“Sam, please. Honey. When has Bobby or I ever wronged you?”
The truth of her statement was not as easy to shake off as her touch. The battle flickered over Sam’s face, so much passing through his eyes. She penetrated his natural caution, but how had Sam’s life been so marked he even doubted his best friends? If only she could wipe the pain from his features. “When you were inside me last night, did you sense a lie in what we shared? In how I responded to you? Or the way Bobby or I welcomed you into our bed?”
Took him a second but at last Sam shook his head.
“Then trust us now. We have something strange and unusual to tell you, but it doesn’t have to be bad. Believe me, Sam. We’re as afraid of losing you as you are of losing us.”
His confusion was clear but behind it…Chantelle breathed in, picking up curiosity and underlying love. When she spoke of his trusting them, he wanted to do so.
Being tall it didn’t take much for Chantelle to stand on her tiptoes and plant a soft, lingering kiss on Sam’s lips. She took hold of his hands and squeezed. Her heart leapt when he returned the pressure. She settled on her heels and backed away only when she was sure he would follow.
A squeal of sound assaulted her ears. So loud, the noise made her flinch, masked Bobby’s shout. She recognised a warning but not the words less than a second before he barrelled into her, shoving her aside. No human could have moved so fast. A natural fear over whether Sam noticed, what he would think, arose, and then she hit the pavement, crying out as concrete and gravel abraded her skin. She rolled, hitting the shrubbery bordering the block of flats. Twigs scratched her face, poked her in the head, and one hip. A whump of sound filled her world as something large and heavy passed so close by it compressed the air she tried to breathe. Someone yelled.
Then she was up, pushing away from the pavement, shaking her head, trying to clear her mind, her ears, her vision. An explosion beat at her eardrums. No. Not a detonation. A crash. The unmistakable cacophony of glass breaking, metal grinding, pinging, and crunching…fading, replaced by the rush of blood in her ears, like the ocean in a seashell. She didn’t seek the cause of the noise unable to drag her gaze from the injured man lying in the road.
“No. Bobby, no.”
Scrambling on all fours, she crawled to him mindless of traffic, dimly aware there wasn’t any. She searched for blood, saw little, but…Bobby was seriously damaged. She smelled blood. Sensed his pain. Were those…Tire tracks? Fuck. Tire tracks on his clothes…on his skin. He’d gone under the wheels. Her mind refused to accept what she knew. As she touched him, he recoiled, yelped, a wounded animal.
“Wha…” Sam got to his knees. Chantelle hadn’t even noticed he’d fallen.
No, not fallen. Bobby had pushed him out of the way of a car, had shoved both her and Sam. Not any car; something large, a vehicle her mind blew out of proportion to the size of a tank.
She whipped her head around to gaze along the street. At the intersection, a mangled car lay beneath an overturned articulated lorry. Whoever hit Bobby had been so hell-bent on getting away the driver must have ploughed out onto the main road. The son of a…She stopped herself from using the word bitch. The driver better be dead or she’d hunt him down and kill the culprit herself.
“Can you move?” She had to get Bobby out of the road. People would emerge from the building any moment. Their luck held for now as their van blocked the view as several enquiring heads poking out of windows.
“Ambulance. I’ll call an ambulance.” Sam sounded dazed, but scrabbled for his phone.
“No time.” Chantelle lifted Bobby’s shirt. His stomach looked distended in places, sharp angles poked out in others. Broken bones and internal bleeding. Damn. She gripped his arm. “Bobby, darling, change. It’s your one chance.” Those mismatched eyes moved, flicking in Sam’s direction. She squeezed his arm. “Damn it, Bobby! Listen. I can’t lose you.” Tears blurred her vision, burned her eyes. Her throat clogged. “We can sort out things with Sam later. Change or you will die.”
Sam crouched by her side. In the distance, sirens wailed. “We’ll get him to a hospital, they’ll operate.” His hand squeezed her shoulder, but it trembled almost as much as she did, and his voice came through thick with doubt and fear.
“Damn it!” she snarled, whipping her head around to glare at him. “There’s no need for them to operate if he’ll do as I say!” A sob escaped her as she turned back. “Bobby, there’s no time. Please do this for me. Please, please, please.”
