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They’d killed enough werewolves to last for the winter, however, and with the others dead, that left fewer people for Tatum to share the profits with.

There were people out there willing to pay huge amounts of money to get their hands on a real werewolf pelt. It was hard to tell the difference between a normal wolf and a werewolf, other than the size of the fur itself, but Tatum had sold all the furs he’d gotten from his last kill with the exception of one.

It was his trophy to wear, to show off to other hunters that he was

36                          Marcy Jacks

the real fucking deal, and he could take out a number of werewolves

and survive, even when shit went south.

As for the rest, he’d sold them for a good price, replaced the weapons he’d lost in the battle, and was now just biding his time.

He didn’t have nearly enough supplies for a full-blown attack once more, but he would at the end of the winter. The fact that he’d

all but destroyed that one pack, sending its alpha into hiding, had  made it back to all the main hangouts where hunters were known to  frequent. Despite his losses, he was seen as something of a war hero.

That one made him grin. A war hero at twenty-five. He liked that.

The families of the dead hunters were grieving, and since winter  was a hard time for hunting, they were going to wait until the spring  before they decided to join him.

He would have backup, and he would take out that other pack.  Tatum had hated that old man’s guts. Tom had always been bossing  him around the second Tatum and his boys had arrived on the scene,  but he was still one of them, and Tatum was going to make sure that  he was avenged.

If Tatum happened to enjoy the hunt itself, the look in the eyes of  those wolves right as the life left them, well, that was his own benefit.

He looked out the window of the shitty little abandoned cabin  he’d holed up in for the winter. That love for the kill was the only  reason he was still out here for the winter. There were going to be  some stragglers to pick off after that one pack had been destroyed,  and Tatum wanted to be there to make sure they all found a safe,  warm place with him.

He got back to work cleaning his rifles and sharpening his knives.

* * * *

It had been the worst idea of Morgan’s life, getting into that shower with Terry. The omega wouldn’t take no for an answer, and  Morgan’s cock wouldn’t take no for an answer either.

Mated to the Wild Omega                     37

He had to remind himself that Terry was a wild werewolf. How that had come about, Morgan didn’t know, but Terry was much more open to the idea of being claimed by his mate just because of it. More than once Morgan had to prevent Terry from sliding to his knees in front of him and to keep the smaller man from kissing him.

It was hard because Terry didn’t want to touch the soap bar, leaving Morgan to lather up the younger man himself. Terry had seemed to take that as an open invitation and was constantly trying to puff out his chest so that Morgan would touch his nipples.

Morgan was not hungry anymore. Not for food, at least. He figured he could do without and give Terry the second bowl of soup still waiting for them in the bedroom.

Thankfully, when he reminded the other man about it, Terry forgot all about being horny and bounded over to the bowl.

Morgan watched him scarf down the soup with the same vigor as before. Only this time, he didn’t look up at Morgan with distrust, and he managed to eat without getting any on him.

At least until he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Morgan grabbed a washcloth and cleaned it away.

It made him wonder, would Terry always be like this? This childlike, innocent being that trusted him so wholeheartedly simply because Morgan fed him?

Or would that wildness eventually seep out of him once he had more contact with other werewolves like Nick or Corey, or even the other new werewolves who’d come to be part of DeWitt’s pack.

Not only had James taken in the survivors from Phillip’s pack, but other nearly wild werewolves had come to him as well. They were mostly okay and not nearly as far gone as Terry appeared to be. Was that because they had escaped the alphas who were dragging them around? Most of those werewolves had been omegas with the exception of Cole and Trevor.

Did Terry somehow get separated from them?

Terry was giving him that look again, and Morgan barely noticed

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it as he washed the younger man’s hands. He didn’t notice it until it  was too late, and Terry’s mouth was on Morgan’s.

His dick hadn’t stopped throbbing since before they’d gone into  the shower together. The need to claim his mate was too much, and  his body started to shiver and shake like it had done before.

The hot, electric sensation jolted through his entire body when  Terry reached his hand down and wrapped those warm fingers around  Morgan’s prick.

He moaned into Terry’s mouth.

That was it. There was no turning back, and he no longer wanted  to stop himself. Morgan grabbed Terry under his armpits and  practically threw him on top of the bed. He climbed onto the other  man. Terry’s eyes had turned gold, and he stared at Morgan with  undisguised lust on his face.

No one had ever looked at him like that before.

When Terry’s hands started to massaged Morgan’s shoulders and chest, his fingers brushing against Morgan’s nipples until they hardened under his touch, Morgan decided to act now before it was too late and he completely lost it.

He grabbed Terry’s hands and pinned them by