by Eden Winters
“Where are we taking the wood?” Seth visualized a roaring fire in the fireplace at his aunt’s house, and himself cuddled with Dustin on the settee. What? Where were his delusions of domesticity coming from?
“You’ll see.”
Seth gulped down the tea, enjoying the breeze coming in through the open truck windows. Twenty minutes later, they pulled up in front of a small frame house that, in Seth’s by no means expert opinion, could benefit from some repairs.
Monica backed the truck up to a shed. “Unload now. I’ll be right back.”
Though his arms felt like jelly and even his blisters sported blisters, gloves notwithstanding, Seth did as told. Not without more than a few grumbles.
A few moments later, he glanced over to find a shriveled, wrinkled face scowling at him.
“Aah-ahhh!” He jumped back before he realized the one who’d scared him stood only about four feet tall.
Monica practically yelled, “Ms. Pickens? We’ve brought you a load of firewood for this winter. I’d like you to meet Seth McDaniel.” If she’d stressed McDaniel any harder it might have snapped in half. “He’s Irene’s nephew.”
“Nephew?” the woman shrieked, unnecessarily loud. “Can’t be no nephew. Aaron McDaniel died long ’bout twenty year ago. Didn’t think there were no more McDaniels.”
From over the woman’s shoulder, Monica grimaced, jerked her head, and then mouthed, “Say something!” She thrust her hand out and winked.
Seth slid his right hand out of the glove, wincing when the rough leather abraded his blistered fingers. “Afternoon, ma’am.” He attempted to add a touch of the South to his distinct Yankee accent. “And how are you today?” Holy shit! Monica wanted him to use power on this tiny woman? What if he hurt her?
Badgering his possum into wakefulness, he dialed the force down to its lowest setting, taking a wrinkled hand in his newly roughened one. He gritted his teeth at the sudden jolt that jarred nearly as much as a swing from the ax landing on the tree trunk. Seth interpreted the gesture as the equivalent of the woman trying to out-squeeze his grip. He amped up his own energy level a notch or two. Still the woman frowned, hanging onto his hand.
“That all you got, boy?” A gimlet eye accompanied the matron’s taunt.
Seth raised both an eyebrow and his metaphysical signal. A dreamy smile appeared on the old woman’s face. He continued to pour on energy until the woman released his hand, collapsing against Monica with an undignified giggle.
Through a nearly toothless grin, the woman proclaimed, “You can come back and visit me anytime.”
Monica waited until they reached the main road before clapping Seth on the shoulder. “Well done. With Widow Pickens goes the rest of the Pickens clan.”
“Do you mind explaining what you just said in English, please?”
“Sixteen Junior supporters down, about fifty to go.”
For the next few days, Seth worked on the house every morning, grateful to Junior and Michael for seeming to have forgotten him, and visited passel members every evening with Monica. He’d been practicing his cooking skills with the help of his aunt’s cookbooks, and Monica always managed to show up in time for dinner. “No offense,” he asked over shepherd’s pie one evening, “but why doesn’t Dustin go with me occasionally?”
Monica swallowed down a mouthful of peas, carrots, and mashed potatoes. “It wouldn’t do to show favoritism right now. Rest assured he’s doing his part.”
Seth had been wondering if perhaps Dustin suffered second-thought syndrome. He missed the guy—not merely the sex, but the quiet moments, the “us against the world” camaraderie begun many years ago as kids, and apparently still alive and kicking.
“Once you’re installed as head of the passel, he’ll come back ’round again.”
More and more, Seth worried about taking over the passel. Two months ago, he’d been hanging out in Chicago, giving doormats everywhere a bad name. Overnight, he’d become some kind of big bad something, with a destiny, purpose, and a kick-ass female sidekick, though Monica might argue the point of who played second fiddle to whom.
“Who are we visiting tonight?” Let it not be the Widow Pickens, who seemed to have developed an addiction to Seth’s handshakes.
“The Martins. A young couple with a new baby.” A worry crease appeared between her eyebrows. “For the life of me, I can’t figure out how to impress them. They’re comfortably financed, and don’t seem to need anything.”
