by Riley Rivers
He’d leave tonight.
***
Cameon spent the rest of the day antsy and on edge. He knew that anything he said or did would be just another nail in his coffin where disappointing Ezra was concerned. At least if Cameron went back to his car, he wouldn’t be living under Ezra’s roof as well as working for him.
Work was one thing. Cameron wasn’t doing enough—would never be doing enough—but he could at least pretend his services were worth something, which is why Ezra was paying him. He couldn’t explain away Ezra letting Cameron sleep in his guest room. Nor could he figure out Ezra wanting Cameron to eat all his food or… or watch TV with him. Like they were friends.
Or…
Cameron bit down on a growl as he walked into the fucking guest room, barely able to look at his stuff all over the desk like it belonged there.
It was just after four and already getting dark out, but that was Michigan winter for you. If he got his act together he’d be heading back to Wayne within the hour. Then he could just waste time being warm in the library until he could go to sleep. In the morning he’d do the same routine he’d been doing, of getting ready at the gym and then heading over to the studio for work. Best get back into it now, instead of somehow getting used to the current luxury Ezra had gifted him without even breaking a sweat.
He’d take a shower first, though. It was something he wasn’t looking forward to—going back to public everything. But he’d live and he’d deal. He always did.
He grabbed a change of clothes and headed to the bathroom. Winced as he turned the light on, and then just turned it off again, slanting the blinds instead. It wasn’t a lot of light, but it was better than too much.
He stripped, and was about to turn on the water when he remembered he wasn’t supposed to get his stupid arm wet.
This time he did growl, scratching at the bandages and hating the fact that last time he’d hesitantly asked Ezra for help. Ezra, of course, had been wonderful about it, carefully wrapping Cameron’s arm and taking pains to make sure Cameron wasn’t hurting. His touch had been so gentle, and Cameron didn’t get gentle. Or touch. And even just these last couple days had been torture, because Ezra was a casual toucher, and he was clearly more relaxed in his own home. Because of course he would be.
But it meant that Cameron was getting a large hand pressing lightly into his back for a moment as Ezra moved behind him. Strong fingers squeezing his shoulder with the perfect amount of comforting pressure when he was being praised.
And now he wasn’t going to get that anymore.
He scrubbed at his eyes. It was fine.
It was fine, and right now he would rather die than bother Ezra for one more single thing.
He’d take a bath, he decided. As long as he kept his left arm out of the water, it’d be fine. He’d get mostly clean anyway. He’d just grab a bunch of plastic bags and some tape from a grocery store sometime tomorrow for future showers at the gym. It was his left arm that was out of commission. He could figure something out.
Decision made, Cameron went over to the tub and crouched down to grab at the faucet. He turned the water on.
The next thing he knew, he was curled up on his side on the floor of the bathroom, muscles locked up tight. There was an awful, loud sound ringing in his ears, like screaming, and then pounding and the light flicked on and the screaming got worse as he tried to shield his eyes—
The lights switched off again, and suddenly he heard a voice that wasn’t his own, deeper, smoother, but panicked. “Cameron! Cameron, fuck, please—”
Cameron tried to listen to that voice, the screaming sound finally dying down. It was only as his throat ached that he realized the noise had been coming from his own mouth. He whimpered and tried to curl himself into an even tighter ball, starting to shiver. He was freezing.
There was a touch to his shoulder, a searing heat, followed by a hiss as Cameron jerked in response. Cameron whimpered again as the touch went away, taking the warmth with it.
“Cameron?” The voice came back. Soft, still laced with panic. “Cameron, can you hear me?”
Cameron managed an affirmative noise, eyes still tightly squeezed shut.
“Can you open your eyes? The lights are off.”
It took a great effort, but eventually Cameron forced his eyes open. It was dim in the bathroom, the light from the hall and the shaded window not too bright to burn. Ezra was kneeling next to him, face pinched with worry.
“Oh thank god,” Ezra breathed, when Cameron was able to look at him. “Are you in pain? Can I help you sit up?”
