Молли Харпер - How to Flirt with a Naked Werewolf

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.”

“I don’t believe that,” I said, careful to resist my urge to back away from him, to put space between us. It had taken me this long to get close to Cooper; rejecting him now was unacceptable.

He caught my chin and forced me to look him in the eye. “Believe it.”