Seth’s ears perked up. The great Monica didn’t have a plan? And he did? What started as a smug smile bloomed into the proverbial possum-eating-briars grin he’d heard about but had never fully understood until then. “Leave it to me.”
Two hours later found Baby Martin giggling and cooing while Seth snapped pictures. The fake grin on Monica’s face showed signs of strain. Taking pity, Seth wrapped up the impromptu photo shoot. “I’ll upload these at home and e-mail them to you,” he told the beaming parents. “If you’d like, I’ll also send the web address of a guy who’ll give you a discount on an eleven-by-twenty canvas. It’s been nice meeting you, but we should go now. Monica has an early morning at the office.”
Back in the truck, Monica declared, “Those were the last of Junior’s direct supporters. Now, we need to solidify your claim with the rest of the passel. And we’re running out of time.”
“What do you mean ‘running out of time’?”
“Only a few more days until the next full moon.”
Idly caressing his camera case, Seth thought back to the happy parents, and the three posing possums he now recognized as the Johnson boys. It couldn’t be that easy to impress people, could it?
“Monica? Is there a church social hall or something I can borrow for an afternoon? Set up a studio?”
Chapter 20
They came from far and wide—singles, couples, families. Against a background of the Jordan River painted on the wall of the church basement, Seth set up his equipment. He’d driven all the way to Athens to rent reflectors and other necessary items he hadn’t brought with him.
Each subject posed and preened before stepping behind a curtain to change, returning a moment later in animal form to pose and preen some more.
“What a stroke of genius,” Seth heard someone purr into his ear. He looked up into Dustin’s welcome smile. “Everyone in town turned out today, didn’t they?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ve been snapping pictures forever.” Seth grinned like a lovesick schoolboy, unable to conceal the thrill of simply being in the same room with Dustin. “What are you doing here?”
“Why, I’ve come to take you to lunch, if you’d like.”
Seth glanced around, grateful to see his last appointment shuffling out and no one left waiting.
“Monica told everyone you needed a break. Shall we?” Dustin extended his arm.
Seth checked his cameras before packing them away. “I suppose we shouldn’t be seen together.” Right now, though, staring at the object of his nightly fantasies, he couldn’t quite recall why.
“We won’t be.” Seth cocked a questioning brow. Dustin answered with a grin. “C’mon, truck’s waiting.”
Dustin drove out past the farmhouse and turned down a dirt road. “This is the rear entrance to the field at the back of your property,” Dustin explained, “where we’ve been parking for the full moon.” He hopped out and removed a picnic basket from the bed of the truck. “Would you mind bringing the tea?” He nodded toward an insulated plastic jug.
Seth snatched up the jug and followed Dustin a ways down a dirt road and through a metal gate into the field. From his vantage point, he spotted the roof of the farmhouse. Summer insects chirped and whirred. Soon fall would set in. The trees would be beautiful once the leaves turned.
Gazing at the distant mountains, breathing in the fresh country air, Seth made up his mind. After the full moon, no matter how the night went, he’d make arrangements to have his few meager possessions packed up and moved down. He’d seen his last of Ch
icago, though while strolling through broom sage and buttercups in Dustin’s wake, he didn’t think he’d miss the city. He belonged here, and come hell or high water, here he’d stay. That was, if he survived any challenges. Only now, with Dustin’s support and his heritage hanging in the balance, failure wasn’t an option. Regardless of how cowed he’d been by his late grandmother, he needed to step out of her shadow and “grow a pair,” as Monica might say.
He didn’t ask where they were going, somehow guessing it’d be to the pond. Dustin stopped on the bank, near where they’d recently acquainted themselves with each other’s bodies. A crane turned a baleful stare their way and took wing. Seth imagined the bullfrogs breathing a collective sigh of relief.
“The Johnson boys sometimes come here,” Seth warned, in case Dustin planned any amorous adventures—adventures Seth wouldn’t object to, providing they didn’t have an audience.
“Monica took them to a movie in Clayton. Won’t be back for hours.”
“Really?”
“Really."
They placed their burdens down and came together in a flurry of tongues and hands and flying clothes. “What? Mr. Neat isn’t folding everything and hanging it on a tree?” Seth couldn’t help teasing.
