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The bartender slid two full glasses over to Dean and then offered him a sultry smile. “Here you go, sugar.”

She’d been flirting with him all night: spending half an hour wiping down the table next to the one he and Sam had staked out and making it obvious that she wasn’t averse to offering something a little more satisfying than beer. Normally, Dean would have leapt at the chance, but these days he couldn’t work up any interest. It all seemed kind of meaningless when he should, by all rights, be six feet under.

And that stray thought was all it took to plunge his mind into the familiar refrain: Dad should be here, not him. Dad, who had somehow managed to fight back enough control to keep the demon from bleeding Dean dry in the cabin. Dad, who was stronger than Dean, and faster, and who had somehow managed to still be John underneath the bear.

Dean was worn out and dragging himself through the days minute by awful minute. So why the hell was he smiling back at the bartender? Why was he tilting closer over the bar and making sure their fingers brushed as he passed her a ten?

She trapped his hand underneath hers, rubbing her thumb along the side of his wrist. “It’s on the house,” she purred, leaning forward.

Dean’s eyes slid from her face to her throat and then kept dropping to the swell of breast and peak of lace he could see from this angle. His heartbeat sped as his dick, which he’d begun to suspect was permanently broken, started to wake up.

Oh hell, he thought, floundering for something to say: some easy way to back out of this situation.

Heatwarmslickwant.

The rising fear in Dean’s chest snapped into anger at the intrusive urge. He should have known something was up when the furry fuck went quiet the moment they walked into the bar. Jerking his hand free from the bartender’s, he left both the ten and the drinks on the bar and plunged toward the door. He wasn’t having this conversation in here: not where he’d be wrapped up in a white jacket when he started yelling at the voice in his head.

He almost bowled over a couple of guys when he burst outside, only avoiding them with a brief siphon of the wolf’s energy that sent him lurching to one side faster than a normal human would have been able to move. He still clipped one of their shoulders, and an angry shout followed him as he fled to the darkened edge of the parking lot. Once he was certain that he was mostly hidden, Dean crouched on the ground to minimize the size of his shadow and gripped the amulet.

“What the fuck!” he spat.

Nofun, the wolf sulked. Want bitch. Go back.

“No.”

The wolf tried to rush forward and take control: a maneuver it hadn’t tried since his father’s funeral pyre. Dean didn’t have to do anything—it was only able to come forward so far under the amulet’s influence—but he shoved it away anyway. It made a mental snap at him and then retreated, lashing the tail it didn’t really have in frustration.

Want, it growled.

“Yeah, well people in hell want ice water. I’m not in the mood.”

Are too.

The wolf gave Dean a nudge and a wave of lust washed over him. He swore as his legs gave out, dropping him to his knees in the dirt. He could hear someone running toward him and couldn’t get enough focus to do anything but tighten his grip on the amulet.

“Dean? You okay?”

Sam’s hand came down on his shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. Dean used the touch to solidify himself in his own body, reconnecting with his own thoughts and desires.

The wolf gave another grumble and then subsided, taking most of the lust with it but leaving him hard and aching.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Dean let Sam help him to his feet. He resisted the urge to reach down and adjust himself. His hands weren’t going anywhere near that region until things calmed down.

“Dean?” Sam prodded. Even in the dim light, Dean could see the worry in his brother’s face. His night vision had gotten a hell of a lot better recently.

Twitching his mouth up into a wry grin, Dean said, “Dog problems.”

They hadn’t talked about the wolf since Red Lodge, but he could tell that Sam had been thinking about it because his expression immediately flattened into something cautious and guarded.

“Anything I should be worried about?” he asked.

“It doesn’t seem to be interested in men, so no.”

Sam started to frown and then his eyes widened as he figured out what Dean meant. “You’re not going to, right? Because you can’t know how much control it’ll be able to take when you’re distracted.”

Dean was pretty sure that the wolf wouldn’t be able to do shit—if it couldn’t take control when he was sleeping, it couldn’t do it period—but that didn’t mean that sex, if he ever actually wanted it again, wouldn’t be problematic. Sam had been right in Red Lodge: Dean hadn’t been himself since he woke up (came back).

He’d been erratic, his attention blowing to the winds whenever they had a few moments of down time, and yet intent enough on hunts to frighten Sam. And whenever he got his hands on the son of a bitch they were fighting, a clean kill just didn’t feel like enough anymore. Sure, that could just be a side affect of his completely fucked up emotional state—his guilt over his father’s death, and his anger at that last command, and his fear of whatever John had known to prompt those words—but what if he was wrong?

What if his behavior—his moods—were a symptom of the soul bleed? What if, every day, he was a little more wolf and a little less Dean?

“Dean!” Sam said sharply.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Dean snapped, “I’m not gonna do anything, man. I’m not a moron.” He glanced at the bar and then scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m gonna head back to the room. Make an early night of it. I can leave the car if—”

“No, I’ll come,” Sam interrupted. “Just let me grab our stuff, okay?”

The overprotective act that Sam had been pulling since Dean’s roadside confession usually grated on his skin like sandpaper, but tonight he only felt grateful. He hadn’t been looking forward to being alone with the wolf. Forgetting for a moment that Sam’s night vision wasn’t as good as his own, he ducked his head to hide the relief in his eyes.

“You’ve got three minutes and then you can find your own ride home,” he said gruffly.

The soft smile tugging at his brother's lips told Dean that Sam wasn’t fooled, but he didn’t call him on it.

Dean watched his brother jog back toward the bar and then dug into his pocket for the keys to the car. His dick gave a twitch at the shift in the denim pressing against it and he bit his lip.

Want.

“Oh, shut the fuck up already,” Dean groaned.

Looked like it was going to be a long night.

The wolf was going to drive Dean insane, that was all there was to it.

