Page 46 of UNAwere

I get up. He’s still by the car, fists clenched, on two feet. I have him under me in a flash, pinned to the dirt. His hands enter my coat. I nip at his cheek, warning.

‘You need to calm down,’ he grits through bared teeth.

I am calm, I growl. You need to stop treating me like I don’t know what I’m doing.

‘You don’t know what you’re doing.’ His fist wraps around my muzzle, and my teeth gnash, trying to shake him off. It annoys me that even in my wolf form, he’s still big enough to control me. ‘You don’t understand some male Weres.’

What are you talking about? I hiss.

‘If you understand, tell me why that piece of shit was talking to you.’

He was being nice. We were waiting for food.

‘He wanted to fuck you.’ He meets my eye, his fist still wrapped tightly around my muzzle. And he looks so angry, his pupils completely blown.

I try to shake him off, but he holds fast. He was just asking me out. It’s no big deal.

‘He wanted to fuck you,’ Briggs growls again. ‘And if you knew anything about being a Were, you would’ve smelled his intentions.’ His face twists, disgusted. ‘I smelt what that fucker was thinking before I even smelt you.’

I manage to unlatch his hand from my muzzle and nip at his fingers. He grunts when I draw blood and kicks up his legs, wrestling me off him. In a flash, there’s the sound of tearing clothes, and he’s Turned. He’s on top of me, his canines embedding themselves into the hollow of my throat. Not enough to puncture, but enough to hold me.

Warmth floods through me and I moan, bucking under him.

Briggs takes a few heaving breaths against me, not letting go.

First lesson: don’t ever fucking think you can get one over me, he grates. Ever.

Screw you.

I don’t know why I’m so angry. I don’t know why the feeling of his teeth against my skin makes me want to tear at every part of him, until I’m coated in his scent, in his being.

I jerk my head towards him and gnash at his cheek, but he doesn’t relent, pinning me.

Sybbie, stop it.

I writhe under him. I fight. I gnash. I claw. He’s strong, but my rage makes me unpredictable. I have him pinned again, and before I can stop myself, his throat is between my teeth once more, and I’m biting down until I’m tasting him.

I moan. Sucking. Laving my tongue.

Briggs lets out a strangled sound that’s close to a whimper.

Red. His voice is pleading. Sybbie, please…

I’ve never heard him sound so helpless. And it does nothing but fuel my desire to keep going. To keep tasting him. Because he tastes so good, and this feels so right, and I need him. I need all of him.

My name’s Jude, he whispers.

I freeze, realising what I’m doing and fall onto my haunches, dragging myself backwards, away from him.

He eases himself up, his head hanging low. Blood darkens the coat around his throat, and his chest is heaving.

I lick my lips, still tasting of him, and I’m panting, shaking my head.

The rage is gone, and that guilt and shame come back. Tenfold. Like a tidal wave.

I’m sorry…

Don’t. His voice is firm. I swear to God, Red, if you feel guilty about any of this, I’m going to leave you on the side of the road.