by Maz Maddox
It was nice. Comfortable. And Dalton was less fidgety and bouncy when he was engaged in something. Since I had seen the series multiple times, I found myself allowing my eyes to drift over to his profile or to the tattoos covering exposed skin.
His neck had a tattoo of sharp teeth biting down with blood drops, in a very classic, pop style with thick outlines and bright colors. When he moved his head, it almost made the blood seem to be dripping down his throat.
While the mohawk and tattoos stole most of the attention, Dalton wasn’t a bad looking guy. The long trip on the road had given him a bit of stubble which was dark blond across his jaw. His piercing blue eyes watched the screen with lazy intensity, his brows creased in concentration. There were small scars, little nicks, hiding in the stubble that were likely from long ago scuffles and fights.
Or possibly reckless teenage years. It was hard to imagine Dalton as a kid, but I imagined he was similar to this version of himself, but less tattoos and no lip piercings.
The bright yellow raptor shirt he wore covered his shoulders, but his upper arms were wrapped in color. The bright art that trailed down his arm almost to his wrist contained stars, roses and other classic tattoos, but the thing that made me gasp was right below his inner elbow.
“You have a tree star!” I couldn’t contain my excitement.
Dalton looked over after pausing the movie. He lifted his arm and rotated his wrist so I could get a better look. In all of its green, dewy glory, was the tree star from Land Before Time. The five pointed leaf that was the treasure of the tiny sauropod, Little Foot, from my favorite movie as a child was immortalized across his skin.
I hadn’t realized I was touching his tattoo until he moved his wrist again.
“It’s really detailed.” I pulled my hand away, embarrassed I reacted without asking. “I can’t believe you have a tree star.”
“It was the first movie I ever watched,” Dalton confessed. “I’m not a salad guy, but I wanted a tree star so bad after that. Oh, you’ll like this.” He leaned down and pulled his jeans up over his right calf muscle, which was a feat considering how tight the fabric was around his leg.
Racing up over the side and around the back of his leg was the entire cast of cartoon dinosaurs from the same movie, smiling and chasing a tree star.
“Holy shit!” I leaned down to see it. “That’s great!”
“Thanks. You know, I can show you all my ink if you want?” He grinned at me, apparently unable to let a moment go without being ridiculous.
“I’m good, thanks,” I snorted.
“You just like me for my tree star, I get it.” He leaned back against the couch and tossed his arm over the back of it. “Guys are dogs.”
By the end of the last movie in the series, we were both fighting back yawns. The energy I had regained after my afternoon nap was long gone, and the hours spent on the road had finally caught up with us. Dalton stood and stretched as I gathered up the debris from our snacking horde, disposing of the trash and dishes into their respective places.
By the time I wandered into the bedroom, Dalton was tugging his shirt off over his head, which was impressive to see. Not only was it interesting to see how he got a shirt over his mohawk, but his tattooed back flexed in the dim lamplight. Since I was no longer in shock from being chased out of a museum, I had a chance to really see not only the art, but the canvas as well. I had known Dalton was fit after watching him wield a bat with such ease, but I hadn’t seen his strength displayed across bare skin. His back muscles were toned, his shoulders round and waistline trim. He almost looked like a model, especially with all the artwork across his body.
When he turned around, my brain became mildly fixated on the tattoos resting on either hip, dangerously low and barely peeking out from under his jeans. They were tiny lightning bolts. Nothing special about them other than the placement, that somehow seemed extremely erotic.
Lightning bolts, of all things.
Why that was a turn on was beyond me, but I forced myself to rub my eyes in feigned exhaustion as Dalton shucked his jeans.
Honestly, I was surprised the man wore anything underneath. The black briefs were so tame compared to the rest of him.
“You want left or right side, sugar bear?” Dalton asked absently as he pulled the covers back.
Maybe it was the days on the road or being hip-to-hip with the man for hours while binging a kick ass series, or maybe it was the damn tree star tattoo, but imagining sleeping next to him made me nervous.
