Page 68 of Feral

Fraser growled again and looked back at where his brother must’ve been standing.

“It’s alright,” I said, forcing a shaky smile on my face, “we can talk more later. But in the meantime, just know that it’s fine if you want to hold my hand or put your arm around me, alright? I think that would not only sell the cover story, but it would help us both.”

The openness he’d had this whole time shuttered and I kicked myself for whatever misstep I’d made.

“Right…yes the…cover story. Now, would ya give me a moment to calm down? Go on and I’ll be along in a minute.”

“Of course.”

He gave my leg one last squeeze and then withdrew his hand. I didn’t look back as I got out of the Jeep and walked through the garage on unsteady legs. When I reached the door at the back, I looked up to see Lowell in his true form. His glamour was beautiful but it was nothing compared to this. His eyes were a brighter blue, bordering on white. He was slighter than Fraser, lanky for a Werewolf I suspected, with short silvery fur that had a slight bluish tint to it. He was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, a smirk on his snout, bare chested and wearing a kilt like Fraser’s.

“Get a little mussed?”

“Do you always stick your snout where it doesn’t belong?” I asked.

“Of course, it’s more fun that way.”

In spite of myself, I laughed at his “devil may care” attitude.

Lowell’s gaze settled over my shoulder, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and I knew he was looking at Fraser.

“Need a cold shower there?” he called.

“Fuck off, Lowell.”

My eyes widened. I’d never heard Fraser use such language, more proof that he was indeed on the edge.

I turned to follow Lowell into the house, when Fraser’s hand stopped me and he scooped me up into his arms. I squeaked in surprise and grabbed onto his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“It’s tradition for a newly mated female,” he said.

“Oh, just like humans.”

He smirked at me, which, in his true form, was somehow twice as enticing as when he was in his glamour.

“Where do you think they got it from?”

“Fascinating,” I marveled, as he carried me through the door. “How long does that go back, I mean was it something that originated with the Druids or did it evolve after? And did the tradition become passed down from integrating your clans into Mundane settlements or was it from mating? Or perhaps both, which might explain why…”

My voice trailed off as Fraser stopped inside a large living room and I felt eyes latch onto me. I turned in his arms to look out at the room and saw three male Werewolves in nothing but kilts, and two very tall women, all focused intently on me. The oldest woman, who had short cropped gray hair and deep wrinkles on her face and hands, was smiling at me with tears in her eyes, while the other was glaring at me with crossed arms.

The older woman was standing next to the largest Werewolf I’d ever seen. He was taller than even Fraser and his muscles were rippling under his dark brown fur. He eyed me with curiosity bordering on suspicion and it made me want to shrink back. But then, there was a Werewolf that looked very much like Lowell, with the same silvery fur and bright eyes. Except he was standing with a very tall cane, a welcoming grin on his muzzle.

The last Werewolf in the group stood in the very back; his build was like Lowell’s and Liam’s, and he had a reddish fur that actually seemed to bristle as I met his dark brown eyes. There was something unsettled about the way his gaze darted between Fraser and me. When he and the young woman glanced at one another, I suspected that this was Reuben and his sister Lizzie.

The room was expansive to accommodate the Weres, with oversized chairs and a couch that took up half the space. A large flat screen TV was mounted to a wall to my right, and a wall of photographs was in front of me, some of them very old black and whites. There were books scattered on one of the end tables, and magazines in a rack on the floor by one of the chairs. Lamps were placed liberally around the room, off for now. The whole room was cozy; it was meant to be a place to gather and connect, which I assumed was why it was chosen for my inspection.

“Are ya gonna to put her down?” Lowell asked.

Fraser growled, the fur on his tail puffed out, and the one that I assumed was Angus shot his little brother a scowl.

“Och, Lowell, ya should know better,” the older woman smacked the young Were on the arm and he rubbed it. “I’m Oona MacDonald but I insist that ya call me Gran.”

I smiled down at her and tried to reach out my hand to shake hers, but I was still being held by Fraser.

“You can put me down, it’s okay.”

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