Page 9 of Love, Clumsily (Fur Real Love #2)

The “pack house,” as Mason called it, was actually a sprawling property about twenty minutes outside Pine Haven, deep in the forest where the nearest neighbors were miles away.

The main house was a beautiful log cabin on steroids, with a massive deck wrapping around three sides and enough windows to keep a cleaning service busy for days.

Several other smaller cabins dotted the property, connected by gravel paths winding through the trees. As we pulled up in Mason’s truck, I counted at least five other vehicles already parked in the large clearing that served as a driveway.

“Home sweet home,” Mason said, turning off the engine. He must have sensed my apprehension because he reached over to squeeze my hand. “It’s going to be fine. They already like you.”

“They don’t even know me,” I pointed out.

“They know you make me happy,” he said simply. “That’s enough for them.”

Before I could respond, the front door of the main house burst open, and Riley bounded down the steps.

Mason’s sister was his opposite in many ways—petite where he was massive, graceful where he was clumsy (in human form, at least), and blonde where he was dark.

But they shared the same amber eyes and the same intense energy that seemed to hum just beneath their skin.

“Finally!” she called, approaching the truck. “Mom was about to send out a search party. Or make more food, which is basically the same thing in this family.”

Mason rolled his eyes as we climbed out of the truck. “We’re right on time, Ri.”

Riley ignored him, focusing on me instead. “Julian! So glad you could make it for your first moon.” She hugged me with surprising strength, lifting me slightly off my feet despite being several inches shorter. When she released me, she sniffed noticeably. “You smell good. Like Mason, but better.”

“Um, thanks?” I said, not sure how to respond to being sniffed.

Mason slung an arm around my shoulders. “Stop scenting my mate, Ri. It’s weird.”

“Everything we do is weird to humans,” she said dismissively. “He might as well get used to it.” She linked her arm through mine, effectively separating me from Mason. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone while this one gets the bags.”

Mason made a halfhearted protest, but Riley was already dragging me toward the house. I glanced back to see him watching us with a mixture of exasperation and fondness as he hefted both our bags from the truck bed.

“Don’t look so terrified,” Riley said as we approached the house. “We don’t bite. Well, not humans, anyway.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is,” I told her, echoing what I’d said to Mason earlier.

She laughed, a sound remarkably similar to her brother’s. “I can see why he likes you. You smell like prey but act like pack.”

“Again, not reassuring.”

The inside of the pack house was even more impressive than the exterior.

The main floor was largely open concept, with a massive stone fireplace as the centerpiece of a living area filled with comfortable-looking furniture.

The kitchen was industrial-sized, with multiple ovens and a refrigerator big enough to store a body (a thought I immediately tried to un-think).

And it was full of people—laughing, talking, cooking, all moving with that same contained energy I’d come to recognize in Mason.

They looked like a normal family gathering, except for the subtle signs I now knew to look for: the slightly elongated canines when someone laughed too hard, the occasional flash of gold in otherwise normal eyes, the way they all oriented slightly when we entered, like compass needles finding north.

“Everyone!” Riley announced loudly, though I suspected she didn’t need to raise her voice for them all to hear. “This is Julian, Mason’s mate. Be nice, he’s human and new to all this.”

I felt my face heat as all eyes turned to me. There was a moment of silence, and then a woman who could only be Mason’s mother approached, wiping her hands on an apron.

“Julian,” she said warmly, “we’re so glad you’ve joined us. I’m Evelyn, Mason’s mom.”

She had the same amber eyes as her children, set in a face that was both beautiful and slightly wild. Her dark hair was streaked with silver, and when she smiled, I could see where Mason got his dimples.

“Thank you for having me,” I said, relieved when my voice came out steady. “Your home is beautiful.”

“It’s your home too now,” she said, embracing me. Like Riley, she held me perhaps a second longer than was strictly normal, and I knew she was scenting me. “You smell like my son,” she said approvingly as she released me.

“Is everyone going to comment on how I smell?” I asked, only half-joking.

A deep laugh came from behind Evelyn, and a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair stepped forward. “Welcome to life with werewolves, son. Privacy is a foreign concept, especially regarding bodily functions.”

“Dad,” Mason groaned from the doorway, where he’d appeared with our bags. “Can we not talk about bodily functions in the first five minutes?”

“Robert Holloway,” the man said, ignoring his son and extending a hand to me. His grip was firm but carefully moderated, like he was conscious of his strength. “Alpha of the Pine Haven pack, though mostly that just means I get blamed when things go wrong.”

“Like father, like son,” I said without thinking, then winced. “I mean—”

But Robert roared with laughter, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough to make me stagger. “I like this one, Mason. Good choice.”

Over the next hour, I was introduced to so many pack members that their names and relationships began to blur together.

There was Mason’s cousin Alex and his wife Tara; Riley’s girlfriend Jess, who was human like me but had been part of the pack for years; the elderly couple who weren’t actually related to anyone but had been pack friends for decades; and at least four children of various ages who raced through the house with more energy than should be physically possible.

Throughout it all, Mason stayed close, his hand on the small of my back or his arm around my shoulders, a constant reassuring presence. He clearly took pride in introducing me, his chest puffing slightly each time he said “my mate” (which was adorably frequent).

The atmosphere was chaotic but warm, the kind of comfortable family gathering I hadn’t experienced in years. My own family was small and scattered, our holiday gatherings formal and stilted. This—the noise, the laughter, the casual physical affection—was something new and wonderful.

By the time we sat down to eat, I was feeling more relaxed, though still hyperaware of being the newcomer.

The dining table was enormous, clearly designed for a large pack, and laden with enough food to feed a small army—which, looking around at the werewolves piling their plates high, seemed about right.