“I’m not in pain,” Cameron panted. “I can sit up.” And he moved to do just that, pushing himself to sitting while Ezra hovered just inches away, clearly poised and ready to lend a hand if Cameron asked.
“What happened?” Ezra asked. The worry lines hadn’t lessoned at all.
Cameron couldn’t look at him. “I don’t… I was just going to take a bath.”
“Okay, and what happened?”
Cameron shook his head, regretting it instantly. “I was just going to take a bath,” he said again, glancing up on automatic as he did so.
He caught a glimpse of the still-running water pouring out of the faucet over Ezra’s shoulder and recoiled, scrambling backwards..
“Cameron!”
Cameron squeezed his eyes shut again. “I don’t—it’s—the water, it’s—” he didn’t know why, but it was fucking terrifying to look at it, just gushing out into the bathtub like that. If the porcelain sides of the tub weren’t there, it’d just spill out over the floor, touch him—
There was suddenly a silence in the room that hadn’t been there a moment ago. An absence of sound. Followed by an incredibly brief touch to his hair, there and gone again. “I turned off the water,” Ezra murmured. “It’s safe. You’re okay.”
Cameron didn’t feel very okay. “I can’t—the water will—”
“I turned off the water,” Ezra said again. “But you can keep your eyes closed if you want. Can I touch you?”
“W-what?”
“I brought you a towel,” Ezra said. “You’re cold.”
Cameron nodded dumbly, and a soft towel was draped over him. He cautiously opened his eyes again and was terrified all over again, to see the expression on Ezra’s face. He looked near tears.
“What’s wrong?” Cameron rasped, his own panic skyrocketing. If Ezra looked that upset, something had to be really wrong. It was probably something Cameron had done, too. Cameron’s fault, making Ezra look both heartbroken and furious. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—what’s wrong? I’m sorry!”
“Shh, no, no,” Ezra said. “You didn’t do a thing wrong. It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay!” Cameron’s voice was too loud in the room. “It’s not okay, you’re looking at me like… like… what did I do!”
Ezra reached out then jerked to a stop, his fingers curling in before his hand dropped back down without making contact. “Hydrophobia,” he said, voice shaking. “You’re afraid of water. And you’ve been sensitive to bright lights all day. Loss of appetite. Irritable. A little irrational.”
“I’m sorry,” Cameron gasped. He wanted to squelch whatever it was that was making Ezra unhappy. It was all stupid things that Cameron had been doing all day. Cameron was going to leave, he was going to make things okay again, he was. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, please. I was going to go, I was going to—”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Ezra whispered. “Please don’t think of leaving.”
“But I…”
“Let’s get you to bed, okay? Just to bed. Lie down for a few minutes. I have a phone call I need to make, and then we’ll talk. Okay? But I’m not upset with you and you don’t have to apologize and I don’t want you to leave. I need you to stay with me for a little while longer. Just a little bit longer. Please.”
Please.
Ezra was asking. Cameron couldn’t say no.
“Okay,” he mumbled
, and allowed Ezra to help him stand so he could stumble back to the guest room.
Chapter Twelve
Cameron settled into the guest bed under Ezra’s watchful eye. He was still naked, but the heavy covers helped keep him feeling safe in a way that was more than just warding off the chill. He was surprised at how quickly he started to feel tired.
He had been expecting Ezra to leave the room to make his phone call, but instead Ezra pulled the desk chair over to Cameron’s bedside. When Cameron made a questioning noise, Ezra stroked his hair. “Is this okay?”
“Yeah,” Cameron breathed, eyes sliding shut. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had ever— “’s nice.”
“I’ll be right here,” Ezra said. “I’m going to call some people, but I’ll be right here.”
“’Kay.”
Cameron drifted in and out, only catching snatches of Ezra’s conversation. He thought he recognized the name Marley, but he didn’t much care for trying to parse what was being said. Mostly he focused on the fact that Ezra was still stroking his hair and that it felt unreal. Better than anything he’d ever felt before.
He vaguely wondered what he had done to deserve it.
