Blood Heat

by Maria Lima

  A couple of boys pushed by us and loped down the seats to the fourth row. They and their companions were wearing matching T-shirts, not FFA but some other club. White shirts with some sort of gold logo. Brotherhood of something.

  “Hey, Dixxi, what’s that group?”

  “The shirt says Brotherhood of the White Rock,” Adam said from behind me.

  “Them,” Dixxi spat. “Some stupid macho church group. They tried to get Gregor to join earlier in the year. Thing is, Robert Earl Miller, the assistant coach, helps recruit kids from the team to the cause. That’s all we need around here. Football boys with all the testosterone and ’roid rage joining up to some macho gang. I don’t like them.”

  “A macho church group?” Adam asked. “Aren’t they supposed to be about community service?”

  “Ha, yeah, right,” Dixxi said. “They do that, but they’re all white kids with attitude. Hardly any black kids around here, not a one in this school, but there are what they call ‘mescans’—and I haven’t yet seen Coach Miller or any of the so-called adult mentors asking them to take part in the group.”

  “A little prejudiced?”

  “Ya think? Soon as Gregor started school, they were all over him about joining. He’s not typical of the clean-cut white boy, but he’s very handsome. Those girls in school are always all over him, flirting. Cheerleaders, pep squad. Other boys weren’t too happy with that, but then the coach asked him to join the Brotherhood … I think as a way to keep the team from fighting with him, ’cause mostly, those girls were their girlfriends.”

  “Did he join?” I asked. I just couldn’t see any of the wer attending religious services. I didn’t know much about the church, but it was probably fairly typical for the region: a small-town conservative Christian place, preaching against the different.

  “Ha, not even. He’s pretty indifferent to them all. They’re not pack. See that girl down there?” Dixxi points out a cute blonde in a cheerleader uniform leading a section of the stands in a cheer. “That’s Coach Miller’s one and only,” she said.

  “He’s cheating on his wife with her? No way. She’s all of what? Fifteen?”

  Dixxi laughed as she heard the horrified tone in my voice. “No, you fool. His daughter. Only child and spoiled rotten. She had the most ridiculous crush on Gregor last semester. Then, when he wouldn’t go out with her, she totally and completely went gaga over Luka.” Dixxi then pointed out one of the players. “See there, number fifty, on the bench?”

  My eyes practically bugged out of my head. The boy was turned toward the stands, waving at us. If Gregor was drop-dead gorgeous, this one jumped right over “gorgeous” and landed squarely in too-beautiful-to-believe territory. He could be at least a year older than Gregor, his features fully adult. Long blond hair braided tightly down the back of his head in order to fit into the helmet. I couldn’t see his eye color from here, but his pale skin definitely spoke of the traditional Nordic roots for wer.

  “One of yours, I gather,” I said.

  “You can tell?” Bea asked as she scooted up to us and sat. “Marcus adopted him last year.” She frowned. “Though I suppose that means something else?”

  “You told her,” Dixxi said, her expression a mix of surprise and acceptance.

  “I had to.”

  “Fair enough.” She nodded.

  I answered Bea’s question. “I can tell a lot of things now. Besides the hair and the amazing looks, he feels like a predator—the good kind.”

  Bea shook her head and gave me a weak chuckle. “Only you.”

  “You doing okay there, chica?” I asked.

  “Yeah, best as I can be,” she answered. “Dixxi, I take it you know?”

  Dixxi shrugged and leaned over me to pat her on the knee. “I kind of figured it out,” she said.

  “Yeah, okay then.” Bea turned her attention back to the boy on the bench. “Tell us about him,” she said, changing the subject.

  “He’s from Canada,” Dixxi said. “Distant family. He was only fourteen when he got here.”

  “He’s fourteen?” I stared at Dixxi in astonishment.

  “Fifteen now,” she said. “Doesn’t look it, does he?”

  I waved my hand in front of my face, miming a fan. “Damnation, woman, your, uhm, family turns out very lovely boys … and girls.” I grinned at her.

  “They are gorgeous,” she laughed. “A definite perk.” She checked behind her at Tucker, Niko, and Adam. “Yours aren’t so bad, either.”