She didn’t know whether he did it for her, or he had known he would have to give in and do it all along, but his hand shot out grabbing Sam’s hand, squeezing hard, maybe tight enough to bruise, and…Bobby’s body melted in her arms.
“What the…” Sam squealed, scrambled back, stopped, stared. His jaw dropped. She ignored him, fingers curling into the black and grey fur of the husky she held.
* * * *
Bobby just turned into a dog.
Impossible. Sam blinked. The dog was still there. Not any dog, but a husky. A beautiful husky. Now Bobby had…changed—he still didn’t believe—Chantelle’s attitude altered too. She pulled the clothes off the dog and bundled them up. Scanning the street, she went to the rear of the van and threw the clothes in. Returning to the husky’s side, she bent to lift him. The dog whimpered.
“I’m sorry, Bobby. So sorry.” She stared at Sam “Sam, I can do this, but it’ll hurt him less if you help.”
He didn’t move. Couldn’t.
“Sam!”
The urgency and panic in her voice got him moving. Good job he had a thing for dominant women or he might never move again. Not that it mattered. This was all part of the dream. The whole weekend had been one long self-induced fantasy. Or maybe the tequila came from a bad batch. Maybe they’d indulged in something more intoxicating. No harm carrying a dog if this was a hallucination.
Between them, they manoeuvred Bobby to the back of the van. Chantelle climbed in and pulled him in further. After jumping down, she closed up the back.
“Wait.” Stupid to protest amidst a dream but…“Are you just going to leave him? I mean…” What did he mean? This wasn’t real, but those eyes studied him, one brown, and one blue: Bobby’s eyes. The man hadn’t bothered with his contact lens under his sunglasses. Sam had never seen a man with those eyes before. Maybe he’d imagined them, too.
“He’ll be fine. Changing healed him. He’s weak, though. Needs to rest. Later, he’ll change back. Be strong again.”
“This isn’t real.”
Chantelle grabbed his arms, squeezed, shook him a little. The dog watched. Another shake made Sam focus on Chantelle.
“This is real. I’m sorry you had to find out this way. We’re shifters. The whole paranormal thing isn’t a fairytale, but we’d never hurt you, Sam. We love you. We want you, don’t want to lose you. We’ll answer any questions you have, but we need to close this van and prepare to talk to the police when they arrive. It’s just you and me here. Bobby didn’t come. Have you got that?”
Sam nodded his neck on a spring. Chantelle closed the van. “I know you’re dazed. That’s fine. They’ll think it’s shock.”
Sam laughed. “It is shock.” Her look was too-knowing. The few people who at last dragged themselves out of bed and onto the street to see what interrupted their Sunday lie-in made the scene more surreal. Chantelle dragged Sam the length of the road, her grip gentle but relentless. “We’ll give a statement, file a report at work.” She headed toward an officer who was cordoning off the road. A fire engine had arrived and paramedics. A couple of officers were asking passers-by if they were witnesses.
Yes, officer. I witnessed a man change into a dog.
No. He’d better keep that to himself.
Chapter 6
“Bobby Pooch.” Sam paused. “Bobby Pooch.”
“All right. Enough.” Two days had passed since the hit-and-run incident. By the time Sam and Chantelle had given statements and left, Sam had emerged from
his daze. He’d convinced himself he was having a brain embolism. They’d driven a couple of streets, before Chantelle parked, and got out, to open the rear doors of the van. After a slight hesitation, Sam followed. A dressed Bobby slipped out, avoiding Sam’s gaze, moving stiffly, leaning on Chantelle, and climbing in the front. With the van having room for three, and Chantelle driving, Sam had no choice but to sit on the outside beside the other man.
For a time, he focused on the road too aware of the silence. When he gained the courage to look at the man sitting in the middle, he’d taken in how pale Bobby appeared, his head thrown back, eyes closed, hands resting palms up against his thighs. Death reanimated. Would he be all right?
Left to stew, Sam’s mind wandered. Though he’s seen it with his own eyes, did he believe? If not, he was going mad, and he didn’t like that scenario.