And not the correct version of nervous.
It was the anticipated nervousness one would feel if a crush invited you to sleep over. Not the nervous feeling of sleeping next to a stranger I should be feeling in that moment.
Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me?
“I think I’m going to sleep on the couch.”
Dalton turned and looked at me with a tired expression of confusion. “We just sat on that thing for hours. Did you forget how tiny it is?”
“Then the sleeping bag.” I grabbed the sleeping bag roll I had tossed into the corner of the bedroom. “I’ll just crash in the living room.”
Dalton snorted as he climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to his stomach. “I give you an hour before you realize that sleeping bag sucks and the floor is cold.” He rolled over onto his side facing me, then ran his hand over the empty spot in the bed. “It’s a pillow top,” he added seductively.
“That’s why I’m not sleeping in here,” I pointed out.
“What do you have against pillow tops?” Dalton asked around a yawn.
“Not the bed. You.”
“Moi?” He propped himself on his elbow and rested his head in his hand. “You know, I don’t want to deflate your big ol’ ego bubble, but I actually just want to sleep. I’m not a machine.”
“I’m good. I’m going to sleep out there.” I tucked the sleeping bag under my arm.
“Suit yourself.” Dalton shrugged and snuggled down into the sheets. “I’ll leave this spot open for you when you change your mind.”
“I won’t,” I announced with all the power and authority of a scorned toddler and left the room. As soon as I rolled the sleeping bag out and lay down, I felt like a fucking idiot. I tried over and over to convince myself that I had been justified in acting like a bratty child because Dalton was likely to go too far, but the argument wasn’t sticking.
He had been fine the entire night while we sat on the couch together. Hell, I actually enjoyed my time with him. Sure, when we were gathering snacks or I was situating myself on the couch, he would make an offhand, flirty comment to take a jab at me, but it’s not like the man tried to grab at me.
More than anything, I was pissed off at myself. What a time to get a stupid, inappropriate crush on someone.
On a guy.
That I didn’t know. Who beats people with bats.
And has really cool tattoos, wild hair and is...kind of fun. A pain in the ass and maybe a touch unhinged, but still. Was I losing my goddamn mind? Was this a symptom of recovering from shock? Maybe Stockholm syndrome.
Sure, Simon. This is all gay Stockholm syndrome.
The sleeping bag sucked and the floor was fucking freezing, but my pride wasn’t giving in. I couldn’t allow myself to admit defeat and crawl back into the bedroom to see Dalton’s smug “I told you so” face. Instead, I tossed and turned on the floor for exactly an hour and thirty minutes before pretending to get up for a drink of water.
I walked carefully to the kitchen, passing by the bedroom door to listen for any signs of life. Dalton had his back to the door, breathing slowly, the space beside him in bed still open. I went along with my charade, pouring myself some tap water and taking a couple sips, before swinging by the bedroom again.
No movement.
I crept inside carefully, trying my damnedest to not land on any squeaky boards as I tip-toed to the bed. I knew I would get hell in the morning, but at least I could avoid it until then. A comfortable, warm be
d would be worth the mockery, but I took solace in knowing I had postponed it for a little while.
I did my best to channel my inner ninja as I slipped into bed, taking care not to jostle the mattress as I lay down. Slowly, I pulled the covers over my legs and tucked my arm under my pillow, exhaling into the plush surface.
God, it felt amazing to be in a bed again. Sleep pulled at my eyelids as my body slowly relaxed.
Then, out of the silence of the night, I heard Dalton whisper, “Night, sugar bear.”
Chapter Seven
Dalton
Early morning hunts were my favorite.
Fresh dew and mist from the heating earth made the forest thick with smells. The cool morning breeze was refreshing, and the nearby stream felt amazing on my feathers. I had successfully chased down a deer and had my fill before the sun was up, so the rest of the sunrise was exploring and scouting the area. Thankfully, there was no trace of anything human close by, so I was able to stroll through the woods to familiarize myself with the territory.
