9. Jude

Chapter 9

Jude

Gods, I hate this place.

On a scale of one to cesspool, Fairhome wasn't the worst of what humans had to offer, but it was probably up there. Luckily, it seemed that Morgan didn't live in the worst neighborhood—mostly apartment complexes, plus a strip mall across the street with a coffee shop, a pizza parlor, a bank, and a small grocery store—but that didn't stop that protective urge from kicking in. Just because I didn't want him, that didn't mean he wasn't still my mate.

I climbed out of the truck reluctantly, halfway wishing I could stay right where I was. I'd borrowed the pack's truck for a little while, though I wasn't sure when I would be comfortable enough to go back to camp. I had to make sure Morgan was safe first, then I could go home. I'd asked Tristan for the keys, and of course he wanted to know why. " Where are you going?" he'd asked. " Can I come?" And then the question I refused to answer: " Why the hell do you want to go to the city? You hate that place." Thankfully, Shan had cuffed his Beta around the neck and told him not to be an ass and to give me the keys.

My skin prickled as I slammed the truck door shut. Perhaps it was just the way the clothes rubbed at my skin, since I spent most days without them, but I didn't think that was it. I was probably just being paranoid, but I swore I could feel eyes on me. I tried to be casual about looking around, but everyone seemed to be minding their own business. There was a construction crew working their way down the street, hurriedly filling potholes before the snow decided to stick around for the winter. An elderly woman walking her tiny white dog, dressed in an argyle knit sweater, smiled politely at me as she passed on the sidewalk, but when I tried to smile back, she gasped and hurried on her way.

I'm no good at this , I complained to my wolf. What the hell does Morgan even see in me?

It had been a rhetorical question, but I'd still hoped for some kind of response from my beast. He was quiet for far too long, though, struggling to come up with some redeemable quality, and I suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable .

Never mind , I snapped, storming down the slushy street toward the address Morgan had given me, 76 Royale Street. He hadn't said which apartment was his, but it wasn't necessary. His scent was easy to follow once I stepped into the building. It was clean if not a bit outdated, the hallway carpets worn. There were a few shifters in the building, from the scents that bombarded me. I wasn't sure if that made me feel better or worse.

I didn't trust elevators—deathtraps meant to box in prey, if you asked me—so I took the stairs.

Standing at last outside Morgan's apartment, my palms were damp with sweat. I swallowed again and again, but I couldn't get enough saliva to unstick my throat. Was he inside, waiting for me? I tilted my head, listening, but there was no movement inside, and the ache in my chest said I was still alone. Reaching out, I tried the doorknob. It turned easily in my hand, and irritation crawled up my spine.

He doesn't lock his door? My jaw ached with how hard my teeth snapped shut. He needed to take better care with his safety. Anybody could just walk in here and be waiting for him when he came home. I am going to have to give him a serious talking to about that . In the very next breath, though, I realized we wouldn't be having that conversation—or any other, for that matter—since I had no intention of speaking with him. He couldn't know that I was here.

I stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind me. I felt a twist of guilt for being here, unannounced and uninvited, but wasn't this my role as his mate? Protector? To be fair, I didn't really have much of a clue. I didn't have any experience with any of this, beyond what I'd seen from my packmates, and the circumstances here were way, way different. If only he weren't human, it would be so easy! We would recognize each other as mates, then… you know… have sex, bite each other, and he would move to our camp and have my pups. The end.

This was… more complicated.

Moving through the apartment, breathing in my mate's scent, I suddenly wished he were here with me. I stopped in front of a framed picture of a younger Morgan with a couple I assumed were his parents. I wanted to ask them their names, if they were good parents, if they were close. If they were still alive… The grief hit me out of nowhere, as it often did, and I turned away from the picture.

The kitchen was tidy, just a single dirty mug in the sink. I picked it up and sniffed it, savoring the subtle scent of his saliva on the rim, before I set it down once more. It didn't look or smell like he cooked in here often. I pulled open the fridge and my face pinched up. There was nothing but an almost-empty ketchup bottle. Where was all the food?

