Chapter 11
Willow dressed in a long denim skirt, a gorgeous Christmas sweater, leggings, and red fucking boots.
Three-inch heels, but wide enough she’d be okay on uneven ground.
The sweater shimmered when she moved, catching hints of gold from the yarn, and she felt like herself wearing festive, playful clothes.
She even had special permission to get dressed in her bathroom so she could do her makeup especially to work with the outfit.
She didn’t expect Kenny to come in and bend her over the vanity, but he was all business when he entered and ordered her to spread her legs and bend over, so she screwed the liquid eyeliner closed and bent over at the same time.
He blew his load in her less than ten minutes later, hands gripping her hips, rutting into her hard and fast while she braced herself on the vanity.
He didn’t let her come even when she begged, which meant now she stood with her liquid eyeliner brush in hand, her thighs trembling and her clit throbbing while she tried to make a perfect, tiny little wing without smearing.
And her asshole was especially sore today.
Boone had been in a mood when they arrived home from the steak place the night before, and it was his scene night.
He’d flogged her tits raw, until the welts bloomed dark red and throbbed with heat before he flipped her over and drove into her ass hard enough to make her cry.
But he hadn’t been even close to finished with her.
He’d shoved four fingers into her pussy without extra lube, and stretched her until her body shook and she begged for mercy he wasn’t interested in giving, until she stopped begging and just accepted his fingers, his unyielding knuckles — then he’d brutally taken her ass again, rougher than before, until she was wrecked.
And this morning, he’d shoved right back into her ass when he usually claims her pussy during the pre-breakfast fucking, all silent and intense, holding her in place with a heavy hand on the back of her neck while he pounded her.
Her body still pulsed from it, each step a raw ache, a reminder of who she belonged to.
By the time she walked out the front door, a couple dozen people had already arrived despite the fact it was fifteen minutes before the official start.
There was a flurry of activity around the bucket truck, but she soon realized Boone was in control and it was fine.
He was halfway up with a cluster of kids around him.
He lifted each child in turn, let them “drive” the controls for a minute so their parents could snap pictures, then lowered them back to the ground.
She couldn’t help but smile. Big, scary Boone, patient as hell with the kids.
Another group was inflating enormous ornaments — flat plastic shapes turning into beachball-sized baubles that gleamed like glass when the light hit them. She went over to help, and June handed her a tiny air compressor and gave her a crash course in how to use it.
Willow lost herself in the rhythm of it, the hum of the compressor, the way every ornament went from flat to pretty a little different from the last. From her position, she could see Misty’s group across the yard, and they seemed focused on looking busy while they accomplished nothing.
Kenny’s advice had proven sound — avoid when possible, stand firm when not.
So far, the strategy was working, and it seemed Misty was the one doing the avoiding, so Willow didn’t need to.
Determined not to focus on the negative, she once again tuned into the discussion flowing around her. She sealed the ornament she’d just blown up, set it to the side, and reached for another flat one.
Before long, Boone was lifting Carl in the bucket, and she watched the process of spiraling the lights down from the top of the sixty-foot-tall fir tree before she went back to blowing up ornaments.
Boone’s voice slid into her mind. Heh. I’m jealous of the ornaments, getting blown by the gorgeous fucktoy.
She glanced around, spotted him helping stack logs for the bonfire, and rolled her eyes with a smile before going back to her work.
“Ah,” June said, laughter warm in her voice. “Young love. The grandest thing in the universe. Any weird stuff with the relationship bond?”
Willow shrugged. “Not that I can tell. Kenny says it’s stronger than he expected, but all I know is I can feel them more.”
Angie waddled over to sit nearby, her hand on her seven-months-pregnant belly.
She’d barely reached for a compressor when June pointed her to a chair and told her to keep them company while her silly wolf of a husband went up in the bucket truck instead of keeping his feet on the ground like a sensible wolf.
Angie was human and very pregnant. They chatted a little about the nursery, the fact she’s having a boy, and that she isn’t sharing the name they’ve mostly probably decided on because it feels like tempting fate.
June tugged Willow over a little later and introduced her to a stunning young wolf with a waterfall of black curls, and the tall, dark-eyed Lugat vampire at her side.
