26. Eli

Iwake the morning after that night with Wisteria, sometime around noon, still tangled together. I'm still inside of her, her body spooned against mine in the last position we were in before both our bodies finally gave up and we passed out, more than fell asleep. I stir, feeling myself twitch and harden inside of her, and I don't bother fighting the urge.

I fuck her, slowly and gently, until she starts to wake. She turns halfway in my embrace, kissing me, and I reach between her thighs to stroke her clit as I thrust, savoring the feeling of her wrapped around me.

It's slow and lazy, and sometime later, we both come–Wisteria twice. I slide out of her regretfully, and glance down at my sore and abused cock, wincing when I see that I'm still half-hard.

"What the fuck did you do to me, woman?" I tease her, pushing myself up with a groan. "If we didn't both desperately need a shower and food, I'd still be inside of you."

A shadow crosses Wisteria's face, so briefly that for a moment I think I imagined it. "I don't know," she says, laughing, and then I'm sure that I've imagined it. "Is it just you? No one has ever wanted me this much before."

I feel an unexpected pang in my chest at the hint of self-deprecation I hear in her voice. "It is you," I tell her firmly, leaning in to kiss her, and wincing as I feel my cock twitch at the contact. "I feel like I'm in rut. Like it's the day after the moon. That's never happened with anyone else."

"I'm a lucky girl, then." Wisteria returns the kiss, softly, and starts to slide out of bed. "Oh, god. I don't know how I'm going to work today. I feel like I need to soak in a bath for hours."

"Let's start with a shower." My body is protesting too, as I stand up. I'm not sure how much sleep we got, but it definitely wasn't the recommended eight hours.

A half hour later, we emerge from the shower cleaner, and only in slightly less pain. Wisteria strips the bed, tossing the sheets into the hamper, and I'm once again reminded of the sorry state of mine the day after the moon.

What is happening to me?Once again, the idea of the bond crosses my mind. But it's unheard of, with humans. It's just not possible. Whatever this is–whatever madness seems to have completely taken control of my body with her–it's not that.

Somehow, we both manage to dress and eat breakfast. "I'm going to go back and get some sleep," I tell Wisteria, kissing her as I collect my jacket. "You should do the same."

She winces. "I wish. Unfortunately, I can't leave the girls at the shop just yet. I'm going to have to go in for a little while."

"Text me. Or I'll text you." I kiss her again, slow and deep, resisting the urge to take her straight back to the bedroom. "I want to see you again soon. Tonight–"

"Tomorrow." Wisteria laughs. "I need a break. Not from you, but–from you." She looks down at my hardening cock pointedly, and I chuckle grimly.

"I can understand that."

Back at the Lodge, I strip out of my clothes as soon as I'm in my room, my cock still as much a problem as it is after the full moon. I don't understand it–but I'm too exhausted to think too deeply into it.

Instead, I get into bed, sinking into the pillows as I wrap my hand around myself. One more orgasm, and I'll pass out–possibly for the rest of the fucking day.

—

The next two weeks are,entirely unexpectedly, the best of my life. For a few nights, Wisteria and I both seem to be trying to pretend that we're still playing this cool, taking it slow. But after the next time I spend the night in her bed, we both let go of any pretense.

After that, the nights I'm not working, we're together. We go out to dinner, for hikes, on long motorcycle rides. Wisteria finally cooks me dinner–homemade stroganoff and crusty bread–and I spend the night, again and again. And every night, it's an effort to stop in time for us to both get some sleep. It's as if I've been thrown into near-rut, and I can't get out.

We start texting each other in the morning, before we go to work, at night when I'm at the bar and she's falling asleep alone. And for the first time in my life, I have to admit–I've fallen for someone.

I've fallen for her. There's no pretending we're not in a relationship. And as October winds to a close, the full moon a few days before Halloween, I wonder how long this can last. If I'm really going to stay–or if two more months will burn this out.

It doesn't feel like it's going to burn out. It feels like it gets stronger with every night we spend together, every conversation we have. Like I've found something I've been waiting my whole life for, that I stumbled across without even meaning to.

We fall into a sort of rhythm, for those two weeks. There's no more threatening text messages, and I all but forget about the ones I received. I bounce back and forth between work and seeing Wisteria, and when it gets close to the full moon, the thought of being away from her for those few days feels like an almost physical pain.

Which is exactly why it needs to happen.I tell myself that it'll be good for both of us, that we could use a little space. We've been caught up in the rush of a new relationship that seems to be even more intense than normal–not that I'm any expert on the subject–and surely, I tell myself, it would be good for us to take a breather.

