Greyriver Shifters

by Kristina Weaver

  There are pizza boxes everywhere, on every conceivable surface available. The hall table is crammed, the living room is…oh my God there are no words to explain it. All I can say is it looks like someone set off a garbage bomb in there. The stairs, the living room, everywhere has clothes hanging off something, and the smell, dear God in heaven I have never smelled anything like this.

  It’s not that it’s garbage, although that is part of it, definitely part of it. No, what hits me the most is definitely socks. I smell socks of every single odor known to mankind.

  I’m barely breathing as I step through the clothes pile beside the living room arch and take in…chaos. That’s all it is. Chaos. Clothes, beer cans, and pizza boxes. Empty take-out cartons. Shoes. A carton of milk I refuse to go near because I can smell the sour from here and I just came off the flu.

  Don’t run.

  I hear that voice, the desperation in her demand for a promise and have to stop myself from going over to Hannah’s and yelling bad, bad things at her.

  I want to but, hell, she got me a job, apparently the only job available in these parts. Beggars can’t be choosers, I remind myself, swallowing when the enormity of this project hits me.

  I can do it. I can do it. I can so do it! Just as soon as I open every window and door and air the place out. Springing into action for my own survival, I dive for the window and spend the next ten minutes standing on the back porch, eyeing the kitchen balefully from the side of my eye.

  Did I think the front of the house was bad? I should have just let Gregor bite me and tear me to shreds.

  I give that thought about five seconds of air time before my natural sense of adventure returns, and I roll up my designer sleeves with a determined breath.

  I can so do this. Stalking inside, door still open because I want to live now that I have a life to look forward to, I take in the kitchen and decide to get the worst out of the way first. Dishes. I start sorting cups, bowls, and plates, stacking them in categories on the counter nearest the dishwasher. The first load goes in, and I fill the sink with hot soapy water and leave two pots to soak, hoping the expensive stuff is salvable now.

  When that’s done, I go around the side of the house and wrestle a garbage can through the leaves and up the back steps into the kitchen. Then I just start tearing pizza boxes and tossing junk.

  By the time the first load of dishes is done and I have another garbage can filled with junk, I can actually see the top of one counter. Gross. That’s about two hours of elbow grease right there, I think, preparing to hunt for rubber gloves or go to the store if I can’t find any.

  It’s while I’m bent over, rifling in the cabinet beneath the sink that I feel someone watching me and turn.

  “Aaaaaaiieeeeooooh!”

  The scream leaves me at a pitch and volume that makes me lightheaded when I see the biggest, hairiest man I have ever, ever seen in my life standing in the kitchen doorway, electric blue eyes trained on me the way a dog watches a bone.

  My heart is pounding so hard by the time the last vowel leaves me I have to bend and grab my knees to keep myself from passing out.

  “God, oh God, you scared the shit out of me!” I yell, collapsing back against the counter when the big guy just stares, mutely, not making a sound.

  Now that I’m over my freak out, still breathing, barely, and my head doesn’t feel like it’s ready to pop I take a minute to look him over, and man oh man, it is not pretty.

  He has hair, long dark hair that looks like it needs a de-weeding falling to his shoulders. His face, shoulders, and arms are covered in what I can only call a pelt, and his beard is long enough to reach his chest.

  Holy Mary, someone call the Discovery people, I think I just discovered Sasquatch.

  “Er, uh Hi! Hi, my name is Cass. I uh, I’m your maid, I guess. Anyway, I uh, didn’t know you were here. My friend Hannah said you knew I was coming and to just let myself in so, here I am! And uh, it’s nice to meet you?” I say, swallowing when he doesn’t say a word in reply.

  Okay, weird, but I can roll with it, I think, blowing out a hard breath to free the last bit of air trapped in my lungs.

  “Clean.”

  His voice sounds like rocks over a cheese grater, harsh and aggressive, but me being me, well, I don’t take it any which way, just nod and look around, wondering very seriously if I can hurry this up and do something about the hair the guy is sporting.

