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Lowell
She was prettier thanhe’d been expecting. Not pretty, he corrected, crossing the cafe.Beautiful. She was beautiful, and he was shocked.
He wasn’t sure why. Lowell thought that maybe he’d watched too many movies or spent too much time photographing the interior of that post-war orphanage. The austere building had been grey and squat, matching the old women who ran it; filled with children displaced from their families after the Rakshasa uprising, none of their dour-faced caretakers had been especially warm. One by one, the visitors from overseas who’d come to adopt them had largely been middle-aged, from the States and western Europe, and none of them had this lovely stranger’s delicate, heart-shaped face and rosebud mouth.
Regardless of the reason, the petite young woman with the dark red hair and bright eyes was an unexpected but welcome sight. She had the kind of smile that spoke of sunny optimism, a contagious good mood, and his mouth ached as he mirrored her grin. Her thin sweater clung to softly rounded curves, and when she had risen to greet him, he noted that her skirt did the same.If this were a blind date, you’d be thrilled.
“Moriah? I’m Lowell. It’s great to meet you!”
His brain acted on autopilot when he placed his hand on his chest, bowing slightly, freezing when he clocked her outstretched hand.You don’t even know how to act here anymore.When he’d quickly course-corrected, she’d already done the same, a wholly bungled greeting thanks to his brain’s inability to rewire itself depending on the situation.Why are you worried about not touching her? You’re literally going to be fucking her in a month!
The previous week had been torturous. He’d underestimated the subliminal power of the urge to breed. Trapp had joked about having a guest room ready for when he inevitably wore out his welcome with Grayson, but unless the room was located within his brother’s toolshed, far from the main house, Lowell had no intention of leaving the privacy and sanctity of Grayson’s home. He’d been surviving up til that point, barely, despite the hometown-imposed celibacy, but now . . . now he could think of nothing other than the moment his body would cover this mystery recipient’s, thrusting into her with a rising heat, nothing in his head but breed, breed, breed until his knot inflated, sealing her as he filled her over and over.
It was the only thought his mind could conjure, and the mindless drudgery he’d been calling a routine for months had been completely upended by his pent-up lust. He masturbated before he left his bed each morning, repairing to the shower to cleanse himself of the evidence and sometimes tug out another shuddering orgasm. His afternoon mope was bookended with self-pleasure, his evening swim replaced with a run, growling against the white-tiled shower wall afterward as his cock spit up the vestiges of the hour’s lust.
It grew worse as the moon neared, knowing what he would be doing in one month’s time, what he could be doing if the girl had understood the way calendars worked and got herself to the clinic two weeks earlier. As the waxing moon increased its fullness, his knot became more and more evident, and he wasn’t sure if he even left his bed at all the day before the turn, stroking his cock until the base swelled, edging himself for hours by only stimulating the blood-engorged knot, thinking of the mystery woman he’d be buried within. Her appearance was indistinct, hair color changing from fantasy to fantasy, her features blurred; the only constant was the way she’d gasp and beg, squeezing him until he erupted.
The fire in his blood had eased up in the days that followed, the moon’s waning energy depleting the ravenous lust within him, but the sight of this girl — petite and pale and oh so lovely — was a sharp reminder.
Her cheeks had flushed as he bungled their greeting, and he’d been unable to hold back a huff of laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation, pulling her into a hug instead. The gesture had been meant to comfort, to assure her that there was no reason to be nervous, despite the fact that he was an idiot who couldn’t even shake hands like a normal person, but it had come with the benefit of providing him with the means to lower his nose to her hair and inhale. Orange blossom and jonquil, soft and floral and pretty, just as she was; appealingly feminine and coy, and Lowell let out a shuddering breath once he’d inhaled a second lungful of her. He wasn’t sure how he was going to last the entire month.
“Tell me a little about yourself. The most dreaded question, I know.”
He sucked in a deep breath, willing his internal monologue to stay firmly in place, lodged in his head.I’m thirty-two years old, but I barely feel eight on my most accomplished days. I’m not even sure how I’m allowed to live on my own. I don’t know how to make lasting connections or form relationships with people because I’m never in one place long enough. I’m afraid I won’t have a career to go back to once this stupid pandemic is over. I’m so horny I can’t breathe. There’s a one hundred percent chance I’m going to cum in my pants just sitting here with you because this is the most interaction I’ve had with the opposite sex in months, I’m desperate for physical affection, and you smell amazing.
“I’m a photojournalist. I have a fine arts degree from MAIA, that’s the Mid-Atlantic . . .”
He wasn’t sure what he had droned on about for the next hour, probably nothing interesting or intelligent.
All he was cognizant of was the sweet chirp of her voice, the way her nose wrinkled adorably as she talked, the expressive way her hands fluttered about like little white doves, and the soft, sweet smell of her. She was beautiful. Creative, funny and articulate, and he basked in the inner warmth she seemed to radiate from her pores, soaking up her undivided attention like the greedy little sponge he was.