Every reasonably attractive woman that walked by elicited a mental growl of appreciation from the damned thing, and God forbid Dean ever caught one of them coming onto him. His dick went from zero to a hundred in about one second and the wolf started up a stream of pleas and enticements, reminding Dean how warm and tight it would be: how good it would feel.

Dean ignored it. If he argued with it, yelled at it, then it would know that it was getting to him and only redouble its efforts. He was pretty sure his balls wouldn’t survive that.

Still, there was only so much a guy could take. Which was why, a little over three weeks after the wolf had started this particular crusade, Dean finally snapped. Sam had blown off lunch, claiming that he was finally getting somewhere on his glashtin research, and the waitress at the café kept brushing Dean’s arm with her breasts.

As she refilled his water for the seventh time, and the wolf gave a particularly pitiful whimper, Dean snarled, What the fuck is wrong with you?

Want.

Dean made himself nod pleasantly as the waitress—Sue—straightened again, and then waited for her to move away before demanding, What, are you in heat or something?

Not bitch, came the wolf’s surly response.

You nag like one, Dean pointed out.

The wolf growled at him.

Fine, if you’re not in heat, then what’s the goddamned problem? Dean gripped his fork and jabbed it at the mound of coleslaw on the edge of his plate. I thought wolves were supposed to be magnanimous or something.

One mate bond, the wolf agreed.

Then what’s with the Casanova act you’re pulling?

The wolf hesitated inside of him, and Dean could tell it was seriously considering his question. After a few moments, it whined and answered, Hurts. Feel empty. Want stop. More hesitantly, as though it wasn’t sure it understood what it was saying, it continued, Bitch make stop. Feel better.

Dean had the feeling that he was going to wish he’d left well enough alone, but he wasn’t about to let this drop now. What hurts? he asked, and then made himself put down his fork before he prodded the plate hard enough to break it.

After another long pause, the wolf said, You feel alone. Inside. Don’t want to be DeanMeMine. Want to be earth.

Dean felt his face go stiff. He felt guilty about Dad, sure, but it didn’t go as deep as the wolf was suggesting. He didn’t actually want to be dead. And yet, sometimes … God, for a while there, the only thing keeping him going had been his need to keep Sam safe from whatever fate John had seen. But that didn’t mean he’d ever actually considered suicide, which was what the wolf seemed to be suggesting.

I don’t want to be dead, he told it.

Do, the wolf argued.

Its insistence might have been a little worrying, if Dean wasn’t completely sure he was handling the situation. But he was. Handling it. He was handling it fine.

Right?

I’m not arguing about this, he thought, trying to steer the conversation back onto more comfortable paths. I’m alive, and it’s not like I’m gonna off myself, so drop it already. And you still haven’t explained why you’re such a horndog all of a sudden.

Not me. Not … It paused, thinking, and then said, DeanMeMine doesn’t want to feel. I feel for you.

Dean shifted abruptly enough that the couple eating at the table next to his glanced over at him. He cut his eyes away to the window, ignoring their startled expressions. Oh no. You’re not laying this on me. I don’t want—

Won’t let yourself, the wolf interrupted. Walk around like deafblind cub and won’t see. I see. Damnedwolf is smarter than DeanMeMine.

It had to be wrong about that. No way were these urges Dean’s. They couldn’t be. He was supposed to be dead, damn it, not fucking everything that moved.

Not earth, the wolf urged. Need life. Need feel.

Dean swallowed the painful lump that was forming in his throat. He curled his hands around the edge of the table to keep them from shaking. I’m not ready, he admitted.

Body ready. Heart and head follow where body leads.

He couldn’t stop a brittle laugh from slipping from his throat. Maybe for you.

You are me.

Now that was an unsettling thought. Dean wanted to shrug the words aside and couldn’t: they were too close to what he’d been thinking himself lately. Pastor Jim had given a name to the process of dissolution that occurred between berserker and animal spirit: to the gradual leak of emotion and instinct that resulted, ultimately, in a feral insanity.

Soul bleed.

And if the wolf was being dragged under by Dean’s unconscious lust, then the reverse also had to be true, didn’t it? Suddenly, every punch he’d thrown, every shot he’d fired, every knife he’d slid between ribs or across a throat, felt sinister and wrong.

Oh God, he’d been slipping down the rabbit hole for months.

“You all done, sugar?”

Dean jumped; he’d been too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice the waitress’ approach. The way she was bending into his space made her impossible to ignore any longer, however.

He forced his hands to release the table and shoved his plate toward her. “Yeah.”

“Can I interest you in some dessert?” she asked, edging closer. Her breast brushed his upper arm again, firm and inviting.

Want, the wolf piped up. It wasn’t talking about the cherry pie.

“Just a check,” Dean muttered, keeping his gaze firmly locked on the tabletop. He ignored the waitress’ disappointed sigh and the wolf’s grumble, too busy wondering if he should call Bobby to pay either of them any mind. But really, what was Bobby going to tell him? Dean already knew what was happening to him. Knew there was no way to stop it.

But maybe there was a way to slow the bleed down.

If I do this for you, will you back off?

Dean sensed the wolf cock its head attentively.

Sex for a little space in my own head, he clarified. If the wolf wasn’t there all the time, ready with one of its needling remarks, then he wouldn’t feel so lost. He could get some distance: regain a sense of self again. Hell, maybe he could even reverse some of the soul bleed. Fix the goddamned problem.

Not problem. Becoming two-as-one good.

I’ll shoot myself first; you know I will, Dean responded instantly. At the wolf’s sullen silence, he added, And that’s exactly what I mean. I want you out of my thoughts. Need some goddamned privacy here.

The wolf was silent for a few more moments and then it offered, Be quiet one moon.

A rush of relief threatened to overwhelm him, but he concentrated and bargained, Three.

The wolf snorted. One moon only. No bargaining. Have upper paw.

