But I’ll always have that night to remember and now I roll over on my back again and relive the night; the moment we kissed and that instant of realization as I thrust myself inside her. I stroke myself and it’s so unsatisfying that I might as well be thinking about a tree or a stick. I get off and it only makes me hungry for the real thing.
Resisting Carrie is going to be an incredible chore.
I’m thinking about last night as I work. I’m washing out glasses, tabulating bills, and replacing the kegs on tap as usual and my mind is lost, thinking about Carrie. I know she works at the diner. I almost stopped to say hello that afternoon like some lovesick pup and only stopped myself at the last second. I ended up sitting on the dock, looking out on the water and smoking. This town can seem so grim but it looks out on the Gulf of Alaska and the mountains on the other side. It’s beautiful once you take a second to look at it. It’s strange to think this tragic seeming little town exists in such a gorgeous landscape. It makes me wonder exactly why it’s so tragic seeming. There’s something here, some kind of darkness. I guess it has to do with the alpha Carrie was talking about. I really don’t want to have to find out about it. I’d rather just keep my head down and try to build a decent life of my own, as far from my own past as possible. That’s the best a lone wolf like me can hope for.
“We had the table next,” a voice bellows now in the middle of Casey’s. “Those are our goddamn quarters.”
“Well, I didn’t see your goddamn quarters, asshole. So I guess we got next.”
“Bullshit!”
I glance up and look around. Gary stepped out and there’s two guys about to go at it over a stupid pool table. They’re regulars, both of them, and this being a small town I have to think they already have a beef with each other and that this isn’t really about the pool tables. The same thing happened in Hardwidge all the time and, time was, I would have been egging them on. But now, as bar-back, one of my unofficial duties is security. Gary would rather not have to scrub blood off the floor as in a shifter town, that outcome is not only plausible but probably pretty common.
“You want to make somethin’ of it, Harold!” It’s Al talking. They’re both older guys but they’re tall and a little broad. They’re definitely not too old to fight and I’m pretty sure they’re about to.
Harold pounds his chest and gets in Al’s face and the rest of the patrons hoot and stand to get a good view of what might be a promising fight.
“You’re goddamn right I do, Al! You son of a bitch!”
Al scowls at Harold and whispers, “I fucked your mate, Harold.”
Aw, shit.
Then it’s on. They both shift and pounce at each other. Everyone’s shouting and cheering for whoever they’re cheering for. I heave a sigh, shift, and jump into the fray to break it up. It’s not exactly difficult. Say what you will about Hardwidge, it taught you how to fight hard, and these two guys are pretty soft. I’m quick on my feet, plunging right between the two of them and whipping around to get Al’s neck in my jaws. I only hold him there, it’s not like I’m going to kill him but I’m letting him know I could if I wanted to. He resists and squirms for a second and I’m aware of Harold, tensed and ready to attack depending on how this goes. But I know how this goes. I tighten my hold on Al when he moves, just barely drawing blood. Al goes stiff and then whines, lowering his head. I hear disappointed boos around me but I ignore that. Nobody’s going to challenge me and if they do, they’re going to have bigger problems on their hand than a silly bar fight. Al’s practically limp, wholly submitted to me, and I let him go, springing back to face Harold who quickly lowers his head.
Done and done.
It’s oddly satisfying to stop a fight. I’ve always been the one to start them before. Now the three of us shift back. Al and Harold look completely humiliated and Al rubs his neck. The two of them scowl at each other but they give me sheepish looks as they separate to join their friends.
I point between them and say, “Any more trouble like that, you’re out of the bar, get me?”
They nod and agree and when I go back to the bar Gary actually applauds.
“Can’t be so useful like that,” Gary says wryly. “I can’t afford to give you a raise yet.”
“It’s no problem,” I say, shrugging. I come around the bar and go to the sink to rinse my mouth out because it tastes like greasy fur. Gary gives me a finger of whiskey and hands it over and I nod gratefully, taking a sip. It burns pleasantly going down. I wipe my hands on my apron and go back to swapping out a tab.
