Spinning Martina Harbor around the dance floor last night was like something out of a dream. Kissing her goodnight at her door, well, that was like a memory of something I never got to do. It was strangely sentimental, but perfect all the same. I’d wanted more, of course. But I wasn’t some horny kid trying to cop a feel just so I could have something for my spank bank when I got home.
I mean, yeah, I was interested, but this was different. She was special. After what Sherry had whispered to me before the knowledgeable White Witch had walked away, I knew I’d been right about the woman. Martina was important. She was big. And I needed to proceed with caution.
So, instead of putting the pressure on last night, I decided to take it off. I danced her and her sisters around the dancefloor. Acted as their own personal waiter, I got them drinks and snacks from the endless buffet. When it came time to blow out the candles, I cheered her on from the sidelines and accepted the forkful of chocolate deliciousness she held out towards me.
Hell, I felt like I’d known her for years. I guess I had. Even if it was the first time, we’d hung out like that. Martina was not what I thought. She was funny and sweet, smart as a whip, and not the hardass she actively presented to the world. It was like that persona was a suit of armor she wore to protect herself, and last night, after a few more rounds of shots with her sister, that armor had come down.
She was a puzzle. An enigma. Someone I wanted to know more about with a hunger I’d ever known. I knew she had secrets, but we all did. I was no different. I wanted to earn them from her. To build her confidence in me, in us, and yeah, I knew I sounded like a fucking idiot. But I guess that’s what love did to someone.
Yeah. I said it. Love. There was no other explanation for it. I knew all about fated mates and the instant lust one Shifter felt for his or her or their true soul mate, but this went beyond my wanting to bend her over the nearest surface and fuck her until my cum ran down her plump thighs—though, fuck, yeah, I was down for that. Did I mention my obsession with the woman’s perfect apple of an ass?
“Enjoying yourself?” Erryn harbor, Davian’s wife, had asked me at some point during the night’s festivities.
“That I am, Erryn. Thank you for the invite.”
“Our pleasure. Just know this, if you hurt her, I’ve got two guns in our cabinet at home that have been itching for some target practice.”
Eyebrows raised, I nodded once at the terrifying female. Her purple eyes were light and glowed with an eerie vibrance as she stared me down. I had no quarrels with the female, and I appreciated her looking out for Martina. So, I nodded and bared my throat, showing her where words couldn’t that as far as Martina was concerned, I was not a threat.
Hell. The woman had no idea how safe she was with me. My eyes coveted her as she and her sisters giggled and danced together on the makeshift floor. I had to hand it to Davian, that party tent was off the charts. Lights and disco balls hung from the frame, sending a rainbow of colors dancing across Martina’s beautiful, tanned skin. She and her sisters jumped up and down, shimmied, and shook their asses, and damn, but I loved watching her.
They were tipsier than I’d have thought after only a handful of shots. Other Wolves and Shifters had very high tolerances for alcohol, but Martina, Nova, and Sybil were lightweights. Hell, they were almost like normals, getting their buzz on after what amounted to a few thimbles full of liquor.
It surprised me, but I was always good at rolling with the punches. I made sure no one bothered them or got too rowdy, and everyone seemed to have a ball. Davian cornered me at the end of the night, doing his brotherly duty and all, and I told him like I told Erryn and Sherry.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Davian. Your sister is perfectly safe.”
“What does that mean exactly?” he asked, and I felt a power buzzing beneath his skin I hadn’t noticed before. Interesting, but no concern of mine. His sister, however, that was another story.
“What that means, Davian, is no one and nothing will ever harm her while I am around. Martina is mine,” I said, my voice dropping a full octave.
Davian’s eyes glittered with emotion before he clapped a hand on my arm and squeezed, giving me a nod. It meant something that he approved, even though I hadn’t been looking for that. Davian was a good man, well liked and highly respected in town. His mate was scary as hell, but again, Erryn was someone I held in high esteem.
The band wrapped things up around three am, and the cold was positively bitter by then. Davian and some others were using magic to clean up, and I volunteered to walk a tipsy Martina to the door like a motherfucking gentleman my mama raised me to be.
Fuck, she smelled like heaven. Cinnamon apples and hot honey spice. I wanted to lick her from head to toe, but I made do with a sweet, soft kiss that made my Wolf purr like a fucking kitty cat.
“Mmm, I think I like you, Mitchell,” she’d said before closing her eyes.
I caught her before she fell to the ground and carried her inside. Sybil directed me to their childhood bedroom, and I laid Martina down, kissing her head before I did something stupid, like climb in beside her.
