Page 11 of Off Limits
Werewolf. Gabriel Stone was a fuckingwerewolf.
And Asher had just made himself prey.
6
The momenthis body connected with Asher's, driving him into the forest floor, Gabriel's world narrowed to pure instinct. Years of discipline, years of control—gone in an instant as the wolf finally got what it had been denied for so long.
His prey. His mate. Finally beneath him.
He'd been jerking off in that stone prison moments ago, trying to take the edge off the mating run's demands. His hand on his cock, desperate for relief, with Asher's face behind his closed eyes. Asher beneath him, Asher's throat bared in submission, Asher crying out his name.
The fantasy had become so vivid, so intense, that he could actually smell him. the exact scent that had tortured him for years.
For a moment, he'd thought the moon was driving him truly mad, making him hallucinate his mate's presence. But then he'd opened his eyes and seen him.
Actually there. Watching through the window with those dark eyes wide with shock and unmistakable arousal.
And Gabriel's control had shattered completely.
Now Asher was beneath him on the pine needle-covered ground, still close enough to the outbuilding that its light cast shadows across his face. Close enough that if anyone had been back at the cabin, they might have heard Asher's yelp, might have seen Gabriel pinning him down, naked and feral in the moonlight.
But no-one else was here.
"Gabriel?" Asher's voice came out confused, wary but not terrified. “What's happening? What are you?—"
Gabriel's hand found Asher's throat—not squeezing, just holding. Claiming. His thumb pressed against the racing pulse, feeling the proof of Asher's alarm mixed with something else. Something that made the wolf purr with satisfaction.
"Stay still," Gabriel managed to growl, the words barely human. His throat felt like he'd swallowed glass, torn between forms.
Asher went motionless beneath him, but it wasn't the stillness of prey—it was the careful stillness of someone trying to figure out what was happening. "Your eyes," Asher whispered. "They're... Gabriel, what the fuck is going on?"
The human words barely penetrated the fog of instinct, but they reminded Gabriel of what he was doing. Ray's son was pinned beneath him, and Gabriel was?—
No. The wolf wouldn't let him finish that thought. This wasn't Ray's son anymore. This was his mate. Had been his mate since that day three years ago when everything changed.
Before Asher turned eighteen, he'd just been Ray's kid—a smart-mouthed teenager Gabriel had taught to fish and tolerated at family dinners. Nothing more. But that summer after hisbirthday, when Asher had come home laughing at something on his phone, sun-warm and adult, Gabriel's wolf had stirred for the first time. Had recognized him with absolute certainty.
Mine. Mate.
Gabriel had fled that very day, making excuses about work. Had driven three hours before he felt safe enough to stop, hands shaking on the wheel. When Ray had called a few weeks later, voice rough with disappointment, to say that Asher had run off to the city, Gabriel had felt a confusing mix of frustration and relief.
Frustration that his mate was out there unprotected. Relief that temptation was hundreds of miles away. At least with distance between them, Gabriel couldn't do something unforgivable.
For three years after that, the wolf had been relentless. Every full moon it demanded he go to the city, track Asher down, claim what belonged to them. Three years of fighting his own nature. Three years of the wolf growing more vicious with each denied cycle. Three years of wondering if Asher was safe, if he was eating enough, if someone was taking care of him or taking advantage of him. If they were mating him, using him, putting their hands all over him?—
"You shouldn't have come here," Gabriel growled, lowering his face to Asher's neck, inhaling deeply. God, that scent. Pine from the forest he'd grown up in, whiskey from tonight, and underneath it all, the unique scent that marked him as Gabriel's perfect match. "Shouldn't have watched me."
"I'm sorry," Asher said, but his voice was strange: breathy and tight. "I didn't mean to—I just wanted to check on you, and then I heard?—"
Gabriel's hands moved without his permission, one staying at Asher's throat while the other gripped his t-shirt. The fabric tore like tissue paper under his claws—claws, when had his claws come out?—exposing Asher's chest to the cool night air.
"Gabriel!" Asher gasped, but it wasn't quite protest. "What are you doing?"
Gabriel couldn't answer. Couldn't explain that he was fighting a war inside himself and losing. The man he'd been was drowning under the wolf's needs, under the moon's pull, under the overwhelming rightness of finally having his mate beneath him.
He rubbed his cheek against Asher's chest, marking him with scent. The human part of Gabriel knew this was wrong—knew he should stop, should run, should lock himself back in that stone building until dawn.
But the wolf was stronger now. It had been chained for too long.