If true…did he love Bobby any less? Chantelle claimed they were shifters, meaning they both changed. Did he think less of her either? Someone had hurt Bobby saving his life. He’d pushed Sam out of the way of the car. The vehicle might have clipped Chantelle too, but it would have struck Sam, mown him down. He might not have survived. Look what it had done to Bobby and he…wasn’t human. Was something else. The weight of the vehicle, the speed…Sam would have died.
Setting his thoughts aside, Sam had concentrated on his emotions. He’d known love in his life, but too often fleeting. No one could promise not to die on you. They could promise not to lie, but people too often did. Some lies were tiny, white, meant to spare feelings. Others were so dark as to be ominous. Bobby and Chantelle hadn’t lied. Not unless one counted lying by omission. They had confessed of something unusual they needed to tell him before the incident occurred. How they would have broken it to him without him thinking they were mad was a moot point now. They couldn’t have another big secret. Nothing was more unusual than this.
Should they have told him before they got him into bed? Maybe. Did it make a difference? He didn’t know. Without Bobby and Chantelle, what did he have? They were all talking about the possibility of a new beginning, but did he want to restart his life from scratch, this time with a pronounced limp? Or did he want to do it with some help from his friends? With their love? They had to love him, didn’t they? It wasn’t as if they needed him.
That day in the van, his right hand had moved of its own volition, reaching out, covering Bobby’s, and entwining their fingers. A moment stretched out before Bobby responded but his hand closed, gripping. Moving his gaze from their hands to Bobby’s face, Sam witnessed Bobby’s eyes fluttering open to gaze at him. They stared at one another for more seconds than he could count, until he glanced at Chantelle as she moved her head to peep down at their hands, giving him a swift look before she turned her attention back to the road. He struggled to read her expression, but her eyes glistened.
Bobby had called in sick on the Monday. Sam handed in his notice. For Chantelle, she spent an average day at work, until the report came in, detailing the driver of the car had been the brother of a man she’d arrested a few days ago. The report wrote the incident up as a failed hit-and- run. For once the universe dealt out its own karma. Carl Manning had died in the resulting crash. Case closed. Didn’t take more than a glance at her face when she returned home to tell them the news to know she wished the man had lived so she could kill him herself. As wrong as so many proclaimed that to be, Sam shared her feelings; that if nothing else spoke too eloquently of what he felt.
“Bobby Pooch,” he repeated, delighted when Bobby’s irritated gaze flashed his way. “You realise it translates to Police Hound.” He met their stares. Waited.
All three burst into laughter. Sure, it sounded funny, but maybe not that funny, but they needed the laughter. Maybe the horrible things they’d been through made it sodding hilarious.
* * * *
The evening opened with, “We need to talk.” It didn’t matter which of them spoke first; they were, all three, thinking the same thing, Sam was certain.
Naturally, Sam had questions but…he didn’t know what they were or which one was most important. Bobby and Chantelle had shown him nothing but patience, but they needed him to communicate. Knowing and believing what he saw in their eyes failed to coalesce in his mind.
“I’m too tired to change again so soon.” Bobby sounded apologetic. “Most days it wouldn’t be a problem, but everything’s bruised.”
From what he gleaned from Chantelle, Bobby’s reluctance to transform spoke of the extent of his injuries. According to Bobby, his lungs and other organs had ruptured or been punctured by several broken ribs. If Bobby were human, he’d be dead.
“I can do it.” Though Chantelle sounded decided, her gaze was a challenge. This was more a test for Sam than them. Did he want to learn the truth? Discover the world as he believed he knew it wasn’t the whole nature of existence?
What choice did he have? Either he walked away, or he stayed and accepted a new life with two strange but vibrant beings.
Sam nodded. Without pause, Chantelle stripped, leaving him no time to admire the performance. Her body appeared to vibrate as if everything inside her moved fast. In the space of a blink, instead of a naked woman, a beautiful husky with white and reddish-brown fur stood before him. Gaping, Sam went to his knees, hands raised, hesitant. She lowered her head to him, subservient. The gesture almost made him laugh.
Here, a powerful creature acted timid, frightened of him, when she feared scaring him. Aware of Bobby’s stare, Sam forced his hands to sink into her fur, stroking, and digging. Bobby watched him while Sam lost himself in the mystery. How was this possible?
