Dominik
DO NOT FUCK THIS UP.
I've got the mantra on repeat as I drive.
She's the girl of my dreams. I recognized her strawberry scent the second it hit my nostrils. Saw those whiskey-colored eyes and knew. I don't deserve her, I know that already. She's beautiful and adorable and soft and I'm—the opposite. Damn it, I should back off. Leave her alone. She's a princess who deserves a knight in shining armor. Not a tattooed, scarred wolf shifter with a lump of coal in place of a heart. But her chance for that fairytale romance went up in smoke the second we met. And I know I'm a selfish prick, because I can't bring myself to feel even a little bit sorry about it.
Not only is she beautiful, she's sweet and funny and — She's asleep.
Her head's leaning on the window. Eyes closed, pink lips parted as she breathes slowly in and out. As I gaze at her, a cold trickle of unease drips down my spine.
Meeting this woman was the best moment of my life.
But that only makes me think of the worst moment of my life.
Twenty years ago, almost to the day. It makes me think of my dad's creepy girlfriend-of-the-moment, the one everyone said was a witch—not one of the harmless Wiccan ones, either, but the real deal, something evil and wrong.
I'd been fifteen years old. She'd come on to me, flirting with me, and when I rejected her… She didn't take it well. She took it profoundly unwell.
So much so she grabbed me by the throat and stared into me, through me, in a way that chilled me to the bone. She told me she knew what I was, despite the fact that I'd kept my nature hidden even from my own father.
Wolf shifter, she'd spat. You'll never find happiness. Never find love.
Your humanity will be chipped away at over the years, until all that's left is the beast. Unless you find your fated mate, and she loves you in return… You'll be a wolf forever.
Up until that moment, I'd never believed in witches or curses.
Looking into her ink-dark eyes, I knew I'd been wrong. I felt it.
She was a witch, and she'd fucking cursed me.
It's been hanging over my life like a storm cloud.
One that now rumbles ominous thunder from its depths.
When we reach our destination, I get out of the truck and come around to her side. As gently as I can, I pull her out of the seat and gather her in my arms. She smells so good I want to bury my face in her neck. I settle for dragging the tip of my nose along her hair and inhaling. She stirs a little, pressing closer. "Dominik," she whispers, almost inaudible.
"I've got you," I assure her.
She sighs, then cuddles into me like she's always belonged in my arms. "I didn't misread things, did I?" she asks sleepily. "We're totally going to have sex, right?" "Planning on it. But not tonight."
"Hmm?" she sighs. "Why not?"
"Because you're half-asleep. And I'd like you to be awake and enthusiastic for everything we do together." "I'm very awake," she mumbles. "Just wake me up more when we get out of the vehicle."
"We already are."
She doesn't hear, though. She's asleep again. There's an unfamiliar sensation stretching the muscles in my cheeks. I think I might actually be smiling. I carry her from my truck to the doors of Dom Volka, our pack stronghold. I think about how I'm going to explain this place to her tomorrow.
How I'm going to explain myself.
There's no handbook for how to reveal to a woman that you're a wolf shifter. That you know from the jump that she is the one.
It seems like the kind of thing you have to ease into a little.
It's been quiet lately—no recent vampire sightings, no evidence of Neuroworks espionage—so this night, we put our newest pack member, Christopher, on guard duty. He does a double take when he sees me carrying Willow's sleeping form through the doors. I nod in acknowledgement as I pass him, but say nothing to his gaping look of astonishment. One of the perks of being alpha is I don't have to explain myself to anybody. Not yet, at least. I head straight for my bedroom. My place is cold and immaculate as always. Normally, I like it like that. Growing up the way I did, in neglect and filth, this place is a direct reaction to that. An overreaction, maybe.
Carrying my sweet human mate through its halls, I realize my living environment is downright sterile. It needs a woman's touch.
Her touch. I slip off Willow's shoes for her and lay her out on my bed. She looks like an angel there. An angel in a sweater and mud-splattered jeans, I note with a frown.
I don't care about dirt on my sheets, but that can't be comfortable to sleep in. I rub my jaw as I debate within myself. Leave her be, or get her more comfortable? I meant what I said to her. We're not doing anything tonight. This is just about letting her sleep more comfortably. Feeling a little like a pervert, I unbutton and unzip her pants.
