Page 99 of Howl You Doin?
“That would be because I did—three hundred years ago—but you have much more control than I did. I guess her theory of you having a lycan blood-relative might be correct.”
He hugs me to his bare chest, and I curl into him, content and safe, completely uncaring that I’m naked as a jaybird, as my grandma would say, and dirty to boot.
He buries his face against my throat and grinds his hips against me with a skin-tingling growl. With a raspy tone, he grates, “The next time I chase you through this forest, I really want to fuck you, Whitley.”
His dick is nestled between us, and I bite down on my bottom lip.
“That could be arranged,” I tell him as I try to step back before I get carried away.
He does a double take, as if he can’t believe his good luck, and sweeps me into his arms anyway. I squeal with laughter as his petal-soft lips brush my mouth, chased by the delicious scratchiness of his beard, and I press closer, feeling content and secure.
“You never told me how you were turned,” I say when he sets me back down on my feet, once more trying to distract from the mini-Connor between us.
“It’s not the best of tales, which is why I’ve always been hesitant in sharing it. But since it’s you, I don’t mind talking about it. I was an experiment gone wrong, to hear some tell it, but suffice to say, the Van Helsings did this to me. I was bitten by a werewolf they had experimented on, and it’s their fault I’m this way. That is why they hunted me for it, desperate to seek more answers, and for centuries.”
He says it so smoothly and without thought, as if it’s meaningless, yet my stomach instantly clenches. It’s swiftly followed by a stirring of nausea, but I quickly brush it off. The idea that my great-great-grandmother’s family could do such a thing is ludicrous.
I can’t help digging for more information.
“W-what do you mean by experimented on?” I ask with a lump in my throat.
He laughs, but I don’t hear any humor in it. Connor then starts patting and playing with the back of my hair, as if he’s looking for a distraction. I hate how much it makes my skin tingle even though my tummy feels twisted.
“One of their ancestors was some kind of mad scientist. He captured a male werewolf and began messing with him, trying to figure out how to change him back to human andwhya lycan’s bite had turned him.” He sighs as he lifts his gaze to mine, and his eyelids lower to soften the connection. I can’t help how my heart stutters at his words. “The werewolf broke out, and whatever concoctions he’d been given didn’t turn me into a werewolf, but some kind of broken lycan. I almost died—and would have, if it weren’t for Vlad and Odette.”
“Dracula, you mean,” I say, trying to lighten to mood. It’s useless, but Connor does softly chuckle. “How did he help?”
“Basically, by loading my sorry carcass into his carriage, and shouting obscenities at me every time I tried to pass out,” he says with a grin.
I blink at that, trying to understand how anyone could smile at such a situation.
“Ready to head back?” he asks, breaking me from my thoughts. “There are still plenty of things on the list, and you’ll need your rest.”
“Sure am,” I say, the smile pulling at my lips completely at odds with the apprehension growing in my sternum.
Chapter 32
Connor O’Doyle
Head over tail.
“Surely that’s steeped enough,”I mutter, staring down at the small tray of tea and snacks I’ve collected for her.
Thus far this week, there hasn’t been any more crying or tears, none of the horrific stories I read online mentioning emotional outbursts, irrational tirades, or anything of the sort has happened. Though, there has been a very small handful of “wolfing out” episodes, as she so oddly puts it. I’ve been on fucking edge for what seems like eons, trying to sense if she has a need of me.
The hotel has slowly been emptying of guests over the last few days now that our little event has ended. Although it has made things a bit quieter, there’s always more work to be done.
Most of the rooms have to be prepped for the next phase of renovations, so it’s been a revolving door of guests leaving and supplies arriving. I’ve hardly had time to see Whitley, but we’ve both been so immersed in work, her with ball events and me managing everything else. The last few days have been sweet hell.
Each night, I make it a point to massage her back and hips to put her at ease before sleep, and then the torture begins.
Torture, because of how she curls around me in her sleep, how she now moans my name when dreaming and gyrates her body against mine, all without knowing. It’s driving me mental. Thankfully, my dick has been behaving for the most part, some innate part of me somehow sensing her need for comfort, rather than a man rutting after her like a beast.
Where once my fur would raise in agitation at the mere mention of her, she is now the embodiment of my every hope and fantasy. It’s stupid, really, how blind I’ve been.
I balance the tray with one hand and clamber up the servant stairwell to the north wing before knocking lightly on her door. It feels as if I haven’t spent quality time with her in ages, outside of the torture-inflicting bedtime cuddles, and I’m becoming annoyed with how little I’ve seen of her during the day. It’s almost as if she’s avoiding me—but that can’t be right. I smile to myself, hoping she’s peckish since she’s between her lunch break and dinner.
“I come bringing goodies.”
