Hunt Me! I Crave the Chase (Spooky Boys #3)

Apparently.

I had never been a greedy person before, so this came as a surprise.

Because after a couple weeks of pretending to be his pet, existing beside him wasn’t enough anymore. I knew the more time we spent together when I was in my humanskin, the more dangerous those interactions became. Soon I’d become something more than a man he found pleasure with, even though I’d been honest about what time we had together—and that would hurt him inevitably when I left.

But I needed more.

I needed it like I needed air, or water—or the moon’s gentle caress.

I needed to talk to him, to know him. To listen to his laugh, to see him smile and know I was the cause of it. To know what it felt like to mount him fully. To hold him together when he threatened to fall apart. To right the wrongs that had been done to him when he’d been nothing but a pup.

To show him not everyone was bad, and that I would keep him safe, just like I’d promised.

Jeffrey hardly ever smiled, and when he did it was brittle.

Like he was porous and rough.

It was a smile I was after today, as I bounded over a log and decided to throw away my worries for now and focus on Jeffrey.

Trees in Maine were just as tall as the trees back home. Though my woods were dotted with the pale white bark of aspens, Elmwood’s forests consisted primarily of densely packed pine and maple trees. With full, fat leaves that waved in the breeze. Pretty as a watercolor painting.

I knew what watercolors were because Mama taught me. She painted sometimes, on the rare occasion she adopted her humanskin. When I was a pup, I’d watch her, sitting at her feet, the gentle strokes of her brush wooshing through my ears as she created masterpieces out of thin air.

The walls of our childhood den were coated in haphazardly placed art pieces she’d made. The canvases varied in shape and size, all colorful, depicting visions of water that stretched far enough the world ended, and deserts so vast just looking at them made me feel small. In some rooms, even the walls were decorated. Altered into landscapes that made you feel like you were traveling the world, even when you weren’t.

I’d been a homebody since birth.

I rarely left the pack grounds—and when I did, it was to hunt or forage. To visit with the trees, to dip inside the sparkling rivers, to stretch out my legs for as long as I could before Dad’s howls ultimately called me back. As I’d gotten older he’d let me stay out longer and longer. I’d ran farther and farther. Especially after the day the moon turned her back on me, and I knew my time was limited.

All alphas went through this. Dad told me it was normal, but there was an ache in me hollow and dark that I knew wasn’t right, no matter how often he told me it was.

After my eighteenth birthday I could manage several weeks alone without anyone thinking something was amiss, lurking between the trees and listening to the birds, content to gorge myself on nature’s treasures when I was hungry, and not a moment before.

I’d hunt for prey and bring it home, leaving it on the edges of the compound to help sustain us.

Other than that, the full moon was the only thing that forced me to return to pack grounds now. The woods became my home as much as the cottage we grew up in and the compound our pack resided inside. A giant reserve off the beaten path with a crystalline lake and buildings that grew more crowded with every passing year.

I knew the compound like the back of my hand.

Knew the fastest way to get to the creek. Knew which roads to avoid and when. Knew every flavor the local and only ice cream shop served. Knew every nook and cranny, every crack and crevice, every tree and flower.

It was comfortable.

Safe.

My brothers had been surprised when I’d suggested we go to Maine. Shocked even. It was far away. Way farther than anyone had expected someone to suggest—least of all me. Before that moment I’d had no interest in leaving. I’d always thought Mama’s paintings were enough—that I could travel the world through them and be content.

When I stood in front of Dad, the Pack Alpha, I felt every inch of my frame. Silence filled the room the moment I took my humanskin, and I could feel the weight of every single wolf present as I opened my mouth and begged.

“This is what you want?” Dad asked, his eyes soft, lips thin as always. He was a kind man, though quiet. “Maine?”

“Yes,” my hands shook, because I had no idea what I’d do if he said no. I’d have to leave, at least temporarily. My heart was calling me from across the country, after all. I’d have to come back, I knew that. I had no choice. “I want to set up a new branch for the compound in Maine,” My heart pounded. “It is the perfect spot. Similar in climate to home, but far enough away for growth and to strengthen the pack. There is a town—” my throat clicked. “It is a sanctuary. We would be safe beside it. There is a broad stretch of land up for sale that I know would work perfectly, and it is well within the budget you proposed. The local pack is friendly, and open to us expanding.”

“You’ve researched this,” Dad had said, talking slow and even, like always. His blue eyes flickered—the same shade as mine—a sad twist to his lips. “And you’ll be back?” He watched me knowingly.

“Yes,” I nodded. “I just…I need this. Please.” Though the moons hurt, I knew I had at least a few in me before I fully fell beneath the weight of my wolf. There would be plenty of time to return home to bond before I went fully feral. “I’ll be back, as promised. Right on time.”

“I just want you safe,” Dad said, his gray hair glinting. He had furs from my kills all over his chair, and was nursing a giant mug of cocoa, his massive frame making the cup appear normal-sized. I’d inherited his size, much like I’d inherited his eyes. Though sometimes, they felt like a curse, rather than a blessing.