Claimed by the Pack

It was actually a really fun day. Probably the most fun you can have walking the streets of Paris… at least while getting hunted by werewolves, anyway.

The three of us greeted the sunrise from the Pont des Arts, a foot-bridge overlooking the Seine. We had breakfast at a cafe near the river, and the second the stores opened I took my two wolves shopping for actual clothes.

Again, The Hallowed Order footed the bill. It was the least they could do after thrusting me into the middle of all this mess. Besides, they certainly had the coin for it. The Order had been ‘independently wealthy’ for centuries, which I knew was just a fancy word for filthy rich.

We were all too wired to sleep. Besides, we’d slept enough. Instead we walked the streets and thoroughfares, feasting on street meat and drinking more than our share in the coffee houses and little cafes. Damien took us through Tuileries Gardens, where we stepped along beautifully-manicured paths in the shadow of some 14th century palace.

Through it all, we laughed and joked and talked… about anything and everything except wolves and totems. Not focusing on these things cleared our heads. Grounded us back to reality, to what we were actually fighting for in the first place.

And of course there was a fair share of flirting, too. A triple dose, as I walked arm in arm in arm with my two beautiful wolves.

As night fell we ducked into the nearest bistro and picked at something you could call dinner. Dessert was some layered pastry that I fell so deeply in love with I actually ordered another one.

“So this whole ‘mating’ arrangement,” I asked after two glasses of wine. “I assume there’s going to be a lot of doggie-style?”

“Oh yeah,” Damien laughed. “And then some.”

It was warm and cozy, sitting there by candlelight with not just one but two lovers. Two men who’d just taken me in almost every way, but who harbored no resentment or jealousy toward one another.

Shit, it was even romantic.

“And panting,” Broderick offered in a rare burst of humor. “And howling.”

“And shedding,” added Damien.

I laughed so hard I almost spit a mouthful of wine back into my glass. “You guys are assholes.”

But they weren’t done.

“Every full moon,” Damien went on, “Broderick drinks out of a water dish.”

Broderick nodded as if conceding the point. “Oh, and you might not want to stand in one place too long. Damien’s been known to lift his knee and piss on your leg.” Lazily he ran one finger around the rim of his glass. “Either that or he’ll hump it.”

It was hilarious, and not just because of the wine. It was funny because it relieved tension. It broke the seriousness of what we were trying to do, and what we would be doing once we had a plan in place.

“And this is what it was like… with Karessa?” I dared ask.

I watched Broderick closely, as did Damien. He didn’t seem nearly as bothered by the question as he once might’ve been.

“Similar to this,” he said at last. “But honestly? Not half as fun.”

Damien nodded immediately. “Karessa had two sides. She could go from being charming and playful to being deadly serious, all in the span of a heartbeat.”

“She sounds like a good time,” I smirked.

“She could be,” Damien allowed. “When she wasn’t being bossy or insecure.”

“Or both,” Broderick added, draining his own glass.

Over the course of the evening they’d moved closer to me in our booth, and that was fine by me. Broderick’s big leg was nestled snugly against mine. And Damien’s hand rested lightly but suggestively on my opposite knee.

“And what about… you know…”

They glanced across to each other, sharing a look.

“What about what?” Damien asked coyly.

“You know what.” I nodded down at his drink. “Don’t make me toss that in your lap,” I warned. “Like I did with your friend.”