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The guest cabana was heated. Heated and had wifi. It wasn’t as luxurious as his bedroom in the house, but it hadabed,a perfectly serviceable bathroom, and a refrigerator. He would still need to go into the house, but it wasn’t as if Grayson was kicking him out. It was far enough away that he may as well have been on a different block, giving him all the privacy he wanted. It would do, Lowell decided. He’d crept into the house the following morning with a laundry basket, grocery shopping from Grayson’s refrigerator as if he were stocking up for the winter, generously deciding to put back one of the imported beers for his brother.Ms. Perfect Ass can fend for herself.
The months were passing him in a blur. He barely knew what to do with himself without work providing him a schedule. Without flights to catch and shoots to coordinate, he felt adrift, unsure of what to do with his time and thus squandering it in afternoons that turned to evening in a few minutes and days that seemed to run indistinguishably into each other. He still didn’t have anyone to talk to, didn’t know how to make friends in his hometown, particularly with the Hemming name hanging on him like a sash everywhere he went, and for the first time since he had left Cambric Creek for University, Lowell regretted not keeping in touch with any of his friends from high school and from the neighborhood. But now he was still bored, still lonely, still so horny he thought he might perish from the ache of unfulfillment. The days of the week ceased to have meaning, every day felt like it might have been a Thursday, and before he noticed, another whole month had passed, another month of twenty-four-hour news coverage and cereal and no answer from his office, the full moon was nearing again.
The only time he didn’t feel as if he were adrift in an empty sea was during the change. His wolf was able torun. Ran without care, without worrying about his career or his future, didn’t think twice about the fact that he had no friends here, no love interest, nothing but a phone that didn’t ring, an itch under his skin he couldn’t scratch alone, and days that slid into each other with an alarming speed. His wolf was free in a way he could never be.
The previous month, he had strapped one of the kayaks to the hood of the car he’d been given to drive, and had driven as far into the woods as he could go. Past Shadowbend, where his three eldest brothers had been left cabins, past the last ranger station, which signified the end of the Applethorpe Wood, into the Black Hills beyond, until the road had run out, and he was forced to stop. He would kayak until his arms were like noodles, and prepare himself for the change. Unlike his pampered brothers, he didn’t need a fancy cabin. He had pitched a tent and slept on the bare ground more times than he could count, in conditions far harsher than the Applethorpe Wood. He liked going this deep into the forest. He knew there would be a chance of other werewolves there as well, but he was less likely to run into anyone he might know.
He woke groggy and sore in the morning, with a gash on his forehead and a pleasant ache in his groin, the pleasurable emptiness of balls drained dry. There was dried blood crusting down his temple and more on his pillow, but his cock soft and satisfied. He had no idea who he’d been with or what happened, and it was a dangerous situation that made him tighten in panic.
Dangerous for himself, dangerous for whoever this unknown partner had been, and most importantly, it was not the sort of risky behavior he undertook when he was living overseas. This was a new development, and he didn’t like what it said about his current state of mind. He felt trapped in a box, and maybe his mother was right. He wasn’t sure about volunteer work, but he needed to dosomethingbefore his recklessness increased and he wound up getting himself killed.
He swam laps in Grayson’s pool like he was training for the Olympics, trying to outswim the creeping ennui that seemed to shadow each day. He couldn’t account for the hollow feeling that had taken up residence in his chest since he’d been home, the way he was beginning to second guess every choice he’d made in the last decade.A feeling of hopelessness is to be expected right now, particularly with no end to the disruption of our normal lives in sight, that was what the mental health experts on cable news said every day, but that was forhumans, nevermind the fact that his life was being impacted because of them. He was unused to feeling uncertain, just as he was unused to staying in one place for long, and the feeling was unsettling.
The only time it abated were those brief hours beneath the shining full moon, running through the forest with the wind whistling in his ears, free for the moment.
His mother was right. Volunteer work wasn’t a terrible idea, he supposed.