  I laughed. “That they aren’t.”

  Dixxi, Bea, and I enjoyed watching the boy as he, in turn, watched the pep squad cheer them on. The cheerleaders were over on the other side of the stadium, in charge of leading the spirit for the offense.

  “Her daddy’s way unhappy at his little girl’s interest in our new brother,” Dixxi said. “She’s got an iron will, that one. She’s determined to date Luka and since she’s Daddy’s princess, he’s putting up with it.”

  “They’re dating? Isn’t he a little young for that?”

  “Oh, she only wishes they were dating,” Dixxi clarified. “He thinks she’s pretty enough, but like Gregor, he’s absolutely not interested.”

  “They like boys?” I ventured.

  At this, both Bea and Dixxi burst out into peals of laughter.

  “What?” I asked. “Is that so impossible?”

  “Honey,” Bea said, “this isn’t your family or our town. Even if they did like boys they’d never admit to it.”

  “Why?”

  Dixxi glanced around to see who was close by before she spoke in a low voice. “This is White Rock, home of the Church and the Brotherhood. Practically everyone in town belongs to that church. Christian family values only. Hell, Dr. James Dobson would feel right at home here.”

  “Merciful goddess,” I said. “Rio Seco may be small-town Texas, but this is something out of the fifties.”

  “Or earlier,” Bea said. “I know a couple of boys used their school vouchers to transfer to Rio Seco because of harassment.”

  “That’s a hell of a commute,” I said.

  “Better a long commute than getting hate-crimed to death,” Dixxi said. “That’s part of why we homeschool. A lot of our kids aren’t bog-standard middle-class white kids; we adopt all races, kids from all over. Some people have trouble with that.”

  “They’re out of potential danger,” Bea said. “I like that idea. Lev told me that y’all homeschooled. I just thought it was for religious reasons.”

  Dixxi laughed. “I could see why you thought that. In this part of Texas, that’s usually the case. No, we mostly just want our kids to get a more well-rounded view of the world than the local schools offer. White Rock may be a picturesque place, but the morals of this town set my teeth on edge.” She turned to answer my previous question. “Gregor and Luka are straight,” Dixxi said. “Not that we care one way or another. We’ve just asked them to keep a low profile in school. They’re there to learn, not to misbehave.”

  “I bet they get plenty of chances to do that.” I was sure that temptation was everywhere for those boys, recently out of homeschooling and into adolescent hormone high.

  “Half the girls in school follow them around,” Dixxi admitted. “I know it’s pissed off some of the other boys.”

  “Too bad for them,” I grinned. “Hell, if I were still their age, I’d probably be sniffing around them, too.”

  “You did,” Dixxi chuckled. “I remember you from when you were in high school. I’d tag along to the football games with Mark and Lev. They hated bringing me because I was such a brat child.”

  “Really?” Huh, that was fairly awkward. “You knew me back then? I don’t remember you at all.”

  Dixxi shrugged. “I knew who you were—a Kelly. We all did. My grandpop was still alive then and still Fenrir. He’d come out to the games on occasion because he’d grown to like the sport. The Falls aren’t all that far away for a drive. I’d come with him.” She grinned. “I may have been young,
but I do remember seeing you and Mark sneak off underneath the bleachers.”

  I stood up, spilling my drink all over Tucker, who along with Niko had come to sit in front of me, guarding point since Adam was now at my back.

  “Fuck me and the horse I just rode in on,” I exclaimed, too surprised to watch my language. Tucker stood, cursing at me as Niko wiped off the sticky soda with one of the towels Mark had loaned us. “I only did that one time. Once. Ever. That could not have been your brother,” I said. “I’d remember.”

  Bea clapped a hand over her mouth. “Shit.” Her eyes grew round and she let out a giggle as she stared at me, then at Mark, who until this moment had been completely oblivious to what we were talking about. “Oh my god, Keira, she’s right. That’s him.”

  I slowly turned to watch Mark, who was no longer paying attention to the football game. Instead, he stared at me. Adam, on his other side, watched us, a frown on his face. I studied Mark’s features. Dark hair: check. Smoldering eyes: check. But Mark’s eyes were brown, not—As I stared, his eyes lightened in color, fading from a nondescript brown to an amazing light amber-gold. His average facial structure changed just slightly, cheekbones becoming more prominent, eye shape more elongated, lips fuller.

