Wolves' Lair (A Werewolf MMF Bisexual Threesome) (2 page)

Finally, the man with the fetid breath pulled his face away, still grinning.

“Into the car, then,” he said, and then his face twisted into a grimace of pain.

He yelped, flailing at something behind him. Lucy heard the knife drop to the ground as the man staggered backwards, doing a strange backbend.

She grabbed the knife, falling forward onto her knees. Blindly, she held it out, waving it in front of her. She didn’t know what was happening, but she
did
know she had the knife.

The man who’d assaulted her was shouting, just a stream of curse words. From her knees, Lucy could see two men take shape, both wearing leather jackets. One stood behind the man who’d assaulted her, twisting his arm behind his back, and as Lucy watched, the other punch him square in the face, again and again, until the shouting stopped.

Then the man doing the punching stepped away and shook his hand. Lucy could see his knuckles, bright red with blood, in the ugly light of the street lamp.

“Good enough, I think,” he said.

There was a sickening, muffled
snap
, and the man with the bad breath howled again, crumpling to his knees. The man standing behind him stepped away, brushing his hands together.

“
That’s
good enough,” he said.

The man who’d assaulted her was on his knees and one hand, the other dangling almost uselessly to his side.

“You broke his arm,” Lucy said in utter disbelief, staring at the two men. “Oh my god, I should call 911 or something—“

Then, in a moment of clarity, she realized: they were wolves, just come from the bar down the block. Her eyes widened and her heart hammered even faster. Tears poured down her face, despite herself.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she said, dropping the knife to the asphalt. “I won’t say anything, I swear—“

One of them held up his hands as the other bent to the man with the broken arm, rummaging through his pockets.

“Are you okay?” asked the wolf with his hands raised.

Lucy nodded, swallowing hard.

“He didn’t hurt you? Are you sure?”

Lucy felt her sides with her hands, but she seemed to be in one piece.

“Sometimes you don’t realize when you’re hurt, with all the adrenaline,” he went on.

“I think I’m okay,” Lucy said, her voice shaky.

“What’s your name?”

“Lucy.”

“Lucy, are you gonna be okay to drive?”

She nodded again. Tears were pouring down her face now, embarrassing her.

“You should go,” he said.

Trembling, Lucy picked her purse up from where it had fallen to the ground, and after three tries, managed to unlock her car.

“Thank you,” she said, look from one wolf to the other.

The both smiled.

“Not at all,” the one going through her assaulter’s pockets said, then turned his attention to the man on the ground. He tossed a cell phone onto the asphalt in front of him. “There’s 9-1-1,” he said. “Make the most of it.”

As Lucy drove away, she could see the two men in her rear view mirror.

Lucy wasn’t exactly surprised when she couldn’t get to sleep that night until the sun was coming up. She skipped her morning classes — something she almost never did — and made herself lots of coffee and a nice breakfast, then took a long bath.

Finally, around noon, she was beginning to feel like herself again.
 

She didn’t tell anyone what had happened. First, she didn’t want them to worry. She still had to go to work, and still had to do inventory, and didn’t need to hear about what a bad idea that was from anyone.

Besides, she was pretty sure that the two men who’d rescued her could get into trouble for breaking that guy’s arm, and she didn’t want that. Even though they’d been wolves, they had been so... nice, and concerned. They’d gotten involved when they didn’t have to, and they’d made sure she was okay before leaving.

It didn’t really square with what she thought she knew, not at all.

She got out of the tub in time to attend her afternoon classes, and then show up at work for her last night of inventory, with Stephan, one last time.

“I parked in the lot this time,” she said as they locked the doors, late at night.

“I thought you thought it was creepy.”

“Well, you know, safety in numbers,” she said.

“Is it that wolf bar?” he asked, looking quickly down the street to where a group of men were smoking, half a block away.

“No, it’s just, you know, better to walk together,” she said quickly as she glanced toward the bar.

Something moved in the shadows, and Lucy thought her heart might stop.