When he did open his eyes again, it was less because he no longer felt tired and more because Ezra had finished talking several minutes ago but he was still in Cameron’s room, still touching him, not shouting or angry or telling Cameron to get out. Not doing anything else.
Cameron squinted. The room was only dimly lit, the sun having fully set now. The one light source was the little lamp on the side table. Ezra was sitting in the dark, head bowed, clearly deep in thought. Every line of him was troubled.
The fingers in Cameron’s hair were still gentle.
“Ezra?” Cameron croaked.
Ezra looked down to smile at him, but it looked thin and brittle on his face. “Hey, there. You’re awake. How are you feeling? Are you thirsty? Hungry?”
“Feel okay,” Cameron mumbled, unsure of what to do with the attention. “Not hungry.” He was thirsty, but the thought of drinking made his throat tighten up and he had no idea why. He hated how scary that was. “What’s wrong?”
Ezra let out a long, slow breath. “I was talking to the doctor. Do you remember Dr. Marley?”
Not very well, but enough. “At the hospital. She stitched me up.”
“Right. Well, I… I called her. Because I was worried about you. About how you were acting today.”
“‘m sorry.”
The brittle smile came back. “Don’t be sorry. It wasn’t your fault.”
“But I upset you.”
“I’m only upset because you aren’t feeling well,” Ezra said, voice hitching.
Something was really wrong. Cameron struggled to piece things together. Dr. Marley was from the hospital. Cameron had been there cause he’d been attacked by a wolf, and they gave him stitches and about a million shots. Cameron was supposed to go in soon to get another shot, even, ’cause rabies. Bad for you. Real bad. Lots of death, as it turns out. Only death, once you get it.
Which…
Oh.
This time it was Cameron’s breath that hitched.
Oh.
“I have rabies.” It wasn’t a question.
Ezra swallowed. “Dr. Marley believes that you do. You’re displaying a lot of the signs and symptoms, and very quickly. She believes it’s rapid-onset. She strongly recommended taking you to the hospital so you could be made comfortable.”
“Oh,” Cameron said thickly. “Wow. Okay. So I’m going to die.”
“You aren’t going to die,” Ezra said sharply.
Cameron laughed, just a touch hysterically. “That was the whole thing. About rabies. It’s fatal.”
“I know,” Ezra said, removing his hand from Cameron’s hair to clench it into a fist. “But I… I can help you.”
“You can’t,” Cameron feebly pointed out. “No one can.”
Ezra set his jaw. “Some doctors don’t know everything.”
Cameron laughed again, unsure. “What does that mean?”
“I lied before,” Ezra said, looking away. Looking ashamed.
“About… about what?”
“When I said the wolf ran away when my car showed up,” Ezra said. “I lied.”
“Oh. Um, that’s okay. I—”
“There were two wolves,” Ezra said. “You remembered two wolves.”
Cameron nodded cautiously, unable to understand. “But you said—”
“The white wolf attacked you, and then the brown wolf went at the white wolf. Right? The brown wolf leapt at the white wolf and made it let you go. You… you screamed, and the blood turned the snow red, but it let you go.”
Cameron sucked in a breath. He vaguely remembered telling Ezra that a brown wolf had saved him, but Ezra was talking as if he’d seen it himself. “How do you know that?”
Ezra clasped his hands. “Because I was there.”
“W-what?”
“I was the brown wolf.”
Cameron stared at him. “That’s—that’s not funny.”
“I know it’s not.” Ezra looked like he was far from telling jokes. “And I know it’s almost impossible to believe. But it’s true.”
“So what, like—werewolves?” Was he already delirious? Is that how he was having this conversation? His head certainly hurt enough. “Werewolves aren’t real. I was just—I was—”
“I’m sorry,” Ezra said. “It wasn’t something I ever planned for you to find out. But it’s important for you to know, now, because I can heal you.”
“You can… what?”
Ezra took a deep breath. “If I shift and bite you. Turn you. It’ll heal you.”
“If you bite me,” Cameron parroted, trying to not sound hysterical. “It’ll heal me. What—that—werewolves aren’t real, Ezra!”
