Seth Le Beau Leaned against the rough stucco wall and crossed one ankle over the other. This better not take long he snarled at his wolf.
He decided decades ago to distance himself from humans in general. With his emotions locked away, he’d stopped caring about making friends long ago. He was comfortable alone. He was two hundred and fourteen years old, and he’d lived in isolation over half of that time. If asked, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact day he’d made his choice of self-imposed solitude. It didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things.
To his chagrin, there was one problem with his brilliant decision to live like a hermit. As much as he didn’t want to be around others, his wolf decided he needed them. Sure, he needed touch. Every shifter did. But he could get that from a willing female without speaking a word. That argument didn’t fly with his wolf. The stupid fleabag insisted he needed conversation. He’d whined some nonsense about regressing to a caveman. So, to his ultimate irritation, he found himself leaning against the brick wall outside of a restaurant in the valley below the mountain where he lived.
His dang wolf insisted that he start up a conversation with at least one person before he was allowed to go home. He knew better than to disregard his beast. The last time he did, his wolf howled all night, and he didn’t get a wink of sleep. Did the mangy beast think he would forget how to speak or some such nonsense?
He’d only had to wait a few minutes, Thank Goddess. Two women came out, and one glanced his direction. “Good evening, ladies. Did you have a nice dinner?”
The one looking at him opened her mouth to answer when the other yanked her way and hissed, “What’s wrong with you? He could be a rapist.”
That’s it. He snapped at his wolf. We’re going home. He stomped around the corner of the building and shifted to his wolf.