Page 32 of The Wulver's Bond
‘You seemed hurt after what we did last night. I fear I went too far.’
Weed stopped short. It wasn’t really a choice, his body just locked up. ‘I wasn’thurt.What gave you that idea?’
Oh, no. The Wulver was keeping his distance, eyeing him like a wounded bird. Trying not to startle him. ‘You seemed to need comfort.’
‘Oh, don’t flatter yourself,’ Weed snapped, taking several steps back. ‘You’re like a massive furry pillow. Just because you happen to becomfortabledoesn’t mean I needed comforting!’
Liar, lie, lying,Weed’s brain sing-songed.Lying to the wolfman instead of lying with him.
‘I am sorry,’ the Wulver said quietly.
He didn’t qualify it further. Whether he was sorry for shagging Weed or for the cuddles afterwards or for simply having to tolerate Weed’s presence on his island—each reason warped and echoed in Weed’s head.
‘Don’t befucking sorry!’ Weed spat. His fists clenched, arms rigid at his sides. Little tremors tripped up and down his spine, oscillating on his tongue. His words came out with a wobble. ‘What have you got to be sorry about? Master of this island. Master of me! Master of all your little bastard wolf pups—right? That’s right, isn’t it?’
The Wulver began to frown and Weed saw it as a sign to push even harder. His mouth cracked open in a wide, nasty grin. ‘How many humans did you have to shag before you noticed your spawn had gotten out of control? Eh? Or was it always your plan to inflict werewolves on this world? I bet a lot of those human women died birthing them, right? Expelling those little monsters from their holes…’
The Wulver approached him. Weed’s lungs pounded for oxygen. His head was both light and heavy all at once. He felt like he might throw up once the wolfman drew near.
The Wulver towered over Weed, lupine eyes narrowing as he looked down his nose. ‘I shall hold you now, if you would like.’
He held his grey palms face up—a tender invitation.
A sob tore from Weed’s throat. ‘Why don’t you fuckinghit me?’
He raised both fists and slammed them onto the Wulver’s chest. The wolfman stumbled half a step, but it seemed mainly in surprise. Weed walloped him again. And then again.
‘Hit me!’ he screamed. It echoed off the cliffs, scared away the gulls. ‘Fucking stop me, why don’t you!’
When the Wulver caught his arms, Weed was braced for anything. His mind had already drawn pictures of his face being dashed against the rocks or drowned in one of the shallow pools, being mocked by crabs and anemones as the other shoe finally—finally—fucking dropped.
Long, calm breaths filled his ears. Arran’s arms encircled him, squeezed him. Firm, but gentle. Weed found himself pressed into the Wulver’s hoodie, inhaling the musky scent of his fur mixed with the crisp salt of the ocean air. His body ceased shivering.You are safe. You are safe.
‘I shall not hurt you,’ Arran’s voice rumbled softly against his head. ‘You are safe here, Weed. You are safe with me.’
Weed choked, trying to swallow back the sudden onslaught of tears. He failed, and they erupted with a humiliating bawl that he buried in the Wulver’s chest.
The hold on him loosened: Weed felt a hand stroking his hair. It sent tingles down his neck and slowed the outpouring of tears. Arran was also growling—a soothing, purr-like growl that seemed to vibrate from his ribcage with each patient breath.
‘I have no excuses for what happened between us, Weed. I could have truly hurt you. I could have destroyed you.’ The tone of Arran’s purr faltered into something angrier. ‘It was a beastly compulsion on my part. I shall do better to rein it in.’
‘If you—’ Weed stammered, his voice too weak to finish. He gathered his wits, grasped hold of his anger.
Weed glared up at Arran, eyes still streaming. ‘If you didn’t… If you didn’t fucking want me to shag you then why didn’t youmake me stop? You could make me stopany time.’ He gasped and buried his face in Arran’s hoodie again. ‘With aword.’
‘Yes. This thought has been plaguing me, too.’ The Wulver pulled back a little and tipped Weed’s chin up to meet his gaze again. ‘Weed. Any shame or regret I might feel over last night lies entirely in the way I have failed you. Not in the act itself. Not in you. You have done nothing wrong.’
Weed gave a bitter snort. ‘Sure. I only tied you up and forced you to shag me.’
‘You asked. I gave permission. That is on me.’ Arran looked away momentarily. His wolfish expression was hard to read at the best of times, but it seemed to Weed that it came over nervous. ‘I was weak, and overcome with want, and I should not have taken advantage of you.It was a stupid risk to your wellbeing, and I am sorry that my wanting has caused you anguish. I would make amends for that mistake, however you wish.’
Weed nearly laughed in his face. Had the wolfman eaten some strange seaweed that made him go loopy in the head? ‘You reckonyoutook advantage ofme?That’s wild, wolfie.’
‘Nevertheless.’
‘Ha.’ Weed tucked back into his embrace, chasing the warmth of Arran’s chest against his cheek. His muddled brain sharpened, pulled back into focus as it discerned the most important meaning of the Wulver’s words. Arran wanted him. Desired him, even.
And yet, he was apparently unwilling to follow through on that desire unless explicitly invited.