“A time and a place for everything. And this time and this place is for something else.” Dustin grinned, revealing his imperfect front teeth. “Last one in is a rotten egg!” He turned and ran to the deep end of the pond, launched himself from the bank, and landed with a splash.
Not to be outdone, Seth took off after him, sending jets of water up into Dustin’s face with his spectacular cannonball.
They laughed and splashed like happy youngsters. Their eyes met and the kidding ended. One minute they stood in waist-deep water, the next Seth found himself lying in the shallows.
“How much did you miss me?” Seth asked, craning his neck to gaze down his body into Dustin’s eyes.
Dustin’s smirk evaporated a moment later as he lapped the crown of Seth’s length with his tongue. “Damn, that’s good!” Seth exclaimed, closing his eyes and resting his head on his arms. Up and down the moist heat of Dustin’s mouth worked him, a startling contrast to the cool water caressing his hole with each of Dustin’s movements. As long as it had been, he feared he wouldn’t last five minutes.
He wanted more, but didn’t have the strength to ask. Besides, he hovered too close to the brink. Dustin’s magical mouth disappeared and wet skin caressed wet skin as Dustin climbed on top of Seth. Sealing their mouths, they thrust frantically against each other, and Dustin slipped one hand between them to slide their cocks together.
Uncalled, Seth’s inner circuitry summoned power from deep within. The hairs on his arms and legs rose, Dustin’s energy meeting and matching Seth’s.
“Oh, God!” Seth moaned, pushing into Dustin’s fist. He found the rounded mounds of Dustin’s backside and pulled him closer, urging him on. Harder and faster, they shoved against each other, lost in the moment. Dustin stroked Seth’s ear with tongue, teeth, and hot breath, moving down to his shoulder and the most sensitive parts of his neck. Hands scrabbling for purchase on Dustin’s wet skin, Seth whined, cried, and begged wordlessly for what only Dustin could give. Every nerve ending felt on fire, their joined essences mating as surely as their bodies.
“That’s it, baby, come for me,” Dustin murmured, shattering Seth’s control. Their lengths slid together more easily, both men crying out together.
They lay half in and half out of the water, catching their breath.
“I love you, Seth,” Dustin finally said.
Seth scraped together enough blissed-out brain cells to reply, “I love you too, Dustin.”
“No matter what happens at the next full moon, it won’t change how I feel.”
“I hope not.”
“I know not.”
Before Seth had time to dwell on what might happen in a few days, Dustin rose, offering a hand up. “C’mon. Let’s eat. Afterwards, I want you to meet some people.”
Your grandpa is over there, here’s your grandmother, and over there is your Aunt Irene.” Dustin pointed out the flattened stones marking the graves of the elder McDaniels. He took Seth’s hand, led the way around the pin oak, and knelt beside two more stones. “Here’s where they buried your parents.” Dustin had been too young to attend the passel burial, though he’d been to the bogus one in town, but many times he’d visited this place, remembering Seth and their friendship.
“Deep down, I always hoped you’d come back someday. My mother told me that even if you did, you’d be changed.” He gave Seth’s hand a squeeze. “You were, but it’s not a bad thing.”
“It’s peaceful here,” Seth said.
“Yeah. That’s why they chose this spot, and why I come here.”
“Junior wants to build a casino.”
“Yeah.” The thought turned Dustin’s stomach.
“I don’t like Junior much. Seems like he should be a wheeler-dealer on Wall Street, not out here in the country.” Seth lifted Dustin’s arm and slid beneath, staring deep into Dustin’s eyes. “Help me stop him?”
More than mere passel loyalty prompted the reply: “I’ll do whatever I can.” Dustin kissed Seth, soaking up the tranquility before it came to an end. Sooner or later, they’d have to return to town, face their problems again. But for now, maybe one more round….
“No! Out of the question. Absolutely not.” Seth shook his head. He couldn’t believe Monica would actually suggest such a hare-brained scheme.