Wisteria doesn't argue with me when I remind her that we need to stay apart for those few days. She's been able to tell, as much as I have, that my desire is intensifying the closer the full moon gets. But I can also tell that she doesn't want to be away from me.

It should make me feel trapped. Hemmed in. Caged. But it doesn't. It makes me feel good. Wanted. Desired.

Adam comments, once or twice, on the fact that I'm still seeing Wisteria. Something about the way he says it, when he asks, makes me think he doesn't approve. But he doesn't elaborate, and a part of me doesn't want to know why he doesn't seem to like her. So I let it go, and he mostly ignores that I seem to, for the first time in my life, have gotten a girlfriend.

The night of the full moon, I wake up just before sunset aching for her. The desire to see her, to touch her, to smell her sweet scent and feel her skin against mine, feels like a physical need. I can feel my wolf just under my skin, ready to burst free, straining to run. To hunt.

And, iff Wisteria were here, to fuck when we come back. To keep her in bed until I'm sated, over and over again.

My knot is swollen, so taut it hurts, my cock uncomfortable in my jeans as I get dressed. I feel jittery, shaky, the oncoming change feeling more fraught than it has in years. As if I can barely wait to get out to the woods before I'm going to shift. My control on it feels tenuous, more so than it has been since I was a teenager. I leave the Lodge early, going out to the forest just as the sun sets, and I start stripping my clothes off as soon as I reach the treeline.

I don't have time to fold them up neatly the way I usually do. The shift starts before I've gotten my jeans all the way off, muscles stretching and bones cracking, my body breaking itself apart and remaking it as my clothing nearly rips, tossed aside in the grass as I turn from man to animal in seconds. I feel earth beneath my paws, the rich scent of dirt and a nearby deer, and a howl erupts from me, echoing across the forest. I'm one of the first in the woods, and I lope into the trees, eager to hunt.

Answering howls echo a few minutes later, other wolves pulled early to the woods by my call. I tilt my head back, echoing a response, eager to run with the pack. Eager to lead them as we search out our kill for the night.

They come out of the trees–black and sable and grey-ish white, blonde and cinnamon. One pretty reddish-blonde wolf approaches me, whining as she paws the dirt, and I turn towards her, the wolfish part of me eager.

But, somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember Wisteria. I remember that when the rut has worn off, she'll be waiting for me. Desire ripples through me, and the wolf whines again, her ears pricking forward. She can sense what I want.

But it isn't her.

I lope forward, leaving her behind, leading the pack of wolves into the woods. I don't resist the call to run with the pack this time, don't try to go off alone. Instead, I relish the feeling of being surrounded by my own kind, by shifters. I let the energy ripple over me, strengthening me, and as a deer springs out of the bushes, we chase it down as one.

High above us, the moon rises full and round in the sky, rays glimmering down through the trees to light our way. I taste blood and raw meat as we run down our kill, howls and snarls filling the air as some of the younger wolves fight over parts of it.

It feels good, to give in. To be a part of a pack again. There's always something missing when I'm alone, but tonight, I feel whole. Complete.

The only thing missing is a mate.

Our mate.Wisteria's face glimmers in my mind, and I growl, pawing at the dirt. She's not a mate. She's a human. But as the primal urges that the shift brings on surge through me, she's all I can think about. She's all I want.

When the sun begins to rise, and the pack moves back towards the treeline, I feel my wolf start to slink back beneath my skin. All around me, men and women are filtering through the trees, rising from the grass, the scent of arousal filling the air as the familiar dance of the post-moon lust begins. A moan reaches my ears, high-pitched, almost a howl as a woman spears herself on a man lying in the grass, another man kneeling behind her as he fills her, too. And my body throbs, aching for what I can't have.

I told Wisteria I would be fine. I will be fine. I meant it when I told her that I've always managed on my own, and that I'll gladly continue to do so. But that doesn't ease the pounding need that seems to ripple under my skin like a living thing, driving me back to the Lodge to ease it for the first time of many.

My head feels foggy, my body sore, my cock iron-hard in my jeans as I pull them back on. I stumble towards my bike, food and an orgasm the only things I can think about–until I look up, and see four men moving out of the trees towards me.

Human. I smell them instantly–not a whiff of shifter on them. They're wearing rough-looking clothes–jeans and t-shirts, one in a denim jacket, another in a leather cut. They're rough-looking men, and I take a step back, eyeing them. One has a bat in his hands, another brass knuckles on his fist. The others appear to be unarmed, but I can't be sure.