Damned thing was right. After all, if Dean didn’t cave now, all it had to do was keep nagging him. Keep letting their souls bleed together until he was nothing more than another monster that had to be put down. A month wasn’t very long at all, gave him almost no time to find some way to fix things, but it was going to have to be enough.

Okay, deal, Dean agreed, and the wolf’s attention went hopefully toward the waitress, leaning on the counter and joking with the fry cook.

No. Not her. Not now. He couldn’t do this with someone who didn’t know what they were getting into: what they were risking. He couldn’t do it without putting some safeguards in place.

Who? When? the wolf demanded.

After we waste the glashtin. There’s—I know a place. Or possibly he was going to get his ass handed to him for even suggesting it.

The wolf frolicked around inside of him for the rest of the afternoon, and no matter how closely he examined himself, Dean couldn’t tell whether the anticipation tightening his groin was his own or the wolf’s.

When Dean knocked on a familiar door four days later, the wolf was alert but silent. He’d made the son of a bitch promise to keep its trap shut for this: things were going to be awkward enough without the wolf keeping up a running commentary.

“Stop wagging your tail,” he grumbled as he waited on the step. “It’s annoying as hell.”

Then the door opened and Dean plastered a lopsided smile on his lips. “Hey, babe.”

She stood in the doorway looking him over. Maybe trying to find some visible difference in him. Maybe regretting that she’d agreed to this in the first place.

Dean resisted the impulse to shift under the scrutiny. “If, uh. I can go if you—”

“No,” she interrupted, and stepped back. “I just …” She trailed off and then cleared her throat, nodding. “You look good.”

She meant that he looked like himself.

Dean’s smile went stiff but he made himself nod back. “So do you.”

She always looked good, of course, but she seemed to have taken extra care with her appearance today, hair falling soft around her face and jeans hugging her hips. Her shirt was the deep red of cranberries. Looked soft to the touch and was short enough to leave a stripe of taut stomach exposed. Beautiful.

Edging past her into the house, Dean instinctively looked around for any signs that they weren’t alone.

“My mother’s not here,” she announced softly as she shut the door behind him.

Dean didn’t ask where she’d gone or what excuse she’d been given: just nodded again and stuck his hands in his pockets. He hated how uncomfortable this felt: how jarring and out of place. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover it.

“Maybe I should go,” he offered, ignoring the wolf’s resistant growl.

“Don’t.” She stepped closer and laid a hand on his arm. The wolf perked up at the touch, and Dean resisted the urge to shove it down and bolt out of here like his tail was on fire. Instead, he held himself still, hardly daring to breathe as she pressed up behind him. Her other arm came around so that she could lay a gentle hand on his chest. Her head dropped to rest against his shoulder blade.

“I’m sorry about your father,” she whispered.

All of the hurt and the loss that Dean hadn’t been able to release around his brother—the agonizing weight—crushed down on him. His eyes stung viciously and then he was crying. He brought one hand up and rubbed at his face, trying to distract himself from the deep-seated ache in his chest.

“You want to talk about it?”

“I’m fine.”

“You suck at lying,” she pointed out, and then gave his arm a quick, reassuring squeeze and stepped away. She always had known when to back off. “I’ll get you a drink if you want to head into the living room.”

“Sounds good,” he answered, keeping his face averted as she passed him. It was one thing for her to know he was crying: it was another for her to actually see the tears running down his face.

Dean headed toward the living room and then paused in the doorway. “Hey,” he called over his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“I missed you, Cass.”

Dean managed to calm himself down before Cassie appeared with the promised drink. From his seat on the couch, he eyed the steaming cup she brought with her dubiously.

“That’s not more of that herbal crap, isn’t it?”

Cassie’s lips twitched up into a smile. “It’s coffee with a kick.”

Dean didn’t think it was a good idea for him to be drinking right now, but his eyes were sore and he could feel a tension headache throbbing behind his temples, and he needed a little something to take the edge off, damn it.

Taking the cup, he asked, “What sort of kick?”

“Bourbon.”

“Marry me,” Dean deadpanned, and then took a long, slow sip.

“You should be so lucky,” Cassie laughed as she sat down next to him.

Dean tightened his grip on the cup. He knew he should just let it pass, a joke between friends, but instead he found himself saying, “Yeah, I should.”

He felt her go still next to him, and the atmosphere in the room went brittle. Damn it, why the hell couldn’t he ever keep his mouth shut around her?

“Dean,” she started regretfully.

“I really appreciate you doing this, Cass,” he rushed. “Not a whole lot of people I could go to.”

She hesitated for a moment, and he was beginning to think she wasn’t going to let it go when she laughed and said, “I don’t think that getting a woman into bed would be a problem for you.”

Dean thought about the wolf, poised and eager inside of him, and his chest gave a deep ache. “Not like this.”

“No, not like this,” she agreed. Her hand came down on his forearm and rubbed reassuring circles into his skin.

Dean leaned back into the couch and took another sip of coffee, letting himself enjoy the novelty of being with someone who knew what he was and didn’t shun him for it. There were only two other people he’d ever felt this comfortable with, and one of them was dead. And Sam … well, things with Sam were uncomfortable these days.

He thought about telling Cassie how fucked up that particular relationship had gotten, but what could she say to that? What the hell could anyone say to make his father’s last order disappear? Nothing was going to stop that damning secret from straining the silence between him and his brother.

Nothing but telling Sam the truth, and Dean sure as hell wasn’t going there.

“So can I talk to it?” Cassie asked suddenly.

Dean glanced over at her in confusion before realizing what she wanted. His lips quirked. “Not so much, no.”

Cassie raised one eyebrow and said, “I thought it was awake.”

“It is, but it isn’t in charge. This thing’s—” He brushed the amulet with his fingers. “—got just enough juice left to keep it pinned down. Trust me: if it was awake and loose, I wouldn’t be here.” Preferably, he wouldn’t even be drawing air.

