That Night I Got Dragged Home By A Werewolf

Author's note: Hello and thanks for reading my werewolf smut. A new chapter will be released every Sunday night. BUT, you can read each chapter two days early by subscribing to my Ko-fi. And if you enjoy this story, you might also check out my other werewolf romance, here. For further updates on my writing, feel free to join my Discord. The next chapter will be released on October 6.

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My green pickup truck carried me through several small Maine towns on the way to Lubec. Millinocket, Mattawamkeag, Topfield, Whiting, and more. The Chevy Apache I’d secretly named Brego rumbled around curves and over bridges, past woodlands I’d run through aplenty in my 30 years as a werewolf. 

Inside me as outside Brego, rain fell. Something spectacular happened last night, a thing most werewolves spend their lives dreaming of. I found my mate. And she was lovely in all the right ways to my lonely heart.

Even now, driving southeast from Pine Springs and putting more distance between us, I felt her in my chest. And I longed to taste her again tonight. 

But that was the future. The now, the current time, the present moment, demanded a somber soul. I was going to see my pack. 

Chilly bands of rain ran along my windshield as thick curtains of fog draped the edges of my road in tones of faded blue and gray. The windshield wipers spread quietly over the glass a few feet in front of my face. The moment they’d start to squeak, I’d replace them, as I had every piece of my baby. 

Brego’s engine had been rebuilt three times since I owned her. And I’d done it all myself. I’d replaced broken windows, patched holes in the leather bench seat, and dropped in a new transmission when my old one coughed and sputtered into a well-earned grave. 

My hand shook as I held onto the gear shift and worked the clutch, downshifting as I came upon a logging truck. 

I smelled the lumber it was hauling to some mill that likely only had a decade or so of life left in it. Wet wood and diesel smoke. 

Reaching up, I tuned the radio to KQIL 89.4 FM, the oldies but goodies station my father used to listen to when we rode Brego down into Bangor for shopping or took her up into Quebec for a camping trip. Even now, I still smelled his crappy pine air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror mixed with a small bit of Irish coffee he had with breakfast. 

“Just a sip to warm the morning,” he’d always say. I trusted him. Because he was my father and my alpha. The man could do no wrong. And on the off chance he did do wrong by Mom or another pack member, that just meant we’d throw a couple of fishing poles in the bed and ride over to the lake so they’d have the day to cool off. 

And bonus: when we got back, there’d be plenty of trout for supper. 

After almost four hours of driving, I pulled up to a small pier on the north side of Lubec. I parked Brego along Johnson Street and walked through the damp autumn air. Fog clung to the shoreline even thicker than before. 

Across the bay, I could make out the shapes of several small boats, anchored and waiting for a trip out into deeper waters. 

“Damn. Lovely day for a pack visit,” I mumbled, pulling my leather jacket from the passenger seat and sliding it over my buttoned-down flannel. I pulled out a large hair clip from the glovebox and ran my hands over the top of my head, pulling everything back into a large bun. 

My wavy hair remained soft and loose with nary a bit of frizz to be found. Werewolves. We’ve got perks. 

Walking down to the pier, the smell of salt water and seaweed ran through my nostrils. I liked the coast just fine, but I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to live on it, aside from the y’know, stunning beauty of it all. 

A Teslo truck with Massachusetts plates wove by Brego, and I turned to stare at them as they climbed out of that grey monstrosity and paused to take selfies with Johnson Bay in the background. 

Fucking yuppies, I thought. I hate Massholes. I bet they’re staying in a quaint little Airbnb and blogging about their magical Maine adventure.

Instead of staring, I continued down toward a sign that said, “Downeast Boat Rentals.” 

By now, the rain had stopped. But there was enough mist to keep me from seeing the Mulholland Point Lighthouse. 

A tall, rail-thin man was fussing with a tangled piece of boat rope when I approached. His hair was cut neatly and rested beneath an old blue ballcap. The boatman looked to be in his 60s, but I knew from experience he was much older. His eyes glowed an emerald green as they met mine, and I smelled a fishier odor to him than any other red-blooded human carried. 

He dropped the rope and held his arms wide as I approached. 

“Well well! The little pup come to visit her favorite uncle,” the man said with a heavy Québécois accent. Most folks would say he sounded French. But people who actually came from France would be thoroughly disgusted with that label being given to someone from Quebec. 

I huffed and walked into a deceptively powerful hug. 

“Hey there, Pierre. Good fishing today?” I asked. 

The man wasn’t actually my uncle. He was just a longtime friend of the pack and one of the few people still breathing who knew me as a kid. 

