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CHAPTER FIVE: WOLF MOON - PART ONE
It quickly became a routine for Russ to head over to Dawn’s for dinner, before they both headed to the garden. He looked forward to it every day, not just her amazing cooking but her company as well. He wasn’t much of a talker; no one would confuse him for a conversationalist. But Dawn was different. Sure, she did somehow manage to make him talk more than he had in years, revealing more of himself than he’d thought was even there. But she also didn’t mind his silences, often filling them with singing or music or reading quietly next to him.
He especially liked it when she read, the subtlety of her scent changing with every scene. She liked romances, so she often smelled of longing, joy, and sex. And it intrigued and thrilled him. It made him want to curl up on her lap and just soak it in.
But he didn’t dare. Not since that first kiss. All week, he’d held her hand, brushed small touches across her cheek or arm. He’d massaged her shoulders and legs. Slowly getting to know her, her body, her achingly sweet reactions. Like the soft sounds of pleasure she made at even the lightest brush of his fingers. Or the satisfied curve or panting part of her lips that always seemed to welcome him, beckon him. Or the way she leaned into his touch, willing it to dare further. But he made sure to keep proper distance. Made sure to never let things go too far.
And, Lord knew, Dawn did not make it easy. She was beautiful and alluring and she loved to touch him. She’d feed him bites of her meal or treats she’d made. She was always leaning in and pressing close, her supple body a torturous temptation. And, every time, he found it really hard to pull away, to remember why he should.
But then he would remember almost losing control outside Dawn’s door with Tucker. If the man hadn’t left when he did, if he’d foolishly challenged Russ instead of running, Russ wasn’t sure if he could have stopped himself. From shifting. From attacking. From hurting.
And though he couldn’t imagine ever harming Dawn, what if he couldn’t stop with her? He’d already been having trouble with control and, God knew, with her every touch, he only wanted more. But he wouldn’t — absolutely refused to — risk anything with her.
He walked down her hallway, feeling excitement nip at his senses as he smelled something spicy and savory coming from her home. He reached out to knock on her door, when he noticed it’d been replaced. The contractor must have come while Russ was busy today. Good. Russ was glad that was one less thing for Dawn to worry about.
“Why don’t you ever cook for me?”
Russ pulled up short when he heard Tucker’s voice coming from the other side of the door. What was he doing with Dawn? Russ had a hard time imagining her letting him in, but clearly she had. He wondered why.
“Thanks for helping with my new door,” he heard Dawn say, her voice sounding painfully polite, “but you should probably go now. I have plans.”
“With Russ?” Tucker sneered. “Seems like he’s always around these days.” He scoffed harshly. “Funny how you always seem to make time for him.”
Russ heard Dawn sigh. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Russ should knock. Should interrupt. Intervene. But would that feel like one more intrusion on an already awkward situation? Should he leave? Maybe call or text her? Not exactly an expert when it came to social etiquette, Russ couldn’t decide.
“I want you to tell me why him and not me?”
Russ stilled. As embarrassing as it was to admit, he kinda wanted to know that too. After everything that had happened, he supposed he knew exactly why she didn’t want Tucker around. Tucker was handsome, sure, and could certainly be charming, but the way he acted around Dawn… it was like peeling back the charismatic facade the man showed the rest of the world to reveal a rotting core. Yeah, Russ understood why Dawn didn’t want Tucker.
But, try as he might, Russ didn’t really understand why she kept letting him in. So, curiosity gripping his chest, he stayed quiet and listened.
Dawn was silent for a long time as if weighing her words. Or, maybe, she simply didn’t know either. “Just because,” she said finally. “Why does anyone like anyone?” As Russ leaned against the door, he could just barely hear her hooves against her kitchen’s linoleum floor as she paced. “He’s kind and helpful and attractive. He makes me happy.”
He was? He did? Warmth spread through Russ as he let her words wash over him.
“I could make you happy, if you let me. Just tell me what you want me to do,” he heard Tucker insist, the man’s voice an angry whine.
“But he does.”