Frowning, Cassie tilted her head to the side so that it rested against the back of the couch. She drew her knees up and regarded him with those sloe-dark eyes he couldn’t seem to get enough of and he couldn’t resist reaching over and running his knuckles over her thigh.

“I don’t understand,” she told him. “You said that you needed to do this with me because I knew about the wolf. I thought that—”

She stopped speaking as Dean stood up abruptly. He strode across the room to his coat, which he’d draped over an armchair, and fished his gun out from one of the oversized pockets. Cassie’s eyes widened when he turned around and she saw the weapon in his hand, more out of confused startlement than fear. Wordlessly, he stepped in front of her and held the gun out.

Cassie’s lips thinned. “I’m not going to kill you, Dean.”

“I don’t want you to kill me.” His voice was huskier than he’d meant it to come out, roughened with emotion.

“Then what—”

“I haven’t slept with anyone since it woke up, Cassie. I don’t know how … rough … I’ll be. If I get out of hand, I want you to shoot me—you know, in the leg, or the shoulder or something.”

“I’m not having sex with a loaded gun in my hand!” Cassie exclaimed, pushing to her feet and pacing away from him.

Well, duh. That’d just be asking for it.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “We’ll leave it on the nightstand. That way, you can reach it if you need to and we don’t have to worry about any accidents.”

“I’m not shooting you!” Cassie insisted.

Dean’s gut gave a terrified lurch as the wolf shivered inside of him. He swore, dropping the gun onto the couch and taking the three swift steps that pressed him up against Cassie. She made a little, startled noise and started to move back. His hand shot out on instinct, clamping around her throat.

He was half-horrified at himself once he realized what he’d done, but he made himself hold on, maintaining a pressure that wasn't harsh enough to hurt but plenty firm enough to keep her from going anywhere. A warning.

“Dean, stop.” Cassie’s hands came up to clutch his wrist, but she looked more angry than afraid. If Dean was going to keep her safe, that had to change.

“Or what?” he growled. “You gonna make me?” Cassie dug her fingernails into his skin and he tightened his grip. “You can’t.”

Using his hold on her throat, he walked her backwards until they came up against the doorframe. She made a small, startled noise as he draped himself over her. Her pulse was jumping underneath his thumb; her breath coming fast and frightened.

He could smell the sweet lilac perfume she favored and, underneath that, something warmer that was pure Cassie. She smelled like the comfort of pack pressed close in a safe cave when the winter winds howled for blood in the night and suddenly this wasn’t just about a lesson. It wasn’t about frightening her enough to get her to take the damned gun already.

He wanted.

Cassie was terrified and fragile in his hands: that heartbeat and the fear in her eyes screaming ‘prey’ and her scent making him want to sink into her and spend himself in that tight heat. Dean’s mouth was watering, and he couldn’t tell if he was hungry or turned on as he released her throat to twist his hand in her hair. Holding her in place, he lowered his head to nuzzle at her throat.

“Dean.”

It was maybe a warning, maybe an enticement. Maybe a plea. He couldn’t tell. He didn’t care. The wolf was salivating inside of him, scrambling forward as far as it could go and whining deep in its throat.

Dean opened his mouth and tasted salt. Tasted something beneath that like almonds and cinnamon. Cassie. Groaning, he let his other hand wander down to brush across that tease of bared skin at her stomach.

“Dean, stop,” Cassie hissed, and then bit his ear.

The sharp pain was enough to snap Dean from his daze, but only barely. If they’d been naked, if he had been sheathed inside of her … Dean shuddered and raised his head. When he looked into Cassie’s eyes, he found fear, which he’d expected, but also a little arousal. It softened the guilty ache in his chest.

“You need to take the gun,” he breathed, sliding his hand from her stomach to rest it on her hip.

Cassie let out a shuddering breath and nodded. Dean realized he was still griping her hair and relaxed his grip, running apologetic fingers through her curls. Dropping his head forward, he laid a kiss on her collarbone.

“I can still go,” he offered.

Cassie’s response was immediate and soothing. “No.” Her hands stroked down his back. “No, I said I’d do it.”

Dean wanted to let it go at that, could feel the wolf urging him to leave it at that, but he made himself say, “If you’re just doing this because you don’t want to back out, then—”

“That’s not why, Dean.”

Yeah, right, he thought. He didn’t say anything, though. He wasn’t that good of a person. If she was determined to keep her promise, then he was going to let her. The weary ache in his chest and the guilty flutter in his gut didn’t matter; they’d go away if he ignored them long enough. Sliding the side of his jaw against the smooth skin of her neck, he pressed little kisses along the slope of her shoulder and dropped his other hand on her left hip.

“Dean.” Cassie slid her fingers beneath his chin and forced his head up. “Look at me,” she ordered, and his gaze instinctively flickered to meet hers. Her eyes were soft, filled with things that Dean refused to name.

“That’s not why.”

His chest tightened in a spasm painful enough that the wolf whimpered. No, he begged silently, trying to slow his rapidly fragmenting thoughts. Don’t do this to me. I can’t—don’t give me hope if you’re not going to follow through.

“That’s not why,” Cassie repeated, and then leaned forward and kissed him.

Dean’s lips parted underneath hers as his eyes slid shut. Her breath rushed in to fill his lungs; her tongue undulated against his like the rise and fall of waves. He was drowning and he didn’t care.

Siren, he thought, letting her pull him closer. Temptress.

Love.

He was shivering when she finally let him go, and she cradled his face in her hands while he gathered himself together enough to open his eyes. She was smiling at him, all traces of fear gone, and for a heart stopping moment all he wanted to do was push her away and run out the door. Put a continent or two between so that he couldn’t ever do anything to take away the trust he saw there.

This was such a bad idea.

