Star Blessed

Male Posturing

RAFF

Raff couldn't sleep. The stale air in the unused spare bedroom was stifling, and his system had trouble winding down without alcohol. But neither of these things were the real reason he couldn't sleep. He could still smell her, taste her, feel her, but he couldn't convince himself that it wasn't a dream. If he closed his eyes, he'd wake up and discover he'd made it all up.

"Gods man, you're a chump," he muttered, rolling out of bed. His wolf paced eagerly, already anticipating the feeling of soft grass beneath his paws. Few things made him happier than chasing moonlight, but tonight wasn't about finding joy; it was about finding peace.

His men didn't question him when he slipped outside. Most people on the property came and went as they pleased, paying no attention to the hours. Time was a societal convention they chose to ignore.

Of course, he thought as he shifted and raced into the woods, someone probably alerted Lincoln. And he wouldn't blame them if they had. Their Alpha had almost gone feral, and less than twenty-four hours had passed since he'd stepped away from that abyss. Hell, he probably needed a babysitter.

His paws ate away at the miles until even his superior lungs were burning with the effort of running. So it was a relief when the lights of Camden appeared. Shock registered in the human part of his brain. A small part of him had suspected he'd come here so he'd let his wolf take complete control, and still the beast went to her.

Being careful to stay in the shadows, Raff made his way towards the loft apartment he kept in the city square. The locals would've thought nothing of a an oversized timberwolf trotting down mainstreet, but the season of tourism was upon them. No point in stirring up any headlines for the newspapers.

Of course, he could shift and walk down the street as a man. But a naked man might cause more of a frenzy than a wolf.

By the time he reached his building, morning was stirring. Dark windows flooded with light, and shadows moved slowly between the rooms. His sensitive hearing caught the first drips of coffee and hisses of steaming milk, and somewhere in town, a few lucky fellows were getting a proper good morning from their significant others.

Resuming his human form once he entered the apartment, the sounds became less prominent, though if he focused, he could still catch them. But he had no desire to do so, his own blood still too stirred by the kisses of one miraculous woman.

The urge to growl came upon him, but he shoved it down. There were few things he understood about Meribella's decision to allow him to think her dead, but he could grasp the fear that drove her. The wildness inside of him, inside of any werewolf, was a terrifying sight to behold.

Yet, if he was honest with himself, he didn't fully believe her. If she was what she claimed, she should be aware such creatures existed. How could she be frightened of the half of him that made him more like her?

Selkie. The first thing he'd done after she left was research selkies. Lincoln had scoffed at the claim, saying it was far too convenient, but after reading through hours of articles, they'd both agreed it was possible. Many Fae were reclusive, but the selkies more than most. With their ability to shift tied to the skin of their animal, they were vulnerable to exploitation. Story after story told of their women being confined on land by human men, always lamenting after the sea.

Was that what had happened to Meribella? It would explain why she smelled so off. Not truly animal, but more than human. And her fixation with the ocean. Her willingness to climb over the railing that night. All of these things made so much more sense in light of her heritage.

But where did that leave him? Scrubbing his face with one hand, he put his own coffee on to brew before locating clothes. As soon as the sun ruled the sky, he would find her. They needed to have a serious conversation. One that was hands off.