Big Bad Wolf (The Lycans 1)

“Oh yes.” His voice sounded different, deeper, huskier, and his eyes kept flashing from blue to brown.

“Why do they do that?” I swallowed, this little part of me still saying I needed to run, that this wasn’t normal or safe. But the much stronger part refused to leave him.

He closed his eyes, squeezing them as if grappling for control. When he opened them again, they were normal. “My inner animal pushes through at times, far more now that you’re in my life. The blue coloring is his eye shade.”

It’s the same as mine. I didn’t want to think too deeply on that, but then again, the fact that they were a perfect match just seemed to bring about the whole mate situation.

I cleared my throat, trying to focus on something other than the fact that even though things had definitely gone into the fucked up category, my body still hummed with arousal. “Are there more of you? Different species?”

He inclined his head, and I was taking that as a very old world, aristocratic gesture from him when he agreed with me. “Many. Hundreds.”

“Vampires?” He nodded. “Witches and warlocks?” Ren inclined his head again.

“Demons too, but they are an aggressive bunch of bastards and thankfully keep to themselves most of the time.” He took a step toward me, but I held my ground, even though I was still a little nervous about all this. “I hope to tell you about all the different kinds of creatures that make their homes amongst humans.”

I want that too.

I swallowed and smoothed my hands down my thighs. “How old are you?”

He paused for a moment, and I was pretty sure what he was about to say would be another shock to my system.

“Over three centuries old.”

And yup… the air went right out of my lungs, and I staggered back.

An over three-hundred-year-old werewolf… Lycan… whatever he called himself, was standing in front of me, claiming I was his mate.

“Do you live forever?”

He shook his head. “Some of the species in the supernatural world do possess immortality. My kind is not one of them. The oldest known supernatural is rumored to be over a millennium old, but we have our own folklore within the supernaturals, so I couldn't tell you if that’s just rumor, what his species is, or if it is true if he’s actually out there still.”

I felt my eyes widen.

“Although I’ll live far longer if I have my mate by my side.”

I felt my brows lower at his use of that mate term again. “What does that mean when you say I’m your mate?” Did I really want to know this?

He exhaled and ran a hand over the back of his short, dark hair, then he turned and faced the fire. “I wanted to go slow with you. But I’m running out of time.” The last part was muttered so low I wasn’t quite sure I heard him clearly. But before I could ask, he faced me again. “I have one female born to be mine and mine alone.” He stared at me right in the eyes as he let that sink in.

I swallowed, knowing this was fucking insanity, but another part of me felt like what he said couldn’t be anything but the truth. I felt something the moment I’d seen him, this pull, a weird connection that was undeniable. Could what he said actually be the truth, actually make sense? Or was I allowing myself to be pulled down to some crazy world where this man needed to get professional help.

But his eyes. The size of him. The way he seemed so… not human.

“And if I… don’t want to be your mate?” It felt so very wrong to even utter those words. It was physically painful to say them, like acid being poured down my throat. I noticed how tense he became after I said it, as if the very thought of me not wanting to be his was too unbearable. “What if you don’t want me as a mate—”

“Not possible,” he cut me off. “You were made for me and me alone.” I swallowed at hearing those words again. He sounded so final. “There isn’t any part of you that I don’t find desirable above all else.”

And there went my heart, just plummeting into my belly.

“And every part of me—especially my Lycan—wants to claim you, Mikalina,” he growled my name, and I took a step back, sensing he was changing in this moment, becoming more primal, animalistic.

“What happens when you claim me?” That question was barely a breath from my lips, but I found myself desperate to know the answer.

“If I told you, I’d frighten you by the intensity.”

“Tell me,” I breathed out.

A moment of silence stretched, before he growled out, “I’d become more animal, my canines lengthening in preparation to bite you, mark you.” He was breathing harder—the same as I was—as if speaking these words turned him on. And I was shocked to find they were arousing me. “My nails would lengthen to claws, my body becoming taller, bigger.”