  Fuck. Me. It was him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU say something?” I demanded.

  Mark only smiled. Then, with a small shake of his head, his features returned to their previous nondescript appearance. “I didn’t think you cared to remember.”

  “You told me you’d only been here five years or so.”

  “I have only been here that long. I spent some time here as a child, but Grandpop sent me to study with another pack when I was twelve. I was visiting here, and Gramps decided he wanted to come to a football game. I figured I’d come along.”

  “May I inquire as to the nature of your … discussion?” Adam’s voice, smoother than melted chocolate and oh, so very amused, interrupted. Most boyfriends/partners would have started demanding to know what we were talking about. Not Adam, king of vampires and of extreme coolth. I fought the urge to stick my tongue out at both him and Marcus. I caught a glimpse of Bea’s face, which had turned redder than what was left of her soft drink.

  “Marcus here has been doing a little hiding,” I griped. “Seems he and I had a bit of an encounter once upon a time.”

  “Your first, if I recall?” Mark gave me a shit-eating grin.

  “And if it was? Since when can you people do glam-ours?”

  “Not a glamour, just some judicious control over metamorphosis.” Mark smirked.

  “The moon isn’t near full,” I said. “Plus, I didn’t know you could do that.”

  “Full moon only means I must,” he explained. “Plus, I am who I am … and I don’t know half the things you can do.”

  “Nor should you,” I retorted.

  “Ditto,” he said, still smirking.

  Adam was about as close to bursting out in laughter as I’d ever seen. Bea, on the other hand, just kept getting redder and redder, ducking her head. Her embarrassment was enough for all of us put together. “I think I’ll just …” She turned and fled down the stairs. This time, I didn’t follow, knowing it was just a matter of her being in the middle of a situation that reeked of possible jealous reactions.

  “I think I’ll go check on Bea,” Dixxi said with a grin. “Y’all just”—she waved a hand—“figure it out among yourselves.”

  Damn it. I knew Adam wouldn’t have an issue with this. After all, I’d been what, seventeen? Besides, none of us really worried all that much about our previous relationships. When your life span can be measured in centuries, that’s not really a subject of great importance.

  “You weren’t honest with me,” I said to Mark.

  “I was completely honest,” he returned. “I just chose not to bring that particular situation up. It’s irrelevant at this point in time. Besides, I had no idea how Adam would react.”

  “Please, Mark,” I snorted. “Adam and I are blood bonded, but that doesn’t mean neither of us have a past.”

  Several whistles screeched from the field below, and both groups of players began to return to the benches.

  Oh good, halftime. The best part of the football game—basically, the part where there is no football. No, wait, that wasn’t the halftime whistle. I glanced at the clock, which showed almost two minutes left to play before halftime. Gee, time flies when you’re not having fun. Marcus, whose attention seemed riveted on the field, suddenly stood.

  “Gregor,” he whispered, voice choked in his throat.

  Tucker and Niko were flying down the stairs before either Lev or Jacob could even make it to the railing.

  “He can’t be really hurt,” Marcus said, still staring at the commotion below. “He’s one of us. More than likely, he’s had to fake something.”

  “Fake?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

  “Probably,” he said. “To keep things under the radar. He likely got hit in a way that would have injured a human boy. We’ve taught him how to exaggerate so that it wouldn’t appear odd to the others.”

  “I don’t understand why you let him play, then.”

  “To fit in,” he said curtly.

  Okay, that I could buy. “C’mon,” I said and grabbed Adam’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  THE TEAM surrounded Gregor, who lay on his back moaning. The team trainer, a small man, had Gregor’s knee in his hand, palpating it. Marcus leaned into the crowd, pushing the boys away.

  “Let me through, damn it,” he said. “That’s my nephew.”

