AllFreeNovel
Share Us
They had been spending far too much time together. They texted back and forth throughout the days, got together for dinner in Greenbridge Glen at least once or twice a month, and met up at that little café again, where they had met the very first time. Lowell could be persuaded it was almost like dating, if he hadn't signed a contract, and if she weren't paying for him to impregnate her.
"Then have me. You can have me whenever you want."
"I was thinking about calling one of those heat helpers. That’s how desperate you have me."
Her eyebrows drew together, and she frowned adorably. "What the fuck is a heat helper, Lowell? Is that like, a jerk-off aide or something?"
He was laughing as he crossed to her, laughed only harder as she scowled, her fists balling. "That is exactly what it is. That name is truth in advertising."
"The only one who's going to jerk you off is me, you asshole. Get your cute tush inside and let me give your balls a kiss hello. I want to see that fluffy tail wag when you turn."
He was going to wind up getting her pregnant this way, he realized, his face pressed against her shoulder, his mouth hanging open, her hand reaching back to hold onto his hair as he thrust against her rhythmically, humping away like a horny dog.
There was something about the way she tasted, something that was off. If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought it was some sort of suppressant.It's the cold medicine, you already know that.The thought didn't slow him, and when his hips stuttered, filling her with his knot as she whined, low in her throat, he didn't care. It was ironic he thought, as his balls spasmed, they were planning on caging the wolf in child he was creating with her. Caging the wolf, when her heat had turned him into an animal.
* * *
Chapter 9
Moriah
She was exiting thegrocery store the first time it happened.
She didn't often come to the Food Gryphon. The supercenter off the highway had a larger selection, and more importantly, it catered to humans. Moriah felt a flicker of guilt every time she stepped into the brightly lit store with its dozens of aisles, its products all designed with her, or at least someone who looked like her, in mind. It was the same flicker of guilt she had begun to experience every time she overheard one of her neighbors or someone in line in a shop grousing over the cost of homes in town and the infrequency with which they hit the market.
It was not her fault, she reminded herself. Sorben had given up the house in the divorce and had moved away from Cambric Creek without a backward glance, and where else was she supposed to go? She’d made a life for herself here, had a few friends and a thriving business here.
You could move back home, the little unwanted voice in her head would remind her, to the town where she'd grown up, and Moriah wondered if she might change her mind and do exactly that once the baby was here. It wasn't as if she had a deep support system here, not outside her small circle of friends.Besides,an insidious little voice in her head hissed,it's not as if you're planning on raising a multi-species child. You won’t have any help from the father.It was becoming harder and harder to push the intrusive thoughts at bay — she was a human, she didn't belong there. Participating in conversations about the gentrification of neighborhoods was one thing, the gentrification of her own existence was wholly different, and something Moriah was not sure she was quite ready to face.
It was on one such afternoon that she decided to do her shopping locally, stepping into the Food Gryphon and making for the section of the store that, ironically enough, catered to werewolves. Werewolves and werecats, werebears and shifters, the items on the shelf exactly the same as what she shopped for off the highway. The human-adjacent community was thriving in Cambric Creek, and she reminded herself that none of the winged or betailed shoppers would assume she was human at first glance.
There was somewhat of a bottleneck at the automatic doors as she left with her groceries a short while later, the stream of shoppers slowing as an elderly woman navigated the entryway with the aid of a mobility device.
"Tilly, you've got the whole place in gridlock. You know the chief gets real cranky if dinner is late."
The voice came from over her shoulder, and the old woman, who had the lower haunches of a goat, grinned a cheeky, toothless smile in Moriah's direction, aimed at the man who was speaking behind her.
"Oh, hush. When you get to be my age, you can take as long as you’d like, wherever you go. You tell that old crank Magruh if he's got words for my Trapp, he can take it up with me. I might set my stove on fire just so you can come ‘round for a cuppa, I’ve got new pictures of my great-niece and you’d be a fine bit of arm candy for her." The motorized cart jerked to a start unexpectedly, and the old satyress whooped as she zipped past them.
Moriah grinned at the old woman's antics, but before she could push forward, the wheels of her own shopping cart locked into position, just as she was pushing over the doorway. The man behind her had apparently decided he was done being slowed up for the evening, moving around her and gripping the front end of her cart with a huge hand, a hand that was attached to an enormously appealing forearm, lifting her cart over the small speed bump and righting the wheels.
He was clad in navy blue — a uniform of some sort, although she wasn't quite sure what profession provided clothing that fit like a painted-on glove. Or, perhaps it was simply the way his thick thighs and round ass filled out the navy pants, his narrow waist defined by the tucked-in polo shirt he wore. She didn't need to see him naked to know that the abs the shirt concealed were undoubtedly a six pack, possibly a twelve pack, maybe even the whole damn cube. The appealing forearms extended to well muscled biceps that strained the fabric attempting to encase them, a broad back that flexed as he lifted her cart easily . . . But it wasn't until he turned, giving her a brilliant smile over his shoulder, that her heart locked in place as sharply as the cart's wheels had done.
His teeth were even and white, chocolate eyes gleaming as they crinkled with the force of his smile, his dark hair shining beneath the overhead fluorescent lights when he inclined his head. He looked like a movie star, the sort that graced the landing pages of celebrity gossip blogs; so devastatingly handsome he inspired starlets to publicly squabble over him, but he also seemed dizzyingly familiar. Sheknewthat look, knew the shape of his smile and the silvery sparkle of his dark eyes . . . but his expression held no recognition for her.
