Logan (Wolf Mountain Shifters #3)

2. Logan

TWO

LOGAN

I ripped off my shirt and unbuttoned my jeans.

I had to run, to hunt, to get away from the world. It wasn’t a want or a longing; it was a full-on need. If I didn’t get my clothing off quickly enough, there was going to be a pile of shredded fabric on the ground.

This was my beast’s doing. He was insisting he take his fur, and I didn’t understand.

We’d been sitting on the stoop listening to the crickets, watching the moon, and drinking a beer. Just like we did most nights after the mated couples went to bed.

But my wolf had been like this before. All young shifters dealt with the pull to be in our fur after their first shift. But, during that transition, it made sense. It was our beast learning how to live in not one but two forms for the first time.

Before our maturity, our wolves were cocooned within us. That first shift—it changed everything for our beasts as previously they had no control over us.

It had been years since I’d experienced this uncontrolled desire as my wolf took his fur and pushed me back. Fighting my animal, regaining my skin—that was an option. I’d probably win. But then I’d end up in a power struggle with him for who knew how long. This was easier, and, for my wolf, better.

He wasn’t rebellious. This need, this longing, was something he was struggling with. This all started when the dreams began—the dreams I both loved and despised—the ones I hadn’t told my friends about. Maybe I should. They were pack for a reason, and we were supposed to share if something was bothering us.

My fur ripped through me, my beast’s paws landing on the ground in near silence. He tilted his nose towards the moon and inhaled, scenting the air. He wanted blood, and the fox whose scent was wafting through the trees was going to learn the hard way that my wolf always got what he wanted.

My beast took off toward the scent. My wolf was huge, larger than most, but he could tear through the woods in silence. His feet didn’t pound into the earth the way my packmates’ did. He almost glided over the ground, and that habit suited us well when hunting.

It suited our prey far less.

Half a minute later, my animal had caught up to the fox, pouncing on him with ease, but, just as he was about to snap the creature’s neck, he changed his mind and let it go. Standing there and watching as the dazed creature scurried away, I was as confused as the fox may have been.

Why?

Milk. I smell the fox’s milk. I can’t hunt her young if they never grow up.

Communications like this always left me shaking my head. Other beasts rarely showed mercy. Not in the wild, and not in any shifter circles I’d been a part of. But my animal did.

Mate.

He flashed me an image of the dream I’d had the night before. The one where I had a mate, the one who wore my mark. What she didn’t wear was a face.

It was the same as every other dream I’d had lately, as if I knew this woman and loved her with my entire being—but also not at all. The second I tried to kiss her lips or look her in the eyes, the dream ended. I’d be torn from my sleep—hard, sweaty, and pissed at my dream self for not learning my lesson. Why couldn’t I accept what my dream mate had to give and not ruin it by pushing for more?

Mate. Find ours. It’s time.

It’s not like that. I can’t just go and find a mate. If I could, I wouldn’t be fabricating one in my dreams.

I pushed him to run, to find new prey, and he reluctantly did, tracking a rabbit who at least was giving my wolf a run for his money.

But my mind was still on my dream mate.

Why was I having these dreams now? If they were all erotic and resulted in my cleaning the sheets each morning, I’d chalk it up to the need to get laid. That would be an easy dilemma to solve. There was a small bar in the next town over and, every time the guys and I went there, I had plenty of interest from the women. I never took them up on it, but I could.

No. It wasn’t wanting a warm body underneath me that was the issue; this was all Jake and Blaze’s fault. They’d found their mates and unearthed this longing I swore I’d never have, one to be part of a couple and maybe start a family.

Stupid packmates going on and being all blissfully happy. Now I wanted that too. Argg.