“So, how do you want to do this?”

Rubbed raw and aching, Dean took refuge behind the comfortable shield of habit. “Same way as always: tab A goes into slot B.”

His smirk felt strange on his face, felt like a charade. He could tell that Cassie wasn’t fooled, her eyes too soft and understanding to be comfortable. She let him get away with it, though, smiling and cuffing him gently on the head.

“Wise ass. You know what I meant.”

Dean pried his hands off of her hips with an effort and stepped away. The wolf gave an annoyed whimper and he shoved it back. You promised to keep your mouth shut, he reminded it.

Being good, the wolf muttered, and then sunk deeper before he could reprimand it again.

Dean refocused on Cassie and cleared his throat. “Don’t suppose you have any handcuffs?”

She raised one eyebrow. “And why, exactly, do you think I’d have those?”

“Rope, then?”

“We probably have some out in the garage,” she answered, and then said bluntly, “You want me to tie you up.”

Dean flushed, ducking his head a little and rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “It’d be safer,” he mumbled.

“I don’t know,” Cassie teased. “Once I’ve got you at my mercy, how do you know I’ll ever let you go?” She stepped into him again, shifting so that her hip pressed up against his dick. Her breath was warm on the hollow of his throat. “Might be kind of nice, having you available whenever I want you.”

She slid a hand between their bodies, cupping him through his jeans. Dean bit his lip to stifle a groan. It had been so long, and this was Cassie. Cassie pushing his buttons the way she always had, like he’d given her a manual or something.

“Fuck yeah,” he breathed, reaching up to cup her breasts. They were still as firm and responsive as he remembered, nipples hardening immediately. Cassie gave a little gasp and ground against him, her hand tightening on his cock and making him rock forward in return. Dean felt himself sinking in the sensations again and gave her lips a playful nip. Then he forced himself to lower his hands back to his sides.

“Rope, now,” he demanded. “Or I’m gonna fuck you right here.”

Cassie gave his dick one final squeeze and then stepped back, leaving him panting and needy. She was flushed, her lips parted and eyes hazy. “Meet you in the bedroom?”

Dean nodded and then held himself still as she strolled out of the room. The urge to stride after her, grab her, and fuck her against whatever flat surface was at hand flooded his muscles with adrenaline, and he was trembling by the time she was out of sight. It took him almost a full minute to force his eyes away from the doorway she disappeared through.

Finally, giving his head a shake, he headed for the couch. The gun was heavy in his hand when he picked it up. It seemed a ridiculous precaution right now, with Cassie’s taste still fresh in his mouth. Turning it over in his hands, he reminded himself how quickly he’d lost himself when he had her trapped against the wall.

Maybe he wasn’t taking enough precautions.

Then again, short of having Sam cover him with a gun while he took care of business with Cassie, there wasn’t much more he could do. And really, having his brother in the room while he was trying to have sex with a beautiful woman would be one hell of a buzz kill. No, this was going to have to do.

Won’t hurt her, the wolf announced.

I thought I told you to shut up, he thought back, heading for the stairs.

CassCassiematelove not here. Can talk.

“When I said ‘when we’re at Cassie’s,’ I meant even when she wasn’t in the room,” Dean muttered.

Won’t hurt. Can’t. Can’t come forward. Not strong enough. Stupid hornhead.

That was true enough: as long as Dean didn’t lose the amulet again, the wolf would never be able to take control of his body. But he still couldn’t shake his concerns as he walked down the hallway to Cassie’s room because, in the end, the wolf wasn’t the problem here.

“It’s not you I’m worried about, fuzzball,” he sighed as he opened the door to Cassie’s room.

Everything was just as he remembered it: full-sized bed with its wrought-iron headboard in the shape of a heart, dark furniture, Cassie’s notes and books scattered around haphazardly. Dean set the gun down on the nightstand and then started pulling his shirt off.

DeanMeMine won’t hurt CassCassiematelove either, the wolf offered.

Despite himself, Dean felt his mouth quirk. Thanks for the vote of confidence.

DeanMeMine protector. Good. Dean felt it rifling through his memories and then it added, Superhero.

Dean’s chest constricted and a bitter laugh burst from his lips. “Yeah, that’s me, the Amazing Berserker. You think I should get myself some spandex tights to fight evil in?”

“Well, they would show off your ass,” Cassie said from behind him.

Startled, Dean tried to turn around and tripped over his jeans, which he’d been in the middle of taking off. He fell sideways onto the floor with a grunt, and then glared up at Cassie as she burst out laughing.

“Oh yeah, that was graceful,” she said, tossing a coil of rope onto the bed.

“You want graceful?” Dean grumbled as he kicked his pants off. “I’ll give you graceful.”

He surged up from the floor and advanced on her, easily catching her around the waist and lifting her off her feet. She slapped at his hands, demanding that he put her down, but she was laughing so he ignored her. Hoisting her over one shoulder, he carried her over to the bed and then dropped her on the mattress.

As Cassie propped herself up on her elbows, Dean knelt over her, one knee between her legs. He grabbed the bottom of her shirt and tugged it up. Cassie lifted her arms to help him and then leaned back again. He mouthed at her breasts through the lace of her bra for a moment, making her arch into him, and then slid lower.

While his hands went to work on her jeans, Dean lapped at her stomach, tracing around her belly button with his tongue. Her muscles fluttered at the sensation, and she let out a breathy sound that was half-moan, half-laugh. He followed her jeans down as he pulled them off, kissing the arch of her hip, and then the curve of her thigh, her knee, her calf. When he tossed her pants to one side and pulled her to the edge of the bed, she exhaled sharply.

Kneeling on the floor, Dean shouldered Cassie’s legs wider and then pressed into the space between them. He put his hands on her thighs and she watched him as he kneaded her smooth skin.

“And just what do you think you’re doing down there?”

