Page 17 of Love, Clumsily (Fur Real Love #2)

The next evening, Mason drove us deep into the forest, following logging roads that gradually deteriorated into little more than trails.

He was quiet, focused, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

I didn’t push conversation, understanding that he needed this time to prepare mentally for what we were about to do.

Finally, he pulled into a small clearing and cut the engine. The silence of the forest enveloped us immediately, broken only by distant bird calls and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze.

“This is far enough,” he said, still staring straight ahead. “No one comes out this far. We’ll have privacy.”

I nodded, looking around at the dense trees surrounding us. “What now?”

He turned to me, his expression serious. “Now I lay out the rules, and you promise to follow them. This isn’t negotiable, Julian. If we do this, we do it safely.”

“Okay,” I agreed, understanding the gravity of the situation. “What are the rules?”

“First, you stay near the truck. Don’t follow me into the trees when I shift.” He pointed to a fallen log at the edge of the clearing. “Sit there. Don’t move from that spot unless I tell you it’s safe.”

I nodded. “I can do that.”

“Second, I’ll approach you in wolf form, but slowly. Don’t make any sudden movements. Don’t run—that triggers predatory instincts, even in a controlled shift.”

“No running,” I confirmed. “Got it.”

“Third,” he continued, his voice dropping, “if at any point you feel afraid—truly afraid, not just nervous—say the word ‘stop.’ I’ll hear you, and I’ll back off immediately.”

“What if I don’t want you to stop?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood slightly.

He didn’t smile. “This isn’t about what you want, Julian. It’s about your safety. Promise me you’ll say it if you need to.”

“I promise,” I said, sobered by his intensity.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with my agreement. “There’s one more thing you should know. When I fully embrace my wolf—when I let go completely—I’m… different. My wolf sees you as my mate, but it’s a possessive, primal understanding of that concept. It might be… intense.”

“I can handle intense,” I assured him. “I’ve been handling you for months now.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Not like this. You haven’t seen me like this.”

Before I could respond, he opened his door and got out of the truck. I followed, the cool evening air raising goosebumps on my arms. The forest seemed to close around us, ancient and watchful.

Mason led me to the fallen log he’d indicated. “Sit here. Don’t move.”

I sat, trying to project a calmness I didn’t entirely feel. Not because I was afraid of Mason, but because I understood the significance of this moment for our relationship. Everything hinged on what happened next.

Mason stood before me, his expression solemn. “I’m going to go into the trees to shift. It’s… not a pretty process when I don’t hold anything back. I don’t want you to see it this first time.”

I nodded, though part of me was curious. “Okay.”

He hesitated, then bent down to press a kiss to my forehead. “Remember your promise. If you’re afraid—truly afraid—say ‘stop.’”

“I will,” I assured him again. “Now go. Let me see you.”

With one last searching look, he turned and walked into the forest, disappearing among the trees. I sat on the log, listening to the sounds of the forest and waiting.

At first, there was nothing unusual—just the rustle of undergrowth as Mason moved away from me. Then I heard it: a low, pained growl that raised the hair on the back of my neck. It was followed by sounds I couldn’t quite identify—cracking, tearing, a muffled cry that was part human, part animal.

The shift, I realized. I was hearing Mason transform, and from the sounds of it, it was indeed not a “pretty process” when done without restraint.

The noises continued for what felt like a long time but was probably only a minute or two. Then silence fell, so complete it seemed the forest itself was holding its breath.

I waited, my heart pounding in my chest, eyes straining to see into the deepening shadows beneath the trees. The sun was setting, painting the clearing in gold and amber, but leaving the forest in gathering darkness.

A twig snapped—deliberately, I thought. Then another. Mason was coming back, but slowly, making enough noise that I wouldn’t be startled.

I sat very still, remembering his instructions not to make sudden movements. My palms were sweating, but not from fear—from anticipation, from the weight of this moment.

And then I saw him.

Mason emerged from the trees, but not the Mason I knew.

This wolf was larger, wilder, more primal than the one I’d seen during full moons with the pack.

His fur was midnight black, bristling along his spine, his shoulders massive and powerful.

But it was his eyes that captured me—golden, glowing in the twilight, fixed on me with an intensity that stole my breath.

He paused at the edge of the clearing, watching me, his posture alert but not threatening. I could see the muscles rippling beneath his fur as he held himself in check, waiting for my reaction.

“Mason,” I said softly, knowing he could hear me perfectly. “You’re beautiful.”

His ears pricked forward, head tilting slightly in a gesture so canine it almost made me smile despite the tension of the moment.

“Can you come closer?” I asked, keeping my voice calm and even. “Slowly, so I can see you better.”

He hesitated, then began to approach, each step deliberate and measured. As he drew nearer, I could appreciate just how large he was in this form—easily reaching my chest if he stood on his hind legs, his paws the size of my spread hand.

He stopped about ten feet away, still watching me intently, nostrils flaring as he scented the air between us.

“This is what you were afraid to show me?” I asked, keeping my tone conversational. “This is what you thought would send me running?”

A low rumble came from his chest—not quite a growl, more like a questioning sound.

“You’re magnificent,” I told him honestly. “Powerful, yes. Dangerous, maybe. But still you, Mason. Still my mate.”

The word ‘mate’ triggered a visible reaction—a slight softening of his posture, a deepening of that rumbling sound. He took another step closer, then another, until he was just a few feet away.

“Can I touch you?” I asked, remembering his rule about not moving from my spot.

He seemed to consider the question, then moved forward until he was directly in front of me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

Slowly, telegraphing my movements, I extended my hand, palm up, offering rather than reaching. He watched my hand, then looked at my face, as if gauging my sincerity.

