter Moon

It was like I’d bombed a dam, and all the water held within had come rushing through the hole.

Brook curled against me, sobbing, unable to tell me in words why he was crying, but I didn’t need him to. He didn’t smell of sadness, or of fear, but of absolute overwhelm.

After a decade in the navy, I knew what it looked like—what it felt like—when repressed emotions reached critical mass and refused to be held back any longer. It was awful and painful and, hell, the crying alone was shitty, but it rarely turned out to be a bad thing.

So I got Brook over to one of the older trees in the area, put my back to it, and held him against me. He sat in my lap, head buried in my shoulder. There were tears for a while, but after that, it was more about the scent of home, and comfort, and simply the wolf’s instinctive need to touch.

All wolves I knew were tactile, and not only in the unsubtle climbing-each-other way, but also with tiny little gestures of touch that humans saw as overly familiar. It was a known trait, to the point that the navy had insisted on at least two wolves in any unit that had werewolves in it.

It’s easier to touch another wolf, after all, since they don’t assume there’s anything behind a touch but basic reassurance.

This was exactly that in some ways. And in others, it was more.

It was the fact that I hadn’t been there for Brook through this horror that he’d been through. I’d spent so much of our lives being his rock. Being the thing he could always trust to be there, to rely on.

His family was great, but they’d needed him. They hadn’t been there to support him when trying to fill his father’s shoes had stressed him. It wasn’t their fault. Rhonda had been widowed in her thirties, and it had nearly killed her. The girls had both been in their single digits at the time. It hadn’t been like they could be his support system.

So it had been me.

I’d been what he’d leaned on when he was tired.

The strangest part was that I’d missed it. No, not Brook needing help, or being hurt, but being able to be that for him. I’d spent the decade I’d been gone helping people, or so I liked to think, but in the end, all I’d ever wanted to do was be Brook Morgan’s rock.

It was a job that only required me to be there, be supportive. Not to mention the perks it came with, like oh, holding Brook close to me. His clean ozone scent, his warm, firm body, his soft hair... there was nothing about that job I disliked.

Protecting people in the military had been about my ability to do violence. It had been about my wolf’s ability to tune out our humanity, and do what had to be done, preferably without thinking on it too hard. Thinking about it had always been a mistake.

The navy had taught me to ride the edge of being feral, without crossing over.

Brook didn’t want me anywhere near that edge. He’d seen me at it, and gotten angry. He wanted Aspen the teenager who cracked jokes and smiled like an arrogant jerkoff, not Aspen the borderline beast who could kill people without flinching.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, close to my ear, but so quiet I almost didn’t catch it.

I ran a hand through his soft ebony hair. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

He pulled his head out of the crook of my shoulder, eyes bloodshot but not willing to accept any of my bullshit. So I ran my hands down his arms, twining our fingers together when our hands met, and pulled his right hand to my chest, pressing it over my heart.

I met his eye steadily, trying to be sure he caught the gravity of what I was doing. A vow, the old way.

“You have never done anything to me that you need to apologize for. There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be than with you, whether you’re laughing, crying, screaming, or anything else.” I leaned forward until our foreheads were pressed together, his face distorted by the nearness until all I could see was those guileless crystal-blue eyes. “Unless you send me away, Brook, I will never, ever leave you alone again.”

After another moment of staring into my eyes, he fell back against me, more tears leaking into the wet patch on my shirt. So I sat back against the tree again, holding him to my chest with one arm, running the other hand down his back over and over.

The sun was well past its apex when he finally sat up again, looking a little disoriented and rubbing his eyes. “Did I fall asleep on you?”

I grinned at him. “Yeah, well, you’ve always been a fan of naps.”

He scowled at me, but didn’t deny it. Neither of us mentioned that he’d become a champion napper in high school because he’d been trying to finish school, do an apprenticeship at the garage, and take care of his mom and sisters all at once. It had been too much for anyone, and he’d ended up so sleep deprived that he’d started falling asleep whenever he could find a quiet moment.

Once, I’d been driving him to work after school and he’d fallen asleep in the Mustang. I’d left him there and worked his shift at the garage for him. He hadn’t been thrilled with it, but Brook had also never been the kind of person who let his pride come between himself and sleep.

Proud, but not to a degree that hurt himself. That was my Brook.

Mate, the wolf agreed.Our mate.

And for the first time since we’d arrived back in Grovetown, I didn’t even try to deny it. Not to myself or my wolf instincts.

It was true. It was Brook or bust for our future. I could be alone, that was fine, but there would never be anyone but Brook in my bed or my life again.

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