Page 8 of Wolfgang

Staking his claim.

He wouldn’t, of course. He wasn’t some wandering pervert. But the temptation was there.

Which was reason enough to leave the bedroom before he did something to inconvenience himself. Like shatter that godforsaken aftershave all over the carpet (carpet everywhere, yet another reason to change locations).

His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he left it where it was. It was sure to be Tobias, checking in again on Wolfe’s progress bringing Johann home. Wolfe would have to make an unpleasant phone call sooner rather than later, but it was hard to focus on that when he had his tantalizing human puzzle to work out first.

He almost wished Tobias would follow on his heels after all. It would be incredibly satisfying to wring his head right off his neck, just for all the annoyance he’d caused Wolfe with his little “check-ins.”

He reluctantly released his hold on Dr. Monroe’s sweater, stepping out of the closet and taking a deep breath. He was tenser than he should be, less controlled than he liked. He might not befrightenedlike his beast so foolishly accused, but he was losing his patience with the slow approach.

Should that concern him, seeing as how it had been less than a week?

Unlikely. Wolfe’s unerring self-control hadn’t failed him yet, not since he was a child. Others may not always agree with his choices, but they werehischoices, each of them.

Wolfe smoothed his suit jacket lapels and made his way into the kitchen. The refrigerator was once again pathetically stocked with mostly takeout containers past their prime, as it had been when he checked in a few days ago, but that seemed fitting enough for an overworked ICU doctor. It wasn’t like proper diet was a subject worth addressing, not when what constituted essential intake for Dr. Monroe was about to change quite drastically.

As he closed the refrigerator door, Wolfe’s attention caught on the wall next to it. There was a calendar hanging there. One he’d somehow missed last time.

He smiled to himself as he looked at the entry for the next day, written in red ink, like a blood-tinged invitation. “Well, well. it looks like our dear doctor has an appointment tomorrow. Tell me, would you like to see our mate up close and personal again?”

For the first time in days, his beast purred inside him.

three

Eric

Ericwalkedintothesoftly lit parlor of Serenity, a certain tightness in his chest loosening for the first time in days.

This was undeniably his favorite part of the month: his standing massage appointment. It was a gift he’d been giving himself the past year or so. An hour with Brenda—a six-foot-tall amazon with the hands of a goddess—working every knot out of his overburdened body.

The desk clerk—he thought her name was maybe Kacey, but she wasn’t wearing her badge—smiled at him in that blank professional way service people sometimes did as he walked up to the desk.

“Dr. Monroe,” she greeted, her voice oddly flat, missing its normal Valley girl–adjacent lilt. “I’m afraid Brenda isn’t available today.”

Eric’s stomach fell with disappointment. Heneededthis today. He’d been striking out like crazy lately, not able to find anyone to go home with him. There was a tight pressure in his chest and gut that wouldn’t go away with any amount of self-pleasure. He needed this chance to be touched, to be…soothed.

Truth was, even when he was fulfilled sexually, the massages were something else: a physical release where no one was expecting anything back, where there was no opportunity to make a fool of himself with potential rejection. He could close his eyes and just feelgoodfor once.

And now he had to wait another week for it?

Before he could spiral too hard, Maybe Kacey went on in that blank way, “But we have a substitute for you. Someone new on our staff, if you’re willing.”

“Oh.” An embarrassing amount of relief flooded through him at the offer. “That’s fine, then.”

She nodded, rising from her chair and stepping out from behind her computer. “I’ll take you to your room.”

Eric followed behind her, noticing absently that her movements were oddly stiff. It looked like he wasn’t the only one in need of a masseuse’s touch. He considered suggesting she take advantage of her employee discount and book one, but even he knew that would be pushing the limits of polite conversation, so he just smiled gratefully as she ushered him into the small, dim space, where soothing flute sounds were already pumping out of the room’s speakers.

“If you’ll get undressed to the level of your comfort, he’ll be right in.”

Eric’s level of comfort was completely nude, so he stripped down, folding his clothes neatly on the chair in the corner before sliding facedown under the cool sheet, grateful the massage table’s warmer was already going. He fit his face into that weird hollowed-out pillow thing, blinking at the familiar, ugly patterned carpet and wiggling until he felt his body was more or less aligned.

He was barely waiting any time at all before there was a gentle knock on the door. “I’m ready,” he called out.

Eric heard the quiet creak of the door opening, then the soft rustling sounds of someone getting situated in the room. A scent washed over him, one he didn’t recognize from his past visits; they must have gotten some new essential oils. It was something citrusy, and the name of it was on the tip of his tongue. He’d had a candle with that scent once, he was pretty sure.

Bergamot, that was what it had been called.

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