Page 9 of Howl for Me (Moonlight Magic Studios #1)

I need her to bolt again so I can finally breathe without the scent of her chasing me through every room.

I can't keep dealing with how often she’s around.

How I’ve started to like it in such a short amount of time.

I’m liking the way she glares at me when I push her buttons and the way she pushes back harder. I hate just how much I like it.

Cassidy clears her throat beside me. “We need to go over your lines.”

I don’t look at her. Just head toward the small bar set up in the corner of the room. My dressing room is the only room with one. I grab the bottle and pour amber heat into a glass.

“I don’t need lines,” I mutter, swirling the drink. “Shift, fuck her brains out, leave. That’s a wrap.”

I raise the glass to my lips but don’t even get to taste it. Because Cassidy’s hand comes out of nowhere, fingers wrapping around the glass. She yanks it right out of my grip before the liquid touches my tongue.

I blink.

“What the fuck—”

She glares at me, jaw clenched, eyes bright with that stubborn fire I’m already too familiar with. “Enough. Okay?” she snaps. “Look, you don’t like me, I don’t like you. But we both have a job to do. So let’s do it and be done.”

I lean in. Close enough to watch that pulse in her throat jump.

“I don’t like being told what to do,” I murmur.

My hand reaches out for the glass again, but before I can grab it, she lifts it and knocks it back in one go. Her eyes water as her throat works into a tight swallow. She tries not to wince at the burn and I almost laugh.

Almost.

She slams the glass down and meets my stare, like she’s daring me to say something. “Too bad. I refuse to let you mess this up for me.”

There’s a grit in her voice. A hard edge that wasn't there before. “I need this,” she says, quiet but not soft. “And from the sound of Hector’s voice, I think you do too. So cut the dramatic bullshit, Johnny. I’m not going anywhere.”

A knock at the door snaps the tension.

“We’re ready on set!” one of the crew shouts from the hall.

I glance at Cassidy and give her a slow, knowing smile. “Showtime.”

She rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised her neck doesn’t snap, but she follows me anyway. I walk ahead, satisfied. Got out of rehearsing. Again.

The set’s been dressed to look like a cozy bedroom. A soft haze clings to the low lighting and Stacy’s already stretched out on the bed in a sheer baby-doll nightgown, legs curled, pretending to sleep like this is a fairy tale and not the kind of fantasy that ends in fur and fangs and screaming.

Cassidy stays just off-set, clipboard hugged to her chest like its armor. I can feel her watching. I can smell her watching and for the first time in a long time… I’m excited for a shoot.

It’s not Stacy. She’s done this before. Hell, she’d fuck a swamp thing if the check cleared. No, it’s the fact that Cassidy is about to see what I really am. That wide-eyed disbelief will turn into horror any second now. She’ll be gone before I unzip my pants.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

A voice calls out, “Rolling!”

The overhead lights cut, replaced by moody blue shadows as the cameras hum to life. I step into the frame. The room’s quiet except for the sound of my footsteps on the floor. I creep forward, the “boyfriend” in the script who isn’t supposed to be here. The monster behind the mask.

Stacy shifts under the sheets, murmuring, “Alex? What are you doing here?”

I can’t even remember what I’m supposed to say, so I don’t say anything. I just move as I’m ripping the sheet back in one sharp motion.

She gasps, clinging to the covers like she’s surprised. “Alex, we said our goodbyes. I told you, I can’t be with you anymore.”

I lower my voice. “Yes, you can. That other guy can’t do the things I can.”

She raises a brow, sticking to her role. “And what can you do?”

I grab her, pull her to me, and kiss her, hard, aggressive. Her hands fist in my shirt, lips parting but my eyes don’t stay on her. They drift just off camera.

Cassidy.

She’s staring with her mouth parted and her eyes wide. Innocent. The raw purity in her gaze has my cock twitching before I even think to control it.

Fuck.

The kiss deepens. Stacy arches beneath me, giving the camera everything. My hand moves up her thigh, pushing the gown aside. She moans for the audience. For the paycheck. For the monster.

My pulse kicks. Now.

The shift starts in my spine; always there first. A snap, like a bone breaking in slow motion, curling my shoulders forward until I can feel the weight of the wolf pressing from the inside out.

Claws tear through the skin of my hands with a wet pop. My teeth elongate. Hair pushes from every pore as my muscles stretch and bulge beneath the skin. My body expands, warping into something not quite man, not quite beast.

Stacy gasps, but she’s grinning through it. She loves this part. It’s why she keeps coming back and why she gets off on pretending to fear what’s crawling into bed with her. But it’s still not her I’m watching.

Cassidy is frozen, just off-set. One hand still clutching her clipboard, the other clenched into a fist like she’s not sure whether to throw it or use it to steady herself.

Good. Run. That’s what I want.

The bones in my face crack and realign. My snout elongates, nostrils flaring wide as my ears sharpen to points.

I expect the usual; a sharp breath, stumbling feet, maybe a choked scream before the door slams shut behind her.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, I’m hit full force with that scent.

Her scent, and it hits me like a punch to the gut. It’s not fear, to my utter shock, it’s fucking arousal.

Cassidy’s aroused.

My cock, already hard from the heat of the scene, twitches painfully. I growl, low and guttural, burying my snout in the crook of Stacy’s neck, but my mind isn’t on her at all. This is a fucking problem. Cassidy’s scent is everywhere now, wrapping around me like a collar I can’t break free of.

My hips move harder. Stacy moans beneath me, clawing at my back like she’s in the throes of something real. But I’m not there.

I’m somewhere else. My claws dragging down Cassidy’s thighs.

My teeth grazing her throat. My cock buried in her heat.

Not this over-rehearsed, camera-ready performance, but something raw and primal and fucking real.

I blink, trying to shake it off, but I can’t.

The way her eyes locked with mine the moment the change happened.

The way her lips parted and not in fear, but in fascination. She should have run, but she stayed.

And now… Now, I don’t just want her gone because she’s in the way.

I want her gone because I want her too much. Because every second she stays, I lose more control. Because every time she looks at me with those wide, curious eyes, something deep and dark in me wants to claim her, not for a scene, not for the cameras…

For me.

And that’s a problem. A big, throbbing, scent-drunk, boundary-destroying fucking problem. Because monsters like me don’t get to want things like her.

But I want her anyway.