Page 4 of Restoring His Howl

“No run?” Cinders called. Had he been that offensive?

“No,” Dillon said. “Not today.”

His door closed.

Cinders crossed the hallway to Dillon’s room. “Well, decide by tomorrow about the costume. We can go to the party together, and you’ll know someone there.” He rested his hand on Dillon’s door. “Might be fun.”

“Yeah.”

Cinders waited a moment in case Dillon said something else. When he didn’t, Cinders sighed. He headed back to his room and groaned. Damn. He’d scared Dillon off.

Fuck. He’d have to try again. Maybe the next time, he’d be a little more… He wasn’t sure. Quiet? Nah, he’d never get a conversation started if neither of them spoke. Be less forward? Could he be less forward? He tended to be brash, and doing so had freaked out Dillon. Be more reserved? He didn’t know how and had never tried. The people who’d come toStiffhad wanted outspoken, pushy dancers, who demanded attention.

He sighed again. Dillon required a lighter touch. Whatever made the guy so quiet was entrenched within him. Pushy wouldn’t help. Could he be reserved? He’d try. No sweat. He liked Dillon, and if keeping his brash comments to himself helped, then fine. Right now, he wouldn’t get anywhere with Dillon.

His jaguar growled within him. The cat wanted to run. Why not exercise and tire the both of them out? He wouldn’t get Dillon out of his system, but maybe, he could form a better plan for winning him over.

Cinders went downstairs and stripped on the porch. He didn’t care who saw him. Fuck them. He wanted to run and wasn’t ashamed of his cat or his body. He crouched and gave himself over to the jaguar. Black fur covered his skin. His nails became claws, and his tail grew. His bones popped, and the muscles shifted form as he allowed the cat to control him. He shook his head and blinked. A run would do him good.

He couldn’t exorcise Dillon from his mind, but he could run himself ragged and hopefully forget the other shifter for a little while.

* * * *

Dillon paced the length of his room. He couldn’t forget Cinders. He chided himself for being so standoffish and scared. Cinders and Ryan were trying to include him. Yes, Cinders had made some comments about being loose-ish, but he’d been a stripper. He probably didn’t know any other way.

Dillon’s skin itched. He wasn’t sure why. Because of Cinders? Could be. He liked Cinders. Despite the comments and his apprehension, he enjoyed being around the jaguar. His wolf sensed a connection between them.

But he hadn’t been honest with Cinders. He’d put up a front. If he kept everyone at bay, he could protect his heart and not get hurt. Christ. TheWet Dreamsporn group had fucked with his head. They’d broken him and made him feel unworthy of love from anyone. He doubted he could get close to another soul. No one would want a guy who’d been used and abused…a guy like him.

His back stung, despite his wounds having healed long ago. The doctor claimed he was having phantom pains. Possible. He wasn’t a doctor and didn’t know anything about scars other than his ran deep. He touched the small of his back. The lines from the multiple whippings weren’t attractive. How could they be? He’d been abused. Would Cinders be able to stand looking at him? Probably not.

Dillon sighed. He should just fuck Cinders then end the relationship. If he gave Cinders the sex the jaguar wanted, maybe he’d forget Dillon and move on. Maybe. Would that get Cinders out of Dillon’s system? What if he enjoyed being with Cinders? What if Cinders didn’t want just one romp between the sheets? Would they do it again? Three times? More?

Dillon sank onto the bed and rested his head in his hands. He had no clue what to do.

The wolf howled within him. He needed to run. Why hadn’t he just gone with Cinders when asked? Because he’d been scared. His wolf didn’t care. The animal wanted to be free. Maybe, the cool air in his fur would help him sort himself out. Couldn’t hurt.

He stripped out of his clothes then shifted. His teeth elongated. Fur covered his arms, legs and belly. He wiggled his ears and swished his tail. The wolf preferred having dominance. He dug his claws into the carpet. Being in his wolf form freed him. He could be himself without worrying about what anyone would do to him. No one saw his scars, and no one asked questions. He could enjoy himself.

He left the room and trotted downstairs to the back porch. Once outside, the cold air curled around him. The temperature change was a nice wake-me-up. He filled his lungs with the afternoon air then ran until his legs ached. His wolf howled. The animal was happy. He bounded along the grass. Dillon didn’t know how far he’d gone, but he was still on the Sanctuary property.

He spotted a black form moving in the grass. He hunched down and studied the animal. A jaguar. He should know the big cat by sight but didn’t know which shifter it was. The more the jaguar moved, the more Dillon watched. He couldn’t help himself. The black feline moved with grace and seemed to be showing off. The jaguar mesmerized Dillon. He’d seen plenty of big cats and knew there were at least two other jaguars on the property. Fifteen lions, four tigers, three jaguars, a bobcat shifter and six humans were currently at the Sanctuary—but he only knew a couple of them.

Something stirred within Dillon. Longing? Desire? A little bit of both? He didn’t think he could be loved because of the damage to his body and soul, but he wanted someone to care for him. To careabouthim. To see beyond his past and accept him. Was that even possible? Once others learned what he’d done and how often, they’d run the hell away from him and for good reason. He hadn’t been in control of himself, but did that matter? Maybe not, but he wanted a mate, and he had to hope they’d be able to give him a chance.

Mate… He snorted. Another wolf would be the best option, so why was he watching the jaguar? The wolf should be in charge and finding another wolf. Did the wolf crave the jaguar? Maybe. His human side definitely wanted the big cat. Well, no… The human side wanted to meet the human within the jaguar.

Christ. No, he couldn’t meet the shifter. What was he thinking? Not only would he wreck the fantasy, but he’d have to let in the person. Closeness meant the possibility of being hurt or abandoned. Hell, no.

“Aren’t you a pretty boy?”

He froze. He’d forgotten about watching the jaguar the moment he’d gotten wrapped up in his mind. The big cat was nowhere in sight. Shit, shit, shit. He knew the voice, though. Cinders. Of course, the jaguar was the stripper. How had he not figured that out? Because he hadn’t been paying attention. He was now.

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