This is instalove. Congratulations, you’ve just become the protagonist of one of those teen dramas you used to watch with Nikkia. Plot twist — you’re just her sperm donor, and she’s going to forget you exist the instant you do your only job.
Werewolves had enhanced senses, at least compared to humans. Their hearing was weak, their taste and olfactory palates unrefined, and their vision limited. Lowell watched Moriah’s eyes flicker to the whispering satyrs in the corner several times, able to tell from the look on her face that she was assuming they were the topic of conversation. They weren’t, not really. At least, not about her.
They had recognized him as a Hemming, of course, and had grumbled about his do-nothing father and steamroller mother, characterizations he did not at all appreciate. The one on the left asked her companion if she knew about the situation with Sulya Slade and one of the Hemming boys, both pausing to look over at Lowell and Moriah again, a lovely red flush creeping up his companion’s neck as a result.
“Not him. It was one of the older ones. There were drugs involved, that’s what Millie Tonguegrass said. She used to live over on Pear Tree, you know. Right across from Sulya, saw the whole thing go down. He talked his way out of lockup and left her there. Left her in jail! Jack made it all disappear, of course. Millie told me that Sandi showed up on Sulya’s doorstep and threatened to rip her throat out if she didn’t stay away. She ought to have known better, taking up with someone that young. But then again, they’re allsohandsome . . . Sulya and Jacob left the country not long after that, and well . . . you heard about what happened tohim, right?”
Lowell winced internally. He had been in junior high when that happened. Shaking away the gossip, he closed his eyes to refocus on Moriah’s smell. Under her perfume, he could pick out the cherry-almond smell of her shampoo, the warmth of her skin . . . he wanted to run his nose down the length of her, learning the scent of every inch of her body.You’ll not be able to do that rutting into her in an exam room. Besides, she’s probably married.
“Is your partner okay with this?”
He flushed as she asked her question, almost as if she were reading his mind.
“Um, no girlfriend. No partner. I genuinely don’t know anyone here anymore,” he laughed uncomfortably. And before you ask, I didn’t have a girlfriend in Tokyo either.”
Merely speaking the words made his stomach bunch and twist. During his forced Cambric Creek captivity, he had come to the uncomfortable realization that he wished he had a girlfriend. It hadn’t felt like a pressing need before. As he explained to her, finding a partner with his lifestyle was difficult, and if some of his peers were to be believed, maintaining a relationship was nigh impossible. He’d made dozens upon dozens of friends in the industry, photographers of every species and gender. Virtually none of them were partnered, and those who were often cheated or had arrangements with their spouses or partners back home, that whatever happened on the road stayed on the road.
That wasn’t how he wanted to live. Lowell knew himself better than that, based on the small handful of semi-serious relationships he’d had — he formed attachments quickly, and despite being a grown man with more sexual partners than he could count, his heart was a delicate thing. He wouldn’t be able to have a serious partner at home and leave them for weeks at a time, and the mere thought of cheating on someone he loved made him tight with anxiety.
Now that he was home, though, everything felt different, and he wished there was someone with whom he could endure this. Those endless hours he had been stranded at the airport would’ve seemed like no time at all if he’d not been alone. He wouldn’t have minded Jackson’s guest suite if there had been someone there to share the empty bed, to quietly giggle with after the rest of the house had gone to sleep; someone to have shown around his hometown, the familiar routes he took brand-new to them, and thus exciting for him all over again.
Under those circumstances, he wouldn’t have even minded staying with his parents. His mother loved nothing more than playing hostess, striving to get along with the various girlfriends and partners who were brought to their monthly after-moon brunches. Meeting up with Grayson and Trapp would have felt like a fun adventure, and reconnecting with Owen might have been a warm homecoming instead of the slightly awkward shuffle around each other they had done. He was a different person outside of Cambric Creek, someone he liked better. He fell too easily into old habits when he was home, fell right back into the childhood dynamic that had always shackled him, and he would remember why he had run away as fast and far as he could. If he had to be back here, having someone with whom he could be someone different would be nice.
He tried to imagine himself sitting at the airport with this lovely girl, head resting in her lap instead of the familiar spot on his gear bag, planning their next adventure, instead of being stuck with a version of himself he didn’t like, feeling like a third wheel for months on end. They could fly away somewhere together, her fingers in his hair and the soft smell of her perfume enveloping him in a sweet, gentle cloud . . . nowyou’re really dreaming. What happens next in this fantasy airport? Because it’s all fun and games until her husband comes around the corner and kicks your ass. You’ve literally turned into a J drama. I hope you’re happy with yourself.
“What about you?” He swallowed hard before continuing. “I’m sorry if it’s inappropriate to ask, but is your partner okay with this whole process?” Where are they? Why didn’t they come with you?