"What the fuck do you want?" I growl, and the one in front–the one with the bat–chuckles. He's as tall as I am, with long black hair slicked away from his face, two days worth of stubble on his chin. And he's looking at me like he's spoiling for a fight.

"We told you we were watching you, Evans. Just biding our time. And this seemed like a good day to come and find you."

Slowly–more slowly than it should–it dawns on me. I didn't hear anything after that last text, not because they'd given up hassling me, but because they had already decided when they were going to make their move.

Now. Today. When I'm at my weakest, my body depleted from the shift, all my remaining energy driven by my libido, unable even to shift back to defend myself. They knew, and they took advantage of that knowledge.

"Fuck you," I growl, refusing to let them see my fear. Four on one is bad odds, at the best of times. And this is far from the best of times. "I told you I didn't want anythin' more to do with your gang. I didn't know what I was runnin', but I kept my mouth shut. I'll keep on keepin' it shut, too. I don't need any trouble."

"Oh, you'll keep your mouth shut, alright." The black-haired man grins, rubbing his hand along the length of the bat. "You won't be able to speak at all, once we're done with you. If you're even alive, that is. We'll see how we feel. Maybe if you beg, we'll let you live. Or maybe we'll just finish you off–for the sheer pleasure of it, if nothing else."

Like fuck would I ever beg you for anything.I bare my teeth in a snarl, wishing to the depths of my bones that I could shift and tear them apart. But they timed their attack all too well.

All the same, I'm ready when the dark haired man lunges for me. I feint to one side, my muscles screaming as I dodge, seeing the other three move in my periphery. The one with the brass knuckles is coming around to my other side, and I can't see what the other two have. Maybe fists, maybe something worse.

I've fought plenty in my life–bar fights, boxing, fights for money and fights for fun and fights because I just didn't have a choice. But I've rarely had to fight at this much of a disadvantage–and I can't remember the last time I was this outnumbered.

When the bat connects with my ribs, I know it's just a matter of time before I go down. I feel the air knocked out of me, and I dart in, landing a hard blow to the dark-haired man's jaw. It's not enough–I feel a fist in one side of my back, and someone else kicks me in the shin, sweeping my legs.

I get a few more hits in. But they close in, ready to tear me apart, and I'm no match for them right now. I can feel a rib crack when the bat connects again, and then a kick to the same spot, knocking the air out of me. The pain is unbelievable, overriding everything else. When I try to get up, I find that I can't.

My only hope is that beating me unconscious will be enough. And when a foot connects with my face, the bat coming down hard on the back of my skull, my last thought is of Wisteria before everything goes dark.

—

My mouth isfull of blood. I run my tongue over my teeth, relieved to find that they're all still there. Slowly, I try to push myself up, and the world around me swims with the sudden rush of pain.

It's almost dark again.. The sun is sinking in the sky, twilight closing in, and my body feels broken.

I'm alive. That's the first thing I think, a shuddering realization that I survived filling me with something very close to elation. The men are gone, and if I can get up–

Back to the Lodge. I just have to get back to the Lodge. If I stay out here, I won't survive the night.

Inch by painful inch, I pull myself upright. I can see the shape of the Lodge in the distance, past the treeline, and I hobble forward, stopping every few feet to try to breathe past my cracked ribs. The world is red-tinged with pain, my pulse throbbing in my ears, and for the first time since my very first shift, sex is the last thing on my mind. Food is somewhere closer than that, but still very far away.

I need to be inside. I need shelter. Safety. I focus on that, on the effort to get back to the Lodge, step by painful step.

It's full dark by the time I get back. I see the horrified look the receptionist gives me, and she reaches for the phone–either to call an ambulance or the police, I'm not sure which. I shake my head at her, holding up a hand.

"I'll be fine," I manage, through swollen lips and an aching, bruised jaw. "Just need–sleep–"

"A woman was asking for you." The receptionist's voice sounds a little frightened, but she puts down the phone. "She wouldn't leave. I told her I couldn't let her into your room, but she said she'd wait upstairs."

Wisteria. In this condition, I'm no danger to her, even right after the moon. But I also don't want her to see me like this. I don't know if I can answer the questions it will raise.

She hasn't asked me very much about my past. I'm not sure how many answers this thing we have will survive.

But I need to be in my room, badly.

