Luna
I’m stuck in the world between the worlds. I run. I run through bloody marshes teeming with monsters who chase me in endless loops. I race through crimson swamps lined with alligators waiting to consume me if I dare approach the shore. There are infinite dangers, unending treachery waiting for me, and there’s no escape, ever.
A trickle of warm water drips onto my skin, and I try to scream and look up, sure that I’ll see blood pouring from the Spanish moss hanging above. But a feeble squeak is all that comes from my lips.
“Luna.” A gentle, urgent, familiar voice calls, and I feel myself being shaken. At long last, my lids flutter open, ending my nightmare.
I blink rapidly, trying to orient myself. I’m in a room, my room. Gentle hands bathe me with a warm cloth. A bearded man sits over me, but when my eyes open, he drops the cloth into a bowl of water and just stares.
“Callan,” I say, my voice hoarse from disuse. “Is that really you?”
“Luna,” he says, a gentle smile on his lips as he brushes my hair back from my forehead. “Oh, pet. You came back to us. Thank fucking Satan
himself. We thought you might not make it.” He gives a little relieved laugh and leans down, pressing his lips to my forehead for a long moment.
It hurts to be awake, so I close my eyes again. My body feels like it’s been replaced with an old carcass that’s been picked over by buzzards for days. I moan and reach up to touch something papery soft covering my neck. “What is this?” I croak, prying my eyes open. “What am I doing here? What happened?”
Callan’s large, warm hand smooths my hair away from my cheek and I nuzzle into it. His voice is low and gentle, like a caress. “You were attacked by a rogue wolf in the forest. Warrick found you and brought you home, and I stitched you up.”
“A rogue wolf…”
“Don’t you remember?” He picks up a soft towel and pats my damp skin.
I scrunch up my face as I strain to remember, but the only thing that comes up is running away from something…or someone…in the woods. And then there’s nothing but holes in my mind. “No,” I croak. “I was running from someone.”
He continues to stroke my hair. “The mind is powerful. It’s trying to protect you.”
“I’m glad to be home,” I murmur. A slight smile lifts the corners of my mouth as I open my eyes to study Callan’s beautiful face. “How dead is the wolf?”
“Unrecognizable body parts,” Callan says with a chuckle. “Warrick is thorough.”
I chuckle, too, until the sound turns into a cough. I roll onto my side and wheeze for a second. I’m happy to be back where I belong, but everything feels strange as well as familiar after so long away. “How long have I been here?”
“You’ve been out of it for over a week while your wolf healed you from within. One of us has been with you twenty-four seven, protecting you in case…” He retrieves his washrag from the basin of water that sits the small fridge next to the bed. Then he draws it across my back.
“In case what?” I ask, trying not to lose my train of thought and sink into the bliss of being bathed by Callan’s strong, rough hands that are so gentle in their care for me. The rough texture of the warm, wet washcloth is a spring-day-in-the-sun at Bogbeast Waters kind of feeling.
“The wolf is dead, but we don’t know where it came from or who sent it,” Callan says. “Or why it attacked.”
I don’t want to think about that. All I want to think about is how good it feels when he continues to dip the cloth in the basin, wring it out, and
cleanse my body. When he’s done, he pats my skin dry. Then his hands swish together and land on my back with something like a liquid silk sensation.
“Oh!” I say, my eyelids fluttering open. “What’s that?”
“It’s oil,” he says. “To keep your skin smooth. But I can massage you if you like it.”
“I do,” I say, my voice half-moan. “Keep going.” I close my eyes, and after about ten minutes, I roll onto my back so he can get at my front.
He scoots to the bottom of the bed, and his hands glide across my feet and legs, massaging and caressing. The sensation is divine. His slick palms travel up to my hips, belly, and breasts. His fingers twirl and tweak my nipples, stirring my heat into a frothing pool of want. No one has ever touched me this way, and I never want it to stop.
I writhe into his tender but firm touch. What was mere tenderness a few minutes ago becomes a torment, teasing my desire awake. I open my eyes and find him studying me intently as he caresses my skin. “Oh, Callan… It feels so good.”
“Yeah?” he says, swallowing hard.
“Yeah,” I breathe, widening my legs, hoping he’ll massage between them.
He hisses in a breath as his fingers slide between my legs, answering my unspoken plea. He rubs gently through my folds, slickening them even more with the silky oil. At last, he slowly pushes a finger inside me. We both suck in a breath at once.
“Can you take off your clothes, too?” I ask. Last time, when we were in the kitchen, I didn’t know what this fire in my belly meant. Now, thanks to Axel, I know how to get the relief I need.
“Luna…” Callan begins. “What?” I ask.
He draws his hand from between my legs and starts massaging my thighs again, which only makes my craving grow. “The last night you were here, you chose Warrick.”
“And today I choose you,” I say, lifting my hips, urging him to return to the heat throbbing between my legs.
“That’s not how it works,” he says, shaking his head. “Why not?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he says. “It just doesn’t. Werewolves have one mate.”
“I had a mate, and then I had another,” I say. “And now I want you to mate with me.”
“So, you don’t want Warrick anymore?”
“I want him sometimes,” I say. “And sometimes I want you. And sometimes maybe I’ll want Ethan. You said I had to choose. You didn’t say it was forever.”
“You want us all to fuck you?” he asks, swallowing so the little lump in his throat bobs.