“I am gonna have a
drink
when I get home,” Stephan was saying, not looking at Lucy.

The shadows moved again, and the man in them stepped into the bright glare of a street lamp.

It was one of the wolves from the night before, his face just barely lit, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

He looked right at Lucy and nodded once, then stepped back into the shadows.

What does he want?
Lucy wondered.
Should I go talk to him, or what?

“Are you coming?” Stephan asked.

Lucy turned to look at him. When she glanced back at the wolf, he hadn’t moved.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” she said, and walked with Stephan to her car, then drove home safely, wondering why the wolf had been watching her from the shadows like that.

For the next couple of days, Lucy didn’t have much of a chance to think it over. She had a huge biology lab to do and a twelve-page paper on the romantic poets to write, but she didn’t mind. She had a sneaking suspicion that thinking things over too much would only lead her to worry incessantly, and when had that ever helped anyone?

She wasn’t at work again until Saturday, and was just tying her apron on and clocking in when Stephan came up to her.

“Watch out for the glue aisle,” he said. “Some guy is in there, pretending to look at stuff. Black leather jacket and all that.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I think he’s a wolf.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows. “Thanks for the tip,” she said. “I’ll avoid that section.”

It has to be one of them
, she thought.
Maybe the one that was watching me the other night.

She knew she should probably be nervous — what if he wanted a favor or something as payback for saving her the other night? But on the other hand, she felt a tingle of curiosity as well as a tingle of something
else.

After all, neither of them had tried a thing. It couldn’t hurt to talk to them, right? What if all those rumors really were false? Wolves could probably be just as nice as anyone else.

Head high, she made her way to the glue aisle.

Sure enough, there he was, pretending to be very interested in different types of tile glue. Lucy swallowed, straightening up. Time to be brave.

“That one works best on glass tiling,” she said.

Without looking for her, he reached for the box and examined the back.
 

“I’m redoing the steps to my patio,” he said. “I found all these mosaic tiles. Shiny on one side, but dull on the back. What’s that?”

“Sounds like ceramic,” Lucy said, her heartbeat slowing. She pointed to another box. “You want that one.”

He put the glue back on the shelf and turned to look at her, fully.

“I’m Declan,” he said.

He held out one hand.

“Hi,” she said, simply. “I’m still Lucy.”

Really? That’s what you say?
She thought.

“Good,” he said with a smile. The corners of his bright blue eyes crinkled at the edges. “I was hoping you were.”

She blushed.

“So, you’re redoing your patio?” she said, fumbling a little for the words.

“I’ve given it some thought, at least,” he said. “Though truth be told, it’s not on the list of my top projects. I should probably re-grout my kitchen counters, first.”

Lucy’s heart had almost slowed to a normal pace. This was so different from being in the dark with him, outside her car, terrified. She remembered that heavy, wet, fleshy
snap
and it sent a chill down her spine, but she was safe in the art supply store.

She felt herself smiling. This wolf —
Declan
— was actually kind of sweet and charming, not at all the wild monster she’d let herself believe.

“We don’t sell grout here,” she said. “Unless you were going to use superglue.”

“Would that work?”

“No.” Lucy laughed a little, just to watch his eyes crinkle again. The way he looked at her when they did really made her feel all squishy inside.

“Then I guess I’m in the wrong place,” he said.

At that, Lucy felt an odd little tug inside her. She didn’t
want
him to leave, she realized.

“What time do you get off?”

“Today?”

Stop asking such dumb questions,
she thought.

“Yeah.”

“Not until we close at 9. I’ll probably be out of here by 9:30.” She fiddled with her apron pockets and then looked up at him. “Why?”

“That’s a little late,” he said, half to himself. “Could I still take you out for dinner, though?”

Oh
, thought Lucy.

“Wow, um, I mean,” she said, sticking one hand into her curly mass of hair. “I don’t know if you want to wait for me and eat that late. Is anything even going to be open then? Besides McDonalds, I guess?”

He held up both hands again. “Hey, it was just a question,” he said. “It’s okay, don’t get worked up.”