Dean let his grin answer her, keeping his eyes on hers as he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to her underwear. Soft cotton, black, and thin enough that it wasn’t difficult to feel around for the place he was looking for. When he found it, he latched on tighter, licking the fabric with short, hard stokes. Cassie jerked underneath him and he shifted his hands to her hips, holding her down against the mattress. He licked one last time and then closed his lips around the small nub, drawing fabric and skin into his mouth and sucking.

Cassie gasped, bucking against his grip, and Dean’s dick pulsed in response. He’d always loved doing this for women—loved the way it loosened them up inside, the way they sounded when they came. Loved the taste, which varied from woman to woman but which he always found musky, and heady, and erotic. Now, with the wolf aware inside of him and its presence heightening his senses, the act was dizzying.

Through the thin, saliva-damp barrier, he caught tastes of Cassie that were more delicately flavored than they ever had been before. She tasted like spring, fertile and fresh. He’d been planning on teasing her for a while, taking it slow and being cautious with his own build up, but he couldn’t wait.

Drawing his head back, Dean ignored Cassie’s moan of protest. He jerked her underwear down and off, balling it up in one hand and throwing it over his shoulder. Then he moved back into position again, laying his hands on her inner thighs so that he could shift her more open.

God, she smelled good. Tasted better when he dragged his tongue along that soft skin, warm and damp and hungry for him. When he licked up and latched his mouth onto her clit, she bucked again and cried out. One of her hands fought for purchase on his short hair and he released her right thigh long enough to catch her wrist and trap it against her thigh. The moan she made slid along his skin like oil and then sank in, drawing an answering groan from him in return.

Dean felt like he was starving as he sucked and licked at Cassie’s clit and it was good, it felt fucking fantastic, but it still wasn’t enough. Inching lower, he found her already wet for him. He traced his tongue along silken folds before dipping inside, loving the frantic sounds she made, the way all the muscles in her body tensed. He started to thrust his tongue inside of her, setting up a steady rhythm and making sure to rub his nose against her clit while he worked.

Cassie made a strangled shout and came, her cunt spasming around his tongue and her thighs tensing beneath his fingers. He licked into her through it, his own pace slowing as she came down. When he finally lifted his head, she was sprawled loosely on the bed. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and her stomach muscles trembled.

Dean licked at the juices that slicked his lips and then said hoarsely, “Cass? You okay?”

He ran a shaky hand over his chin and wanted to suck the moisture from his fingers. Wanted to drink her in again, see how deep he could get his tongue. Oh, fuck he wanted so much and nownownow and she hadn’t even gone anywhere near his cock. He should stop, he knew it, but he didn’t think he could anymore.

“Jesus, Dean,” Cassie breathed finally. “Were you trying to kill me?”

Dean moved in again to nuzzle at that slick heat that he wanted. Cassie groaned, still oversensitive from her orgasm, and started to close her thighs against him. He quickly turned his face to the side, releasing her center, and mouthed at the join where her legs met her torso.

“Fuck!” Cassie swore. Her free hand came down on his head, clutching at his hair, and she shifted her legs open again. He let her hold on his time, sliding his right hand from her thigh and stroking it along the folds of her cunt. His finger slid inside on a glide made easy by her own wetness and the remnants of his saliva. Cassie’s grip on him stuttered, her hand opening and closing helplessly as he worked her open. At the velvet feel of her pressed against his fingers, he gave a needy nip to her inner thigh and she moaned out something.

A word. A name.

Took him almost a minute to realize that it was his.

When it finally sank in, Dean forced himself to move back, pulling his fingers free. He was panting and hungry, wanted to swarm up her body, wanted to plunge into that heat, wanted to fuck her, claim her, mark her, mate her. He covered his eyes with his hand and realized too late that it was the same hand he’d been working her with. Could smell her all over his skin. He dropped his hand but didn’t open his eyes. If he saw her, laid out and prepared, he wasn’t going to be able to hold himself back any more.

“Cass,” he ground out. “Now would be a good time to tie me up.”

“I don’t think I can move.”

Dean caught himself leaning toward the sound of her voice, toward the scent of her, and jerked back. Digging his nails into his thigh in an attempt to ground himself, he growled, “Now, Cassie.”

“All right. Jesus.” He heard her moving, and then a small hand touched his shoulder. “Get on the bed.”

Dean went, keeping his eyes shut and concentrating on anything but the scent of her, still clinging to his face.

“How tight do you want this?” Cassie asked.

Dean licked his lips—taste of her there, phantom memory of trembling flesh—and then answered, “Tight as you can manage.”

“Kinky.” There was an aroused quiver in Cassie’s voice, and the fingers she trailed down his arm were shaking. It made him feel slightly better, knowing that she was just as caught up in things as he was, and then she pulled his left hand up over his head.

The wolf had to have understood what Dean was planning—it was in his head, after all, sifting through every stray thought—but apparently understanding and permitting were two different things. It rushed forward so quickly Dean felt dizzy, slamming up against its limits like a dog snapping against the end of a chain lead and snarling in wordless refusal. Dean’s arm jerked out of Cassie’s grip, and cold shock washed through him.

Jesus Christ, had that been him or the wolf?

“Do you want me to do this or not?” Cassie demanded.

Setting his lower lip between his teeth, Dean forced himself to extend his arm again. When the rope slid around his wrist and the urge to pull away bulldozed into him, he resisted it with a feeling too strong and pure to be called relief.

The wolf hadn’t taken control after all; it had just used Dean’s own reluctance to be in this position against him. The furry bastard had tapped into all of his issues with trust and being vulnerable and sent a concentrated surge of them through him like a punch. Dean hadn’t known that was even possible, which was the only reason it had worked.

Now that he was prepared, he could withstand it.

