Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

T he next morning Max went down to the kitchen and made himself a double espresso, the way he’d been practicing all week. And it was, he acknowledged as he took a sip, not bad at all.

He guessed he had to be pleased with small wins. Because he definitely wasn’t winning over his wolf. All night, he’d tossed and turned, fighting his libidinous thoughts. When he did finally get some sleep, his dreams were punctuated by the moon glinting through leaves, the pounding of his feet, and the soft patter of those he was pursuing, the quiescence of soft skin as he grabbed her, pressing her down onto the forest floor, one big hand pushing her legs apart, fingering her wet, warm cunt… until he’d looked into those big dark eyes, and instead of desire, all he’d seen was fear.

He'd woken with a jerk, his cock rock hard and throbbing, even as the shock of his dreams had him hyperventilating. His gaze sought solace in the dark, trying to fix on something, anything in the room to ground himself, to reassure him he was not a savage beast that would take a woman without her consent, and ravage her without mercy.

What the hell had induced him to clasp her hand last night, when she was just giving him a youthful high-five? The rapid staccato of her pulse under his thumb pad had made his wolf ravenous for her. What had started as an innocent gesture on her part, he’d managed to turn into something else entirely.

Max twisted in anguish, remembering how delectable she’d looked in figure-hugging jeans and a clingy silk shirt. How he’d grasped her hand like she was his to claim.

He’d almost lost it, smelling her musky scent, overcome with vivid images of bending her over the desk, tugging those jeans off her and thrusting into her, right up to the swell of his knot.

He’d had to force himself to let go of her hand. Had to will coldness into his voice, to reject her, because if she developed a crush on him—and he sensed she may well be harboring one already—he could not be sure the civilized professor would win out.

The conclusion he’d reached in the wee small hours was that he couldn’t trust himself around Charlie.

His forebears had committed unforgivable acts; the packs around Motham held plenty of human blood in their veins. The mate bites that had been inflicted meant a fair few women had become captive to their wolves, bonded, whether they chose it or not.

Oh sure, the popular vernacular these days was that women gave themselves willingly. And sure, there was some evidence of that, but it was scant. Somehow the myth was gaining a foothold in pop culture. Gods, even Charlie had found research to support it.

The fact that he would soon be privy to the early texts, the ones that would tell the real story, both excited and worried him.

Especially what he might find out about his own species’ misdeeds.

He’d sworn to himself that whatever he uncovered, he wouldn’t sugar coat it. The book would be a tell-all. He tried to reassure himself that it wasn’t only wolves that had perpetrated harm. Other species, the vampires in particular, and the mutant species that sprang up—werecats, weremonkeys, and more, that now hung around in the Wastelands—had all started in those early years of Motham City. They’d all been responsible for terrible crimes.

Oh yes, there was a dark side to the inhabitants of Motham City.

And yet… he’d never been faced with his own darkness before. Living in civilized cosmopolitan Selig, maybe he’d become complacent, believing that his inner wolf was under his control.

Ha, not anymore.

Yanking off the bed clothes, Max had stared helplessly at his cock, standing up like a fucking tent pole between his legs and resisted the urge to jerk off like a callow youth. Instead, he’d dashed into the bathroom and taken a freezing cold shower.

And now, standing here in the kitchen with a strong brew in his hand, the welcome winter light filtering through the window, the smell of toast cooking, he felt more… human again.

The vivid fantasies of Charlie receded into the shadows.

And then, as if to taunt him, she appeared.

She hovered in the doorway for a moment, her cheeks flushing a little and her curls deliciously wild around her face.

“Do you mind if I make myself some breakfast?” she asked.

Just act like nothing happened . “Sure, go ahead. I’ve just worked out how to make a decent coffee.”

“Well done you.”

“Want one?”

“Oh, erm—” She hesitated, tucking a curl behind her ear.

“You don’t trust my coffee making skills, eh? Just look at the evidence.” He tipped his cup in her direction to show her the perfect crema on top.

“Amazing. I’ll have a hazelnut latte, then.”

“A what?”

“Just joking. How it comes will be fine.”

They both laughed, and it seemed to break the tension between them. As she strolled into the room, Max consciously relaxed his shoulders and focused on making her coffee. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her prop her butt onto a stool at the breakfast bar. She was dressed casually in cargo pants and a baggy jumper, obscuring her curves, he noted with relief. Sure, he could cope with ten minutes of conversation.

“Any plans for the weekend?” he asked casually.

Elbows on the bench, she pulled the sleeves of her jumper down over her hands. “It’s my friend Tod’s birthday party tonight.”

Max ignored the stab of irritation. “The orc?”

“Yup. How about you?”

He grimaced. “I’ve been asked to a barbecue with my relatives. Haven’t exactly said yes, but I guess I’ll go.”

“You don’t sound enthusiastic.”

“Like I mentioned before, we have little in common.”

