Fox Hunt

by J. Leigh Bailey

  But then a rich aroma, fertile and earthy, blasted my senses. Something like a freshly tilled field and a spring rain. It was my turn to still. That wasn’t the scent of someone braced for attack.

  For the first time, I allowed myself to consider the possibility that Buddy was as attracted to me as I was to him. Before this, I hadn’t even allowed myself to imagine it. Because Buddy was so… Buddy. He constantly treated me like a younger brother. Like one of his younger brothers. But maybe it was more than that.

  I let my finger trail down his spine, the lightest of touches, before taking a step back. The tiniest of shudders went through him. If I hadn’t been watching so closely, I’d have missed it. I grinned, adjusting the strap of my messenger bag across my shoulder. “Is it safe to go? No bad guys lurking around the turn?”

  He cleared his throat. “No. I mean, yes, it’s safe. No, there’s no bad guys.”

  I gave him a bit of a break as we made our way down to the main floor and out of the building. I was nothing but circumspect and affable. As much as I wanted to dig to the bottom of this new discovery, Buddy did have a job to do. And even though I was still convinced the whole thing was a waste of time, it was only fair to let him finish the job.

  I’d managed to find a hotel that wasn’t too far from the school and didn’t cost an arm and a leg for a night—let alone the two nights I intended to stay—so we only had to walk a few blocks to get back to our room. The amount of foot traffic had nearly doubled since we’d walked to the school at ten in the morning, the sidewalks filled to capacity during the lunch hour.

  Soon the proximity of so many people in such a small space, all jostling for position and competing with others for a spot half a step closer to their destination, had me inching closer to Buddy. A middle-aged man in a neon safety vest stopped abruptly at the entrance to a Starbucks, and I almost didn’t catch myself in time to keep from crashing into him. Of course, my sudden stop had the guy behind me cursing as he too tried to avoid a collision.

  It was too much. Too much sound, too many strong odors.

  Sounds echoed oddly around me, and I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. The heavy perfume of a lady to my right warred with the body odor of the homeless man crouching next to a bank building. Cars honked, sirens wailed, people talked into their phone and to each other, and everything was too much.

  My pores prickled and my fingertips tingled. Adrenaline spiked in me and my fight-or-flight instincts were getting ready to kick in. Flight seemed like a really good idea to my fox. This barrage of sound and scent and claustrophobia could be handled so much better in my smaller, faster fox form. But the people. I couldn’t shift on the sidewalk in the middle of Chicago, surrounded by hundreds of people. My vision went all over violet, like someone swiped a watercolor brush across the dozen gradients of gray that made up the Chicago cityscape.

  I don’t know when I stopped walking, but now I found myself standing still in the middle of the sidewalk, arms stiff at my sides, hands fisted, as people parted to move around me.

  Strong arms reached around me and pulled me tight against a broad chest. A deep voice—Buddy’s voice—murmured things in my ear that I couldn’t quite parse out.

  With each breath he took, his chest expanded, and soon my own breathing matched his. I picked up the now-familiar pattern of inhale, one, two, three; hold, one, two, three; exhale, one, two, three. After a moment I made out his words. “Breathe, David. You’ve got this. Just breathe. You’re in control. Not your fox. You. You’ve got this.”

  With every second that passed, tension seeped from my body. I wasn’t loose or relaxed by any means, but I no longer felt like I was going to shift. Unfortunately, shame hitched a ride with the return of control. Why was I like this? Why couldn’t I deal like a normal shifter? I should be better than that.

  A wolf whistle pierced the air, and someone chuckled as they detoured around us. Shit. Buddy and I were blocking the way.

  I stepped back, putting a little distance between Buddy and me.

  “Okay now?” he asked. He didn’t sound irritated or embarrassed like my mom or Aiden would if they’d been with me when I started to slip. He was simply, sincerely concerned.

  I couldn’t say anything, so I nodded, avoiding his eyes.

  “You know what?”

  I tilted my head slightly. Enough to acknowledge his question, but not enough to make eye contact.

  “We need to shift. To run.”

  This brought my gaze to his.