“So, Julian,” Robert said once everyone was seated, “Mason tells us you’re a graphic designer?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, then felt silly for the formality when Robert grinned.

“Just Robert, please. ‘Sir’ makes me feel ancient.”

“Sorry, si—Robert. Yes, I work remotely for a few different companies. Mostly website design and branding.”

“He’s really talented,” Mason said, his hand finding my thigh under the table and squeezing gently. “He showed me some of his work, and it’s amazing.”

The pride in his voice made me flush with pleasure.

“We could use someone with your skills,” Evelyn said thoughtfully. “The pack business could use a website update.”

“Pack business?” I asked, curious.

“Holloway Timber,” Alex explained from across the table. “The family lumber company. Sustainable forestry practices, been in the family for generations.”

“Werewolves in the lumber business,” I mused. “That’s… fitting.”

Laughter rippled around the table. “We like to think so,” Robert said. “Though it started more as a cover for why we spent so much time in the woods. Turned out we were pretty good at it.”

The conversation flowed easily after that, jumping from topic to topic with the organic rhythm of a family used to each other’s conversational habits. I was included seamlessly, asked questions and brought into discussions without any awkwardness.

As dinner progressed, though, I noticed a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The werewolves became more restless, their movements more animated, their laughter louder. Occasional glances went to the windows, where the light was beginning to fade.

“Sun’s setting soon,” Robert announced finally, pushing back from the table. “Time to prepare.”

There was an immediate flurry of activity—plates being cleared, children being herded, people dispersing to various parts of the house. Mason stood, pulling me up with him.

“Come on,” he said, his eyes already showing hints of gold around the edges. “I’ll show you where we’ll be staying tonight.”

He led me through the house to a back staircase and up to the second floor. The hallway was lined with doors, most closed, though I could hear movement behind several of them.

“Each family unit has their own space for full moons,” Mason explained as we walked. “Some prefer to shift outdoors right away, but most of us like some privacy for the transformation, especially the first one of the night.”

He stopped at a door near the end of the hall and opened it, revealing a spacious bedroom with a king-sized bed, an en-suite bathroom, and a private balcony overlooking the forest.

“This is my room,” he said, setting our bags down. “Or it was, before I got my own cabin on the property. I still use it for full moons.”

I moved to the balcony doors, looking out at the darkening forest. “It’s beautiful.”

Mason came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my head. “Are you nervous about tonight?”

“A little,” I admitted. “What exactly happens during a full moon? I mean, I know you change, but… what’s it like?”

He was quiet for a moment, considering. “It’s…

freedom,” he finally said. “In human form, we’re always holding back, always conscious of our strength, our senses, our instincts.

In wolf form, especially under the full moon, we can just…

be. Run without worrying about being too fast. Hunt without hiding. Feel everything.”

The way he described it made it sound beautiful rather than frightening. “And what should I expect? As the token human?”

“Most of us will shift and run in the forest for a while. Hunt, play, just enjoy the moon. Some will stay in wolf form all night, others will shift back to human form later. There’s usually a bonfire, and those of us who shift back gather around it.

” He paused, nuzzling my neck. “As my mate, you’ll be under my protection.

No one would dare harm you, but even if something unusual happened, I wouldn’t leave your side. ”

“So I just… hang out with a bunch of wolves, and then later, possibly naked werewolves around a fire?”

He laughed softly. “Something like that. We do have robes stationed around the property for when people shift back.”

“How considerate,” I teased, turning in his arms to face him. His eyes were definitely more gold than amber now, his pupils slightly elongated. “You’re starting to change already.”

He nodded. “The moon affects us even before it rises. Heightens everything—senses, emotions, desires.” His voice deepened on the last word, and his hands tightened on my waist.

“Desires, huh?” I said, pressing closer to him. “Like what?”

A rumbling sound vibrated through his chest. “Like the desire to claim my mate before I shift,” he murmured, lowering his head to nuzzle at my neck. “To make sure everyone can smell me on you tonight.”

The possessiveness in his voice sent heat pooling low in my belly. “We don’t have much time before sunset,” I pointed out, even as I tilted my head to give him better access.

“Enough time,” he growled, his teeth—sharper now, definitely not human—grazing my pulse point. “Need you, Julian.”

Who was I to argue with that? I captured his mouth in a hungry kiss, tangling my fingers in his hair and tugging lightly in the way I knew drove him crazy. He groaned into my mouth, his hands sliding down to grip my ass and lift me effortlessly.

I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me to the bed, our mouths still fused together. He laid me down with surprising gentleness given the obvious struggle for control evident in the tension of his muscles.

“Too many clothes,” he muttered, tugging at my shirt with hands that trembled slightly.

I sat up enough to pull my shirt over my head, then reached for his, eager to feel his skin against mine.

He helped, practically tearing the fabric in his haste.

The moment our bare chests pressed together, he made that rumbling sound again—not quite a growl, not quite a purr, but something uniquely werewolf that I’d come to associate with pleasure.

His mouth moved to my neck, then down to my chest, teeth and tongue exploring familiar territory with new urgency. When he reached my nipple and bit down gently, I arched up with a gasp.

“Mason,” I breathed, my hands clutching at his shoulders.

He looked up at me, and the sight nearly stopped my heart.

His eyes were fully golden now, glowing softly in the dimming room.

His canines had elongated into definite fangs, visible when he parted his lips.

There was something wild in his expression—something that should have frightened me but instead sent a thrill of excitement through me.

“Still okay?” he asked, his voice rougher and deeper than normal.

“More than okay,” I assured him, reaching down to unfasten my jeans. “Just impatient.”

A smile spread across his face, revealing more of those impressive teeth. “Demanding little mate,” he teased, but he helped me strip off my remaining clothes before standing to remove his own.