"No, no, no," I growled, marching back out the door, my irritation building in intensity, well on its way to rage. I was halfway across the street to the grocery store before I really registered what I was doing. I couldn't buy him much or he would notice someone had been there, but maybe I could slip a few things past him, just enough that he wouldn't starve. Just enough to appease my need to provide for him. It wasn't exactly hunting for his supper, but it was the human equivalent.

I grabbed some peanut butter and bread for sandwiches, a jug of milk, a block of cheese, a few cans of soup, and a box of noodles with a sauce packet. I didn't know what he liked, so it was a random assortment, whatever caught my interest. I would sneak back into his apartment in a couple days and add a little more.

The apartment was still Morgan-free when I got back with the food, so I put the groceries away, then found myself standing in the middle of his space, at a complete loss. I knew I should leave, but… I just couldn't. I both longed for and dreaded his return. How would he react if he came home to find me standing here? I thought about that morning he'd woken up in my arms. Instead of screaming and fleeing like any sane human, he'd smiled up at me, put his hands on my body, his… member hard and tempting.

I rolled my eyes at myself. I couldn't even say the word—penis—without flinching, and I had one myself! I glared down at my crotch. Cock, dick, willy, one-eyed weasel, trouser snake. I wasn't a prude, but I wasn't like my packmates. They'd all grown up in the kind of environment that encouraged exploration and freedom. Full moons were like a sexual free-for-all. Just not for me.

My birth pack had been nothing more than my omega father and my three younger siblings. I'd never even laid eyes on a full moon until I'd left the compound, though it was impossible to ignore its pull even from indoors. Those were the nights the director was most interested in. He loved to test the resistance to shift, punishing us with electric shock whenever one of us gave in.

Shivering, I closed my eyes and banished the memories to their little box deep inside. I refused to taint Morgan's home with that kind of filth.

So, instead, I distracted myself by going into his bathroom and opening up all the bottles and tubes, sniffing his shampoo, conditioner, moisturizer, and toothpaste. I could pick up the threads of his scent, cataloguing each one, but it was missing the part I most longed for, the scent that was all him .

That longing tugged at my heart, my soul, and I wandered through the rest of the apartment, searching it out. No surprise, following my nose, I found myself in his bedroom.

Mate , my wolf purred, nudging me toward the bed. Morgan's scent was concentrated on that fabric. Ours .

"I shouldn't…" I argued, though weakly. My legs were already moving, until I stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at the rumpled sheets. The way the blanket was thrown back, it looked like he'd just crawled out of bed, and I halfway expected to find the bed still warm. I rounded the bed and reached out, running my fingertips over the place where he'd slept, but I was disappointed to find it cold.

My beast whined, feeling so lost without our other half. I tried to convince myself that what I did next was to soothe my wolf… because I refused to let it be for me. I propped one knee on the bed and leaned forward, palms flat on the mattress, breathing him in.

But it wasn't enough, nothing would ever be enough, so I buried my face in his pillow.

"Oh gods," I groaned, sliding further until I was lying flat on the bed, my erection pinned beneath me. The mattress was much softer than my bedroll, and it was easy to imagine Morgan was under me. I hugged his pillow and arched my hips, desperate for relief from the pressure.

"Morgan," I moaned into the pillow. "You're driving me mad." I could feel him there, inside my head, begging me to claim him. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

Was Vesta right? Was he exactly what I needed most in this world? Would he calm my crazy? Because right now, I couldn't string two thoughts together. Everywhere I looked, all I saw was Morgan. But… what if the danger I needed to protect him from… was me?

I whimpered, crushing his pillow against me, imagining it was him. "I'm so sorry, Morgan. I can't give you what you want. I can't…" My breathing grew tight, as did my pants.