Ezra’s lips tightened, but he didn’t say anything to further his argument. Instead he stood up and pulled his sweater over his head, setting it down on the foot of the bed, followed by his undershirt.
Cameron clutched at the covers, eyes wide, momentarily distracted by Ezra’s bare chest before full-on fear took over and he shrank back. “W-what are you doing?”
“Showing you,” Ezra said. “Then you can make your decision.”
Cameron’s breath caught in his throat as Ezra popped the button on his jeans and started to step out of them. It was awful how close it was to a fantasy, but for the fact that Cameron was sick and more than a little scared and he had no idea what to expect. “Wait, please—don’t—!”
It was only then Ezra looked up at him again, uncharacteristically serious expression softening instantly. “I’m not going to touch you unless you give me permission. I just need you to believe me.”
“Believe you,” Cameron repeated, knuckles white around the comforter and two seconds from scrambling off the bed.
“Yes,” Ezra said. And then he began to blur around the edges.
Cameron didn’t scream. He’d been trained young not to, around people, to keep quiet when afraid: be quiet and still and maybe you’ll get left alone. So instead he just gaped in silence as Ezra changed. It was almost headache-inducing, though not grotesque or graphic. Hard to follow. He could see the lines of Ezra’s body shifting, but not in a way he could parse until suddenly it stopped and… and…
There was a giant fucking wolf in the room with him. It was easily as tall as the bed.
It was brown.
And it was looking at him.
“Oh my god,” Cameron whispered. “Oh my god.”
The wolf thumped its tail once on the floor and then it, too, was blurring, reshaping, until Ezra was once again standing next to Cameron’s bed. His dark skin was on full display and Cameron couldn’t even appreciate it, throat so, so dry.
Ezra grabbed for his sweater and sat back down in the chair, draping the sweater over his lap but otherwise completely naked, which was another thing making Cameron’s entire worldview roll over.
He sucked in air. “You... you turned into a wolf.”
Ezra nodded.
Cameron let out a thin noise, high and distressed. “You’re a fucking werewolf.”
“Yes.”
“You’re a werewolf and I’m going to die of rabies.” He choked on a laugh that was more of a sob. “This is the weirdest day I’ve ever had.”
“I’d call that an understatement,” Ezra said, clipped. “And you’re not going to die.”
“I’m not going to die because you’re a real live fucking werewolf—” A sudden thought occurred to him. “Fuck—the other wolf—was it a werewolf?” His chest felt funny. “Did some—some guy decide to try to murder me?”
Ezra shook his head, mouth tight. “It was a regular wolf. The fact that it did have rabies explains why it acted the way it did.”
“Fuck—” Cameron tried to breathe and couldn’t. “Fuck, you’re right, that means there’s just some random rabid wolf out there biting people—”
“Cameron please,” Ezra begged. “You’re upsetting yourself. I meant it when I said that there are people looking for it. You’re the one in danger right now.”
“And since I’m dying, you want to bite me? And—and then what?
Ezra sighed. “And then you need to learn how to be a werewolf. There are a lot of things you’ll need to know. I’m not the only one who can teach you. My family—”
“Your whole family is werewolves?” Okay, Cameron could admit to maybe being a little hysterical now.
“Yes. And I’m sorry. I know it’s not much of a choice. I won’t… I won’t force you.” For the first time, Ezra looked uncertain. He was sad before, maybe devastated, but now he sounded afraid. “But I don’t want to watch you die.”
“You wouldn’t have to,” Cameron heard himself point out. “You could just drop me off at the hospital and then I’d be out of your hair. Forever, even.” He still wasn’t over how much Ezra had done for him—was continuing to do for him. Even now.
Ezra snarled. “Absolutely not. I’m not leaving you alone.”
“You’d stay with me?” Cameron asked, barely hearing himself.
The expression that ran across Ezra’s face was one full of pain. “If that’s what you chose to do. If you… if you don’t want to be a werewolf. Then yes. I’d stay with you. I wouldn’t…” his voice broke, but he held Cameron’s gaze. “I wouldn’t let you be alone.”