“You been in a lot of fights in your life?” Gary says, leaning against the counter and watching me work.
“Uh...yeah. Probably.”
“Hmm.” Gary nods and when I look at him he seems slightly bothered.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs and scratches his head. “Look, if somebody approaches you about fighting in The Ring? Don’t do it. That’s my advice. But if you’re good, you probably won’t have a choice.”
“I’ve heard of that before,” I say, attaching the nozzle of the new keg to the tap hose. “What is that? The Ring?”
“It’s trouble,” Gary says, sighing. “That’s what it is.” Somebody orders a drink at the bar and Gary goes to mixing a cocktail and I frown.
It’s not even an hour later when Gary is proven right. It’s Al himself who plops down in front of me at the bar. He only orders a beer so I pour him the pint. He leans on his hand, looking sleepy eyed.
“Sorry about that bullshit,” Al says shrugging. I glance at the red tooth marks at his neck. A couple of them obviously bled but they seemed to have stopped, yet they’re still crusty with blood. He should bandage it up. “It’s bad blood going back a long time. Only comes up when we’re both being drunk and stupid. The rest of the time we’re fine.”
“It happens,” I say, shrugging. It’s not as if I have the right to judge anyone.
“You’re a good fighter.”
I’m almost starting to regret showing my skills to everyone so publicly like that if it’s going to be some kind of issue. Al is giving me an appraising look and now he takes a sip of the pint I’ve poured him before pointing at me. “You ever think about fighting in The Ring?”
I have to laugh and I shake my head. “For the love of God, what is The Ring?”
Al throws his head back and laughs at that. “It’s this town. It’s everything. Underneath the only other bar in town. Got no name on it, it’s just a gray box of a building at the end of town. Head over there at ten tomorrow night and follow the crowd and you’ll find out what The Ring is.”
Al settles up his tab and takes his beer back to his friends and now I’m left contemplating whether I want to find out what The Ring is at all. I haven’t been in town long, but I’m getting the feeling whatever it is, I’m going to find out soon enough, even if Gary thinks the longer I stay away from it the better. For the last few hours of my shift my thoughts keep bouncing between The Ring and Carrie and I start to wonder if she’s tied up in it. Maybe that explains why that guy was trying to fight her.
After work, I go on a long walk even though it’s cold as hell outside. I head to the lonelier end of town and shift, trotting along the sidewalk on the empty little streets, and wishing I could have Carrie in my bed again. But I said it would be a one-time thing and she listened. I don’t exactly have cause to complain and it’s for the best anyway.
But she’s my mate.
I don’t remember ever having a thought that felt so true but I shove it to the back of my mind and run home. I’ve had enough sulking for one night.
The next day, I don’t have to work. It makes me a little edgy. I’m starting to think I should go to the docks and see if I can pick up some extra part-time labor. With nothing much to do with my time, I’m all too tempted to go looking for Carrie. Instead I head out to the woods. I’ve heard enough about the hunters and how they work to figure I can be careful and get around on my own.
Aft
er so long, the woods feel like a blessed relief. I keep close enough to town and I smell some familiar scents out here. I figure I can get a feel for the woods and gradually learn how to avoid the hunters. It’s just better to do it in daylight. I run around, and the cold is just right; crisp and refreshing as I stretch my legs and run and leap. I chow down on a deer and it tastes better than anything I’ve had in awhile. I let myself spend as long as I like out and when I finally head home, I feel good. When I get home, I shower and dress and putter around for a while, doing nothing much. I really need to get one of those little TVs or even a computer, just to have something to spend my time on. The night wears on and I finally get too bored and with a little extra money in my pocket I find myself walking to the diner for a late dinner, pretending that I’m not really going to find Carrie.
I take a seat in a booth by the window but I don’t see Carrie anywhere. For the best, I know. A plump redhead comes to take my order and I find myself blurting out, “Is Carrie working today?”