“It’s okay,” I murmured. “I’m not afraid.”

And I wasn’t. Despite the wildness before me, despite the gleaming teeth and powerful jaws that could end me in seconds, I felt no fear. This was Mason—my Mason—in his truest form.

With a deliberate movement, he lowered his head and pressed his muzzle into my palm. The fur was softer than I expected, the nose cool and wet against my skin. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“See?” I said softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Emboldened by his acceptance, I reached with my other hand to stroke the thick fur of his neck. He allowed this, leaning slightly into my touch in a way that was achingly familiar despite his altered form.

We stayed like that for several minutes—me sitting on the log, gently petting him, him standing patient under my hands. The tension gradually drained from his posture, replaced by something almost like contentment.

“This is what you’ve been hiding from me,” I said, my fingers tracing the contours of his lupine face. “This wildness, this power. But it’s not something to fear, Mason. It’s something to embrace. It’s part of what makes you, you.”

His eyes, still fixed on my face, seemed to hold a depth of understanding that transcended his animal form. He made a soft sound, almost a whine, and pressed closer, his massive head now resting against my knee.

“I love all of you,” I continued, needing him to understand. “The human and the wolf. The gentle and the wild. I chose you—all of you—with open eyes and an open heart.”

He shifted position, moving to sit beside the log, his warm bulk pressing against my legs.

It was a protective posture, possessive but not threatening.

I continued to stroke his fur, marveling at the surreal nature of the moment—having a heart-to-heart conversation with my boyfriend while he was in wolf form.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I told him firmly. “No matter how many scratches, no matter how many full moons, no matter how wild you get. I’m yours, and you’re mine. That’s not negotiable.”

He made that rumbling sound again, deeper this time, and I felt it vibrate through me where our bodies touched. Then, with a movement that surprised me, he stood and backed away several paces.

For a moment, I thought I’d said something wrong. Then I realized what was happening—he was going to shift back. I braced myself, remembering the sounds I’d heard earlier.

But instead of retreating into the trees as he had before, Mason remained in the clearing, watching me with those intelligent golden eyes. A question, I realized. He was asking permission to shift in front of me.

“It’s okay,” I said, understanding his intent. “I want to see. All of you, remember?”

He held my gaze for another moment, then lowered his head in what seemed like a nod. And then it began.

The transformation was both beautiful and terrible to witness. His body contorted, fur receding, limbs elongating, the very structure of his skeleton visibly shifting beneath his skin. He made sounds that were neither human nor wolf—grunts and growls of pain that made my heart ache.

I wanted to go to him, to offer comfort, but I remembered his rule about staying put. So I watched, bearing witness to this most vulnerable moment, understanding now why he had initially hidden it from me.

The process seemed to take forever but was probably less than a minute. And then Mason—human Mason—was kneeling on the forest floor, naked and panting, his head bowed as he recovered from the ordeal.

“Mason,” I said softly, no longer able to stay put. I slid off the log and approached him slowly, giving him time to adjust.

He looked up as I neared, his eyes still more gold than amber, a wildness lingering in his gaze that spoke of the wolf still close to the surface. “Julian,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re still here.”

“Of course I am,” I said, kneeling in front of him. “Where else would I be?”

He reached for me, his hand trembling slightly. “You weren’t afraid. Even when you saw… everything.”

“No,” I confirmed, taking his hand. “I wasn’t afraid. I’m still not.”

He searched my face, looking for any sign of deception or hidden fear. Finding none, he let out a shaky breath. “I don’t understand you.”

“What’s to understand? I love you. All of you.”

“Most people would run screaming if they saw what you just saw,” he said, still seeming unable to believe my reaction.

“I’m not most people,” I reminded him with a small smile. “And you’re not most boyfriends. We’re extraordinary together, Mason. When are you going to accept that?”

A laugh, slightly disbelieving but genuine, escaped him. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” I said lightly, then sobered. “So are we done with this self-imposed exile? Because I really miss sleeping in the same bed as you.”

He pulled me closer, his arms wrapping around me in a fierce embrace. “Yes,” he said into my hair. “God, yes. I’ve been miserable without you.”

“Good,” I said, returning his embrace. “Because I’ve been miserable too. And life is too short for needless misery.”

We stayed like that for a long moment, holding each other in the gathering darkness of the forest. Then Mason pulled back slightly, a realization dawning on his face.

“I should probably put some clothes on,” he said, glancing down at his naked form.

I laughed, the sound breaking the last of the tension between us. “Probably. Though I’m not complaining about the view.”

He rolled his eyes but smiled, rising to his feet and offering me a hand up. “I have spare clothes in the truck. Always do, in case of unexpected shifts.”

As we walked back to the truck, hand in hand, I felt a profound sense of rightness settle over me. We had faced one of Mason’s deepest fears together, and we had emerged stronger for it.

There would be challenges ahead, I knew. Mason’s wolf was a fundamental part of him, and learning to fully integrate it into our life together would take time and patience. There might be more scratches, more moments of lost control, more adjustments needed.

But tonight had proven what I’d known all along: we were stronger together than apart. And no amount of fur, fangs, or primal instinct could change the simple truth that we belonged to each other, wholly and completely.

As Mason dressed and we prepared to head home—our home—I made a silent promise to both of us. I would never let fear—his or mine—separate us again. Whatever came next, we would face it together, human and wolf, bound by a love that transcended ordinary definitions.

And that, I decided as Mason pulled me close for a kiss that held both tenderness and a hint of that wild possessiveness I was coming to cherish, was worth any risk.