Wolf Teeth || Book I : Summer {M/M} ❄

Chapter #1

The farmhouse was a red stain on the cream linen of wheat fields and early morning sky. It cast a long shadow as the sun rose, and Taron's squadron waited for the werewolves to return home. It was the morning after the full moon, and soon the pack would meander back, naked and exhausted.

The hide Taron's team had built in the cornfield across the road was perfectly camouflaged, but it was not the threat of being seen that worried him most. It was being smelled. To this end, a generous amount of manure had been rubbed into their clothes, boots and onto the hide itself. In the oppressive summer heat, the smell was rank.

Effective, but rank.

"I can't wait to get back to base," Edrik, Taron's second in command, griped under his breath. "The second we're back, I'm having a shower. I'll riot if there's no shower free."

Taron wiped a broad hand across the sweat on his brow. "You sure it's not an improvement from your usual?"

This earned a sidelong look from Benny, their new recruit. Edrik, usually so clean-cut and well put together when not smeared in cow poo, just smirked at Taron.

"Hilarious."

Taron knew there was more he would have said if Benny hadn't been there. As things stood, jokes like 'you seemed to like the smell of me just fine last night,' would qualify as 'too much information' for their newest teammate.

Taron liked Benny okay. The trouble was that Benny took himself very seriously and expected everyone else to do the same. Taron and Edrik—who'd known, worked and slept with each other for years—pretended to take nothing seriously and liked it that way.

Even missions involving the capture of dangerous monsters.

Though nerves crackled through him as they always did before a raid, Taron's six years of experience capturing werewolves served him well. The Fens suffered from high turnover rates. New recruits often left after their first missions—if they survived them at all. Taron had never gotten used to their dwindling numbers. His squadron used to be two dozen strong. Now, it was only the three of them. Thankfully, that was enough for a pack this size.

"I don't mind the stink, so long as we get to see some action," Benny said with his eyes glued to the farmhouse and surrounding horizon. "How long does it usually take?"

"Five minutes. Five hours. Depends how far they roamed in the night," said Edrik.

Taron flashed his crooked grin. "Bet you ten bucks it'll be three hours. Given how much space they have out here before reaching city limits."

"Three and a half," said Edrik.

Benny looked at his watch. It had been two hours and forty-three minutes exactly. Taron saw a vein in his neck jump.

"You want in on the bet?"

"Isn't gambling—" Benny started to say. He paused and thought a while. "I'll bet twenty bucks if you tell us about the raid on the Graveyard Pack, Taron."

Taron rolled his eyes, and Edrik gave him a sympathetic look. "You could look that up anywhere."

"Yeah, but you were there. Stories like that have to be better firsthand."

"If Taron had two brain cells to tell a half-decent story with," Edrik put in with a congenial elbow to Taron's ribs.

"It's gone 0600 hours and I've got three fully functioning brain cells, thank you very much," Taron said. "So name your time, Benny."

"Three hours and five minutes," Benny said. After a pause, he added, "Were there really over a hundred wolves in the Graveyard Pack?"

"You haven't won yet," Taron said, looking at his watch.