Russ found himself smiling despite the irritation in Dawn’s voice. He made her happy? He didn’t quite understand how or why he did — he didn’t think he was doing anything special; he was too focused on enjoying himself with her — but he was glad he did. He supposed Dawn didn’t really do anything extraordinary either; just by being herself with him — so effortlessly sweet and temptingly giving — he found himself always craving more.
“If you would just give me a chance,” Tucker begged, “I’ll do whatever he does.”
“I don’t want you to.” The sound of her steps changed as she moved from tile to carpet. “You really should leave.” He heard her throw the bolt of her new door open, saw the door shake as she gripped the knob. Russ instinctively backed up, preparing for her to open the door and frantically scrambling for what to say.
But instead it shut harshly, the heavy bolt loudly locking into place jarring. “And if I don’t?” Tucker’s voice was low but, even with the wood between them, Russ could hear the threat laced through it. “What if I just stayed?”
Russ could hear Dawn’s hooves skitter back, the clatter as she moved from carpet to tile deafening in his ears. “Let me go.”
At the idea of Tucker grabbing her, Russ’s temper flared. Instinctively, he reached for her doorknob, only to flinch when he touched it. His palm burned, making him bite back a howl. He glared down at the shiny handle then at his hand, which was now red and blistered from the touch.
Unlike all the other units’ doors, that had bulk-bought, burnished brass knobs, Dawn’s had been replaced with what looked like a specially ordered sterling silver one, like the kind his old office had. An odd choice that made her door stand out in the otherwise uniform hallway.
Unless you were trying to keep a werewolf out.
Under his breath, he cursed Tucker as his fist clenched. Russ felt fury grip him before he pounded on the door. “Dawn?” He knocked again. “Dawn?”
“Rus—” Her words were cut off short by a muffled shriek.
Fuck this. Calling on the beast’s strength, Russ charged the door, hearing the strong oak door creak and shake. With the sound of Dawn struggling and the scent of her furious fear escaping through the door and filling his head, he battered the door again.
“What is going on out here?” He faintly heard Grace shout as she peeked out her door into the hallway. “Russ, what are you doing?”
Ignoring her, he just kept pounding on the newly and firmly installed door. He was such a fool. He should have just knocked earlier. He could have put a stop to whatever was going on before it’d even started. With one last shove, the frame cracked — splintering at the lock and hinges — allowing the heavy door to burst open.
He glared into the apartment, seeing Dawn huddled in the farthest corner of the living room, her lipstick smeared and the straps of her tank top and bra tangled and slipping off her shoulders as she clutched her chest protectively. The wide, white panic of her telltale tail and stinging, scorching scent of her furious fear made Russ turn to growl at Tucker, who stood by the kitchen, cupping his face as a harsh, red handprint burned his cheek. Russ felt his jaw clench as his gaze narrowed on Dawn’s lipstick staining Tucker’s mouth.
Had that asshole forced himself on Dawn?
Russ felt the wolf overtake him, losing the ability to speak, to even think in words anymore. Instead, his head was filled with images, scents, impressions, instinct. Like the scent of Dawn’s terror. Like the mental image of Tucker’s lips crushing hers. Like the promise of Tucker’s blood.
Without a word, he rushed the man and grabbed him by the collar, hauling him up. With a snarl, he slammed Tucker into the wall with a harsh thud. Drywall crumbled from the force of the impact, denting the wall as Tucker let out a pained, breathless groan. Russ punched Tucker, dark satisfaction rising inside him as he felt his fist collide with the other man’s jaw with a vicious crack.
But it wasn’t satisfying enough. Russ had never punched anyone in his life before now. Didn’t really know how, fueled more by rage than technique or training. He clenched his fist again, feeling it throb with a burn that craved more. He could do better. Really wanted to. This man had hurt Dawn. Repeatedly. Would continue to do so, unless stopped. Russ knew it to his core. Rearing his fist back again, Russ’s lips curled back cruelly to reveal sharpening teeth, even as his claws began to tear through Tucker’s shirt, scratching skin. Russ was going to tear him apart. An eager snarl rumbled low in his throat.
“Russ.”
