When the Moon Goddess casts a spell on Alpha King Lincoln and his entire pack, turning him into an icy ruler, he retreats into his loneliness, shutting out the world. Josephine, a spirited young wolf in distress, is saved from a terrible fate. Despi...
She presses her face into my neck as I carry her up the stairs. The action makes me flinch but not because I'm uncomfortable. I try to ignore how much I like it. She's drunk, this doesn't mean anything.
I try to shift her body but she only nuzzles in deeper, taking a deep breath against my skin.
Her soft hair rubs against my chin, her soft natural scent overpowered by whiskey and sugar.
"You look handsome in the moonlight."
She is going to be mortified tomorrow if she can even remember any of this. They say drunk mouths speak sober thoughts. I wonder if she thinks that, really. My heart flutters strangely at the thought. It's an odd yearning feeling, I want her to think of me that way. She was positively bewitching in the moonlight. I wonder if she would have remembered if I had told her.
After struggling to open the door with her in my arms, I lay her in her bed and cover her with her blanket. Without thinking I reach down and move the hair out of her face, letting the soft skin of her cheek touch my fingertips.
She is captivating. Her obvious beauty doesn't even begin to explain it. When I was told that I was to bring a young she-wolf into my home, I judged her before I even saw her. I thought it would be the same as with every other person I meet. She would either be shamelessly clear about her desire to be my mate, discovering that we are not fated, she would use the rest of her time trying to climb the social ladder.
Having dealt with this countless times, I have come to expect this kind of behavior. Jo surprised me. Meeting new people is hard for me, especially un-mated females because I can still feel the phantom excitement. I know they won't be mine, but I can't drown out the small glimmer of hope that they are.
When we meet and they feel nothing, I can see the disappointment in their eyes, in the change in their attitudes.
When I met Josephine it was different, she was different, she looked stunned but not disappointed. She had no expectations for me or what we could be.
Something about her draws me in. The night I found her in my greenhouse I was angrier about not being angry that she was there. I watched her for several minutes, her eyes pouring over the worn pages of one of my favorite books.
She doesn't hide that she thinks I'm an asshole and it endlessly amuses me. It took alcohol for her to actually say the words but her piercing eyes gave her away long before that. She is stronger than she knows, her grace through the entirety of this awful situation is admirable.
I need to stay away from her, I'm trying to, but it's difficult when she lives in my house and never seems to stay where she's supposed to be.
I watch her face, peaceful and content as she sleeps. When they told her about the potion, she tried to remain calm, to keep her emotions in check. I could see it in her eyes though, I could feel it in my chest, the same way I could feel it when my fate was handed down to me. I expected tears and panic, frantic weeping and wailing but what she did was so much worse. The silence of her pain echoed through the room so loudly it burned at the base of my skull.
A soft hum leaves her lips and I force myself up and out of her room, watching her sleep is creepy and weird.
When I close my eyes I see her in my mind, her long hair, loose and wild down her back while she dances in the kitchen. She called me Lincoln. The memory sends a jolt of electricity down my spine. I told her to, I wanted to hear it in the soft rasp of her voice, but when she actually did it, it was better than I imagined.
I lay in bed for hours, trying to quiet my mind. When I can't take it anymore, I open my garden door and shift, running toward my sanctuary, toward the only place where I can let everything out. I pause for a moment, bracing myself, she was incredibly drunk, she won't be there tonight, she'll be passed out in her bed.
Running out into the open I try not to look but I have to. I knew she wouldn't be there but seeing her empty window sends a sharp ache to my chest. She doesn't know that I know she watches me. The first few times I saw her it was unnerving, then I began to look forward to it. The nights that she isn't there are emptier somehow.
Breaking into a sprint, I let my wolf go, letting him take charge and sprint toward the one spot on the compound that has no security cameras. Cam and Maggie don't know about this place, they don't know that I come here each night.
When I break through the treeline, zipping through the sparse patch of foliage, I feel myself relaxing, I'm almost there. The little clearing is miles from the residence, far enough away that I can howl until I'm hoarse and no one can hear. No one but me and the moon.
I come here nightly, raising my voice to the Goddess, making sure she never forgets me. I let my rage and shame fuel my voice, howling and screaming into the sky at her cruelty. My mistake was my own, whatever punishment she felt necessary for me I will accept but to punish my entire household for their loyalty to me is unacceptable, and I let her know it.
When the darkness starts to mix with the murky light of dawn and my wolf is exhausted, I walk back, ready to force myself to face another day. Only now, it doesn't feel as forced.
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