  “We’ve been cooped up too long. Too much time trapped in the car, or in hotel rooms, or in offices.”

  This time the tingling under my skin and the prickling at my fingertips was anticipation. It had been way too long since I’d let the fox out. Too long spent battling that half of me for control. My nose twitched at the thought of all the new scents I would discover.

  Police sirens blasted through the air, interrupting my daydreams of chasing rabbits and voles through the underbrush.

  I shook my head. “Where would we go? There’s so many people around here. I mean, we could shift in the hotel room, I guess, but I’m not sure if that would be enough. I’d rather wait a while longer to find a good place to explore than tease myself with a taste. It might be worse.” The idea of it had me itching like dozens of ants crawled across my shoulders. I shrugged, trying to shake away the phantom sensation.

  “There are a number of small forest preserves around here. A couple have enough wooded and natural areas to provide cover for a fox on the run.”

  “What about bears?” I asked.

  “Eh.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “I’ll be okay.”

  “No way. You may not have almost lost it on a crowded sidewalk, but you can’t tell me you’re not jonesing to play in the woods or whatever it is that bears do for fun.”

  “I’ve spent plenty of time in my furred form over the last few weeks. Part of helping your friend Joey figure out how to coexist with his animal side. It’s more important that we let you run right now.”

  I really, really wanted to know more about the Joey comment, and my favorite W and H words were on the tip of my tongue, but I refused to be distracted. “If you don’t shift, I don’t shift.”

  He scowled at me. I don’t know when I decided Buddy with a scowl was adorable rather than intimidating, but the sight made me grin. Buddy had been extra tense all day. A good romp in bear form would probably do wonders for him. And now I had a desperate desire to see him in bear form.

  “Most of the parks around here don’t have enough cover to hide an animal of my size. Grizzlies are not native to Illinois, so it would cause a panic if someone caught sight of me.”

  He had a point, but that didn’t mean I’d give in completely. “Fine. Compromise, then. Let’s find a forest preserve or something that has more trees than grass. Something not manicured and paved for city slickers. When we get there, we’ll assess the risk factors. If the woods are thick enough and the park empty enough, you’ll shift too. Even if only for a little bit. You know as well as I do that being squashed in my car for days on end is driving bear-you crazy.”

  He ground his teeth but must have noticed the resolve in my expression. After a long pause, he grunted. “Fine.”

  GETTING naked around shifters was something commonplace. Normal. Nothing to be mentioned. At best, shifting in your clothes could be awkward. If you’ve ever seen a fox with tighty-whities tangled around his tail, you’d understand. Not that anything like that has ever happened to me. Ahem. At worst, shifting in clothing could be dangerous. Fabric could hinder movement, restrict breathing, or cause something to break during a shift.

  I knew all this. It was common courtesy to ignore nudity whenever you shifted as part of a group. No ogling the man-flesh.

  But holy shit, keeping my eyes above the waist while Buddy ditched his clothes was a feat worthy of sainthood.

  When we arrived at Schiller Woods—a forest preserve near O’Hare airport that Google told
us was our best option—an hour later, I was happy to point out the heavily wooded areas that were quite far from the paved paths. It had started to drizzle, which meant the woods were basically deserted. There was only one car in the small parking area, and even as we pulled in, two older ladies scurried down the path toward the silver Volvo.

  A little wet wouldn’t hurt us, so we explored the area a bit before pushing through the trees to a secluded, heavily wooded area. And then clothes had to come off.

  I untied my shoes, determined to keep my focus on the laces and not on the motions of Buddy kicking his flip-flops aside. When he reached for the button on his shorts, my breath caught. My hand jerked, and I managed to knot the shoelaces rather than undo the bow.

  The hem of his T-shirt hung low enough I couldn’t make out any details of his package. Not that I looked. Except of course I looked. I seemed to have no self-control with this man. A shallow band of red boxers peeked below his shirt before giving way to the long, long expanse of muscled thigh. Damn, the man had tree-trunk legs.

  Buddy’s eyes flicked toward me, and I pretended to be absorbed in untangling my laces. At this rate it would be midnight before I got my shoes off.

