Hungry Like a Wolf (Claws Clause 1)

He had hundreds of reasons to hate witches, and his family wondered why he just couldn’t accept one as a mate?

He might’ve been able to get over his knee jerk reaction about falling in lust at first sight with a stranger—he was a shifter and, unfortunately, finding his mate had long been a possibility even if he’d never actually looked—but a witch?

No.

No.

Not even one as kind and as sweet and as caring as his.

Now, when it came to Nightwalkers, he wasn’t alone in his dislike. Of all the different types of paranormals—shifters, vamps, phantoms, witches, and othersiders—Nightwalkers were universally despised. They were dead, though they didn’t appear that way except for their strangely silver eyes and their pale skin. As a whole, the turned race of vampires were vicious and cruel, their lusts only tempered by their blood-drinking and, if they could find one, their betrothed.

Not many people wanted to tie themselves to a Nightwalker unless they liked to be used as a pincushion. A Nightwalker could offer pleasure with its bite, but there was a cost. Non-Nightwalkers could grow addicted to the high a Nightwalker could offer, becoming a Donor who existed solely to give blood and wait for their next fix. A Donor only loved the feeling, never the corpse; they could never be a vampire’s blood-bonded mate.

In the past, most Nightwalkers were solitary by nature, only relying on the humans they could feed from. Since Paras were forced out into the open, individual Para quirks were more tolerated. Sure, the drinking had to be done behind closed doors, but nowadays there were synthetic blood shops and blood banks even in mixed towns.

There were even a couple of Nightwalkers living in his Bumptown; not many, since there was definitely something in their make-up that made them more reclusive than other Paras.

They settled together in a corner referred to as Little Transylvania. Though Colt was abso-fucking-lutely positive that the vamps in his Bumptown didn’t have anything to do with the bodies, he decided to run past their hidden corner and sniff around after he made it back to the Bumptown.

His wolf needed the exercise. And Colt needed to focus on something that wasn’t Shea Moonshadow.

To make matters worse, right before he left, his mother had cornered him to ask if she would see him Thursday for dinner. Before he could snap at Maddox for involving their parents, he put two and two together and realized that Thursday—the day Maddox wanted him over to eat—was Thanksgiving.

No wonder Dodge had looked at him like he was an idiot for not understanding why Maddox was pushing the whole family dinner thing.

His mother was waiting for Colt to finally make Shea his mate in truth. She wanted her boys to settle down and nagged in that loving way Sarah Wolfe was known for. Luckily, Terrence stepped in and told his mate that Colt wasn’t a pup anymore.

When Sarah snapped her teeth at her mate—the only member of the pack who could challenge the Alpha without it being a true challenge—Colt tucked his tail between his legs and dashed out the back door.

He narrowly missed running into Ralph, waving off the unnecessary offer of a ride back into town before he kicked off his shoes and shifted on the spot. His t-shirt and jeans exploded into tatters as the over-sized, white arctic wolf appeared where the boyi

shly handsome twenty-seven-year-old Colt had been seconds before.

He ran the entire way home. Sure, he’d have to find a way to get his truck back tomorrow, pick up his discarded boots, too, but that was tomorrow.

Tonight was for his wolf.

Of the two Wolfe brothers, Colt had always been the most in tune with his beast. Not lately. Both halves of him were locked in a constant battle as they fought over his… his mate.

Five months later and Colt couldn’t stop thinking about her.

He couldn't stop fantasizing about her, either.

Shit.

Just as he crossed onto the wooded land that surrounded the perimeter of his Bumptown, he couldn’t hold back any longer. In mid-stride, the wolf shifted back to his two-legged shape, revealing a very naked, very aroused male.

That wasn’t so unusual. From the moment he woke up in his bed and discovered that she was there, that she was touching him, that she knew she was his mate, Colt struggled to deal with his hard-on. It was like his damn cock had a mind of its own. No matter how Colt tried to convince himself that he wasn’t going to mate her—that he couldn’t—his cock went stiff at just the slightest thought of her.

Her curls.

Her smile.

Her tits.

The head bobbed, pointed skyward as Colt went down on his knees. It was cold out, November on the east coast, and he felt the chill like a caress on his overheated skin. How many times had he stroked himself, praying for some relief, wishing he could tame his wayward cock without going to Shea and sacrificing his stubborn pride?

Finding another woman was out of the question. He couldn’t have Shea—he was too stubborn, too hard-headed, and he’d lost any chance of getting inside of her a long time ago. No matter what, though, she was his true mate. The one fate picked out for him. He couldn’t have Shea, but he wouldn’t take anyone else.