Chapter 23 - CHAPTER 22: Yup now I am a certified Lap Wolf!

🐺 Dominic's POV:

Yawn.

Big-ass lip smack.

Eyes crusty. Muscles sore. Soul slightly bruised from last night's emotional whiplash.

"What time is it..." I groan, cracking one eye open.

Sunlight's pouring in through the damn window like it owns the place, landing right on my face and blinding me with judgment.

Also? There's a weirdly cold, skinny arm draped over my chest.

Oh right.

The vampire.

I glance down.

Yup. Lean's out cold. Sprawled across my chest like a dead raccoon in glittery pajamas.

His curls are fluffed into my armpit. He's drooling.

I swear I hear him whisper "Boba" and that cursed "melhm..melhn.." in his sleep.

And me?

I'm... not in full wolf mode anymore.

Mostly human now.

Except-

Tail: still out.

Ears: still twitched up like satellite dishes.

Clothing: absent.

Shame: high.

God. I'm naked.

Again.

Why is it always naked with me? OK don't judge me my boxers ripped when I transformed!

Every full moon, it's the same story-ripped boxers, ruined dignity, awkward explanations.

How am I supposed to tell my mom I need another new pair? When she checks my credit card details!

"Oh hey, ma. I went beast mode and cuddled my vampire roommate. No, I don't know how the elastic melted this time. Don't ask questions."

I groan and shift.

Sticky. Warm. Still smells like-

"YACK-"

Yup. Still smells like pee.

And soup.

And wolf & vampire drool.

And glitter for some reason?

The floor is officially a crime scene.

I'm going to need industrial-grade bleach.

Or holy water.

I try to untangle myself.

"Don't you dare wake up..." I whisper, glancing at him.

He's snoring softly now. One leg twitching like he's chasing a dream squirrel.

I manage to peel his vampire limbs off me and slither out from under his cold sparkle corpse.

I am ashamed to say hugging a vampire gives you a great sleep! Specially when you have a thick ass fur and warm body, a cold ass vampire feels good to sleep with! Ok I am not doing it everyday!

Okay.

Okay okay okay.

Step one: bathroom.

Step two: burn the floor.

Step three: pray no one saw this.

I stand up, wobbly on two legs like a baby deer that just realized it's a werewolf.

Still tail.

Still ears.

Still butt-naked.

I grab the nearest hoodie like it's a towel of salvation and sprint toward the bathroom.

Because if that bat wakes up and sees me like this?

I'm gonna have to move countries.

Yes, I know I used to sleep around a lot.

Yes, I know I had a whole reputation.

BUT THAT WAS DIFFERENT OKAY.

That was cool fuckboy naked.

This is post-cuddle werewolf with sparkly chaos bat clinginess naked.

Totally different genre.

I slam the bathroom door shut.

And breathe.

"Okay, Dom," I mutter to the mirror, ears twitching. "You got this. Just... wash the chaos off."

-cue the shower. 🚿

🦇 Lean's POV:

(Bat.exe Has Booted)

Stretch. Purr. Yawn.

Okay, baby bat awakening sequence: initiated.

I blink awake, brain still foggy from wolf cuddles and emotional near-death experiences.

First thought: Warmth? Nice.

Second thought: Smells like pee.

…Oh right.

I peel myself off the glitter-and-drool-soaked floor and sniff.

Yup.

Wolf spit.

Bat drool.

Soup.

And definite remnants of my dignity—scattered somewhere under the pee puddle.

"Where's the Dog?" I mumble, still half-asleep.

I look around.

Blanket? Shredded.

Floor? Violated.

Big grumpy fluffball? MISSING.

But then I hear it.

Cursing.

From the bathroom.

Oh thank Satan.

Target: located.

I sniff again—yup, that's his shampoo. And shame.

"Fangs... the house looks like shit." I mutter, scanning the destruction zone.

Fur, glitter, soup stains, a rogue chicken chunk by the wall, and the scent of horny regret.

This room needs a damn exorcism. Wait...That's literally arson in monster society.

So naturally—I start cleaning.

(While mumbling an ancient spell from the cult of Pinterest.), and yeah I am not making it worse! I know how to clean stuffs, ok I suck in cooking but the last night chicken was not that bad!

But while I mop around the battlefield of canine chaos, my brain—stupid little sparkly traitor that it is—starts spiraling again.

Because like…

HE WAS CUTE.

Like HELLISHLY cute.

I can squish his wolf cheeks and ears all day! He looked stupider than me when I pulled his cheeks and his fangs just peek out like an awkward smile, ok than can go for some dog toothpaste ad!

Cuter than the stray hell hounds that used to follow me around the streets of Hell when I was a baby bat.

Cuter than cursed plushies.

Cuter than death, tax evasion, and sin all rolled into one.

But also...

HE NEVER TOLD ME HE WAS A MURDER PUPPY.

Why?! Was he shy?! Embarrassed?! Is it like werewolf puberty?! Do they just turn fuzzy one day and panic???

