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“My Little Moon,” I groan out, stepping out from under the tree I’d taken a pause under, but then she dips underneath the water. For sixty agonizing seconds, she submerges herself, but before I can rush in after her, she breaks through the surface, eyes closed and facing me.
Once again, the lake laps against her arse, gently swaying against her skin.
Every cell in my werewolf DNA expands and demands I accept her.
My beast vows to protect and cherish her.
I take in this beautiful woman from my position at the shore, memorizing every dip and sinuous curve from the wide set of her hips and flat stomach to the perky set of bigger-than-a-handful tits and their rosy tips. Her cunt is hidden beneath the water, just barely, but I catch the very top of her mound and lack of hair. Does she trim? Looking higher, I catalog the arch of her brows, her cute nose, and then lower to where the cupid’s bow of her plump cherry lips tempts me to bite them. Her.
Slowly, my feet cross into the warm water as this gorgeous creature spreads out her arms and hands, palms facing down, and begins tapping the surface to a synchronized song only she hears. Ripples become slow rolls until a turbulent swirl surrounds her lower half while words form in her mouth. Silently she sways a bit, and a sweet smile graces her lips while the water lights up from within. The rays change from stark white to a soft purple before turning a rich blue and carry through each sequence with gentle ease.
“No.” My feet move me back a step and then another, dodging the tendrils of her power that unconsciously reach out for me. It’s a caress. This entity with surging emotions that recognizes me for what I am: hers. Her aura calls out for me to come closer—to touch it—but I do the opposite and sidestep its path while walking backward toward the tree that hid my presence. “Goddess, no.” Anything but a sorceress.
As if it heard my thoughts, the current moves back as if stricken, and guilt settles deep within my gut. This goes against everything that I am—what wolves are taught since we’re old enough to understand tradition, pack, and our history.
And while our souls host two entities that make up the whole, the man and wolf, we’re not complete without our soul mate. I could never accept her or her kind.
My wolf snarls inside my head at that, angry at my refusal to grab our mate, but her nature is something I’ll never accept. I’d take a fae, mermaid...fuck, a bloody vampire would’ve been hard, but I’d agree without a second of hesitation.
Her kind can never be trusted, no matter how utterly perfect I find her.
I could never accept that my mate comes from the same cloth as those who killed my mum.
Once again, the beast snarls, thrashing inside me, and my claws burst forth, hair sprouting across my limbs while the crack of bones breaks the silence. He’s fighting me for control, something he’s never done before—the animal and man are always in sync—but now he’s furious.
Slamming a hand against the trunk of the tree, I sink my nails in deep and breathe through the forced mid-shift. Something only the men in my lineage have been able to accomplish; wolf shifters don’t walk on two legs, much less forced like this. We let go of our control peacefully, to accommodate the other’s needs, but never out of ire.
Stand down, I snarl in my mind while my spine curves, forcing me forward. I brace myself as the pain in my chest increases—tearing into the piece of earth with my black-tipped claws and my feet set wide apart.
I’m hurting us both. I know this.
Yet there’s no other solution.
I will never love a—
“Son of a bitch.” I’m forced to my knees by her essence. Those mystical vines that form who she is—and I’ve evaded—now have me at their mercy. It sweeps across my still hard cock and strokes, sending electrical pulses from the tip to my heavy balls, and I can’t do anything but grit my teeth.
Pleasure ripples through my every nerve ending; I’m at its mercy.
Another tight stroke and purrs start building inside my chest, the sound low and deep. I’m right on the cusp, my muscles tight and jaw clenched when I hear a gasp.
My eyes snap in her direction, and those clear baby blue eyes are my undoing; I come for her. Rope after rope of thick come spurts from the tip and onto the grass below, and all the while I count each rapid rise of her chest and the low moan she emits at the sight of her mate finding pleasure just a few feet away.
I’m not embarrassed by this.
Not one bloody bit.
Because had her kind never killed my mum, I would’ve worshipped this naughty behavior. Rewarded her after a spanking, turning that perfect arse a nice shade of red. At once my hands clench with the need to touch her, mark her body.
Her queen killed my mother.
That sobering reminder hurts my wolf and relinquishes his attempt to break free. It also helps me retake my human skin and stand, my eyes on hers the entire time. Not that she tries to stop me.
There’s a sadness in her eyes along with acceptance. As if she knows and will not fight me.
Something I appreciate and hate in the same breath. Anger brews within my veins. Her hurt is mine—I feel it deep within my essence—but it’s impossible to cover the sun with one finger. I want to tear apart the universe and curse the goddess for the injustice, but nothing will change, and she’ll pay for the crimes of the Wiccan royal court.
I’m sorry, Little Moon.