  I mean, I just have to. I need to. That amount of hair is just wrong.

  “So uh, I’m going to continue here, I guess. I was just looking for gloves. Rubber gloves?” I ask, peeking down into the cabinet again with a hope that is short lived when all I see is dust and bare space.

  Okay. Cleaning supplies. I need supplies, and maybe a Hazmat suit.

  Don’t be mean, Cass. This is a job. If the place was spotless, you wouldn’t have a job to do, I remind myself, finding that lining like the champ I am. Good job Kepner!

  Mr. Hairy cocks his head, peers around me at the open cabinet, and straightens again to look back at me. I have no idea what to do in situations like this, never having come face to face with a real-life Sasquatch before, but this I can tell you, I am so ready for the challenge.

  “Um, there is nothing. That’s okay! It’s all good. I’ll just run down to the store and stock up on cleaning supplies. No big deal,” I say cheerily, sliding to the left to grab the full garbage can and drag it outside before I leave for the store.

  Ten seconds into grunting under the weight and I squeak when I feel myself gently shoved to the side before he grabs the can with one hand, one, and then lifts, as if it weighs nothing.

  I’m so impressed it takes me a few blinks to realize he’s waiting for me, so I scuttle out the door and walk to where the trash cans are kept, watching him put the one he has down before using a finger to lift another empty one.

  “Help.”

  Maybe he’s a foreigner? I can deal. Maybe use a lot of hand signals to communicate.

  “Great! Why don’t you bring that back inside, and I’ll fill this with the last of the trash before I go and get some cleaning supplies. What’s your name by the way? Naaaame. Me, Cass.” I grunt, slapping a hand to my chest to indicate it’s my name.

  He grunts, narrowing his eyes, and stares at me for a good minute before slapping his own chest.

  “Lync.”

  “Oh great. That is a great name! I always wanted an unusual name, but my mom said I got life, I should be satisfied. So Lync, your house is uh, big,” I say, trying to err on the side of polite instead of telling him it’s a hovel!

  He stops just inside the door and cocks his head before shaking it violently and snarling.

  “No!”

  “No, it’s not great?” I say slowly, grabbing a bunch of cans and taking the trash can with me when I move through the kitchen and into the living room that is directly attached to it with the open plan.

  “Home,” he says again, shaking his head violently and looking around. “No.”

  I see him shudder, as if the thought of me thinking this is his upsets him. I see the disgust on his face, and it hits me.

  “Oh! This isn’t your place? Are you staying here for a while?”

  He nods before bending to grab a bottle from the floor, his huge hand engulfing the thing entirely.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. So, do you like Montana?”

  Another nod, though I hardly see movement because he just has so much hair it’s like looking at Cousin It. I bet he’s hot under all that hair. Physically. I mean, he must be sweltering under all that hair. I have no idea what he looks like, but even if he’s weird looking, it has got to be better than what he’s got going on.

  Maybe his people are into hair?

  “That’s great. I come from California. You know Cali? No? Well, it’s really different down there. It’s hot and dry; it doesn’t snow in winter; and it never ever gets this cold. Well, I mean it’s not that cold now seeing as the seasons are changing,
but I was driving through Wyoming, just a little ways mind you, and it was cold as balls down there. Brrr!” I say, shaking just thinking about all that cold.

  Lync just snorts and keeps shoving cans and bottles into the trash can, his massive body looking hilarious in a pair of jeans that are about a size too big and kept up by a belt. His shirt, a blue-and-green plaid hangs to around his ass. Good ass. Though for his size, I’d expect him to be at least as broad as Banner.

  “Nope. I am so not thinking about that guy,” I mutter, making Lync stop and stare at me. “Oh nothing, sorry just talking to myself. I do that sometimes.”

  He grunts, probably his way of acknowledging how weird that is, and we keep filling the trash can until finally, the place is free of trash. It still looks awful, let me be clear about that. There are clothes scattered everywhere making me wonder how this guy, whoever it is and Lync live here.