“You just missed her, doll,” Stacia says. “She’s headed over to The Ring.”
The Ring! Aha. Well, that settles that. I’m definitely going to check out The Ring now if only to satisfy my curiosity. I order myself French toast because it sounds fancy, like something rich humans must eat, and I don’t need much right now anyway with my belly full of deer. I have a leisurely breakfast for dinner. I find a newspaper sitting around and read about how humans are messing up the world as I work through my French toast which, it turns out, is much better with coffee. At a quarter to ten, I settle up and head over to that little gray building Al directed me to. It doesn’t have a name on it or anything. It’s totally non descript. When I get there, a crowd is already forming. It seems like half the town is here. I follow them inside where the bar is much trashier and dirtier than Casey’s and I can’t imagine what’s so exciting or how everyone’s going to fit in this little room but then everyone quickly heads to the back as they talk and laugh and hoot, their rumbling a kind of thunder. I follow everyone down two flights of stairs, through a corridor and then it lets out into a huge high-ceilinged room with a giant cage in the middle, surrounded by half filled bleachers, lights flashing all around, I think I start to understand.
I figured it all had something to do with fighting, but as I take a seat and watch guys hawk popcorn and hot dogs as men and women alike laugh and talk about bets and fighters, it all seems alien to me. We used to fight each other at Hardwidge all the time but it seemed more natural in the woods. Even considering how much shifters normally assimilate to human life, this seems like some unholy combination of the two worlds.
I’ve apparently come right on time. I get a seat in the third row, plenty close to the cage that sits on a big circular platform in the middle. I lean on my knees and glance around. Not a wolf in sight, but I guess it won’t be long now as the overhead lights dim and the spotlights dance around the room as booming music plays. A man in a shiny black suit, smoking a cigar walks out and everyone cheers. Although when I look around everyone looks kind of chagrined at the sight of him. The cheering is obviously expected, perhaps required. Nobody looks very happy to see this guy.
“GRAYLING, ALASKA!” The man speaks through a megaphone. “Are you ready to meet your fighters!” He raises his arms to rile up the crowd, who seems much more excited by the prospect of the fighters than this guy.
I nudge the man next to me and nod at the guy with the cigar. “Who is that guy?”
The man looks at me like I’m crazy for a second and then just laughs. “New in town, eh? That’s our alpha, Remmy. Whatever you do, don’t cross him.”
My mouth drops open at that. Remmy riles up the crowd until they’re thundering and then calls out the fighters and ten wolves come running out from the back between two sets of bleachers.
The rest of what happens is about what I expected and as surreal as it all seems, it does rile up my old blood thirst even as it makes me feel a little sick. Everyone around me is placing bets on the fights. And the fights get brutal. A few end quickly enough; one wolf gets another in a hold just like I did and they submit. But a few get bloody as hell and a couple wolves have to be carried out on a stretcher. Everyone is a favorite and everyone knows just who they’re rooting for.
I’m feeling conflicted and I chew my lips, trying to figure out how I feel about this shit. The thing is, I’ll bet the fighters make some good money up there but there must also be a reason Gary told me to stay away and nobody seems very fond of the alpha who’s running the whole show. Still, I’d be so good at it and I haven’t been good at anything but washing pint glasses in a really long time… The noise and commotion is getting to be a lot and I trot upstairs to get some air and smoke outside.
Out behind The Ring, leaning up against the wall in the parking lot, my heart skips a beat because it’s stupid and has not been listening to my brain. Carrie is there. She’s wearing dark denim skirt and boots and a leather jacket this time. I want to eat her up.
I try to be cool and toss her a nod and she grins over at me. “Hey, stranger.”
I walk right up to her and lean next to her, lighting a smoke. “So you come down here and watch the fights too?” I say to her. I’m starting to wonder if she actually fights but it doesn’t seem like something she’d do as tough as she is.
She gets a funny look on her face when I say that and shrugs. She looks away and I can’t read her. “Sometimes,” she murmurs.