That was last night. And I’d had a hell of a time trying to sleep after leaving her. The beast took my skin, and I barely made it to the shed before he went full on monster mode. Other Wolves were able to just take to the forests when they needed to run, and usually, that was enough for me. But Martina had my animal all riled up, and he needed more than just a run. He needed to burn.
“Dude, pay attention!” Timothy barked, tossing a sledgehammer at my head.
My motherfucking little brother had a death wish or something. I growled and snatched the heavy thing out of the air, putting it back inside one of the many work vans our company, Truman Construction LLC, used. Business was booming, but we typically handled all projects involving the Pack personally.
Of course, he knew I’d catch the thing. Our reflexes were sharp and though the hammer was heavy, I caught it as easily as I would have a piece of paper. I was strong. Stronger than most Shifters, but that was because my Wolf was a touch different from others. I had a sort of genetic quirk, er, a sequence of DNA that skipped generations, or so I was told. It took years to control, but I managed it. Barely.
With my focus on Martina now, the beast was more anxious than usual. The idea of having a mate, something to protect and cherish, was very attractive to my Wolf. He needed that. It was good for him. Good for me. Hell, Martina was good period. But having a mate was excellent for both sides of my being. She gave me a higher purpose, and I couldn’t wait till the day I claimed her as mine.
“Where is your brain today, Mr. Pouty Pants?” Tim asked, and I rolled my eyes heavenward, praying for patience with my idiot brother.
“Fuck you, Tim.”
“Ooh, testy this morning, aren’t we, big brother?” Tim, the idiot, asked as he waggled his perfectly tweezed eyebrows.
Fucker.
“No, we are not fucking anything, Tim. You and Peter were probably wrapped around each other all fucking night. I imagine you are happy as a clam. Meanwhile, I went home alone, knowing the woman meant for me was sleeping on the other side of town. Without me,” I grunted.
Aside from being my brother, Timothy was my best friend. Naturally, I told him all about meeting the woman I believed was my fated mate just last night. That we both knew the Harbor girls was just a bonus. Tim was happy for me, but since he was newly mated to the love of his life, a Wolf Shifter from Hope Falls named Peter, he was all about spreading the joy.
“Yeah, that’s accurate,” Tim replied. “So, what is your plan, big bro? How you gonna woo her?”
“Woo her? Did we time warp back to the seventeenth century or some shit? I ain’t wooing anyone.”
“Yeah, I mean you must have a plan,” Tim said, staring at me like I had any fucking idea what he was talking about.
“I don’t know. I was thinking I’d just swing by and ask her if she wanted to grab a slice or something in town—”
The sound of Tim’s sharp hiss almost brought me to my knees. How the fuck a Werewolf could make such a noise was beyond me. I shook out my eardrum and glared at the little pissant clutching his chest like he was having a heart attack.
Drama king much?
We’d just finished giving an estimate for a remodeling project on one of the abandoned strip malls on the edge of town. Cat Maccon-Nighthawk, the sister of our Pack Alpha and one of his Wolf Guard, had just purchased it. She was turning it into one of the several Macconwood-Nighthawk Teen Outreach facility centers that were now found across the country.
I was one of the many Shifters she’d helped in town when she had opened her first center. You see, Werewolves used to be cursed to only connect with our animals during the full moon. The rest of the month was pure agony. We were cut off and weak from wanting our Wolves. Think of it as being starving and staring through a window where a buffet of all your favorite things were spread out. So close, but so far. In other words, it was fucking torture.
Then the curse was ended by a spunky she-Wolf, who was now a major contender for High Alpha—that was like the Alpha badass of all badass Alpha Wolves—but it left a major gap in our Wolfy education. Suddenly, a whole bunch of us were hit hard with bonds to our animal we’d only ever felt at their weakest level. It was rough, learning control all over again, trying to curb our animalistic tendencies. If not for the Cat’s program, I don’t know what I would have done.
But back to the present and the reason for my recent turmoil. Last night, I’d met my mate. But Tim was right. I needed a plan. I wondered why Martina’s Wolf wasn’t pushing her towards me the way mine was insisting I go to her right this minute. Shit. Maybe I was wrong.
No. Mine. Mate.
Well, that answered that. I ran a hand over my face, scratching through my beard. It was getting out of control again, but it was only going to get colder over the next few weeks. The beard was a buffer between my face and the wind.
“Ohmygawd, Mitchell!” Timothy snapped. “Look, I love you. You are my brother. But if you are going to land a sophisticated she-Wolf like Martina Harbor, then you are going to have to step it up.”