“Non,” he said, shaking his head. “I think the fish are sleeping, which is what I’d like to be doing right now. . . but I suspect you’re going to ask for a lift out to the island, ah?”

My smile faded. He knew me all too well. 

“Uh-huh! That’s what I suspected,” he said, pulling out a box of cigarettes and sticking one between his lips. Lighting it, he continued, “Why else would you be in Lubec?”

I sighed. Pierre wasn’t trying to make me feel shitty. But he was right. I only came up here to see the pack. And he rarely made it too far inland, certainly nowhere near Pine Springs. The man loved his boats and shoreline. He had more salt in his blood than any human I knew.

“Sorry, Pierre. I’ve just got some important updates to give Mom and Dad.” 

He rubbed his chin and took a drag from the cigarette. As the tip glowed a dim orange, he grinned. 

“Oh yeah? Big news out on the farm? You get a new tractor or something?” he asked. 

I snickered. 

“No. I uh. . . found my mate,” I said, feeling my heart sort of pause as I waited for his reaction. 

The Québécois blew smoke to the right and then smiled big when he turned back to me. 

“Hey! That’s great. Tell me about her,” he said, putting his hands in his jacket pocket. 

“Well, she’s—”

He held up a hand, interrupting me. 

“Ho, ho, hold up. Before you say anything more. Tell me. Did you have the sense to find a Canuck?”

I shook my head. 

He scoffed and turned around, walking toward a boat tied up at the edge of the pier, bobbing gently with the rising tide. 

“Never mind. I don’t care.”

I walked after him. 

“I didn’t even tell you her name. It’s very pretty, like she is,” I said, stepping onto squeaking old boards to follow Uncle Pierre. 

He stopped abruptly and turned back. 

“Does she at least speak French?”

I shrugged. 

“My mate was a little too busy moaning to reveal if she was bilingual. But I’ll be sure to ask her tonight.” 

Pierre scoffed and turned again toward his boat. 

“I see a lack of good taste runs in your family bloodline. You know, I was once in the running for your mother’s heart,” Pierre said, proud and beaming as if he hadn’t told me this 1,000 times already. “We were to be married, and I was going to take her up north into more civilized lands.” 

Finishing the story for him, I place a hand on his shoulder. 

“But then she met Dad and found her true mate. They got married instead,” I said. 

He kicked an empty beer can in mock outrage as though discovering my mother’s answer for the first time. Then, he shrugged and started to untie his boat. 

“Like I said — no real taste. A classy woman like Adeline deserved a literal salt-of-the-earth man like me. Not that silly goofball Roger Lee. Ugh. Even his name. . . ridiculous.” 

If I caught anyone else trash-talking my old man and alpha, I’d smash their head into the nearest fire hydrant. But even now as he talked, I remembered Pierre standing in front of my Dad’s body and promising to do right by me. A young and sobbing werewolf with only a few transformations under her belt clung tightly to the man who smelled like seaweed and low tide no matter how often he showered. 

To this day, I remembered his words and sometimes caught myself reciting them. 

“You’re a good man, Roger Lee. You toed the line and did what was right, even when it cost you and your pack everything. And I’ll ensure your daughter has whatever she needs until you return. I swear it by the scales of my very flesh,” he’d said on the island.

And he’d kept his word. I moved in with him for several years until I was ready to return home to Pine Springs and start my farm, which he funded for the first three years.  

We were on the way to Treat Island when I plopped down in a seat next to Pierre and lightly kicked his leg. 

“Hey now! Easy on the captain. You don’t want the ship to sink, do you?”

“You can breathe underwater, and you made sure I could swim laps from Lubec to Dudley Island before I turned 13. I think we’ll be fine.”

The captain rolled his eyes. 

“The things Uncle Pierre must endure. If I knew how much of a pain his pup was going to be over the next three decades of my life, I wouldn’t have made that silly promise to Roger Lee,” he said. 

I leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. 

“Yeah, but you’d be so much lonelier sitting in that shack you call a home if I didn’t stop by now and again.” 

“I hope your mate enjoys the arrogance you mistake for charm, little pup,” he laughed. 

“Oh, she was putty in my fingers within five minutes of our meeting,” I chuckled. 

I wouldn’t be surprised if she asked to be clicker trained before the week ended, I thought, shaking my head and snickering.

The fog decided to stick to us like student loans to a college dropout as Pierra approached the dock. A patch of evergreens ran north to south over most of the island. 

A “No Trespassing” sign was posted on the edge of the island’s small dock. Above us a pair of seagulls flew over the island, screeching before vanishing into the mist. 

