Our wolves are us.
Their emotions are ours.
We are one and the same.
Whatever we feel, they feel and whatever they feel, we feel, but it’s worse because it means it’s real.
And so, as much as I try to put the blame on the animals inside of us, it is not actually true. Because this need that I feel for the Wicked Wolf is my own, and I am simply drowning in it.
I see the exact moment my words register with him.
The enormous wolf on top of me, caging me under him with his powerful body, growls low and dangerously. His eyes are dark and animalistic, his humanity pushed back and leaving only hunger and desire.
For me.
It only made my own desire burn brighter, needing him, wanting him.
“D—“ His name almost slips out of my lips, but I don’t get to say it as he shifts right on top of