“When did you last see them?”

“At my mom’s funeral, though only a couple of the pack attended. Benjy came with his partner, Janine. My gran is suffering with dementia, my grandfather is dead, and there’s a raft of aunts and uncles I barely know. There’s no love lost. They considered Mom a snob. Most of my other cousins probably don’t even remember me.”

“So tonight will be a bundle of laughs. Not.”

“Affirmative to not . To them I’m an anomaly. This weird, dry as dust guy who buries his head in books and somehow got wealthy doing it. To me, they’re a bunch of philistines with no appreciation of the arts.”

“That seems a bit harsh.”

“Harsh, but true.”

There was a pause as Max frothed the milk (with no problem, thankfully), before Charlie said casually, “The flyers they’ve put out for the Winter Solstice Rut are really artistic, I reckon.”

Max stiffened.

“I kind of assumed it’s your pack who organize the ruts. Same surname and all.”

He couldn’t bring himself to lie. “Yep.”

“Would you have told me that they were your pack—if I hadn’t mentioned it?”

“No real reason to. You worked it out, so…” He shrugged, adding the milk to the coffee.

She cocked her head. “Are you ashamed of them?”

Gods, sometimes her directness caught him off guard. “Not ashamed, but not proud either. I don’t go broadcasting the connection. So where did you see these flyers?”

“A girl at the pub was handing them out. Taryn, I think she said her name was. She’s studying graphic design at Motham College.”

Max cast his mind back to the snippets of news he’d got over the years. That would probably be Benjy’s daughter.

“I didn’t mention you. Or say I was working for you or anything.”

“Right.” He handed her the coffee.

“Thank you, very professionally done.” She beamed up at him. “Anyway, Taryn said this was the first year they’ve advertised—like, publicly. They seem to be promoting it all over the city.”

Max grunted. “Trying to give an orgy a veneer of respectability by dressing it up as a festival.”

“Is that so wrong?”

He pulled himself up short, willing his hand not to shake as he picked up his own coffee and leaned against the bench. His prejudice toward his pack was at risk of overtaking logic. “Egh, each to their own, I guess. If the Hunts here can make coin out of such events, who am I to judge?” He gave a thin laugh.

“I guess it’s not so different from making coin out of your writing. Just, one is for educating the mind and the other… pleasuring the body,” she murmured sipping her coffee.

Suddenly he felt like a prize hypocrite. Since Charlie had arrived, he’d been plagued by fantasies of pleasuring his body, walking around with such a trigger-happy dick that even the brush of his linen pants could set off a hard-on. It occurred to him that maybe his pack were being more honest than he was. They were wolves who loved to rut, and they weren’t trying to hide it. In fact, they were reveling in it. Selling it. So maybe the joke was on him.

“These events are popular with your age group, are they?” He tried to sound consummately indifferent.

“My age group…” Her lips quirked. “Max, you’re not that old, you’re just…”

“Just…?”

“Just—oh, nothing.”

“Go on, say it.”

“Maybe… a little bit conservative.”

“Repressed, you mean.”

She shook her head, hiding a smile behind her cup.

“So you’ve all attended ruts, have you, you and your friends?” He tried to keep the irritation, the downright fucking jealousy out of his voice. What if she’d let some fucking hairy wolf rut her? He couldn’t bear the idea.

“Oh, me? No.” She gave that little hum of hers. “I never really did the wild things, as a student, you know… drugs and ruts and whatnot. But now they’re promoting such a variety of options, my friend Gina, who’s bi, is thinking of going. Taryn told us the ruts are really gaining traction in the queer community, as well as straight, and I guess, you know, they’ve decided it’s time to take the ruts mainstream. Which I think is great.”

Max ground his molars together. “Sure.” He let out a hollow laugh. “You must excuse my… er, lack of enthusiasm. To me, sex is… Something that happens between two consenting adults in private. No doubt you young folk see that as boring and woefully repressed , but there you are.” He slammed his cup down on the counter, a little too hard.

Charlie drained her cup and put it down more gently. “No, I think that’s a perfectly valid view,” she said, in a soft tone that made his heart stutter. “Thanks for the coffee.”

He cocked an eyebrow to hide the fact that he was close to blushing. “Half decent?”

“Three-quarters decent. I guess I should get going. There’s a sale at the Motham Mall.” She slid her butt off the stool. “Do you need anything? A new laptop maybe?”

“With an electronic diary?”

Her lips twitched. “Yeah, dare to live a little.”

“No thank you. My trusted laptop is only three years old, and I won’t be giving up my leather-bound diary anytime soon.”

“Okay, suit yourself.” Yep, she definitely thought he was a dinosaur. “See you later, Max,” she said, tossing back her curls as she headed for the door, leaving him with the peculiar desire to go to the Motham Mall sales, an event he usually avoided like the proverbial plague.