And get my mind off Simon.
Don’t get me wrong; I still wanted to fuck him and fuck with him, since he was so goddamn fun to push, but it was everything else that was sitting weird with me. Something had changed. What I wanted had changed. It had gone from a purely normal, primal want and casual apathy towards the guy to actually craving his company. I liked talking to him. I liked watching movies with him.
I like camping and driving with him.
I liked him.
What concerned me was that...I don’t fucking like anyone. Humans frustrated the shit out of me most of the time. They were so wrapped up in their own bullshit, so eager to be willing cogs in the machine of humanity, that I rarely had enough patience to stomach them.
But Simon?
I dunno. He was alright.
I loved that he had a passion for our history -- for fossils and the prehistoric. Seeing him talk about the egg we were toting around made his eyes light up, and I wasn’t sure why I cared to see it again. My drive getting out of bed that morning wasn’t to go hunting for food, but for something else altogether. But I had forced myself to shift, stretch my legs and eat.
What the fuck was that about? Did I have a fucking puppy crush on this guy? This straight human nerd?
“Get your shit together, man,” I said out loud to myself once I was back in my human form. The walk back to the house wasn’t long enough to talk myself out of my pre-hunt idea a second time. Mumbling to myself that I was a jackass, I climbed into the Rodeo after getting dressed and turned the key. It was a short drive into town and it wouldn’t take me long.
After I got this out of my system, I needed to have a real come to Jesus talk with myself.
SIMON
I woke up mildly sleep drunk and covered in drool.
The damn pillow top mattress may not have been a prize, but it felt like a cloud compared to the hotel room chair and forest floor. I rubbed at my face, confused for a moment about my surroundings as I pushed myself upright. Dalton was gone and the house was quiet.
I stood, answered the call of nature, then shambled to the kitchen to find coffee. As the machine whirred to life and produced a cup of heavenly black elixir, I peered outside to see if I could spot Dalton. To my surprise and mild horror, the Rodeo was gone.
In the dark, irrational parts of my sleepy brain, a threatening panic began tapping. Did he...leave me behind? My eyes floated over to the fossil case that still sat where I had left it. Almost in autopilot, I picked it up, moved it to the kitchen table and opened it. Sure enough, the fossil was still inside.
So, he didn’t take it and leave me. That was good. But what if he bailed because he got word this Hyena guy was too close? If they found me and the fossil, they wouldn’t come after Dalton.
But it made no sense. Why the hell would he bail now?
No. He probably just left to...get supplies. Or something.
Right?
The coffee did little to calm my nerves, only sped up my heart rate and upset my stomach. As much as I tried to stamp down the flaring sense of panic and betrayal, it was building by the minute. My phone had no messages from him. No voicemails or calls. There was no snarky note left on the fridge or counter.
Nothing.
I forced myself to go shower and calm down, hoping that the blast of water and soap would do something to ease my nerves. Just as I climbed out of the shower and dried off, I heard the front door shutting. Relief washed over me as I tugged my jeans on, not bothering with anything else so I could go demand to know where he had been. Dalton would answer for not leaving a damn note.
“Where the fuck have--” my words stuck in my throat when I saw the stranger standing in the living room pointing a gun at me. The tall, brown skinned man was not only threatening because of the weapon, but his size and cold, coal colored eyes. Dark, inky curls were pulled back from his face, and the shadow of stubble that covered his face didn’t hide his clenched jaw.
“Fuck,” I whispered, holding my hands up. “Please don’t do this.”
The angry stranger’s eyes moved from me to the fossil case I left open in the kitchen, before sliding back my direction.
“Is that what I think it is?” he hissed, a very soft touch of an accent to his words that I was too terrified to identify.
“I can explain…” Explain what? Hyena’s men knew who I was and knew what the fossil was. What was I going to say to one of his henchmen to slip out of this situation?
“Get on your knees,” he demanded through his teeth. I complied, my heart thundering in my ears. “You move and I’ll kill you.”