“How’s that PFAS contamination story still holding up? Keeping folks off the island?”

Pierre nodded and brought the boat’s engine down to idle as we drifted closer to the dock. 

“Sure is. Most folks here know somebody who was made sick by those fucking chemicals. So, it’s not a far stretch to imagine the island got polluted some years back in a spill. Keeps campers and kayakers away from your pack.” 

Hopping out of the boat and landing on the island, I felt a pang of dread in the pit of my gut. My legs turned to Jello as my body remembered where it was. 

Turning back to Pierre with renewed weariness, I tried to sound cocky and undisturbed. 

“Keep the meter running, yeah?”

He cut the power and pulled out a small paperback novel. I had to squint to read the title, but in small print, I could barely register the words, The Ties That Bind. 

The fuck is my uncle reading? I thought, turning to walk onto solid ground. 

Somehow, the air around me grew colder as I worked my way between trees to the center of Treat Island. I stepped through a patch of tall grass and came into view of the pack. 

The smell of frozen flesh and familiar blood washed over me as I stepped into a circle of petrified bodies standing in various poses of surprise. 

Only my father stood baring fangs and ready to attack after the ambush. He’d barely had time to push his mate behind him when everyone was struck with a powerful wave of shrieking sorcery. Magic that chilled the marrow in your bones no matter how deep it burrowed. It stole the strength in your limbs, the breath from your lungs, and the balance in your mind. Only chilled horror remained afterward. 

My father stood wearing a tank top and stained jeans, forever looking up in the sky at the specter of my nightmares that took everything from me. An otherworldly fucker who strolled right in and stole my family with the snap of her fingers. 

All six werewolves were awash in bespelled glaciers before they could even react, and only their little pup remained. Even now, I heard her hiss of a voice. 

“But you, tiny wolf, will remain to remember what happens when mortals deny me what is rightfully mine. Their memory of misfortune and poor choices will live on in you. . . for as long as you can stand the pain, anyway,” she’d said before descending into the shadows and leaving me alone with my pack. . . my imprisoned, frozen-solid pack. 

Dad’s shaggy brown hair was flared and ready to attack. How could he have known the scale of what was coming? Mom’s sandy blonde hair was pulled back into a long braid with a silver ring embedded in the bottom. Her amber eyes were wide with rage, staring at the same sky Dad was. 

From her black leggings to her floral sundress and beaded necklaces, my mother, Adaline, was every bit the hippy she appeared to be. The mother who named me after her favorite planet stood trapped in frigid crystal, unable to even see how her daughter grew up, even though I came out here several times a year. 

My heart sank as it often did, and memories of our family ran full steam through my noggin, tearing my emotions to pieces. Blueberry hikes, salmon fishing, camping with the eager little werewolf who just wanted “one more” of everything. One more wagon ride. One more scoop of ice cream. One more bedtime story. 

And because Dad was a helpless and loveable sap wrapped around my finger, I often got what I asked for. 

That all came to an end the day shadow descended upon our pack, and eternal winter came to my loved ones, taking them with all the violence of a sudden nor'easter. 

“Hey, Dad. Hi Mom,” I said, pausing for a greeting I knew wouldn’t come. 

My feet wanted to rush back to the boat and grab a pickaxe or a flamethrower. But I knew from years of painful lessons and tear-filled study that this curse ran deeper than any mortal tool could dig. 

“It’s been a few months, but I had some pretty big news that I couldn’t wait to share with you.” 

Their expressions didn’t change, but the level of nausea in my gut sure did. 

“I found her,” I started after clearing my throat five times. It kept wanting to close on me. “My mate. She’s. . . perfect. And it was exactly like you both described! The way I had to keep nosing her hair and tasting her skin. It was like she was a bottomless well, and I couldn’t drink her fast enough. All those stories you told me about how your heart feels like it’s soaring high into the sky couldn’t have prepared me for the ecstasy of hearing her name. . . Lilith. Gods, I had the best night with her.” 

I continued to vomit words as I remembered what it felt like to take that small girl with the long black hair into my arms and refuse to release her for any treasure this world had to offer. 

“The lightning that hit my brain and raced straight to my toes after our first dance was stronger than anything Mjolnir could hurl through the sky. And as powerful as I was. . . Lilith toppled me. 

“No desire can I recall such as the feel of her breath upon me. And no protection I’d offer as her mate ever feels enough. How can I possibly explain to this human girl that I would rip the tongue from any who would dare besmirch her name or character? These feelings are fucking Shakespearean, and while you both warned me repeatedly. . . I feel as though I didn’t pay close enough attention.” 