What if for just this moment, I imagined what it would be like if I could . What if I said yes, instead of no? I pictured his hopeful expression that morning in the cave, as he'd looked up at me through those thick lashes, the path his tongue had taken as he dragged it over his smooth, full lips—and I bucked my hips. Hard.

"Fuck," I panted. The friction in my pants, paired with his scent and the taboo nature of what I was doing, all joined together into one very bad idea.

I arched my back and ground my cock into his mattress again slowly, savoring the sensation. I knew logically that it wouldn't feel like this. He would be so tight, slippery with slick. And even though I was completely inexperienced, I just knew he would moan. Oh gods, he would beg me for it.

My pulse was rushing in my ears, but all I could feel was the throbbing in my dick. I'd never felt this level of need before. It was exciting, invigorating… and scary as hell. I had no control over my body or mind. And I'd spent far too much of my life without any control that it terrified me that one man could have so much power over me.

"I hate you," I spat into the pillow, even as my heart beat with something far closer to love.

And as my balls squeezed tight, my cum releasing inside my pants, I bit down on the pillow, my canines sharp enough to tear the fabric. My head swam, my thoughts a jumbled tangle.

Panting, I closed my eyes, waiting to feel the hot burn of shame—but it never came. Instead, the warm feeling that bloomed inside me was… satisfaction. I liked thinking that I'd somehow marked the bed where he slept every night, as though I'd also marked him. He would sleep tonight wrapped in my scent, and he would wake up tomorrow still carrying a piece of me with him. Other shifters would know he was mine.

Maybe Morgan would know it too .

After cleaning myself up using Morgan-scented soap, I knew it was time to go. It wasn't like I could hide in his closet—it was too small, I'd checked—so I gritted my teeth and forced myself toward the door. When I stepped out into the hall, though, closing the door behind me, I frowned down at the unlocked knob.

Nope, this just won't do.

Buildings like this had landlords or caretakers, right? I seemed to recall Tristan telling me a story of this couple he'd joined for a romp one night, before he was mated to Dylan, and the caretaker had knocked on the door and told them to keep it down because the other tenants were complaining about the noise. That meant there was someone on the premises who took care of those kinds of things.

I headed back down to the first floor and quickly found the door to apartment 101, which had a tiny stick-on sign that said "landlord." I knocked heavily, feeling agitated, like a caged animal. I wondered if there was somewhere around here I could let my wolf out, just for a few minutes.

There were light footsteps from inside, and then the door swung open, revealing one of the building's shifters, a crow by the scent of him. He had to lean back to look up at me, but to his credit, he didn't seem intimidated by my size. His black hair was much like his beast's feathers, sleek and black, his eyes beady as he cocked his head to the side in an avian way. "Can I help you?" His nostrils flared as he identified my beast, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

My fingers twitched, and I forced myself to be as polite as possible. "Yeah. I need you to lock apartment 302," I demanded gruffly.

My wolf shook his head at me. Not polite .

What? I'm trying , I insisted.

The crow's eyes narrowed. "Need? Why on earth would I need to do that? That's not your apartment. Maybe I need to call the cops."

I huffed, grinding my teeth. "Morgan left the door unlocked, and he's not at home. It's not safe. Lock it. Please," I tacked on when my wolf flashed me some side-eye. We both agreed that human cops were not necessary.

"Hmm…" The landlord crossed his arms over his narrow chest, showing off an array of rings on his fingers, and cocked his chin up. "Fine. I'll lock it, but you'd better not have messed with his stuff." He turned to step back into his apartment, just in time for me to hide my guilty expression. He came back with a ring of keys. "And tell your mate the rent is past due. He can't dodge me forever."

No food, no rent money. What else did my mate need? "How much is rent?" I asked, pulling out my wallet.

The guy scoffed, shaking his head. "More than what you carry in your wallet, I'd guess. "

He was wrong. His eyes got bigger as I started counting out the stack of hundreds that I'd taken out of the bank on my way into town. "Let's make a deal. How about I pay the rent, and you give me a copy of that key."