Breathing through the rage consuming him — inhaling panic, fury, and pain like the oxygen fueling his body — Russ became distantly aware of small, insistent hands pulling at his elbows and shoulders. Part of him wanted to brush them away, to not allow them to distract him from his anger. But they were Dawn’s and he couldn’t ignore her.
So, not moving an inch — not even turning to look away from Tucker to glance at her — he took a deep breath and said as calmly as he could, his voice still sounding as hard and sharp as chipped stone, “He. Touched. You.” He’d touched her, put his filthy fucking hands on her. His lips. Tucker had fucking dared to take from her what should only be hers to give.
Her hand cupped Russ’s cheek, stroking it gently as she tried to make him face her. “And you stopped him.” Her tone was soft, sweet, soothing, even as her voice shook a bit with fear he could smell. “He’s not touching me anymore.” He felt his thoughts split, confused as to which of his senses to believe. He blinked, feeling his anger dull as he forced his brain to work beyond the beast’s instincts. “You did it.” He turned to look at her, seeing her smile up at him pleadingly. “You can stop now.”
Stop? She wanted him to stop. “Stop what?”
She gripped Russ’s wrist tightly. “Let him go.”
Was she kidding? Tucker had connived or coerced his way into her apartment. Tucker had used fucking silver to keep Russ out. Tucker had harassed and attacked her. And she was asking Russ to stop! To let him go! As if Russ was the one in the wrong.
Russ growled and tightened his grip on Tucker’s shirt. “Are you protecting him?” He glanced at her tail, that he knew often lifted in longing invitation to him. And raised for Tucker too; in a distinctly different way, he was almost sure. It looked different with Russ than it did with Tucker, felt different, smelled different. But was it? Or was he just imagining it, wanting it to be true badly enough to lie to himself. He shut his eyes and shook his head, trying like hell to clear it.
“I’m protecting you.”
That made Russ pause, the words not making sense. He turned to meet her insistent gaze, seeing urgent worry in her eyes. For him?
“Is everyone okay here?” Russ turned to see Grace in the broken doorway, her phone in her hand. “I called management. They called the police. And Garrett.”
“We’re fine, Grace,” Dawn reassured her, even though she didn’t take her eyes off of Russ. “Aren’t we, Russ?”
Were they? He looked down at himself, partially changed as his body contorted into something more animalistic and hair like fur grew thick over his limbs.
Tucker’s shirt was ruined, the front just torn scraps of fabric held together in his clawed fists. Tucker himself looked unconscious. Russ could smell blood in the air. Worried, his frantic gaze scanned Dawn, who looked — as she’d said — fine. Good. Turning back to Tucker, he spotted the trail of blood dripping from the passed-out man’s slack, split lips. Shit.
Russ dropped the man, letting him crumple on the carpet. Breathing hard, he felt himself push past the fury’s fog as he stared at his hands, curled and gnarled, practically paws.
He heard Dawn let out a relieved breath as she reached for Russ. “See, we’re fine. Just fi—”
He flinched when Dawn tried to take one of his hands into hers. No! In a flash, he thrust himself across the room, as far away from her as he could, huddling by her balcony window. He didn’t want her touching him. He didn’t want her to even look at him. Not while he was like this. More animal than man. Hell, more monster than wolf. He glared at the faint reflection in the glass as the setting sun’s rays threatened to blind him. Even through squinted eyes, he could see himself, stuck in this grotesque half-form. His body was a mess of angles and shapes, his bones no longer meant for his body.
He fisted his hands and knew he needed to calm down. He needed to pick a form. In this state, changing fully into the wolf would be easier but, with the cops coming — with Garrett coming — the man would be the better choice. There would be questions to answer, authorities to answer to. Shutting his eyes, he dug deep for his control, trying to force his body to do — to be — what he wanted.
“Russ?”
He could feel Dawn standing behind him. She didn’t touch him, for which he was grateful. But he could feel her concerned gaze on him, could hear her worry in her voice.
He stretched his neck, feeling it crack back into place. He rolled his clicking jaw and flexed his tense hands. “I’m fine.”
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