Wild Wolf

Graham had made it clear after they’d gone out a few times that he expected to take a Lupine mate; he’d probably choose one of the Shifters who’d been cringing on the green today. Misty knew she should walk away from this relationship and let him do what he needed to—that she should have a long time ago.

Misty looked at Graham again and knew she’d have to summon all her strength if she decided to go. A few days ago, she’d been angry enough to tell him to leave her alone. But now, she wasn’t sure she had that kind of strength.

McNeil needs you, Ben had said. You can save him, but it has to be your choice.

My life sucks.

Graham pointed at the cubs. “You two, upstairs, and into the bathtub. You’re filthy. I’ll get you some dinner, then you’re going to bed. Understand?”

Kyle and Matt both looked up, their fear easing a little. “Are we going to live with you, Uncle Graham?” Kyle asked.

“Looks that way.”

“Yay!” The boys jumped to their feet, gave each other high fives, then both dove at Graham and gave Shifter hugs to his pants-clad legs.

Graham growled again, but gently. Both boys changed to wolf even as they clung to him, and Graham reached down, lifted them with his big hands under their bellies, and carried them out, rumbling at them all the way up the stairs.

 • • •

Later, after the cubs had bathed, eaten their fill of another pizza, and curled up in bed, asleep with noses buried in tails, Misty returned to the dishes. Two little boys and Dougal, not to mention Graham, could sure make a mess. Dougal had come in when the pizzas arrived, eaten a whole one in about three minutes, and breezed out again.

On the prowl, Graham had said. Males right after Transition were always on the hunt for mates. Females were choosy and made males work for it, but that didn’t keep males from trying.

Graham needed to talk more to Dougal, Misty thought as she moved another plate into the drying rack. Dougal had avoided Graham’s gaze and refused to speak about the cubs and his role in losing them. No one had talked about it, in fact. Graham hadn’t let Misty tell him about Ben either. He’d been waiting to speak to her about everything alone, she understood.

Well, now was his chance. The cubs were asleep, Dougal gone, the night darkening, the house quiet. Shifters were moving around outside, but inside, Graham’s house was calm. And much cleaner now.

Two scarred hands planted themselves on either side of Misty on the counter. Graham’s strong arms hemmed her in against the sink, and his body, in a T-shirt he’d donned for dinner and the sweatpants, covered her back. The heat of his lips brushed the side of her neck.

“Goddess, you smell good.”

Misty lost hold of the last slippery plate, then caught it, lowering it back into the water. “I notice you didn’t drink anything at dinner,” she said, her voice not working right. “And barely ate.”

“Nope.” Graham skimmed his mouth over her skin, his breath hot. “Not gonna do it.”

“Graham, you have to drink something.”

“No, sweetheart.” His lips moved against her neck as he spoke. “If I start, I won’t be able to stop. I’ll drink myself to death.”

“But if you don’t have any water, you’ll die.”

“Wolves can go a long time without drinking. I’m finishing this before I give that dickhead Fae the satisfaction of making me desperate.”

Misty tried to look back at him. “I hate seeing you like this.”

Graham licked her neck up to the ticklish place behind her ear, which her ponytail bared. “When I drink you, I’m not thirsty,” he rumbled.

Heat shot to Misty’s intimate places and rested there. “I need to tell you things,” she whispered.

Graham nuzzled her. “They can wait.”

“Probably shouldn’t.”

“I don’t give a damn right now.” Graham turned her face up to him, keeping her body facing the counter, and bit her chin. Then he bit her lower lip and kissed her.

A hard, commanding kiss, gentleness gone. His hands moved from the countertop to her abdomen, pulling her back against him, his fingers hard on her belly. He kneaded the soft flesh there, moving one hand up between her br**sts.

Misty reached up to touch his neck, twisting in his arms, forgetting her hands were wet. She brushed the Collar, thick and cold, the silver and black chain marking him as enslaved.

Graham opened her mouth with his, sweeping his tongue inside. His tongue was rough against hers, his mouth hot, strong.

Misty rubbed his Collar then traced his cheek, her thumb at the corner of his lips. Graham turned his head and sucked her finger into his mouth, licking off the clean water.

He reached in front of her and turned on the faucet. His sink had a sprayer hose, and he lifted this and squirted Misty up and down her front.

Misty squealed and tried to spin away. Graham held her firmly and soaked her tank top and her skin beneath. Water trickled between her br**sts, and it was cold.

“You want me to drink?” he asked. “Then I’ll do it like this.”

Graham lifted the nozzle to his mouth and squirted some water inside. Then, one-handed, he pulled off Misty’s sopping tank top, unhooked her bra and slid it off, held the sprayer nozzle close to her skin, and pressed the trigger again.

The water wasn’t on full blast, so it poured down her rather than showered. Graham snapped off the water, turned Misty around, and lifted her onto the edge of the counter.