Page 36 of Love, Clumsily
“I know, but—”
“Mason,” I interrupted, stopping to face him. “I want to spend our one-year anniversary watching you run under the full moon. In that special clearing you told me about, with the perfect view of the valley. It sounds romantic and perfect and very us.”
He studied my face, still looking for signs of reluctance despite my clear enthusiasm. “It’s just… most couples go to nice restaurants for anniversaries. Maybe a weekend getaway at a fancy hotel. Not camping in the woods during a full moon with a werewolf.”
“We’re not most couples,” I reminded him, stretching up to press a quick kiss to his lips. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The worry lines between his brows softened, and he smiled—that special smile that still made my heart skip a beat even aftera year together. “Me neither,” he admitted. “I just want today to be perfect for you.”
“It will be,” I assured him, resuming our hike. “Fresh air, beautiful scenery, and my sexy werewolf boyfriend howling at the moon. What could be more perfect?”
He laughed, the sound echoing through the trees around us. “When you put it that way…”
The past six months had been transformative for us. After that night in the forest—the night Mason had finally shown me his wolf without restraint—something had shifted in our relationship. A barrier had fallen, allowing a new level of openness and trust to develop between us.
Mason no longer hid his wolf nature from me—not any aspect of it. He let himself be more instinctual, more primal when the mood struck. Sometimes that manifested in small ways—scent-marking me more obviously, growling when pleased, becoming more tactile and possessive.
Other times, it showed in more significant ways—partial shifts during intense emotions (not just sexual ones), hunting in wolf form and bringing back small game for us to cook together, spending entire weekends in wolf form with me hiking alongside him.
And I had embraced all of it, finding joy in this unique partnership that bridged the human and supernatural worlds. I’d learned to read his wolf body language, to understand his needs in both forms, to appreciate the gift of witnessing him in his truest state.
“Almost there,” Mason said, pulling me from my thoughts. “Just around this bend.”
We emerged from the trees into a clearing that took my breath away. Situated on a small plateau halfway up the mountain, it offered a panoramic view of the valley below, the town of Pine Haven a tiny cluster of lights in the distance. Above,the sky was beginning to darken, the first stars appearing as twilight approached.
“Mason,” I breathed, taking in the vista. “It’s beautiful.”
He smiled, clearly pleased by my reaction. “I found this place when I was sixteen, during one of my first solo runs. I’ve never brought anyone else here.”
The significance of that statement wasn’t lost on me. This was his special place, and he was sharing it with me—another barrier falling, another piece of himself offered freely.
“Thank you for bringing me,” I said, squeezing his hand. “It’s perfect.”
We set up our small tent at the edge of the clearing, working together with the practiced efficiency of a couple who had done this several times before. Camping with Mason had become one of my favorite activities—partly because he made an excellent pack mule with his werewolf strength, and partly because there was something deeply satisfying about sharing a tent in the wilderness, cocooned against the elements together.
As the sun began to set in earnest, Mason built a small fire while I unpacked our dinner—a picnic I’d prepared that morning, with all his favorites. We ate sitting side by side on a fallen log, watching the sky turn from blue to purple to a deep, velvety black scattered with stars.
“The moon will rise soon,” Mason said, his voice already taking on that deeper quality it developed near moonrise. “I can feel it.”
I looked at him in the firelight, noting the subtle changes already manifesting—his eyes more gold than amber, his movements more fluid, his senses clearly heightened as he tilted his head to catch sounds I couldn’t hear.
“Does it still hurt?” I asked, a question I’d never thought to pose before. “The transformation.”
He considered this, his head tilted in that thoughtful way I found so endearing. “Yes and no,” he finally said. “There’s physical discomfort—bones and muscles rearranging themselves isn’t exactly pleasant. But it’s also… relieving, in a way. Like finally stretching after being cramped in a small space for too long.”
I nodded, trying to imagine the sensation. “And tonight? With the full moon?”
“Tonight it will be easier,” he said. “The moon lends its own energy. The shift is faster, smoother. Less painful, more… exhilarating.”
As if on cue, a silvery light began to spill over the eastern ridge—the full moon, rising huge and luminous above the mountains. Mason stiffened beside me, his breath catching.
“It’s time,” he said, his voice now decidedly rougher.
He stood, moving a few paces away from the fire, and began to undress with efficient movements. I watched, still captivated by his beauty even after countless times witnessing this ritual. The firelight played across his skin, highlighting the powerful muscles of his back, the strength in his thighs, the perfect curve of his ass as he bent to remove his boots.
Once naked, he turned to me, his eyes now fully gold and glowing in the darkness. “Last chance to change your mind,” he said, a hint of teasing in his tone. “Run away from the big bad wolf.”
I smiled, rising to meet him. “Never,” I said, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my clothed body against his naked one. “I prefer running with the wolf.”