We smoke and just kind of stand there, inching closer to each other, and I have to shut my eyes. She’s pressed up against me and I can hear her breath, her scent making me hard in my jeans. I feel her eyes on me and I drop my cigarette.
“I looked for you at the diner,” I say, mumbling and feeling stupid and shy. “Was lookin’ for you.”
I turn my head and watch Carrie drop her cigarette and turn to face me. “Well, you found me.”
My lips twitch and I’m not thinking about anything when I grab the lapels of her jacket and kiss her. I’m not thinking about my guilt or trying to be someone better or right or wrong or any of that. There’s no room for thought. There’s only her and me out here in the cold, our bodies pressed together, her warm, soft lips on mine. Carrie is all in and her hands reach under my jacket and under my shirt, her cold palms pressing against my skin.
We kiss hard and messy but somehow it’s perfect and I lean back and look at the question in her eyes and when she nods, my hands go to her fly. Her stomach is firm, but it quivers and her breath is short as I unbutton her skirt and unzip her. I plunge my tongue in her mouth and my hand disappears down her pants, inside her panties. She moans into my mouth and I find her clit with my middle finger and press there as she pulls me closer and then reaches down to palm my crotch. I finger her and nip at her neck, the world around us disappearing. It’s dirty and hot and yet it feels like I’m floating as I scramble to unbuckle my belt, dizzy with Carrie’s breath and lips and tongue. She reaches down to give my cock a few strokes when I take it out but then I’m lifting her, my biceps flexing as she hikes up her skirt and wraps her legs around me. I thrust inside her all at once and she throws her head back as I brace her against the wall.
I have that feeling again as if the two of us are one person and I’ve never in my life cried during sex, could never have imagined I’d be the type to. But now I feel tears leaking from my eyes as I lean back and we stare at each other as I thrust and press and push, wanting to be ever deeper inside her as she cups my cheeks between her palms and gives me that pleading, adoring look like she gave me the other night.
“My mate,” she whispers.
“Oh fuck,” I mumble, and then I’m coming hard and almost painfully inside her as she clenches around me and screams into my neck.
My mate, my mate…
Chapter Eight: Jason
Carrie and I part that night on unsettled terms. We don’t talk about it. We certainly don’t talk about the “mate” thing. We stand there a while, smoking and
unwilling to part company, but she leans into me and I let her. I smell her hair and we smoke and I feel like there’s some understanding between us, like we both know this is real but we’re both also terrified of it.
Finally, Carrie just says, “I’ll see you later, Jason.” Then she walks back inside and I watch her go.
I watch the rest of the fights that night and I find myself rooting for a particular fighter. I rub my chin and think about what if I fought… My intention has been to keep my head down, but it felt good to settle that fight in the bar. I miss feeling powerful and at least these aren’t really real fights, right? No one’s getting killed that night even though a couple wolves are getting the absolute stuffing beaten out of them.
If I’m honest, it wouldn't feel awful having a crowd cheer for me either.
But I remember Gary’s warning and what Carrie said about Remmy. It keeps me thinking that night as does that impulsive rendezvous with Carrie. That night I collapse into bed after leaving The Ring. Again, I wish Carrie was in bed with me. I want to sleep that well again.
The next night is another night I’m not working. I skulk around, looking for Carrie. I’m starting to think she’s a hard girl to find unless she wants to be found. At around seven, I find myself thinking of Al telling me I should fight in The Ring. It’s exactly the kind of thing I shouldn’t be doing. I should be keeping my head down, building my little life. But the young, stupid part of me that still loves attention and has been asleep for a couple of years seems to be making my feet move in the direction of The Ring.
Nobody stops me as I make my way downstairs. The place looks a lot different before showtime. All the overhead lights are on, and some of the bleachers are folded up against the wall. Some guys are sitting at a table, apparently doing paperwork and counting money. I see Remmy sitting on the bleachers across the room talking to two people. I see two wolves trot to a backroom and when I peak through the big, wide doorway I see people working out in there.
Jason's Mate Page 7