“Step what up?” I asked.
“Hello! I am talking about your style. I mean really, Mitchell, you need help.”
My brother walked around me in a circle and shook his head. He was wearing the same damn thing I was. Jeans and a work sweatshirt. Only, well, his outfit looked sort of better. Like it had been tailored to his lithe body. And his hair was styled perfectly, blond waves falling just so across his forehead, emphasizing those brilliant baby blues.
Fucker.
“Is this one of those cockamamie schemes you and Peter get up to when you binge watch those damn DIY remodeling shows?” I growled, hands on my hips.
“Um, no, this is more like blue collar meets project runway. Ohmygawd, Mitchell, that would be an awesome show! I am putting this down on my Timothy’s Awesome Ideas board on Pinterest.”
“What are you doing?” I asked, really worried now.
“Hush. I told you about Pinterest. Anyway, now I am texting Peter. Yay! He had a cancellation this afternoon. Come on.”
“Come on, what, Tim? I don’t want to go see Peter—”
“You need this, Mithcell. Please. let us help you,” he said, and I sighed.
My brother could sell clothes to a nudist colony if he put his mind to it. Resistance was futile. I knew. He knew it. So, eventually, I nodded. Thoughts of Martina and her sexy little ass crept up in my mind, and I grinned. I was ass struck by the woman.
“What did you say? Ass struck? HA! That is fucking awesome, bro,” Timothy said, and fuck, I realized I’d said all that aloud.
“Well, she’s a ten, Tim. I mean that. A perfect fucking ten, and I want her. Badly.”
“And you will have her. Well, with a little work.”
“The fuck—”
“Don’t be such a bore. Let’s see what my Petey can do to improve this blue-collar chic look you’ve got going on.”
I rolled my eyes. There were some things I was not willing to change about myself for anyone. But Peter, my brother-in-law, was a damn good barber, and I could do with a cut and shave. Even if it was cold.
“I’ll get a haircut, Tim, but that is all. This woman means more to me than even I understand. She’s special, but I’m not going to trick her by pretending to be something I am not.”
“Mitchell, you don’t ever have to do that. I was just teasing. You know how I love a guy makeover,” he said, shoving me in the shoulder.
He was right. I knew Tim didn’t really think I needed to change. At least, not on the inside. But anyone worth anything to you deserved you at your best. That’s what our mom always told our dad when she wanted him to dress up and take her out for a night on the town. He did too. Reluctantly. But they were the best couple I knew, and if their example didn’t inspire me, nothing else would.
It was eleven hours since I’d left Martina in her bed, and my Wolf was eager to be with her again. Yeah. I could sit through a haircut.
“You drive,” I told Tim and grabbed my phone.
Davian had texted me Martina’s number yesterday before I picked her up from that broken down POS car she’d borrowed from her now, hopefully, ex-boyfriend. My Wolf didn’t much like that she’d been seeing someone, but it was in the past and I wasn’t such a Neanderthal that I couldn’t handle the idea of her having had a life before meeting me. Besides, it wasn’t like I was some pure as snow virgin, either.
“Are you texting her?” Tim asked, grinning from ear to ear. “Tell her you’ve been thinking about her all day! No wait, say something sexy! Ask her what she’s wearing!”
“Jesus, Tim, is that what you think women want to hear? I thought you were supposed to be sensitive and shit,” I said.
“Oh yeah, I’m sensitive, and you’re just a football loving, Coors drinking, nacho loving motherfucker, right, Mitch?”
“Fuck football. You know I watch soccer. I prefer IPAs. And I know you know that nachos give me gas,” I replied, my smile matching his.
I loved teasing my gay brother with all that stereotypical shit. He gave as good as he got, and it was just one way we bonded with each other. Men were men regardless of who we were sexually attracted to, straight or gay or bi, it didn’t matter. Basically, men were idiots.
But as long as we stayed within the boundaries we set, everything Tim and I said to each other was all in good fun. I couldn’t say whether or not that was true for everyone. And I didn’t know if we had a special bond because we were relatives, or maybe it was because of the fact we had the same point of reference for our senses of humor. Growing up in the same house, raised by the same parents, tortured by the same sisters, Tim and I were best friends, as only brothers could be. Were we politically correct? Probably not. But it worked for us.
“Are we done generalizing?” he asked.
“Yep, I think so,” I replied, trying like hell to figure out what to text.
“Good. No, just text her something she’ll likely remember from last night. Like a picture you guys took together or something,” he suggested.