I nodded quickly, convinced this man wasn’t bluffing. He moved past me, heavy boots stomping on the floor as he made his way to the fossil case. After a pause, the case was slammed shut and locked.
“You picked a really bad fucking spot to hide,” he growled. “You have no clue how fucked you are.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. Fear was driving a cold fist into my chest with each rapid heartbeat, and I felt like my head was about to spin off my shoulders. I heard the sound of a phone unlocking and the tapping noise of a text being sent.
Then a familiar car door shutting outside.
That was the Rodeo.
Dalton.
The stranger paused, his phone slipping back into his pocket as he eyed the door. He took a couple steps towards me and pressed the gun to my skull. I whimpered and tried to duck away but he hissed for me to stay still. My chest was aching, my arms shaking as I kept them slightly raised.
Silence stretched as we both watched the front door.
I had to do something. I knew I had to do something, or Dalton was going to die.
I couldn’t let that happen.
I couldn’t.
“Dalton run!” I screamed as loudly as I could, hoping that he could hear me from outside.
“Dalton?” the man above me said, clearly confused and irritated. He spun quickly, making me believe he was about to attack me so I covered my head in alarm. I heard the sound of boots squeaking against the tile floor and a heavy sound of something hitting skin.
“Oh hey, Baha,” Dalton said casually, causing me to snap my head up in surprise. The stranger, Baha, had Dalton’s bat in his grip, having caught it in mid-swing towards his head. While Dalton was smiling, Baha’s scowl deepened.
“The fuck is going on, Utah?” Baha jerked Dalton’s bat from his hands and tossed it out of reach. “Why is there a goddamn sapian here?”
Sapian? Utah?
“Easy, big guy. He’s with me.” Dalton strolled to the bedroom and shut the open window he apparently climbed through, as well as grabbed a plastic bag filled with items. I cautiously crawled a couple feet away from the snarling Baha before getting to my shaky feet.
“Does HC know you have him here?” Baha slipped his gun away as he spoke, but his tone was still fire hot.
“Will you calm down?” Dalton set the bag on the counter and ope
ned the fridge. “I thought you were in Europe.”
“Change of plans.” Baha tapped on the fossil case. “Explain this.”
“Oh that?” Dalton cracked open a Dr. Pepper and took a swig. “My coprolite collection. That case is almost as full of shit as you are, Baha.”
“We have code names for a reason, you fucking twat,” Baha said through his teeth.
“Yeah, but mine’s stupid and yours is pretentious. Egyptian, oooo.” Dalton waved his hands around sarcastically. “So mysterious. Plus, you’re about as Egyptian as I’m American. Chill.” He took another swig of his soda and pointed my direction. “Simon, this is Baha. Baha, this is Simon Andrews. Hyena is after him and the fossil we’re taking back to HQ.”
I was officially completely confused and nauseated from the stress of the morning.
“What the hell is going on, Dalton?” I managed.
“We work together.” Dalton motioned between himself and Baha, who shot him the most vicious look. “What?”
“You’re a fucking liability.” Baha moved towards the living room, so I scrambled out of his way. The angry mountain grabbed a couple of the crime novels off the shelf and pushed open a sliding panel by the fireplace. The panel slid to the left, exposing a small compartment with a duffle bag inside. Baha pulled it free and shouldered it without bothering to shut the panel.
“You want to stay for lunch, habibi?” Dalton asked from the kitchen.
Baha spat out a string of aggressive sounding words that I guessed was Arabic before storming out, slamming the front door behind him.
With the threat gone and my body done trying to keep me standing, I fell into the couch and rested my head in my hands. I shut my eyes and slowed my breathing and felt the cushion beside me dip down.
“You ok?” Dalton asked.
“No,” I said honestly, shaking my head as I looked at him. “No, I’m not.”
“Baha is...kind of a prick.”
“Kind of a prick?” I snapped. “That was the second time a gun has been against my head in less than a week, Dalton! You said we were safe here!”