  “C’mon, boys.” A man who wasn’t Coach Miller but was wearing a coach’s uniform shooed the boys away from Gregor. “Go on back to the bench.” With his playbook in one hand, the man walked away, herding the boys as he went. “Robert Earl, you take care of this. I’ll talk to the rest of the team.” Coach Miller, who was crouched down by Gregor, nodded. “Will do, Coach Kennedy.” Luka, who trailed behind the other boys, pleaded silently with Mark, who shook his head. Dejected, the boy turned and rejoined the team now gathered around Coach Kennedy.

  “Greg, how’s the knee feel?” The trainer spoke in a calm voice, his hands still supporting Gregor’s leg.

  “Like hell,” Gregor growled as the trainer pushed against the patella. “Andy, damn it, that hurts.”

  Hurts? How the fuck can a werewolf be injured in a football game? Even I could tell the boy wasn’t faking. His olive skin was ashen, his mouth tight against what was obvious pain.

  “What the fuck?” Marcus yelled. “What happened to my nephew?”

  The assistant coach stood from his crouch, a hand extended. “Mr. Ashkarian, Robert Earl Miller,” he said. “I’m sorry—”

  “Sorry?” Marcus’s eyes began to change color. I stepped on his insole and he yelped, whirling at me. “What the fuck, Keira?”

  “Marcus, I’m sure the coach here has an explanation,” I said in a soothing voice and blinked my eyes at him. He started, then flinched.

  “Shit, yeah, okay.” He turned to Coach Miller. “Sorry, Coach,” he said. “I was out of line.”

  “I know, I know.” The coach chuckled. “Your boy got hurt and all your instincts came out.”

  That’s not the half of it, I thought. Adam moved over beside me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Will he be all right?” he asked the trainer.

  “Looks like he got cleated real good on the knee,” the trainer said. “I’m Andy Dobbs, by the way. Y’all relatives?”

  “Of a sort,” Adam said in an absent way. “Mark, shall we take Gregor home then?”

  Dixxi and Bea had come out of the restroom by this time. Dixxi pushed in front of me and squatted near Gregor’s head, holding a whispered conversation with the boy. I did my best to avoid listening as Marcus and Adam made arrangements to get Gregor to our van, probably the most comfortable car.

  “That makes the most sense,” Marcus said. “I’m in my pickup. It was just me and t
he boys.”

  “I brought Dixxi in my car,” Bea said. “It’s not really big enough for more than three.”

  “The van it is,” I said. “Niko, could you bring the van around?”

  “Of course,” Niko said and headed out.

  “Are you sure you don’t want us to have the ambulance take him to the clinic?” Andy Dobbs asked. “It’s no problem. It’s a ways, but they’re open twenty-four, seven and are used to dealing with sports injuries.”

  Dixxi sidled up to Andy, flashing a huge grin, her arms crossed underneath her rather impressive breasts. “Oh, don’t worry about that, Mr. Dobbs,” she purred. “Our aunt is a nurse and we’ve got everything we need at home. I’m sure he just needs to rest up and elevate the knee.”

  The trainer, still dubious but entranced by Dixxi, agreed. “Yeah, have him take some anti-inflammatories and keep the knee up and iced. He should be okay by morning. But”—he turned to the assistant coach—“no more football at least until regular practices start in August. I want that knee to heal by school start.”

  “What’s going on, everything okay here?” The blond sheriff sauntered up. This time I got a good look at her ID badge: Miller. She was followed by Luka, who’d evidently changed his mind about obediently staying on the sidelines.

  “Is he okay?” the sheriff asked. “Do we need to get the ambulance over here?”

  Coach Miller nodded his head to Luka and then addressed the sheriff. “He’s fine, Jane, just banged up a bit. He’s going on home.”

  “Rob, is that smart? Shouldn’t he go to the ER? What if—” She frowned and came closer as if to talk privately to the assistant coach. Miller and Miller: husband and wife? Probably, as they both wore matching wedding bands. “Rob, I’m in charge here tonight—”

  “Janey, nothing to worry about.” Miller hushed his wife and pulled her aside, far enough away that even my extra-sensitive hearing couldn’t pick up their words through the crowd noise. I watched them closely. Something seemed more than a little off. Her face began to get red as he spoke, her lips tight and her arms crossed in front of her. Extreme body language of anger, I thought. She seemed ready to haul off and hit him.