That was actually a good idea. There was one selfie we took together that was promising. I clicked open the photo album on my smart phone and scrolled down to the picture I wanted.
Martina’s cheek was pressed against mine and she had a small, secretive little smile teasing at the corners of her pretty, pink lips. Her violet eyes shone with hints of purple and I was looking down at her, a grin on my face. Damn, she was beautiful. And we looked good together.
Send.
Three tiny dots appeared at the bottom of the screen, and I was so intent on waiting for her reply, I didn’t realize we’d arrived at Pete’s Place. The name of my brother-in-law’s barbershop was simple, but it was effective. It really was the place all right, with a waiting list a month long. Pete was a fucking artist. Tim was pulling me out of the car and leading me up the stairs and inside to Pete’s chair while I stared at the screen like a zombie.
“What’s wrong with him?” my brother’s mate asked.
I ignored him, watching those three dots without blinking.
“He’s been ass struck by a woman,” Tim informed him, and I barked a laugh, still not taking my eyes off the screen.
Fucker.
“Ass struck? I see,” Pete replied.
I grunted. The place was jampacked, but it was Saturday and I expected nothing less. Pete and Tim chatted while he wrapped a small towel around my neck, then whipped a shiny black cape around my chest, and snapping it closed. Finally, a message appeared, and my heart pounded like mad inside my chest.
Cute.
“She replied!” I shouted. Tim screamed, and Pete jumped, sharp as fuck scissors in hand.
“Baby, please! I could have killed your brother,” he grumbled.
“What did she say?” Tim asked.
He leaned over my shoulder opposite where Pete was cutting my hair. Fuck. I didn’t tell him what I wanted. Not that it would matter. He was what I liked to call a mood barber. In other words, the haircut you received at Pete’s Place depended entirely on his mood. He looked at my brother with love and indulgence on his face, and I knew I was gonna get a good one.
Thank God.
Once I’d gone in there after he and Tim had argued and I wound up with a fucking mullet. Trendy again or not, mullets were so not my jam. But I didn’t have the heart to complain, and that fucking thing took six long weeks to grow out. And that was with more changing into my Wolf than usual just to encourage the hair growth.
“Cute? Okay. We can work with this,” Tim said and began pacing.
“Tim, I’m just gonna ask her out,” I growled.
The sound was a little more aggressive than usual for me, but that was because Pete was pushing my head around and my animal didn’t much care for it. Tim looked at me like I was an idiot, and I rolled my eyes.
“Shush up,” Pete growled back, and I stopped.
It dawned on me there were too many normals in the place for that shit. My Wolf needed to calm the fuck down. But the animal was excited. He wanted to see her again, and maybe Tim was right. Maybe I needed help not to fuck this up.
“Fine. What should I say?” I asked.
“I’ll tell you, but only if you say, Guide me, great and wise Timothy. Help me achieve my heart’s desire, oh wonder of wonders, you sex god guru genius! Yes, say that first. Come on, chop chop,” my idiot brother said and clapped his hands together.
“Tim, if you don’t help me, I’m going to eat you,” I growled instead.
Pete laughed, and my brother glared at him. Uh oh. That was bad for my hair.
“Seriously, I am your brother. Help me out,” I said, turning his attention back to me.
“Fine. I will help you. But only because Mom wants grandkids, and she’s given up on the girls and me and Pete won’t be ready for that for at least another year,” he said.
“Now, type this exactly.”
“Okay,” I said.
I closed my eyes, willing myself to calm down. The Wolf was right there, scratching at my skin, begging to be released. He wanted to hunt her down, bite her, and give her the mating mark. But I had a feeling that would be bad. After all, consent was real. And I needed hers. I highly doubted the beautiful and brilliant she-Wolf would appreciate me just going all furry on her sweet ass.
Snip snip. Snip snip.
The sounds of Pete’s scissors working their magic on the back of my head were oddly soothing and when I opened my eyes, I saw Timothy had turned serious. Baby bro was done fucking around. He was about to get serious, and that was good. I didn’t want to fuck this up. It was too important. She was far too important.
“Ready?” Tim asked.
“Yes. I am ready.”
“Okay, text her this,” Tim began.
I listened and smiled as Tim told me how to start a conversation with this woman. Oh, he really was smooth. And after he gave me the idea of how to begin, the rest came straight from me. Martina texted back immediately that time. A laughing emoji.
So cute.
I grinned.
Mine, growled my Wolf.
But she wasn’t. Not yet.