Of course, that didn’t stop the wolf from sending furious blows of panic through him until he was sweating and breathing hard. His muscles trembled with the strain of not fighting Cassie and his arousal vanished, leaving him feeling trapped and desperate to get loose: to get away. Only the knowledge that this was Cassie, and that she would never hurt him, kept him from striking out.

Eventually, Dean realized that the wolf was quiet, panting and worn out deep inside of him. He felt sore himself, his skin covered with a layer of sweat. Cassie was stretched out alongside him, her body warm against his as she stroked his cheek.

“Dean?” she murmured.

He opened his eyes and her concerned face swam into focus.

“Are you okay, baby?”

“I …” The word stuck to the roof of Dean’s mouth and he had to swallow before he could try again. “Guess the wolf isn’t into bondage.”

Cassie didn’t smile at his joke. Continuing to caress his cheek soothingly, she asked, “Do you want me to let you up?”

“No.” Dean licked his lips and found them dry. The only taste left on them was the salty tang of his own sweat. “No, let’s. Let’s finish this, okay?”

“Are you sure?” Cassie prodded.

He wasn’t even in the same neighborhood, but he needed to do this. Now, more than ever, he needed some space from the damned wolf. He needed time to do some damage control.

“I’m sure.” Lifting his head, Dean glanced down at his dick, which was now completely uninterested in the proceedings. With any other woman he would have been embarrassed, no matter how understandable the situation might be, but this was Cassie. There was no judgment in her eyes, no scorn and no hint of amusement.

“Think I’m gonna need a little help, though,” he admitted.

Now she did smile, but there was a fond warmth in her eyes. “I think I can manage that.”

She crawled down his body to kneel between his legs, and then bent forward and took his limp cock in her mouth. Inside of Dean’s head, the wolf immediately went quiet, which meant that it was easier to focus on Cassie’s marvelous tongue. It was sliding along the skin of his cock while she sucked him down, rubbing down his length and then backing up again to flit against the slit.

Cassie knew exactly what he liked, so it didn’t take long for his dick to start filling out again. Dean tensed his legs as he felt the head nudge against the back of her throat. He thought that the pull of the rope against his ankles might set the wolf off again, but it was too absorbed in the sensation building in his groin to pay much attention.

Cassie pulled back a little as Dean’s cock continued to swell, and her hand crept up to play with his balls. His breath hissed out and he thrust up as best as he could manage with his limited mobility, trying to force his way deeper into that tantalizing warmth. She tightened the seal of her lips and fluttered her tongue along the underside of his cock in short, staccato bursts.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Harder, come on, I can—more, come on—”

But Cassie pulled off instead, dragging another curse from Dean’s throat as the cool air hit his cock. Grinning at him, she wrapped a hand around him and started to stroke at a slow, maddening pace.

“I think I like you like this,” she admitted.

“Jesus Christ, Cass, stop fucking around and suck me.”

“Say pretty please.”

Dean gaped at her, for once in complete agreement with the wolf’s indignant snort. “You have got to be shitting me.”

She laughed, tossing her hair out of the way, and then bent forward again. Her lips slid over his cock and this time she kept going, sinking down until her mouth was pressed against his body. Dean jerked his head back into the pillow, his mouth open in a silent pant.

That was Cassie’s throat around his cock, a pressure so tight it was almost painful, and he wanted to take. He wanted to thrust in and out of that channel until the wave building through his body crested and spilled out.

Then she pulled back, and God, was that him? Was that his voice, raised in a wordless, keening plea? Oh, fuck he wanted her. Wanted to fuck her hard and fast and now.

“Keep your shirt on, cowboy,” Cassie said, and then there was something rolling down over his dick.

Condom, Dean thought, and couldn’t bite back on a growl. He didn’t want anything between them, didn’t want to lose a fraction of that friction to the confinement of latex. This was meant to be a mating, wasn’t it?

He twisted his head to the side in denial. That wasn’t his thought. He didn’t want pups—kids, damn it. Kids. Didn’t want that kind of responsibility and the wolf could shut the fuck up any time now. Except that it wasn’t actually talking to him; it was too focused on Cassie’s hand positioning his cock, on Cassie moving up to straddle his hips.

So where the hell had those thoughts come from? Where was he getting this primal, hungry urge to mate? To throw Cassie over onto her back and rip the latex from his dick and just take?

Soul bleed, Dean thought. It’s the fucking soul bleed.

Panic shot through him, started to burn through the panting lust, and then Cassie sank down onto him and everything blurred. She was so tight on his cock: so wet and hot and … and perfect. Dean tried to thrust up and couldn’t get the leverage, and Cassie wasn’t moving—what the fuck was she waiting for, an engraved invitation?

“Just … just give me a minute,” Cassie panted above him. She tilted her head back, lower lip caught between her teeth, and Dean’s eyes fastened on her throat. On the single bead of sweat tracing down that vulnerable skin. He followed the shining liquid down to the swell of her breasts and a spike of need shot through him, too insistent to be ignored.

Pulling against the ropes holding him down, Dean fought to free himself. It took the wolf a moment to realize what he was doing, and then it lent its strength to his and Dean felt the binding give on his right arm. With new leverage, he wrenched his other hand free. Before Cassie’s eyes had begun to do more than widen, he was gripping her waist. The rope around his ankles snapped as he rolled them, putting Cassie on her back and propping himself up with his left forearm.

Her eyes were wide, over-bright with startled fear, and for a moment she was prey. She was meat for the ripping, and he could almost feel her blood slicking his throat. Then his attention refocused on the place where their bodies were joined and she was mate, she was pack, she was CassCassiematelove.

Dean curled his body over hers and jerked his hips, fucking into her hard and fast enough that he edged her up the bed.

“Dean!” she gasped. Her hands came up and gripped his biceps.

Growling, he bit down on her neck and sucked on her skin. She was his, damn it, and he was going to make sure that everyone knew it. Mark her, claim her.

