Page 5 of Trees Take the Long View

His brows rose higher. "Ooh, even better!"

You're so gorgeous,with your perfect eyebrows and your brown eyes. How dare you smell so good?

I looked away, and licked the taste of meat off my fingers. Seeing him when I was a wolf would prove it. One way or the other.

And if it was true? If he really was...?

Well, then I guessed I was really screwed.

#

There was a slight smile trying to escape Dean's face. Every time he almost hid it, it started to get away from him and sneak out again. It showed his dimple. I liked that dimple. Wouldn't have minded sticking my tongue in it, and then kissing him for quite a long time.

"Do you need me to look away?" he asked.

I was getting undressed, very boldly, right in front of him. I'm not sure quite why I needed him to see me, see exactly what I had to offer. Okay, maybe I'm sure. I sucked in my stomach circumspectly and puffed out my chest. I'd have flexed if I thought I could do it without being obvious. I still had some visible muscle.

"Nah, I'm good," I said as casually as possible. T-shirt off, unzip jeans, shuck off jeans, slide out of underwear. He kept watching, like I wanted him to. I felt bold and unconquerable, a sexy beast in my own skin, fitting perfectly, dangerous and delightful. I gave him a quick, cheeky flash of a grin when I saw him studying me without shame, and then I shifted.

He seemed taller, when I was wolf. The world made the subtle changes it always did when I was a wolf. I saw colors in a more muted way, but smells became more intense and distinct, with subtle notes and meanings that sometimes escaped human-me.

The air around us was crisp with pine resin and the smell of deciduous leaves at the height of their summer power. Energy factories soaking up light and making life with it. Wood smoke, cherry-wood smoke to be precise, came faintly on the breeze, probably closer than five miles in origin. There were some cabins that sometimes had vacationers in that direction. Must be in use.

Not far away, voles and chipmunks could be heard skittering in the fallen leaves still decaying from last year. They could live their small, meaty lives unmolested. I wouldn't hunt them today. I was after bigger prey. In the sky, far away and above, a hawk gave a shriek that could have meant territorial triumph, or something else. I took a step forward, then another, advanced on my prey.

I wagged my tail at him, to show I was friendly, but I could feel my teeth gleaming as I opened my mouth in a helpless wolfish smile. I bowed politely, stretching my front legs out and going low. I yawned widely, letting him see just how strong my teeth were, how healthy my gums. My tail continued to wag.

Despite himself, he looked both wary and impressed. His smile still sparkled. And oh, he glowed. He was all honey-hay underlain with a rich softness of health and youth. He was just at the peak of his health and strength. He would never be stronger or more virile or more suitable a mate than he was right now, on this summer day, smelling of health and virility and confidence, of sweet hay and warm summer rain and the well-fed, well-groomed, confident male he was. He was laughing a little as he looked at me, and I looked regally back. He half-knelt, offering his hand for me to sniff. I advanced, and allowed it, making the polite gesture, even though I already knew his scent, and would for the rest of my life. He filled my senses, and I didn't think I would ever be rid of it. Nor would I want to be.

I gave his palm a quick lick. He drew back, with an awkward, surprised laugh. I wanted to jump on him, push him over, roll around in the leaves with him, and lick his face. I wanted to roughhouse with him, and make him as aware of me as I was with him. And then I wanted to shift, and make out with him, and let him see just how interested and virile I was.

But that, of course, would never do.

If we'd both been wolves, we'd have either been very much on the same page right now, or very clearly not. But he was a wolfless man, who couldn't smell everything I could, and all I had to go on that it might not be just me was the fact that he smelled just faintly as though he might be open to finding a mate. I'm not sure how else to describe it. It was a sort of waiting, aware smell, the pheromones of sexual availability, but a more hesitant and shy kind than someone just looking to scratch an itch. He wanted someone of his own, I was sure of that.

But whether he wanted to be my mate, mine!—that was quite a different story, and one it would take time and words, and the fiddly dance of human miscommunication and courtship to find out.

I gave him another quick lick, then turned away and headed into the trees, tail high, hoping he would follow, wanting to make him struggle to keep up. I wanted him to chase me, just a bit—I didn't want it to be all me chasing him, and if I wasn't careful, it would be.

If anyone came upon his car, parked just off the road beside thick forest, what would they think? Would they notice my clothes, folded on the passenger seat? Would they think it was hikers? Or that two horny people had stopped here to have sex?

Tiny twigs and bits of dried leaves crackled under his feet as he walked. I was silent, of course. He didn't complain, or ask me to slow down, not once, but when I heard his breathing starting to sound like panting, I did anyway. It was a long walk; I supposed I could pace myself. I'd wanted to test him, but finding I was actually doing so, I couldn't keep it up. I was already way too soft toward him, no real defenses, whatever I told myself.

I really should know better. No doubt I was acting like an idiot and a fool. But I'd never met someone who could be my mate before. I'd dated. I'd met people who smelled pretty good. But nothing like this...this overblown feeling of the senses, of being lost and found all at the same time. Of feeling alive again.

Shit, I was in deep, and I hadn't said a word. He probably wouldn't want to hear it. He already thought I was a basket case, and he wasn't planning on sticking around, either.

Not that I'd mind following him. I'd never really been one to stay in one place for long, and the delights of the forest and building a wall weren't going to keep my feet glued here. I'd be glad to follow him wherever he ended up heading next—if he wanted me.

But that was a pretty damned big "if."

I fell back to let him keep pace more easily, picking my way instead of surging forward, putting down my paws with more care and less speed. He caught up with me, and I enjoyed the feeling of walking side by side, quietly as we could (me managing better than him) into the woods, the forest, where I felt most alive.

It was a beautiful day, all shady and cool, the way it wasn't outside. It felt more real here. I felt more like myself, who I was supposed to be, breathing the green tree air, listening quietly to the sounds around me, my sense of smell making me aware of more than I could ever articulate. Not that I wanted to articulate; as a wolf, I was content to rest in the knowledge, revel in it, without putting it into words.

We passed fallen trees crumbling into soft powder, growing glorious mushrooms here and there. Chipmunks skittered away from us. A squirrel stopped to scold, then bounded off.

The light shafted through so many leaves that it was filtered pale green, as if it wasn't quite daylight. His breathing was slow, beside me. I brushed against his leg once, twice as we walked on. There was fur and cloth between us, but it still felt important to be near him.