Page 20 of Love, Clumsily
“A little,” I admitted. “But mostly I was just… in awe. You’re magnificent as a wolf, you know.”
He ducked his head, almost shyly. “It’s just my other form. Nothing special.”
“It’s special to me,” I insisted, leaning against him. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”
He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close. “Thank you for accepting it. For accepting all of me.”
Around us, the pack was transforming back, some remaining in wolf form while others returned to human shape to begin preparing the night’s hunt for cooking. It was a peculiar mix of the primal and the mundane—wolves and humans moving around each other with comfortable familiarity, some cooking fresh game over the fire, others sharing drinks and conversation.
“Is it always like this?” I asked, watching the scene with fascination.
“Full moons? Pretty much. Run, hunt, feast, then run some more.” Mason accepted a beer from Alex, who had shifted backand was now distributing drinks. “Some will stay human for a while, then shift again later. Others will stay in wolf form all night. It’s a personal preference.”
“And you?”
He smiled, a hint of wolf in his grin. “I thought I might stay human for a while. There are certain activities I can only enjoy in this form.”
The suggestive tone in his voice sent heat rushing through me. “Oh really?”
“Mmm,” he confirmed, his hand sliding up my thigh. “Full moon affects stamina in both forms, you know. And we have that private room with the very sturdy bed…”
“What about the pack feast?” I asked, though I was already leaning into his touch.
“They’ll be busy for hours,” he murmured, his lips finding my neck. “And I’m hungry for something else entirely.”
I shivered despite the warmth of the fire. “In that case, lead the way.”
He stood, pulling me up with him, and we made our goodbyes to those nearby. If anyone knew exactly where we were going or why, they had the courtesy not to comment, though I caught a few knowing smiles.
As Mason led me back toward the house, his hand warm and firm in mine, I glanced back at the clearing. Wolves and humans mingled together in the firelight, a scene from some ancient time transported to the present. It should have seemed strange, impossible, yet somehow it felt right.
And as I followed my werewolf boyfriend—my mate—into the house for what promised to be an extraordinary night, I knew I had found something rare and precious: a place where the impossible was everyday, where magic walked in human form (and sometimes on four legs), and where I, improbably, belonged.
Chapter 9
“Remind me again why we’re going to your sister’s cabin in the middle of the woods at nine in the morning on a Saturday?” I asked, yawning as Mason navigated his truck down a narrow forest road.
“Because Riley threatened to come to our place and drag us there if we didn’t show up,” Mason replied, reaching over to squeeze my thigh. “And trust me, she would. My sister has zero respect for privacy.”
It had been two months since my first full moon with the pack, and I was still adjusting to the unique dynamics of werewolf family life. The Holloways operated on a level of casual intimacy that was foreign to me—dropping by unannounced, weekly family dinners that were practically mandatory, and a general assumption that everyone’s business was pack business.
“What’s so important about this meeting anyway?” I asked, stifling another yawn. Mason and I had been up late—very late—the night before, engaged in activities that made early mornings particularly challenging.
“It’s not really a meeting,” Mason explained. “More like a… pack check-in. We do it every couple of months. Everyone shares what’s going on in their lives, any problems they’re having, any changes coming up. It helps keep the pack bonds strong.”
“Sounds like therapy,” I observed.
Mason laughed. “Kind of is, I guess. Werewolves need strong pack connections to thrive. It’s instinctual—the need to know where everyone stands, to reaffirm the bonds.”
I nodded, watching the trees blur past the window. I’d learned a lot about werewolf psychology over the past few months, mostly through observation and Mason’s patient explanations. The more I understood, the more fascinating I found it—this blend of human and wolf, rational thought and primal instinct.
“And I need to be there because…?”
“Because you’re pack now,” Mason said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “My mate, my pack.”
The casual way he included me still gave me a warm feeling in my chest. Despite not being a werewolf myself, I’d been fully accepted into the Holloway pack, treated as one of their own in a way that sometimes left me feeling overwhelmed but mostly grateful.
“Besides,” Mason added with a sideways glance, “Mom’s making her cinnamon rolls.”