He sounded disappointed.

“Wait, no,” said Lucy.

You are fucking this up
, she thought.

“No, I mean, yes, yeah, I’d love to get dinner with you,” she said.

She could feel herself turning bright pink.

Declan was looking at her, amusement crinkles starting to form around his eyes.

“You sure?” he said. “You don’t have to.”

For one moment, his blue eyes looked straight into hers, and Lucy felt a single deep pang of something she couldn’t name.

“Of course I’m sure,” she said. “I just — sorry, I get flustered easily.”

“I see that.”

Lucy tangled her hands in her apron again.

“Nine-thirty, you said?”

“Yeah, though—“ Lucy began to feel another rush of words she couldn’t stop— “My car is here, so maybe I should just meet you somewhere at nine forty-five or something?”

He nodded.

“The copper kettle?”

Lucy raised her eyebrows. He’d just named Boise’s only fancy cocktail bar. It had opened last year, and called itself a ‘speakeasy,’ serving fancy cocktails from the 1930s and 40s, along with bar food. She hadn’t expected him to suggest such a nice place, if she was being honest — he struck her as more of a cheap-tequila-and-beer kind of guy.

“I’ve never been there,” she said. “Is it good?”

“Me either,” he said. “We can find out together. Nine forty-five.”

Lucy nodded.

Declan winked at her, then turned around and walked away, dragging one finger along the shelf as he walked out of the aisle. She tried not to watch him as he left, even if he
did
look really good in jeans.

Really
good.

She could see people looking at him while doing their best to act like they weren’t looking. Most art store patrons were reedy, lanky college students — skinny kids in thrift store clothes, not tall, broad grown men who wore leather jackets and really filled out a pair of jeans.

Lucy looked down at the bottle of glue she’d grabbed off of the shelf, just to have something in her hands. She suddenly realized the PA was saying something, and after listening for a moment, she realized it was telling her to come to the registers in the front.

She put the glue back and scurried to her cash register, and spent the next two hours ringing up customers.

That night, as all the art store employees walked to the parking lot in a knot, she tried to be coy about her plans.

“I’m going to go have drinks with some friends,” she told Stephan. “What are you doing?”

He shrugged. “House party, I think, and then maybe this 90s themed dance party that my roommate got invited to, but I don’t know. I’m kind of over the whole 90s thing. Where are you going for drinks?”

She tried to play it off. “Oh, that new place, what’s it called.”

“Not that new frat bar.”

“No, it’s the one with the cocktails. I can never remember the name. Just there is all, anyway. What’s the 90s party?” she said it all fast, trying to change the subject.

“The copper kettle?” he reached into his pocket and drew out his car keys, giving her a look. “You
fancy
.”

Lucy just shrugged.

“I hope he’s paying,” Stephan called as they both got into their cars.

Lucy laughed.

“Me too!” she said, and then they both drove out of the dark parking lot.

By the time she was walking into the Copper Kettle, Lucy was wishing that she’d gone home to at least change. She felt like she smelled like art supplies, or at least like dust and paint thinner. Her hair looked funny from where she’d had it in a ponytail all day and she wasn’t even wearing her
good
jeans, she was wearing her
comfy
jeans.

As she walked through the swinging doors, she scanned the bar. Even though it was a Saturday night, the place wasn’t too busy. Most of the booths had people in them, and most of the tables, but it wasn’t the bro-heavy college drinking scene she’d come to expect — the reason she rarely went out anymore.

Moving through the bar, she finally spotted him in a small booth in the back. He waved and stood, taking her jacket off for her and hanging it on a hook not far away.

Whoa
, she thought. She’d never been on the kind of date where the man took her jacket from her.

“You made it,” he said.

He had his jacket off, too, revealing a flannel plaid shirt that
 
had its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing heavily muscled forearms and tattoos. Lucy found that she couldn’t help but stare at them: a wolf’s face on one arm, its eyes practically glowing.

On the other arm, a long oval that looked like it held a saint, but there was only a skeleton inside.