What I need is freedom. To feel like my body is powerful.
Even when I know I could never be stronger than a werewolf.
After a couple of miles, my anxiety over the morning after the full moon has been shoved to the back of my mind. So much so that my stomach wakes up and starts complaining. If it wasn’t for the insistent hunger, I’d probably keep going.
Instead, I turn around and retrace my route.
When I jog down my street, I stumble over flat ground when I recognize a familiar bike in my driveway.
Turn around, the panicked part of my brain demands.
But I won’t. This is my house, and I refuse to retreat from it.
Just as I reach my front walk, a figure clomps down my front steps.
Roderick.
My entire body tenses, and even though I won’t run away, I find I can’t move forward either.
Not that I need to when the man is barreling toward me. A moment later, his arms are around my waist, and I’m lifted high. My hands grip his shoulders as he spins me, a deep chuckle spilling from his throat.
“Good morning,” Roderick says as he lets me slide back to the ground.
I expect him to kiss me then, some mouth-crushing assault that comes before he drags me inside to bend me over the closest surface and have his way.
Any other day, the idea would be a naughty fantasy come to life. But this morning, the image twists with my past in a way that has me forgetting where I am.
Which is why it takes me a moment to realize Roderick isn’t doing what I expected him to do. Instead, the werewolf drops his forehead, resting it against mine. His eyes close, and he breathes in deep.
Once. Twice. Three times.
“Wh-what are you doing?” I push the words out of my tight throat.
Roderick sucks in another deep breath, then raises his chin to press a firm kiss on each of my cheekbones.
“I wish you could run with me,” he responds, not answering my question.
But his comment rocks me, tightening my nerves. I don’t know how to feel about it.
“You wish I were a werewolf?”Because humans aren’t good enough?
Have we finally reached this point? Where my humanity makes me less than in his eyes?
But Roderick doesn’t affirm my assumption.
“I want you to feel the joy of the moon and the hunt.” He presses a kiss to my forehead, then traces his nose through my sweaty hair. “I wish I could share the night with you.”
Well, that’s … not too bad.
“Sometimes …” My voice sounds rickety, and I clear my throat. “Sometimes, I wish I were a wolf too.”
But not for the same reasons he just waxed poetic about.
The times I’ve wanted to be a werewolf were so I could have a fighting chance when facing off against another supernatural creature.
Roderick’s hands trace down my arms until he can tangle his fingers through mine. He brings my palms up to his mouth, kissing the center of each one, like my hands are precious to him.
“But then again, you’re perfect.” He moves my hands to the small of his back, encouraging me to hug him. “Better not change a thing.”
