SKIN (WATTYS UNDISCOVERED GEM)

Chapter Five: What's That Between Your Teeth?

AN
edited
(i promised someone schuyler's pov, i'm sorry)

song on the side reminds me of Lennox and wolf pack and Giles and wolf pack.

sorry for mistakes, this is a really rough chapter.

I hope you guys realize this is a story more about Lennox, than Schuyler.

Just saying...Lennox is naked somewhat in this...and sticky >:) and blushy and NaKED
I should just rename this book: Objectifying Shy Male Werewolves and other Relevant Stuff.

Make sure to look for foreshadowing, guys, cause it's there.

(this is where the quote: "All wolves are the same. Sme are just closer to being a real monster. And some are just hiding in sheep s k i n." Tell me where you see it being relevant and how)

It's five o'clock in the morning, the sun is leaking through the canopy of trees and Lennox is trying to remember how he ended up in the middle of the college campus's nature walk trail butt naked.

There's a bad taste on his tongue, and there's a dry feeling in the back of his throat- he ate something he wasn't supposed to. All he wants is to taste the sweet skin of Schuyler- the girl that he had met two nights ago who had a water bottle in one hand, and in the other a taser that made him want to take a step back.

There's tiny slivers of paper-thin cuts lining up his arms, beads of dried blood feathering them as a sign of how hard he tried to reign himself in.

"Nggh," he lets out a hum, tongue choking on what's left from a growl he wore down from last night. Last night- when he was still conscious of what his...other side was doing, he was seven hours away from this town- plenty of space to make his wolf go around in circles and smell out what was making him go crazy without actually coming near.

But damn- he had came near. She was less than a mile away from his reach.

"Son of a bitch," his tongue sits in his mouth- it's as dry as dirt, swollen without anything moist, and his hands automatically move down to his thigh, where usually his pants sit with a pack of Marlboros in his left pocket. His fingers move over the ghost of his cigarettes, he'd do anything to have one.

There's a pounding in his head- like most times he loses himself in a shift, there are stale remnants from being feral that stick and tumble into a headache. But this one is mostly because he's trying to remember what he did, if anyone saw, how close he got to her dorm before he managed to tie a rope around his other side and nail it back into the ground.

With emerald orbs flickering up to the canopy of trees- he realizes he's still lying down in the rough bed of twigs and dead grass, it feels good though- to a wolf like him. He grew up in the needles of pine, was raised on scratching his back on the ends of low branches, and breathed the forest air more than the pollution of the cities.

But he has to get up- before someone decides to wander down the nature walk and find a scratched up man. He'd have campus police on him- and it wouldn't be good street cred to be ran out of his own territory by humans.

*

By the time he makes it back to his house, it's been three hours. Partially because humans don't find it appropriate for other humans- or in his case, werewolves- to frolic in the nude on a warm Wednesday morning.

No one has seen him- at least not that he's aware of, and with long strides, he runs into his back-door, which mind anyone who asks, is a swing door placed inside for Lennox to shift and still be able to come in and out as he pleases.