  He crossed his arms, reaching for the bottom of his T-shirt. Then he hesitated. His fingers spasmed around the thin fabric. He sucked in a breath, eyes finding me again.

  I finally gave up on the laces and yanked the damned tennis shoe off my foot. I didn’t bother untying the other one. Just pried it off and tossed it near its mate. I didn’t want Buddy to catch me staring, but I also didn’t want to miss anything. It was a conundrum that recalcitrant shoes didn’t help. I snuck another glance in time to see him pull the shirt free, leaving him in red cotton boxers. Turned out I had a thing for red cotton boxers. At least when they were worn by Buddy. Holy cow, the man was a sight. I was so distracted by the breadth of his shoulders and the smattering of dark hair on his chest, I didn’t even notice him ditch the boxers. One second he was naked, the next he was an enormous grizzly bear.

  I’ve never seen a grizzly—shifter or natural—before, and the sheer size of Buddy in this form was enough to make me pause. When I shifted, I got smaller. Buddy got bigger. So much bigger. He had to be four feet tall at the shoulder, but in that moment, I would have sworn he was the size of an elephant. On four paws, his head would come to my chest. I couldn’t imagine how tall he’d be if he reared back onto his hind legs. His fur was shaggy, a deep brown, tipped with platinum, just like in his human form. He rumbled and stretched, lowering his front while keeping his rear up. It reminded me of one of his infernal yoga poses.

  He lumbered over to me, cocking his head questioningly.

  I stood stock-still. There was nothing predatory about his actions, but I still felt very prey-like. He was so freaking big. Then he plopped down on his butt, back legs in front of him and he looked more like a teddy bear at a child’s tea party than a predator who had no natural enemies. I snorted. Leave it to Buddy to know exactly how to tamp down my instinctive fear even while in grizzly form.

  He pointed his snout over his shoulder, a “let’s move it” gesture, and made a warbling sound like he was speaking.

  “Okay, okay. You want me to get a wiggle on. I get it.”

  I stepped out of the jeans I’d changed into before our last-minute detour to the woods, noticing at the last second that I wore the skimpiest briefs I owned. Red briefs. I snorted. “Must have been a red underwear kind of day.” I glanced at Buddy, who’d gone still. Like bronze-statue still. My neck prickled, and I scanned the area for threats. Except for the chipmunk watching us curiously from his perch on a branch above our heads, I didn’t notice anyone or anything round us.

  Then I saw that Buddy’s black eyes were focused on the cotton scrap of my briefs and not on our surroundings. Oh….

  Deciding that discretion was the better part of… something… I twisted sideways in a vain attempt to keep from showing off all my goods, and quickly tugged the tight fabric from my body. While my shift wasn’t quite as quick as Buddy’s had been, I wasted no time in taking on my four-legged form.

  I had never really figured out the right words to describe what it was like to exist in my fox skin. Everything around me was cleaner, sharper. Scents and sounds took on a level of clarity I couldn’t experience in with human senses. It was more than that, though. There were textures and layers that turned into a complex web of sensory details that should have been overwhelming but instead were comforting. Each aroma had depth and history. The chipmunk standing vigil didn’t only smell like just one tree-climbing rodent. I could tell that she had young, maybe two or three pups, hidden nearby. She was wary of the larger predators, but not yet panicked. We must not have been too close to her den. All of that was carried in a single whiff of scent.

  Thoughts were both more complex and simpler in this body. I knew on some level there were worries and ambitions and emotions weighing on me, but they were distant, filtered through the fox’s more basic priorities and drives. Seconds ago, human-me had been just as wary of the apex predator in our midst as the chipmunk had been. Now, with the fox’s instincts, I felt safe and protected. And that goofy grizzly looked like the ultimate jungle gym. I yipped, bounding forward until I could nip at Buddy’s side. His earthy, granite scent enveloped me, stronger in this form, and I wanted to burrow in it. I bounced back, tongue lolling out past my teeth.

  Buddy cocked his head and peered at me.