His hand rested casually at the small of his girlfriend’s back, his touch protective but not possessive, and Willow blinked at the sight of them together.
A wolf and a Lugat, and no one so much as raised an eyebrow.
For the first time, she thought maybe a hawk among wolves wasn’t so strange after all.
Later, June and Willow draped lights over the front bushes. It wasn’t complicated, just blankets of twinkle lights, but June insisted they all had to be facing the same way or it would look sloppy once lit. Willow found herself strangely charmed — wolf pack perfectionism meeting Christmas magic.
She telepathed Boone when they finished with the bushes. I want to go up in the bucket and hang giant ornaments, Sir. How do jobs get assigned? Is that one already claimed?
He chuckled in her mind. Unless they work construction, most wolves like keeping all four feet on the ground. Why the hell do you think I learned to handle the equipment? Keeps me off damned ladders. The wolves will love you forever if you go up.
Speaking of ladders, she looked up to make sure the correct wreaths were making it onto the shutters.
The ones Kenny had pulled out looked sad and old, and she’d run by Big Lots one evening and bought new ones, along with ribbon to make great big pretty bows on them. But they were hanging the old ones.
Before she thought about it, she yelled, “No! Stop!”
The sound came out… not right. Louder, and layered with an echo that vibrated through her bones. Like movie special effects.
Every wolf on the property froze.
Kenny was already moving toward her. “Everyone not on a ladder, at ease.”
What’s the problem? he telepathed, his mental voice low but steady.
I don’t know, Sir. I was just going to tell him those aren’t the new wreaths.
You pulled on my power. Used the Alpha voice. It’s okay, we’re still figuring out the bond, and I had no idea you’d be able to, especially not this soon.
He called up the ladder, calm as stone. “There are new wreaths. Bring that one down and we’ll switch.” Then, to the crowd: “Relationship bindings are funny things. The magic sometimes makes its own choices. We’re only a few days in. We’ll get it sorted. She’s as surprised as the rest of us.”
How bad did I fuck up, Sir?
A two on a scale of ten, since it’s new, but oddly enough, it’ll reinforce how strong the binding took, so the end result will probably be a net positive.
He kissed her forehead, and she didn’t know if he did it for the pack to see he wasn’t upset with her, or to settle her. Or maybe both.
Do that six months from now for something minor, he added, it’ll be a seven. We’ll get it sorted, but not tonight. You’ll be fine.
Fifteen minutes later, she was sharing the bucket with as many ornaments as they could fit in with her, rising into the winter sky to hang them.
By the time dusk fell, the yard was transformed, and wolves skewered raw meat for the bonfire while most of the humans opted for marshmallows.
Willow thought she might have some of both once so many people weren’t standing around the fire.
She lugged a bag of ice to dump into the cooling table and smiled at how chaotic and perfect it felt.
When the sun was fully down and dark had settled around them, Kenny called everyone to the front yard, made a touching little speech about pack magic, the bonds that hold them together, and then touched his phone’s screen.
Every strand lit at once.
The tree blazed in reds and whites. The house glowed in all white light, wreaths crisp and perfect, bows fat and red. The bushes shimmered like fallen stars.
And Willow’s throat tightened. Christmas. Real Christmas.
June had been right. Details mattered.
Twenty minutes later, Willow laughed as the frisbee arced wide and she had to dive for it in the grass, teenagers whooping when she managed to catch it. What’s one more bruise, she thought.
Her fingers were frozen, but she was warm enough from running around. Five minutes later, the scent of cooking meat caught her stomach’s attention, and she told the teens she was off to cook some cow, pig, and probably some chicken while she was at it.
She brushed leaves from her denim skirt and was on her way to the skewers and meat when she heard Angie’s voice off to her left.
“Yes, my back hurts, but it always hurts these days.” The words were tired, thin. “And yes, I’m sure I’m not hungry. I’ve got a headache is all, and the fire’s too bright. I’ll just keep my eyes closed a bit. I’m fine, it just feels better to sit with my eyes closed.
Alarm bells went off in Willow’s brain. Backache. Headache. Light sensitivity. She turned on instinct, moving toward the couple where they sat close to the fire, close enough to keep the human mate warm while the wolf wrapped an arm around her.