 I sat down upon the earth between Mom and Dad and alternated looks between them. 

“Something’s changed in the air, Mom. And, Dad, I know this sounds crazy, but I feel gears churning like never before. After years of rotten loneliness and coming nowhere near breaking this curse, I feel, inexplicably, like my fortune has finally begun to shift, as one phase of the moon morphs into another.”

And it was true. Amidst the sadness of seeing my pack in their imprisonment, hope remained lit like a single candle despite the darkness around it. As my mate, Lilith had become my hope.

Wind blew through the trees, and the mist thinned a little around Treat Island. In the woods around me, I smelled rabbits and squirrels stirring as though they sensed a subtle change in the weather. 

Turning back to my folks, I bit my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. 

“I miss you,” I whispered, fearful that if I spoke the words any louder, I might shatter into pieces. “I miss our full-moon hunts. I miss Christmas mornings in front of the fireplace with bacon jerky and instant coffee. I miss birthday steaks, Dad. And I miss making jewelry with you, Mom. I know most of the shit I put together was horrid, but you wore it in front of the pack anyway.” 

Tears leaked down my cheeks, and I could no longer keep the river inside dammed up. 

“I don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten the pack. It’s all I think about, setting you free. But I think Lilith is a sign that things will change soon. I don’t have to be alone. And you don’t have to stay cursed.” 

Slowly, I lowered myself to the ground and lay on my side between Mom and Dad. My bottom lip was trembling now. 

“You taught me to be strong, and I will be. But right now, I just need to be a pup nestled between her parents. And that’s okay, right?” 

More tears. 

“. . . Right?”

I quietly shifted into my wolf form and curled up tight between Mom and Dad, imagining that they heard every word I said and were whispering soft, loving affirmations in my ears. 

For a while, nothing mattered. And I was just continent to be in their presence, even if they weren’t looking at me and hadn’t for years. 

I’ll free you, I swore, as I had in this very spot nearly every time I visited the pack. Telsyn will burn. I’ll tear her to shreds and reduce the pieces to ash.

 

***

 

Driving out of Lubec, I had the radio on again to Dad’s favorite station, and the DJ started up “Long Black Veil” by Johnny Cash. 

One moment, everything was fine. I was staring at an ice cooler in my passenger seat filled with packages of lobster tail. I imagined how they’d smell as I cooked them on the grill tonight for Lilith and me. 

And that’s when my chest began to panic. Ever since I’d marked my mate, I could feel her heartbeat in the right side of my chest, a complement to my own. This was the way all mates felt each other, to know whether they were safe or in danger. 

I clutched Brego’s steering wheel so tight that my nails shredded some of the leather. Taking shallow breaths, I searched inside my chest for Lilith’s heartbeat. But it had vanished. Not stopped. Simply disappeared. 

That’d never happened before, not to any werewolf mate I’d heard of. Even in death, a werewolf felt their mate’s heart slow and sputter. But to go suddenly quiet?

I braked heard and pulled Brego off the road. What the fuck was happening? Pulling out my phone and Calling Lilith, I was greeted with her voicemail. 

“Hi, you’ve reached Lilith. I can’t come to the phone right now because I’m in the bath reading, playing DnD, or actively being abducted by aliens. Please leave a message, and I’ll return your call when I re-enter Earth’s atmosphere. BEEP.” 

Bitch, you better be abducted by aliens because that is the only excuse I’ll accept for your heartbeat going radio silence on me, I thought. 

Running my hands through my hair, I took a breath. Lilith was in danger. Something inexplicable had happened to her. I needed to be back in Pine Springs immediately. It was another three hours down the road. 

“But I could run it in half that time,” I growled, hopping out of the truck. 

Walking into the treeline, I threw back my head and let forth a howl that said, “Get the fuck out of my way,” to any creatures in the area. And according to my heightened hearing, they took my advice. 

Feeling the raw power of the wolf within me snarl forth, I shifted for the second time today. Ink-colored hair sprouted from beneath my flesh. Bones and ligaments contorted in an Olympic gymnastics competition as my body transformed into a fierce canine. My fangs extended at the same time my claws did, and I fell to all fours, hands and feet becoming paws in the blink of an eye. 

My vision sank into a world of movement and dulled colors as raw instincts replaced my human intellect. 

Find Lilith, my brain thought. 

It became my sole piercing cry as I rocked through the woods I knew like the back of my paw. Charting a course for my mate, I willed her safety into being with every hair on my body. And if someone else was responsible for her vanishing, no god, no hiding place, no weapon would keep them from my wrath.