I slide the jeans down her hips. Her underwear is plain black, nothing fancy, but it's the sexiest thing I've seen, because she's the one wearing it. I imagine what it would feel like to bury my nose there. She mumbles a "thanks" as I finish taking off her pants and fold them before putting them aside. She wiggles her toes. Another mumble against the pillow of, "Socks too, please."
I oblige.
I can't believe she's real. And really here, with me. Her mahogany hair fans out against the pillow. Her cheeks are rosy, her lips lush and kissable. I take in her smooth legs and creamy skin. I want to kiss and lick every inch of her. Rip those underwear off and dive in between her legs, head first — I gently pull the duvet over her and back away. For a while, I just pace. Already, I'm already imagining what it would be like to have her living here. Will she fill the shelves with her books? Have me hang up pictures she likes on the walls? Put pillows everywhere? I don't know much about feathering a nest, but I've been to enough married friends' houses to know women seem to really like pillows.
I don't know shit about pillows. But she can hang them from the damn ceiling if it pleases her. The air is laced with her scent. Sweet and fresh as strawberries.
Makes me want to follow it back to the source and take a bite. I realize with a jolt that I can't stay inside right now. Or else I'm gonna do exactly that. Before I go outside on my balcony, I grab a small wood box from a kitchen drawer on the way.
The moon is waning now, but I'm still feeling the aftermath of the shift. My muscles and bones ache in the days after. The only thing that blunts the worst of the pain is lunaris leaf, the shifter-borne cousin to cannabis. It helps, too, with the ache of being all turned on with no place to go. Sitting at the table outside, I roll a joint of the stuff and light it up, taking a deep hit. I let the sense of relaxation wash over me. Let the cold night air seep into my overheated body. And then I start thinking.
I'm not the guy women fall in love with. I'm the one they take for a ride before settling down with someone else. Someone… nice.
Someone who didn't come from dirt, with a deadbeat drunk for a dad and a mom who didn't think her son was worth sticking around for. I don't have any experience being loved. Not even by the people who were supposed to love me back.
Why would my mate be any different?
I brood for a while, staring at the stars like they'll wink in answer to me. But the constellations are cold and silent as ever. The moon's pull is fading, and the wolf within me rests for now. By the time I finish the joint, I feel calm enough to risk going back inside. Before I get in bed with her, I take a cold shower and put on a t-shirt and sweats. Clothing is another barrier I need right now. If I were a gentleman, I would go sleep on the couch. But I'm not a gentleman. I'm a wolf.
I have to be near her. My instincts won't allow anything else.
Carefully, I climb onto the mattress next to her. The temptation to pull her to me is so overwhelming I can almost see the magnetic force of it. I shift closer to draw the blanket over her. My hand brushes the bare skin of her thigh. And that's all it takes. My claws extend out from my fingertips, sharp, ready to sink into her softness.
Usually it's danger or rage that makes it happen, but now... now it's different. The wolf doesn't want to let her go. I've had complete control of the beast inside me for nearly a decade and a half. Not once have I lost control like I just did. This is bad.
More than that—this is the the start of the ticking clock.
The curse.
At fifteen, I hadn't known or cared what a fated mate was.
Hadn't cared at twenty, either. I was too busy grinding out a living on crab boats in Alaska, trying my damndest not to die in the middle of the Bering Sea.
I care now.
I lift my hand with the utmost carefulness, taking every pain not to cut her.
Then I lie down on my side of the bed, not touching her. But I don't count on what my body does while I'm sleeping. I wake hours later to find our bodies pressed together. My arm is draped across her hip, my hand cupping the inside of her thigh, no memory of putting it there. For one moment I let myself indulge in the feel of her smooth skin, the soft give of her thigh beneath my palm. She lets out a sigh in her sleep, a little breathy exhale that spikes straight to my cock. No question my body knows what it wants. But my brain's job is to override it. Something it's doing a shit job of so far. I try to pull away from her. I really, truly do—but then she traps my arm right where it is and wriggles her sweet little ass against my cock—and, well. I'm strong, but I'm not that strong. I'm supposed to protect her, I remind myself, not rut against her in her sleep. But I'm not going to risk waking her by moving away, either. At least that's the excuse. The truth is, man and wolf are in agreement: this is exactly where we belong.
Any dwelling on curses or consequences—that's for my human side to deal with later. The wolf cares only about her heat, her scent, her skin against mine.
Two sides of the same soul. One ruled by caution, the other by instinct.
Instincts always win in the end.