“It’s a way to solve the issue of the challenge without a single drop of blood being spilled.” Monica’s unasked-for dinner guest said. Tall, sporting a tail of flaxen hair, the guy’s otherworldliness raised Seth’s hackles. The town veterinarian seemed nice enough, but Seth’s inner possum spat and hissed, hell-bent and determined to intimidate the Reynard’s fox alter ego.
“Stop it!” Monica snapped. “Andy’s here to help us; he’s not a threat.”
“No, I’m not,” Andy agreed. “I’m fighting for my people as hard as you’re fighting for yours. I don’t understand what you have against the plan. A coyote shifter friend of mine agreed to help. He shows up, growls a little, you run him off, you’re a hero.”
“I can’t wait to watch Junior tuck tail and run.” Monica’s nefarious grin scared the living daylights out of Seth. He was glad her scheming wasn’t directed at him.
This time. He’d keep his eyes open, though.
The Reynard’s plan sounded viable; however, he didn’t want to win by trickery and be forevermore goaded by a guilty conscience, doubting his ability to lead. No, he had to play fair and win honestly. “While I appreciate what you’re trying to do, I can’t allow it,” he finally said, wiping the grins off his would-be coconspirators’ faces. “I’ll face Junior head-on, and may the best man, I mean, possum, win.”
Later in the evening, reevaluating the wisdom of his decision, Seth realized that, in all his life, not only did this mark the first important decision he’d ever fully made on his own, but he’d actually stood up to two people he’d have been cowering from a few months ago. Even more surprising, he didn’t doubt for a minute he’d made the right choice.
“You suggested what?” Dustin’s mouth dropped open. How could Andy suggest such a thing?
“I told him about my coyote buddy, and how to win the passel leadership without a challenge.” Worry wrinkles appeared on Andy’s brow. “The man turned it down flat.”
Dustin let out a shaky breath. “If he’d stoop to sneaky tricks, no matter what my personal feelings for him, or Irene, might be, I wouldn’t back Seth to head the passel.” He should be angry, take Andy to task, but he couldn’t. The Reynard fought for his family and his people.
In his shoes, Dustin might do the same.
Seth didn’t ask Monica where they were going, she wouldn’t answer anyway if she didn’t want to, though he hoped Southern pit barbeque waited at the end. He’d learned her by now; she might be gruff,
but hid a good heart beneath her porcupine quills. However, when she pulled her truck into the parking lot of the Athens Fertility Clinic, his hackles rose.
She turned off the ignition, huffing out a breath. Fear and uncertainty pulsed from her.
“Is something wrong?” Why the hell had she brought him to a fertility clinic?
“No. We’re here as a precaution.”
“A precaution against what?” Seth swallowed hard, heart dropping to his stomach.
“You are, without a doubt, the last member of Irene’s family. If anything happens to you, your family ends.” She glanced up, her sky-blue gaze holding the promise of rain. “I loved Irene. She took me in when my family kicked me out, gave me a home, and convinced me I wasn’t a mutant. I want some part of her to go on. We have an appointment in there,” she said, nodding toward the building, “in fifteen minutes.”
“What is this place?”
“The best fertility clinic in the South.” She held up a hand to ward off objections. “Tomorrow night is the full moon. You can say no and we’ll leave now, forget I mentioned it, but I’d like you to go in with me, let them harvest your sperm.” Until then, he’d no idea Monica possessed the ability to be shy. She stared down at the floorboard. “If anything happens to you, or if someone challenges your leadership on the grounds that you can’t produce an heir, I’d like permission to carry your child, keep the McDaniel name alive.”
What. The. Fuck. What the hell could Seth say? She’d sprung this on him so suddenly. She wanted to carry his child? Keep the McDaniel family going? Should he be flattered or horrified? After a few moments he organized his scattered thoughts enough to form words. “Why? You don’t even like me.”
Monica shrugged. “You’re not too bad, for a city boy. You just needed me to kick your ass into shape. I’d be lying if I said I was doing this totally for you, ’cause I’ll be giving up the ability to turn for nine months, as well as any position in the passel I might hold at the time. I’m doing this for Irene, for myself, and for Dustin, in the event you manage to build something permanent with him.” She managed a brief flicker of a smile.