He’d been still chewing over the idea a few mornings later when he saw the flyer. The silhouette of a happy family, the mother cradling an infant to her chest and smiling beatifically beneath the intriguing text.
Are you a healthy werewolf aged 25-40?
We need you! Help families achieve their dreams
Call us for information today
Lowell read and reread the flyer several times, not gleaning any better idea of what service it advertised on the fifth reading than he had on the first, before snapping a photo with his phone.
He was unprepared for the conversation which resulted.
“What we offer is a revolutionary new way for families to achieve their goal of natural childbirth, particularly those interspecies couples unable to have a child together due to reproductive incompatibility.”
The doctor to whom his call had been transferred — once he’d answered a brief survey of questions confirming that he was, in fact, a healthy werewolf within the desired age bracket — had an impassioned manner of speaking, and Lowell leaned forward on his elbows, eyebrows drawn as he wondered if this actually constituted as “volunteer” work.
“Our donors are not just contributing genetic material. They are providing the opportunity for these families to end months of frustration and money wasted. Interspecies adoption is cost-prohibitive for most families, as you may know, and the viability of in vitro fertilization is extremely low for mixed-species couples . . . in contrast, we are not another dead end. Due to the uniqueness of our service, our success rate is unparalleled.”
Contributing genetic material.
“It’s sperm donation,” Lowell cut in, attempting to find the straightest path forward, as he always did. “Why do you specifically need werewolves?”
“Ah, that is where you’re wrong. The service we provide is far more than merely donating sperm in a specimen cup. The success rate depends on actual copulatory practices, and the unique physiology of the lupine male provides the most effective method to ensure successful insemination.”
“On actual...” His cock twitched as he considered the meaning behind the doctor’s words. “Actualintercourse?”
Being trapped in a succession of his brother’s homes had been challenging in more ways than one, and if he didn’t have sex soon, Lowell was sure he would perish from terminal horniness. Grayson’s pool-side cabana afforded privacy, but being a Hemming in Cambric Creek was a handicap in and of itself. He couldn’t simply walk into one of the numerous bars and restaurants and pubs without people knowing who he was merely by knowing one of his brothers. Eyes followed his family wherever they went in Cambric Creek, waiting for the misstep that would add to the daily gossip mill, and the scrutiny had been a significant factor in his leaving. He was never going to be as upright and perfect as Jackson, or as smart and successful and conniving as Grayson, or as handsome and beloved as Trapp, and being lost in the middle of the shuffle meant always being compared to one of them. No one expectedhimto be mayor or a judge or sit on the commissioner’s board, and somehow thelackof expectation cut almost as deeply as the presumption that he would live up to his name.
He would love to simply go out and get laid as his brother suggested, but it wasn’t that easy, at least not for him.
“That’s correct. You see, a lunar estrus cycle is triggered in each patient . . .”
The doctor’s words fell away as Lowell mentally slotted the final piece of the puzzle together. Lunar estrus was just a fancy term for a heat, and if thecopulationwould be taking place at the full moon . . .the unique physiology of the lupine male.
“I’d beknottingsomeone?!”
His cock twitched again, thickening at the thought. The danger of the turn, the reproductive ramifications, outing oneself as a werewolf — there was much that could go wrong in such a scenario, and it was an act rarely indulged in.
It was a lecture they’d all received from their father once puberty hit, and from the notes compared with his brothers, Jack’s speech remained the same from son to son: you donotknot your partners. The risk of injury was present, the risk of an unwanted pregnancy substantial, and life as a werewolf outside of Cambric Creek’s well-sheltered borders was not always a picnic. It had been mortifying, and he clearly remembered holding his breath, trying to disappear into the cushions of the sofa as his father paced agitatedly before him and Owen, but the lecture had stuck. He’d had more partners than he could count who’d been disappointed he’d not knotted them, not understanding that theunique physiologywas something that came with the turn.And these people are willing to pay for it!
On the other end of the line, the doctor cleared his throat.