He sat on the floor while Chantelle pushed her furry head into his hands, licked his fingers. This was too surreal. He didn’t know if he was ready to deal with this, but that’s what he’d told them right off. Chantelle’s retort: “Sam, honey, I can’t do much to help you get over shape-shifters being real, but I can tell you there’s no need to doubt how we feel for you.”
As she was in dog form, Sam addressed Bobby. “If you feel so much for me, why weren’t you honest up-front?” A stupid question but one he had to ask.
Bobby’s voice rumbled out, low. “There was no need at first when we were just friends. Then…” The man lowered his head, contemplating much more than his hands. “We needed…need to be careful for our safety. We trust you, Sam, but if you can’t handle this, it puts us at risk.”
“I’d never tell.”
“Not saying you would, but you might let something slip if distraught. I know what’s troubling you. You feel maybe it’s something you should have known before you consented to having sex with us, and maybe you’re right. But we’re not contagious. You’re not at risk. We’d never cause you harm. We’d protect you, and it has nothing to do with what we are. There’s never an easy way to…” Bobby gave him a rueful smile. “There’s never an easy way to come out. The world isn’t ready to know the paranormal is real. It may never be prepared in our lifetime. Doesn’t mean we don’t want to embrace it, embrace you. Things are a little different to what you believed you know, but our love doesn’t have to change. That’s real.”
Real. Their love and what they were—both were realities he must consider. That, and other things Bobby and Chantelle had told him.
Sam swallowed. Bobby had explained why he’d put off making love to him. Could he stand to feel this man knot inside him? Wouldn’t that be too strange? He was soon to find out. All the jokes or hesitations in the world were only ways to hold off the inevitable.
* * * *
He lay in their bed naked. “I still can’t believe two husky shape-shifters are called Pooch and Shepherd.”
“Enough with the teasing.” Bobby eased onto the bed, moving on all fours, intent, movements slow. Settled among the pillows, Sam felt stalked. He swallowed.
“H-How are we going to do this?”
“It started with a kiss,” Chantelle whispered from her seat at the dressing table. The words…an opening line
of a song, though Sam struggled to remember which one. Remember anything. Another of those moments occurred—a silent exchange between Bobby and Chantelle. This time Sam didn’t feel so shut out. He was reading their silent communication, had for some time. Chantelle was teasing Bobby and warning him to be careful. Bobby’s gaze narrowed, he gave her a little shake of his head, but he wasn’t annoyed. Fighting the urge to spring from the bed, Sam fisted his hands in the sheets. He’d come from the shower, naked and damp. One corner of a sheet was his sole call to modesty.
Chantelle wore a robe though it hung loose, giving him little flashes of bare boobs, round stomach and reddish-brown curls as she moved. Bobby almost preened in his nudity drawing Sam’s gaze to the…monster between Bobby’s legs. Sam gulped. Bobby chuckled.
“Scared? Excited?”
He didn’t have to admit to either. From what they told him, Bobby could smell his reactions.
“Out of practice?”
Sam shrugged. “A few toys. None as…” He looked again.
“Large?” Bobby asked.
“Men and their egos,” Chantelle muttered, her voice warm and teasing.
“Nothing wrong with my ego.” Bobby grabbed the sheet and pulled it aside, although Sam was sure his erection helped by rising and lifting the material.
“Can’t blame a guy.” Took all of Sam’s resolve not to cover his crotch with his hands, aware of his body and face growing hot. Bobby prowled up the bed, making Sam’s eyes roll up with a kiss…not on his lips. No one had ever swallowed him whole in a single intake of breath.
* * * *
When Sam groaned, Bobby pulled off. “On your knees.” No way was Sam going to disobey him now. Sam moved, not even flinching when Bobby grabbed him by the hips, spinning him around. He positioned Sam on all fours, giving encouragement with little licks and bites on those amazing arse cheeks.
Knowing her role, Chantelle set lube on the bed and slipped out of her robe. In the days, weeks, months and, Bobby hoped, years ahead, this mutual joining would come more naturally to them, but tonight was for Sam. They’d already explained there was no reason to worry about disease, even though Sam assured them he was clean.
Ruff Trouble Page 6