Or—or maybe he's confused??

I mean, yeah—he does have anger issues.

Mood swings.

Goes from "shut up" to "I'll carry you like a princess" real fast.

Wait…

Is he an alpha??

Oh.

OH.

My eyes widen.

I remember reading that in the Monster Encyclopedia Volume IV: Moody Ass Shifters Edition™.

Alphas have issues.

Lots of them.

Anger. Pride. Drama. Trust. And....LUST...

…Daddy Issues.

But that means—

I GOT MYSELF AN ALPHA WEREWOLF.

DOES THAT MAKE ME THE QUEEN OF WOLVES?!?!

Do I get a tiara? A throne?

Do I get to pet other murder puppies now?!

DO I GET A PACK?!

I AM LEVITATING!!!!

Okay—no.

No, stop.

Probably not.

I mean… he doesn't live in a pack, right?

He lives alone.

No mentions of packmates. No howling groups. No moonlit wolf orgies.

He never talked about it.

...Is he not a natural-born?

Oh shit.

Maybe he was… turned?

My brain do the math.

Strong. Ferocious. Hiding. Living alone. Secretive. Probably lost.

My poor fluffy bastard. He's not even a trained werewolf. He's a freelance feral.

That's it.

I need to know everything.

How he became one. Why he hides it. What he's scared of. Where his pack is. What shampoo he uses for that luscious ass tail. AND why he decided not to eat me like some chicken wing when he found me first time in the forest half dead!

AND I'M NOT LEAVING HIM ALONE UNTIL HE TELLS ME.

I will cling.

I will pester.

I will pet him until he squeals the truth.

What's the worst that can happen?

...Okay maybe he could eat my face.

But!

He licked it last night, remember?

AND WOLVES DON'T EAT WHAT THEY LICK.

...I...I think.

🐺 Dominic's POV:

"Fuck," I mutter, towel around my waist, glaring at my reflection.

"Why the hell won't these ears and tail go away?!"

They're twitching like nervous radar dishes, perched on top of my head Like I'm some kind of cursed cosplay model.

And the tail?

Still wagging.

Traitor.

Normally, after I calm down or shift back, they just vanish—like a polite thank-you-for-transforming gift.

But not today.

Today, I get stuck with fuzzy accessories and public shame.

Probably because I cuddled with Satan's glitter nephew for seven hours straight.

God.

The vampire.

He saw everything.

The fur. The fangs. The drooling. The tail-thumping. The Belly Rub Incident™ and I swear what got into me, I licked him like my life depends on him! Ok that was not freaky! I was a wolf then! Animals can lick humans, agh! Monsters in glitters! If you don't accept that you are just another Animal hater or zoophile!

And he's going to ask questions.

So many questions.

He's going to cling.

And cry.

And make up werewolf rules on the spot.

What am I even supposed to say?

"Hey, Vamps! Soooo, I'm a cursed alpha mutt with trauma issues...wait am I an alpha? (Pride crisis cause he don't know he never met another werewolf) and no social life, but for you? I'm a lap dog now. Pet responsibly."

Nope.

Not happening.

I groan and smack my head against the mirror gently.

Clunk.

"Why am I like this."

I dry off and throw on a hoodie and joggers. Tail still sticking out the waistband like a rejected antenna, and ears twitching like trying to get some mysterious radio signals.

Whatever. I'll deal with it.

I crack the bathroom door.

Silence.

Then—

CRASH.

Followed by—

"🎶I'M A BARBIE GIRL! IN THE BARBIE WORLD! I'M FANTASTIC—"

My soul leaves my body.

Oh no.

He's awake! The Chaos Chipmunk Demon is awaked!

He's singing.

He's cleaning, singing, and probably trying to adopt me as his emotional support mutt in his head right now.

Lord have mercy.

I sigh.

Brace myself.

Because the Chaos Devil is up.

And he's coming for answers.

🦇 Lean's POV:

OMG.

He's out.

He's alive. Standing. Dressed (mostly). Looking like some freshly showered, emotionally damaged forest dog.

AND—AND—

HIS TAIL. HIS EARS. THEY'RE STILL OUT.

I gasp so loud I inhale a dust bunny.

"PUPPERSSSSSSSS!!!!"

I throw the mop.

Launch myself across the floor like a glittery missile of love and poor decision-making.

He turns just in time to yell something like "Don't you fuc—!"

Too late.

I'm on him.

Hugging him like he's the last emotional support plushie in the apocalypse.

Burying my face into his hoodie like I wasn't crying in soup five hours ago.

"You're SO CUTE I CAN'T—your tail is still wagging!!!" I squeal.

He groans.

I squeeze tighter.

He groans louder.

He's cursing under his breath. Something about "goddamn vampire barnacle."

I do not care.

I will cling.

And now that I have him…

He better get ready.

Because I've got questions.

Seventy-two of them.

And he's answering all of them.

Right after this hug ends.

(Maybe.)

🦇💕🐺