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I stare up at the rising moon, and I try to breathe through the lust that fogs my mind.
It’s the last night I have to do this. The last night of struggling not to let my wolf take control, when I want more than anything to give into the desire that nearly overwhelms me each month. The last night of sitting alone in the chapel and staring up at the light of the moon, or locking myself behind the wooden door of my room while I listen to the others enjoy one another.
I never struggled with celibacy before I was possessed by this beast. Even when I was young—just after I took my vows, when I was still a little wild right out of seminary—I didn’t ever doubt the choice I’d made. I had the opportunity to leave the Church, get married, have a family of my own…and I always chose God.
Then the Angels came.
It shook my faith when the Heavenly Host arrived—because of course it did. I never claimed to know everything about God’s design, but I was fairly certain it didn’t include a violent invasion of Earth by his soldiers. I was alsoquite confidentthat real angels wouldn’t have taken human test subjects, “blessing” them with metal prosthetics and beastly powers.
That confidence nearly got me killed.
I fought them for two years, moving from city to city, leaving San Antonio behind. I collected friends where I could, building a resistance piece by piece. When I was captured, I figured the Angels would rather execute me than let me go. Instead, they punished me by injecting me with something that transformed me into a monster.
I ended up with an inner wolf myself, and the Angels called it a blessing.
In the years since then, I’ve spent every full moon struggling to keep my beast—the Alpha Prime—locked inside. He fights to break free, wanting to rut, to feast on an omega’s delicious curves. He isn’t particular in his tastes; he’ll take any omega he can get his hands on, and he somehow always knows them by scent. And that destroys me, annihilating the person I once was.
I’ve never been…bestial. Even when I fucked around in the two years between high school and seminary, I was methodical with the way I chose a partner. The way my beast threatens to take control scares the hell out of me, making me feel like I’m possessed.
So I stay away from the omegas during the full moon, and instead, I spend my nights here…accompanied, of course, by a bottle of bourbon.
I take a swig from my drink and hiss out a breath, zeroing in on the sound of crickets singing in distant trees. Will and Grant are on watch tonight; I can see the flash of their eyes every so often when they glance back toward the den, jealous of everyone enjoying the festivities in the caverns. We don’t force mated wolves to take watch on nights like this, so unfortunately, Will and Grant just so happened to have drawn the short straw.
Or maybe I just like it when I have someone to suffer with me.
I slide off the log pew and walk over to the two men guarding the barrier wall, their eyes on the place where the sky vanishes behind the red glow of the celestial curtain. They each hold a laser rifle stolen from an Angel supply depot, even if it isn’t really necessary. They’re both deadly enough with just their teeth and claws when they’re fully shifted.
And during the full moon, our capacity for killing is enhanced as much as our sex drive.
Both Grant and Will are sitting in the watchtower, though I can only tell because of their distinct scents of steel and ink. I can hear someone shuffling cards inside as I climb the ladder, not bothering to tell them I’m coming up. They can probably tell it’s me just as I know it’s them, by scent alone. They don’t use a light; we can see in the dark now, which I guess is a perk of having alien wolf blood. Grant glances over at me as I enter, the mop of red hair on his head falling into his eyes.
“Hey, Garza,” he says. “Was wondering when you’d join us.”
I shrug, straightening my collar. I always wear it on nights like this—it helps remind me of that pesky vow of celibacy. “Just trying to get a hold of myself. There’s…something on the air tonight. Something strange.”
“I think it’s called pheromones,” Grant quips.
Will cracks a half-smile, but he doesn’t laugh, his dark eyes trained on his hand of cards. “Wanna buy in on the next hand?” he asks. “Or do your priestly duties stop you from gambling, too?”
I groan, taking a seat beside them. “I’m game. What are we playing for?”
Grant snorts. “Blackberry rations.”
I frown. “Really?”
“It’s the only fruit we’ve got,” Will grunts. “And thus the only thing standing between us and scurvy.”
“I thought scurvy was a pirate disease,” Grant says.
“It’s a vitamin C deficiency,” Will replies, rolling his eyes. He glances over at me, brushing a big hand over his coiled black hair. “You working on that, by the way?”
Now’s not really the greatest time to ask. But I know he’s just holding me to my word—and I can’t fault him for that. “Working on it, yeah,” I say. I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “The ‘borgs in the city aren’t making it easy for me, though. I guess I figured when we took the Austin encampment that we’d all be one happy family, but they claim we have it easier—that we should be out hunting and foraging, save the supplies for the folks who need it.”
“Wefucking need it,” Grant shrugs. “But that’s cool. It’s not like we were the ones responsible for the uprising anyway.”
“Sometimes I wonder if that’s why they’re withholding supplies,” I mutter. “Because they liked it better when they were living under the thumb of the Heavenly Host.”
“Or they just don’t like it because we’re different,” Grant says. “People will always find some way to hate other people.”