Somehow, I make it up the stairs, inch by inch. It feels as if it takes hours, even though it's probably only fifteen minutes. And as I reach the landing, relief flooding me at the sight of my door, I see Wisteria sitting on the floor next to it.

She's on her feet the instant she sees me, anticipation in her face one moment, and horror wreathing it the next. "Eli!"

She gasps my name, rushing forward the few steps between us. "What happened? Oh my god–we have to get you to a hospital. What happened to you? Another wolf, or–" She lets the sentence trail off as I shake my head. "What do you mean, no? You have to go–"

"No, I don't." I swallow thickly, my throat burning. "I'm not goin' to a hospital."

She stares at me for several long beats, as if assessing how serious I actually am. And then, gingerly, she reaches for me.

"Then I'm helping you inside," Wisteria says firmly, her tone telling me clearly that she doesn't want to hear any argument. And I don't bother offering her one.

I want her here with me. I don't want her to leave, and the realization hits me as hard as any punch to the gut. I told her to stay away for the moon because I was afraid of tearing her apart in my lust, but right now, there's no possible way I could so much as get a hard-on. The pain has eclipsed everything else.

"I'm going to call Penelope. Have her bring me some of my herbs–some medicinal things that will help. Something has to be done." Her voice is full of shocked horror, but she doesn't flinch away from touching me. She carefully puts an arm around me, easing it between the bruises and wounds, helping me to the door. She unlocks it, and slowly, inch by inch, gets me inside.

"I'm going to get some hot water. You're bleeding, and filthy–let's get into the bathroom." Her voice is soft, soothing, as if she can heal me just by speaking to me. I feel a wash of comfort at the sound of it, my eyes fluttering shut, and I wonder if I'm going to pass out again.

I don't, not exactly, but it feels as if my consciousness flickers in and out. One second we're just inside the room, and then before I'm fully aware of what's happened, we're in the bathroom. Wisteria eases me down to the floor, helping me adjust so that my back is against the wall. "Sit there," she says softly, her face creased with worry. "Don't move, okay? Penelope will be here soon with some things. And until then–"

She starts to move around the bathroom, finding a first-aid kit, finding a washcloth, turning on the hot water and filling up a bowl that she got from somewhere. I blink dizzily, seeing her blur and fade in again as she comes to sit next to me on the floor, dipping the cloth into the hot water.

"You're bleeding so much." Her voice catches. "Eli, what happened?"

I shake my head numbly. Even if I wanted to tell her–and I'm not sure I do–I don't have the strength right now. I wait for her to push, but she doesn't.

"Alright," she says instead, softly. "We'll talk about it later. For now–" She starts to wipe gently at the cuts and abrasions on my face, washing away the blood. She gets my shirt off, tugging it over my head, and begins to work methodically on the rest of me.

For the first time in all the time I've known her, there's not so much as a twinge of desire. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, the primal part of me that responds to the moon tries to surge forward, to make me stir, but there's no strength left in me.

I close my eyes, and surrender to her touch. To her soft hands, moving over bruised and torn skin, the pain somehow eased because she's the one touching me. I feel myself swim in and out of consciousness again, and I briefly hear Penelope's voice, hear her and Wisteria whispering about something that I can't quite make out. And then Wisteria is at my side again.

"Can you get up, Eli?" Her voice is tight with emotion, cracking. "Can you help us get you into bed? I'll still take care of you. But you need to lay down."

"He might have a concussion," I hear Penelope say, dimly, but I don't hear Wisteria's response.

Somehow, I manage to get up. I feel the two women helping me, step by step, towards the bed. I feel the softness of it underneath me, smell Wisteria's sweet scent and the burnt amber of Penelope, and then when the blackness fades in and out, there's only Wisteria again.

"Stay with me, Eli," she breathes, and I hear her voice crack. "I'm going to use this ointment on you, okay? It will help with the pain. And when you're awake enough to drink something, I'll have a tea ready for you. You're going to be okay." A breath, slow and shaky. "You have to be okay. I–you have to."

Her hands feel good, so good, the only good thing in all the pain. I feel the cool touch of the ointment, spread over my skin again and again, until I'm certain there's no part of me not coated with it. It's warm, then hot, then feels as if it's sinking into my flesh, and I hear Wisteria whispering, but I can't quite make out the words.

I feel her weight in the bed, next to me. I feel her hand on mine, fingers interlaced, holding on to me. And for a moment, I feel as if she might be the only thing keeping me tethered to this earth.

As if without her, I might simply give up, and float away.

And then the darkness closes in again, and there's nothing at all.