The Werewolf's Secret Baby: A Paranormal Shifter Romance

Chapter Three

"Favor? Desmond, I'm already doing you a favor. It's not good to owe a witch," Perrine teased lightly, though her eyes shone both with mild curiosity and seriousness.

"Let's call it more of an arrangement then. I'll have some of my boys take down a gator for you and bring it to the voodoo shop if you'll do this for me."

The witch seemed to think the offer over, her singular eye focused on the ground as she thought while the glass one rolled lazily in its socket to stare directly at him. He shivered and quickly looked away.

"Alright. I do this favor, you bring me the gator. Now. What is it you need, cher?"

Desmond breathed a sigh of relief as Perrine agreed and he quickly told her about Marceline.

"Look. I know it's stupid that I'm suddenly worked up over her. I mean, she's right. She's taken care of herself for years without me, but—"

"But you're neurotic and anxiety prone and she's your girl. I get it, Desmond. I'll keep an eye on votre cher Marceline. I think she is right in saying Ramson won't hurt her. He hasn't yet, why would he now?"

Desmond himself didn't have an answer for her. Part of him wondered if his unease at leaving her alone stemmed solely from the fact that she was his. He was jealous of the very idea that Ramson could do something to her, knowing Perrine would be close at hand in case something did happen made it easier for him to relax.

"Thanks, Perrine."

The witch only nodded as she pushed past him, humming some jazz tune or another, not even bothering to wave in departure.

As soon as he was done talking with Perrine, Desmond closed his eyes. Testosterone raged through him to the point he was starting to feel light-headed with how aggressive his beast spirit fought to take control of their body. It would do good to blow off some steam. As a wolf, he'd be distracted enough to leave Marceline behind. Sighing softly, he reached internally into himself until he found the heart of the wild presence he harbored deep inside.

Primal instincts seeped deep into his bones until they began to shift and slide out of one joint or socket and into a different one. His ribcage elongated and expanded along with his lungs, as air suddenly tasted of muddy earth and swamp. It tasted of home on his tongue. His senses became alive until he could hear the world turning and smell the different individuals that had walked by in the past few hours. Finally, fur, the color of ash and soot, sprouted all along his body and his beast spirit, his wolf, pressed in on his mind, surrounding him in the savageness of the beast.

A howl rose up deep from the pit of his stomach, up through his chest and out past his snout as he threw back his head. As the sound of his howl echoed, thoughts of Marceline were pushed to the back of his mind. In the distance, a howl responded to his own and then another and another, until the song of his pack, though distant, surrounded him. While he had no desire to join them, he sprinted through the swampy marshland, taking the long, scenic route home, allowing their howls to carry him.

He remembered her running beside him like this. Playful and teasing. She was always so full of life, so vibrant, as her wolf. As the wind whistled through his sensitive ear fur, he could almost pretend that it was the sound of wind rustling the fur of another wolf running beside him. Marceline's wolf. A soft whine of satisfaction rose in his throat at the thought.

The run had worked for a while, keeping his mind off Marceline. The long run home had satisfied his beast, but the second he was human once more, Desmond was a train wreck all over again. His previous euphoria was replaced once more with raging arousal and angry testosterone. What was worse, he'd accidentally left his cell phone on his nightstand. It flashed with 2 missed phone calls and nine unread text messages, all from various pack mates.

The cell phone held a message from Arin, reporting they'd accidentally killed both of the remaining blood enraged wolves and then one from Corwin apologizing for dealing a killing blow. A few messages from Perrine, reporting that Ramson had yet to stop by the cabaret and she had begun helping Marceline clean up the place. Everything else was mundane, simple pack stuff; things he could deal with at a later time.

It was time for a shower. Despite his run, Marceline's sweet scent still curled in his nose and his length bulged achingly against the zipper of his jeans from the memory of her touches. He hadn't allowed himself to think about her like this since she left. Seeing her had broken open the dam that he'd locked all of his emotions for her behind.

Shuddering, he shrugged out of his shirt, chest heaving slightly, though whether it was with pent up arousal or exertion, he didn't know. As he moved into his bathroom, his eyes, once more pale blue instead of striking silver, roamed over his form.

He had so many scars on his shoulders, his chest, his neck. Most prominent was the one on his nose. It'd been a battle to defend his role as alpha and his rival had crunched down on his snout. A shudder rolled down his spine at the remembrance. He remembered thinking once that he could never compare to his mate. Yet, she always assured his appearance came off just as attractive to her as her curvy form and flawless, ebony skin did to him.

Marceline...

Marceline...

His stomach clenched with heat and his groin begged for attention. He'd shower, take care of his problem, maybe cook something and then he'd bother Perrine.

His own musky arousal filled his nose, as he stepped into the shower, chasing away the sweet scent of his Marceline. As the water began to cascade over his body, he closed his eyes and conjured up Marceline in his mind's eyes. He could see her pouting lips and her perfect breasts. He could just make out her vo—.

His phone began to ring in the other room, the obnoxious, blaring sound of Scottish bagpipes cutting straight through the beginnings of his fantasy and over the hiss of the steaming shower water. He let it ring itself out, deciding the caller could wait a few minutes for him to finish.

Slowly, he closed his eyes again as his own, rough hand trailed across his scarred chest. Marceline's soft hand... Her soft, callous free, unwolf-like hands. He'd needed love from his mate for so long... A low whine rose in his throat as his beast spirit surfaced, panting heatedly in his mind.

The phone began ringing again, and his eyes snapped open.

"Can I have a moment to myself?" he growled out. Was he expecting the phone to cease its ringing? Honestly, he just wanted to jack off in peace, and yet, even before he had a chance to close his eyes a third time and create Marceline in his memory again, the phone blared once more.

Snarling in rage, he tore through the shower curtain, ripping it clean off the pole and grabbed his phone with every intention of throwing it against the wall. He would have, had he not caught Perrine's name scrolling across the screen.

His heart simultaneously dropped to the floor and leaped into his throat as it exploded in his chest.

"Perrine?" he answered.