How to Flirt with a Naked Werewolf

He chuckled, forking pot pie into his mouth.



“Abner, has it occurred to you that you’re sexually harassing Mo?” Alan teased as I walked back into the kitchen. Alan, who’d made a trip into town to meet with the state police for a status report, was scruffy and trail-worn, with large dark circles under his eyes. He looked as if he could fall asleep facedown in his patty melt.



“The female mind is one of nature’s greatest mysteries,” Abner informed Alan solemnly. “Every woman is a puzzle waiting to be solved. Mo’s just a tougher puzzle than most. But someday, I’ll find the answer. And she and her home cookin’ will be mine, all mine.”



Alan frowned. “Abner, what you know about the female mind wouldn’t fit in your sock drawer.”



“Doesn’t keep me from tryin’,” Abner retorted.



I heard the bells over the front door jangle as it swung open. I was still laughing at their good-natured banter when I turned toward the noise. Cooper stepped through the door, his face tired and covered in three days’ growth under the worn maroon cap. I felt all of the air leave my body in a happy cry. Alan’s brows drew together as his eyes bounced between Cooper’s relieved smile and my own jubilant expression. I rounded the counter in a few quick steps.



I paused to kiss the top of Abner’s head and ducked around several diners to launch myself at Cooper. It was embarrassing how natural it felt to throw myself into his arms, to wrap my legs around his waist and let him lift me as I pressed kisses to his jaw. The constant drag of confusion from the last few days melted away, and my whole world was centered on Cooper’s mouth. Maybe it made me callous or selfish, but at the moment, my need for him just wouldn’t let me care.



When Cooper finally released me, I leaned back and grinned goofily down at him. “Hi.”



“Hi back,” he said.



“I missed you,” I told him.



“You smell so good,” Cooper murmured into my hair as he rubbed his heavily stubbled cheek against mine.



“I smell like grilled onions,” I told him.



“Yeah, to a werewolf, a woman who smells like a patty melt is all the more tempting,” he whispered.



“I’m not sure if that was a compliment.” I snorted as he looked past me to the bright yellow flier featuring the missing hikers. His brow furrowed for a moment, but he shook it off, returning his focus to me.



I expected Cooper to put me down on my feet, but he held me where I was, his hands cupping my denim-clad butt to keep me anchored to him as we spoke. And it suddenly occurred to me that I was making a giant spectacle of myself in front of half the town. But when I turned, there were a lot of smiling faces. I’d lived among them long enough to know that the minute we left the room, we’d be chewed over like yesterday’s lunch special. And maybe they were grateful for a more cheerful topic of conversation. I shot a look over at Evie, whose smug expression threatened to sprain her cheek muscles.



“Um, Evie, I’m going on my break.”



“Just go,” Evie said, waving us out the door.



Cooper grinned at Evie, threw me over his shoulder caveman-style, and marched me out the door. I snagged my coat from the rack, catching a glimpse of Alan’s deflated, slightly resentful face. I felt a flare of shame blossom in my chest. Alan hadn’t deserved to find out about Cooper and me this way. But I pushed it away in favor of finally feeling happy, at peace, for the first time in days.



“Drive fast,” I told Cooper as he gunned the engine and sped toward my cabin.



I WAS GOING to have to retrieve our coats and boots from the porch before it started snowing again.



Giving Cooper a sneak preview of today’s selection—cobalt-blue lace bikins with a rather stunning demibra—while he was driving proved to be unwise. He almost ran off the road. So, really, I had no one to blame but myself when he pulled me out of the truck, slung me over his shoulder again, and started stripping me before we got to the front door. I was never so glad not to have neighbors.



We managed to navigate through the dark cabin blind, falling into bed. With the blue lingerie now fully in view, Cooper uttered a low moan.



“Now, this is not the underwear of a woman from Grundy,” he assured me, reverently running his fingers along the waistline of the little panties. His breath came in a long, labored wheeze.



“Well, pardon me for not knowing about the thermal-only panty rule,” I said, smirking as he dipped his head to nuzzle one of the silky bra cups. “I’ll rush right out and buy some long johns.”



Pausing to look up with perfect sincerity, he promised, “If you do, I will weep. Like a little girl. In public.”



My clever retort was cut off when his hot, strong lips closed over my nipple and bit down gently through the delicate material. I made an unintelligible, inhuman noise as my hips arched up. Tracing a steady path down the length of my torso, Cooper’s nose bumped at the spreading patch of moisture on my panties, sending a sensation singing through me. He inhaled deeply and pressed a kiss just over the waistline of my panties. He smiled up at me.



I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. “Fine, fine, I did what you asked, OK? Now, explain, please. Give me a plausible reason for adopting less-than-stellar hygiene habits.”



“It was knowing that you were mine,” he said, smirking up at me, his eyes smoldering little holes right through my defenses. “That if another man came near you, some primal, animal part of his brain would sense that scent on you and know you were taken. That if he tried to take you, he would be incurring the wrath of a very large predator.”



I gasped. Was that why Alan was suddenly so shy around me?



“So, it’s like an olfactory chastity belt?” I huffed out a shocked laugh, slapping at his shoulders. He snickered, grabbing my arms to ward off further blows. “You have some serious issues to work out,” I told him as he pulled me close.