  I leaped forward, then scrambled up his furry torso to swipe a lick across his snout, unconcerned by the fact that he could probably bite my head off. Literally. I dove off him, spun in place near his monstrous paws, and yipped again.

  He huffed.

  I grinned a foxy grin.

  He rumbled, rocking forward until he stood on four paws again, rather than sitting on his butt. He lowered his head until we were nearly eye to eye. His prehensile lips twitched, causing me to still in gleeful anticipation.

  Faster than I would have guessed, he swung his foreleg around, pinning me to the ground with a paw the size of my chest. My heart beat furiously, but in giddy thrill, not nerves. No, I trusted Buddy not to hurt me, even in this form. He leaned down, pressed his big black nose against mine. I held my breath, practically quivering. He snorted, which tickled, then dragged his own much larger tongue across my face.

  I shook my head in disgust and tried to wriggle away. Of course, with him holding me down, I wasn’t going anywhere. Not lifting his restraining paw, Buddy sprawled out next to me, then proceeded to groom me. I chittered at him, which was about the extent of my options at that point, but he ignored me. He made sure to attend to every inch of fur on my smaller body. I didn’t really object to the attentions. There was something comforting about it, having someone take care of me, of being the center of someone’s attention. Even if the attention came in the form of a tongue bath by an animal ten times my size.

  A few minutes later—though time was not something my simpler consciousness could fully grasp—he released me. I jumped to my feet, raced a couple of circles around him, then yipped. I wanted to explore the unfamiliar woods, to run and play.

  He lumbered to his feet, falling in behind me. I followed my nose, letting the new scents and textures act as my guide.

  A loud pop in the distance—something my muted human senses recognized as benign, though I couldn’t quite bring the exact cause of the noise to the forefront of my brain—distracted Buddy long enough for me to sneak past a bush and into the hollow center of a rotting tree. I hunkered down, listening for the snap of twigs or the grumbling of an exasperated grizzly bear to tell me when Buddy got close. The plan was to spring out at him as he walked past. A childish trick, something cubs might do when learning to track and hunt. While I would never be able to knock down something Buddy’s size, if I planned it right, I might get a slight jolt of surprise out of him.

  Problem was, I didn’t hear the snap of twig or the grumbling of an exasperated grizzly bear. In fact, mo
st of the sounds of the woods had disappeared, replaced by a weighty silence that had fur prickling at the scruff of my neck. I scooted forward in my hollow tree trunk until I could peer out through a crack in the wood.

  I caught a glimpse of deep brown fur with platinum tips hunkered down behind a leafy green bush several yards away from me. There wasn’t enough foliage to provide much cover for something Buddy’s size, but he was using what was there to his best advantage. What I couldn’t figure out yet was why he’d even made the attempt at hiding. His hackles were raised, though, and his utter stillness told me he wasn’t playing cub games.

  Was he worried about the sound we’d heard? A car backfiring, my brain finally filled in.

  His eyes met mine, proving he’d known all along where I was hiding. His snout dipped down, a shallow, nearly imperceptible instruction for me to stay down. Normally I would ignore such an order. A backfiring car was not a threat to either one of us.

  Then I thought about the surrounding quiet.

  No, a backfiring car wasn’t enough to warrant caution. Whatever brought the small forest to a halt was probably enough.

  I strained my ears, listening for any clue to explain our current tableau.

  Then I caught it. A smallest whiff of odor that didn’t belong. I hadn’t paid much attention to the metal and musk scent at first. Everything had the artificial pall of iron, rubber, and gasoline around here. The hallmarks of being so close to an urban center. But this scent stood out above the others, localized and concentrated in such a way that it clearly didn’t belong in this wooded area.

  A shuffling of sound, something I might have mistaken for a breeze ruffling the canopy of leaves over my head if my senses hadn’t been dialed up to ten, ghosted into my awareness. A puff of breath, an inhalation. A creak of leather and the soft plod of thick soles hitting damp soil.

  Not hikers. Not the older women and their aluminum walking sticks. They wouldn’t have taken such care to go unheard. Hunters? In a public park practically surrounded by the city of Chicago? That seemed unlikely.