  I don’t comment though because that would be mean, and I’m just happy to have this job at all. When I shove the lid on the trash can, Lync lifts it again, his muscles not straining at all, and carries it out back.

  While he’s gone, I start tossing dirty clothes into one pile, and by the time he gets back, I have a nice pile going and can see the couch. Hmm, grey suede. I like it.

  I hardly pay attention to anything else until I see my big hairy partner in grime helping me out. His silence is not uncomfortable, something that surprises me because I would usually not be all that easy around a stranger this big, but for some reason, I seem to trust the big man, as if some part of me knows he’s cool.

  Well, he must be, I think, he hasn’t tried to snap me with his pinkie yet.

  “You have any idea where the laundry baskets are?” I ask hopefully, receiving a blank stare. “That’s okay! We can find them together. Say Lync, is your uh, hair like a religious thing?”

  He doesn’t respond, just cocks his head again and makes my mouth twitch, wondering if I could catch him while he’s sleeping and take care of all that bush.

  Whew, must be itchy as hell in there. Wherever he is under all that rug.

  “Okay, so not a religious thing? Maybe it’s cultural? A sign of masculinity?”

  No answer comes forth, so I shrug and move to the stairs, taking them up to a hallway that has a lot of doors, a lot. Look on the bright side, Kepner, at least you’ll be employed for another three months, give or take a few weeks, just to get through all this space.

  Lync follows silently, watching my every move. I take my time, opening doors to see a few guest rooms and some empty rooms until I get to one door that Lync refuses to let me open.

  “Mine.”

  “Um, okay. But I need to look in there, okay? It’s my job to clean, and I have to clean it all. Please?”

  He grunts, the sound a huff of irritation and lets me open the door. I almost growl myself when I see an empty room with a pile of blankets on the floor, obviously his bed or what he calls a bed.

  I don’t want to be judgemental here, but this is just not right, and I tell him so.

  “There are at least three beds in other rooms, Lync. Why are you in here, an empty room, sleeping on the floor when you could move into another space and have a bed?”

  “Protect.”

  “Protect whom?” I huff, my hands going to my hips as I survey the space and try to figure it all out.

  It just doesn’t make sense to me unless he’s never had a bed before. But still, a bed is a bed. It’s soft and comfy and way better than a few blankets and a hard floor.

  “Friend.”

  “Aaaaw, that is so sweet,” I coo, lifting a hand to touch his arm.

  The guy jumps back, reacting as if I just tried to stab him, and I flinch, taking a step, my eyes going wide when he growls, a real growl that makes my heart pound violently.

  “Oh goodness, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to show you how sweet that is.”

  Lync chuffs, the sound animalistic and looks down at his arm with a strange frown that I see only because the only part of him not covered in a bajillion tons of hair is his forehead.

  Weird, but so fixable, I muse, tapping my cheek as I take in his appearance and plan.

  “Touch.”

  “Yeah, sorry I will not do that again if you’re gonna freak out. Trust me. You sound super scary when you snarl and growl at me. So, uh, let’s go find those baskets.”

  Turning, I walk out of the room and seriously scream my head off when I open the last door that leads into the master and see—

  “Sweet Jesus almighty. Who lives here? It’s so, so, this just isn’t right. The poor man.” I breathe when I see a bed that hasn’t been made with clean linens in probably years, more clothes, good God who has this many clothes?

  And socks. I smell them, feel my skin crawl, and know deep inside myself that I cannot possibly lose this job even if I burn part of the house down because no one else, I mean no one saner than I am, would ever clean this up.

  Lync grunts as he steps up beside me, his huge body twisting as he takes in the mess with a huff.

  “Do?”

  “I should strike a match and save myself, but I suppose it needs cleaning too, big guy. Alright. Let’s find those baskets. Oh, what am I saying, you really don’t have to do this with me. It’s my job after all, though God knows how I’ll get all of this into the laundry.”

  I mutter to myself as I walk into the bathroom and find two baskets all full. Well heck, I’ll have to wash the clothes to use the baskets. I hope this guy at least has detergent.