“Well, I played my part, too,” he said, his tone teasing. “Of course, I was out in the woods without a shower, but the effect was the same. Every time I moved, shifted the slightest little bit, the scent of you would come wafting up from under my clothes. I was distracted the whole time. The clients complained that I must be recently concussed or recently in love from the way I was mooning around.”



I ignored the little trill in my belly at his use of the “L” word. “Concussed?”



“They were doctors.” He shrugged.



He pulled me tight against his chest. “And when I slept, I dreamed of you.”



“Oh, that line’s almost good enough to make the poor hygiene all worth it.” I sighed, climbing out of bed.



“Wait—what—where are you going?” Cooper stammered, waving at the now-empty bed.



“I’m taking a shower,” I told him. Cooper’s face fell. “I didn’t say I was doing it alone. Come on.”



I pulled him out of bed, but he ended up beating me to the bathroom. Werewolves can be such cheaters.



SOMETIME AROUND MIDNIGHT, Cooper and I were sitting in my bed, carbo-loading with big plates of pasta, when I worked up the nerve to say, “So, we haven’t talked about the werewolf thing yet.”



“We haven’t?” he asked, feigning ignorance.



“No. I would remember,” I assured him. “We’ve just been otherwise occupied. You have to know that there are about a zillion questions bouncing around in my head right now.”



“I was sort of wondering when you were going to get around to asking,” he said with a resigned, grim expression. He set his plate aside. “Where do you want me to start?”



I shrugged. “The beginning. How are you able to do this?”



“How are you able to curl your tongue? How did you get that little dimple in your cheek? Why are your eyes such a pretty shade of forget-me-not blue?” He shrugged, pulling me close. “It’s just genetics. It’s a part of us, the same as that little dimple or the color of your eyes. We’re not alone. There are packs all over the world. We’re a relatively small group compared with some of the rural Southern clans. We’ve had more and more dead lines over the years as we’ve married outside the pack. But my grandfather says that’s for the best. Nothing worse than a bunch of inbred werewolves running around.”



“Now, there’s an image.”



“We weren’t always wolves. The people who lived in the valley were there for many generations before the first white man crossed the frozen oceans, made his way over the mountains, and married a woman of the valley. My grandfather believes the Northern Man must have come from Russia or Northeast Asia, where there are a lot of packs. Either way, something about the mixing of their bloodlines produced the first wolf-sons. There were two boys, who grew into good, strong men. There was a bitter winter, and the hunters couldn’t get enough food for their families. People were starving. The Northern Man’s older son wished for the strength of the wolf so that he could provide for his family and neighbors, and that he wished so strongly that he was able to transform. And then his brother, seeing what he could do, joined him. They hunted and gathered enough food for the whole village. They became protectors, leaders. They had many sons and daughters, all of whom could transform, and their children, and their children, and so on. As time went on, the generations went on, and the pack grew.”



“What does it feel like, when you turn?” I asked.



He laced his fingers through mine and nibbled on the pads of my fingertips. “The first time, it was like being ripped in two. I knew it was coming. Everyone in my line can change, from my grandfather to my great-aunt Doris. I knew what was happening, and it still scared the hell out of me. As you get older, become more practiced, it doesn’t hurt as much. I don’t even notice it now.”



I ran my free hand along the line of his back. “I expected some gross Stan Winston skin-ripping thing. It just looks like a trick of light, like your human form is some sort of mirage . . . it’s a pretty mirage, considering. So, you were the leader for your pack, right? The alpha?”



Cooper’s brow furrowed.



“Evie,” I explained.



He rolled his eyes. “My cousin has a big mouth. Every generation has an alpha. It’s not hereditary. You never know who it’s going to be. One day, you’re just a bunch of stupid adolescent pups, getting used to your new abilities; and the next, somebody you’ve known all your life tells you to do something, and you do it without even thinking about it.”



“What, like being brainwashed?”



“No, it’s nothing that cruel. Think about real wolves. They have to work together to make sure that everybody in the pack is fed, healthy. They’re conditioned to work in harmony under a clear social rule: Obey the alpha. Werewolves have all those little human flaws that wolves don’t—pride, anger, lust—so our pack instincts have to be that much stronger. So, when the alpha tells you to do something, even if you know that what he’s asking is stupid or dangerous, you’ll do it. And you’re happy to do it, you’re compelled to, because it’s for the good of the pack. You need that community, the common purpose, because without it, you have nothing.”



“Yeah . . . I’m still hearing brainwashing.”



“OK, when I say it out loud, it does sound bad,” he conceded. “But my grandfather was happy being a foot soldier. He described pack life as being part of something bigger than yourself, serving a greater purpose, sharing the best part of your life with your best friends. That’s what I wanted.”



“I don’t understand. It’s a pack of wolves, not an army,” I said.



“Well, in a way, it is. The alpha serves as a sort of leader for the village, making important decisions for the pack and its families. The pack also chases off threats like wild animals, criminals, or just plain undesirables. I had a hard time sending people I cared about into a fight. I took a lot onto myself. And I hurt people. I hurt a lot of people.”