Moon Claimed (Werewolf Dens #2) - Kelly St. Clare Page 0,71

really, really did.

Sascha scratched behind our ears.

Oh god, I moaned.

Tell me about it. Let’s stay for a bit.

We lay on top of him and let the man continue.

“I’ve never seen anything like you,” he crooned.

She huffed, twitching our tail.

You know he’s flattering you, right?

She didn’t answer.

Who knew wolves were vain?

“What do you know about Luthers, beautiful wolf?” he asked.

She rested our head on his chest.

“Our pack has a legend of a she-wolf,” Sascha murmured. “She was chosen by the sun to bear an immortal pup who would create an army for a god. Any offspring that pup sired were given the name Luthers in recognition of their purpose for war. Unlike their sire, they only received immortality if they could reproduce and expand the god’s army. And unlike him, they were not a slave to the beast that resided inside them, ready to burst out and defeat their foe when the order was given. The immortal sire grew jealous, seeing himself as savage and weak in comparison. He began to kill the young of his children and his children’s children. The Luthers revolted, feeling his actions went against the very power that granted the she-wolf his life. They joined forces to kill their sire, and since that day, Luthers have governed themselves. None had his power, so none could unite the race as a whole. We broke into smaller groups, small enough that the strongest wolf could maintain harmony across the different statuses within our kind.”

My wolf was grossly interested in his words. And why wouldn’t she be? This was an explanation for her existence.

“Of course,” Sascha continued, “we could discuss the obvious inbreeding implications of such a legend. And who was the god? Then there’s the whole sun knocking up a she-wolf thing. Bit hard to swallow. But it’s a nice story, and maybe parts of it are true.”

My wolf snorted.

He stared at the sky. “When I was young, I imagined a rainbow shooting into the mother wolf’s heart to make her pregnant. I didn’t know where pups came from.”

We laughed, the sound coming out as a series of short panted huffs.

I sniffed. Spice.

We stilled.

Enemy, my wolf snapped.

Careful not to dig our claws into Sascha, we launched after the smell, a snarl ripping from our curled lips.

I smelled that at the waterfall. What is it?

Another wolf, she hissed. Bad wolf.

Greyson sprinted in pursuit, but we drew to a halt before long. The scent was gone.

It was only faint to begin with.

How do you know it’s an enemy? I asked.

Itchy aroma. He wants to hurt us.

Greyson caught up.

What is it? He circled me, hackles raised.

Something that didn’t smell good.

His circles grew tighter. Not good how?

Made us want to sneeze.

He turned his attention outward. I can’t smell anything amiss.

Nothing?

My pack frequents this area. Male Luthers have a stronger sense of smell than she-wolves, but I do not smell an enemy here. Only my pack.

I probably had a lot of enemies in the pack. And those enemies likely loved Sascha—which would change their scent for him.

Though an attack on me would certainly harm him. So this wolf had to be one twisted mothershitter.

Greyson, I’ve smelled that scent before. At the waterfall before you arrived.

A furious snarl ripped from his mouth. Why didn’t you tell me?

I thought it was a random animal. Could it be the wolf who changed me?

It made sense.

He brushed his body around mine, focus turned outward. With gentle shoves, he herded me back the way we came.

Stumbling back, I tried to hold my ground to no avail. Are we doing this all the way back? Because I have a better idea.

Rounding on me, he snapped. I snapped right back and whirled to walk away, batting him around the face with my tail.

Do what I say, Greyson boomed.

Fuck you, my wolf replied.

Oh, shit, I said in glee. She learned that one from me.

We sashayed out of the clearing and settled into an easy lope back to Sascha’s bungalow. Back on the patio by the stream, we lay flat on our stomach.

Over to you, she said.

I promise we’ll run again tonight or tomorrow morning at dawn. I won’t make the same mistake again.

I know, Andie. Neither will I. It’s my job to alert you, just as it’s your job to make time.

Alright, I hadn’t really done this part without being in a rage. I drew forth the image of my legs and arms, the way they bent and swung. I remembered how it was to be upright and feel the tickle