Cassie’s inner muscles fluttered around him as he drove into her repeatedly; her right hand tightened on his arm while her left slid up to cup the back of his head. He pulled his mouth free from her neck—taste of blood and sweat and skin—and bent lower, arching his spine so that he could bite down on one of her nipples.

She made a keening noise and thrust up into him, her legs falling open wider. Her hand slid away from his head to ghost down his flank. Dean felt the phantom ruffle of fur along his skin and then she was clutching his ass and dragging him closer.

She was chanting his name, and it sounded like yes, it sounded like harder and more. He wanted to howl but couldn’t because his mouth was full of her flesh. With a final shudder, he let himself sink down into the sensations. The last remnants of conscious thought and restraint were replaced with the slap of bodies colliding and the tighthotwet clutching his dick and the musksweet scent of arousal.

He didn’t know how long it was before he climaxed, but he was dripping sweat by the time his orgasm ripped out of him. He made a strangled noise and bit down even harder on whatever bit of flesh he had in his mouth and rode through it with stuttered thrusts.

Dean came back to himself slowly, not sure at first if he was wolf or man or maybe a little of both, and found himself draped over Cassie. His dick was still inside of her, nestled warm and happy to be there. Her shoulder was in his mouth, and when he forced his jaws open and lifted his head, he saw that he’d left an imprint of his teeth there, raw and shockingly pale.

She wasn’t moving.

“Cass?” he said. His voice sounded foreign to his ears: too rough and fucked out. “Oh God, Cass!”

One of her hands came up slowly and patted his arm. “M’ here,” she mumbled.

Chest tight with relief, Dean pulled out carefully and then rolled off of her. He took a moment to pull the condom off and drop it into the wastebasket next to the bed and then turned his attention back to her. Tracing his hands along her skin, he searched for any signs of injury.

The mating—the sex—was coming back to him in flashes now, and he was sure he’d tasted blood, sure he’d hurt her. But all he found were bruises, the dark mark of his mouth on her skin where blood had almost, but not quite, been split. He winced anyway, wanting to comfort and not sure if she wanted him touching her right now.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed. His nervous hand came to rest on her stomach, where it stroked gently. “Why the hell didn’t you go for the gun?”

“Didn’t need it,” she answered, flopping her head to the side and regarding him through half-lidded eyes. “Stop freaking out.”

“Stop freaking—Jesus, Cassie, look what I did to you!” He climbed awkwardly out of the bed, exhausted muscles screaming in protest, and started to pace.

“’M fine,” Cassie responded, turning her head to keep him in sight.

Dean didn’t like the way she was moving—too slow and laborious—or the slurred, thick quality to her voice. He hadn’t seen any overt injuries, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t damaged her somehow. She was so goddamned fragile; it wouldn’t have taken much.

Moving back to the bed, he demanded, “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Are you—you need me to call an ambulance?”

Cassie snorted at the question, lips twitching up. “Just about fucked me unconscious, but other than that I’m good. Now get your ass back in bed so I can go to sleep.”

Dean didn’t have much of a chance to resist her soft tug on his wrist because his knees had gone weak with relief at her words. He hadn’t killed her, hadn’t seriously injured her. She didn’t hate him enough to kick him out when they were both obviously exhausted, despite what he’d just done to her: was pulling him down beside her and molding her body against his sleepily. The wolf gave a contented mutter and went so quiet and still that, for the first time in months, Dean felt alone in his head.

As he gazed down at her bruised body, he wished that felt like a victory.

He was trying to dress quietly a few hours later when Cassie woke up and caught him at it. She propped herself up on her elbows and frowned sleepily at him.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Dean averted his eyes as he finished pulling up his jeans. “Cassie,” he started.

“Don’t. Don’t you give me any of that ‘it’s for your own good’ crap.” She sounded wide-awake now, but then again she’d always been quick to rise.

“I have to go before I hurt you again.” It was easier to explain when he wasn’t looking at her, the majority of his attention devoted to picking his shirt up off the floor.

“Before you … Dean, I told you. I’m fine.”

His jaw clenched as he shoved first one arm into a sleeve, and then the other. “You said to wait. I—I wasn’t thinking. I couldn’t think. I shouldn’t have—”

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Her voice was so softly, fondly amused that Dean hesitated.

“Baby, you didn’t hurt me. You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to. I mean, sure, you were a little rougher than usual, and I’m going to have to think of a way to explain the dozen or so hickies you left on my neck to my boss on Monday, but that was … that was incredible.”

Dean lifted his head to glance at her. “Yeah?”

Cassie raised one eyebrow. “Four orgasms. That’s not including the one you gave me before we even got to the main event, and you can take that shit-eating grin off your face any time now.”

“Four, huh?” Dean said. Felt himself straightening, the tension easing out of muscles that were already mostly recovered, thanks to the wolf’s strength. There was an unfamiliar lightness in his chest, and he couldn’t have stopped smiling if he’d tried.

Narrowing her eyes, Cassie threatened, “If you brag about this to Sam, I’ll deny everything.”

“Mhmm.”

“I’m serious, Dean. I told you that so that you’d stop beating yourself up, not so you could use it to play one-up with your brother.”

“Sure,” Dean agreed. He shrugged his shirt off again and stepped toward the bed, hands going to his zipper.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Dean gave her his best leer as he shoved his jeans down. “Well, you’re up now, and since neither of us have anywhere to be for a few days …”

“You are trying to kill me,” Cassie accused, but Dean noticed she didn’t exactly look displeased with the notion.

“Well, we want to be sure I’m safe, don’t we?” he asked, crawling onto the bed. “I mean, that could have been a fluke.”

“A fluke, huh?” Cassie repeated with a wry twist of her lips.

“Come on, baby,” Dean pressed. “Don’t you want to see if we can break our record?”

Turned out they could.