Page 54 of Savage Games

This is a true alpha if I’ve ever seen one.

Where other males might be threatened by my wolf's unusual size and strength, Wyatt seems entranced.His posture softens and the battle-ready tension in his muscles eases as he watches me circle him.My wolf preens under his admiring gaze, all too aware of her own beauty and power.

He rumbles, low and steady, not as a threat, but as a demand that I come closer.

I don’t.Nervous that he might still be angry about Brad’s gift.

Wyatt hesitates before approaching me instead, his massive paws pressing lightly against the earth, as he inches forward.His head is bowed slightly, tail low, his posture is careful and hesitant.

Like he thinks I’ll reject him.

Like, he thinks I see him as a savage.A dangerous rogue who’s finally shown his true colours.

Far from it.If he was a savage, they would have carried those men back in pieces.

I’m mesmerized by him, and my wolf is smitten.

I close the space between us and lower my head, sniffing along his jaw.He’s still bleeding, his scent laced with the coppery tang of blood that makes my wolf whine, but beneath that, he’s all Wyatt.Earth and pine, and something deeper, something that belongs to me.

I breathe in his scent, cataloging the subtle differences from his human form.It’s wilder, richer, but still unmistakably him.The metallic tang of blood makes my wolf anxious, but she finds no serious injuries, just surface wounds already beginning to heal with shifter speed.

He doesn’t move when I drag my tongue over his cheek tenderly, cleaning away the blood splattered there.I do it again, slower this time.My wolf whimpers softly, nuzzling into him, pressing my face into his fur, wanting him to understand.

I don’t see a savage.I see my mate.

Wyatt exhales sharply, his muscles losing some of their tension.He lowers himself onto his haunches, letting me tend to him.My tongue moves over the gash on his shoulder, then down his foreleg where another bite mark seeps.He lets out a low rumbling noise, not a growl, but something deep and primal, his body responding to my care in a way I feel more than hear.

Each slow, careful stroke of my tongue says what words cannot.

I accept you as you are.I am not afraid.I am yours, and you are mine.

His rumbling response grows louder.Not quite a purr, but something equally content.

He’s never had this, someone to tend to him, someone who’ll make sure every scratch is properly cared for.

My wolf nudges against him, encouraging him to stand again.

We need to move.Not back to the packhouse.Not where people are going to be watching him and judging him.Away.

I nip at his fur gently before trotting forward into the woods, glancing back once.

Come with me.

For a second, I think he won’t follow.That his human side will take over, still feeling hurt by what happened at dinner, and that he’ll resist.

But his wolf is more instinctual.I’m his mate.We’re together, as it should be.

Finally, he stands, shakes out his thick coat, and follows, staying close while scanning the trees protectively, keeping an eye out for anyone else coming to cause more trouble.

There's something healing about this simple, wordless communion.In our fur, there are no lies, no complications, and no misunderstandings.Just scent and touch, instinct and belonging.

He follows me trustingly, his massive form moving with surprising grace as we leave behind the drama of the day and just enjoy being in each other's presence, alone at last.

My wolf bursts with happiness, tail wagging once before she takes off into the trees.

We move together, slipping between the trunks like ghosts.The moonlight is bright above us, casting shadows that stretch and bend as we run.Our paws barely make a sound against the damp leaves, our movements fluid and effortless.

We don’t shift back to our human forms.

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