  Going to grab one, I feel big hands grab my hips, lift me and set me down to the side before Lync grabs one basket in each hand and grunts at me to lead. I giggle, really amazed at his strength.

  Maybe he’s a body builder?

  Shaking my head, I walk out of the room and downstairs where it takes me a second to ascertain that the laundry is in the basement. Lync follows me down and sets the baskets down beside two huge washer and drier combos, those expensive machines that do both in one cycle. Sweet.

  I look around, liking that it isn’t a dark and dank scary space, as basements usually are. This place, like the rest of the house, is built like a cabin, but has dry wall and is painted a soft creamy white with wood floors underfoot.

  It has a whole bunch of boxes and clutter in one corner, but otherwise I can so come down here by myself without getting the willies. Great. I start sorting laundry while Lync watches with interest and throw in a huge load of colors before pouring in detergent and softener and setting it to start.

  The other machine gets darks, and by the time both are going, I have the whites in a pile in front of the machines and I’m ready to head up and start collecting clothes again.

  Lync just follows and watches me, taking the baskets after I collect the living room stuff and the stuff upstairs, including the linens. He then takes it down to the basement and comes back up just as I discover a cupboard under the stairs where the cleaning supplies are stored.

  “Great! This means I won’t have to go to the store.”

  He doesn’t respond, just watches me wipe down a counter where I stack the clean dishes and load the washer again. I make quick work of tidying and cleaning out the cabinets before I put away dishes and glasses, washing down the counters, just generally trying to get some order out of the madness.

  I talk the whole time, telling Lync about my life, my mom, the way I always wanted to live in a cabin but nixed that idea when I found out about spiders.

  He huffs as if my ramblings amuse him, and by the time noon rolls around, the kitchen is looking better. I still have to scrub down cabinet doors and dust and vacuum and mop, a real clean, but as it stands I can at least stand to look at the place without getting the crawlies.

  I’m hungry though, and from the look of Lync, as big as he is in stature, the guy could use food too. Only, the fridge is a bio hazard when I open it and the cabinets are bare.

  “Well shoot. I wanted to make us some lunch, but I guess wer
e out of—”

  I stop when I turn to see him striding out of the backdoor and shrug, thinking maybe he’s had enough amusement for the day. I keep working for the next while, maybe about thirty minutes when I hear something thud on the table behind me and turn to see a skinned animal laying on the wood.

  Looking up I blink back at Lync, my mouth opening and closing before I stop and breathe deeply.

  “Er, what is that?”

  “Food. Cass. Hungry.”

  I grin, taking the carcass despite my squeamishness, and know something that I like.

  I just made a new friend.

  Chapter Ten

  Banner

  I step onto the porch, my ass dragging, and think about going over to Mom’s to avoid walking in and having to see Lync. The male is a silent, ever-watchful presence that makes me feel like a failure to one more person I should be protecting.

  He doesn’t eat here with me, preferring to go out and catch is own food, which he eats out there in the woods. He doesn’t live like a man, but sleeps in a corner of a room on a pallet of blankets that he let me give him only after a long argument.

  He isn’t making any progress, and while in my head I know all he needs is time, I don’t have the patience for that. Seeing a male I once knew, one I saw daily when I first made it into the enforcers, lost and unable to find his mind…

  It hurts me. And scares me. That could be any one of us, our lives gone, taken over by pain and grief because of the death of a Fated mate. Seeing him this way and knowing that before Hannah released him he’d been locked up for almost six years due to his feral state, isn’t easy.

  Especially for me because what I see is a male who is me, strong of will and mind but constantly fighting his animal. That could be me, so easily, so much more easily because I have two animals, who are always battling inside me, pressing forward, wanting out so they can rule.

  Right now, they’re a fuming presence in my head, snarling and pushing because they want me to mate my Fated and I won’t. I want to, God knows I can’t keep going like this, needing, depriving myself, losing sleep because working keeps me stable where nothing else can.