by Nora Phoenix
“I’m fine. I just figured you might want to spend some time together,” Kean said.
The frown lines on Bray’s forehead intensified. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
God, this man. This clueless, socially awkward man. “I know you’re busy, but I thought you maybe had an hour to spare so we could hang out together for a bit. The two of us. You know, talk.”
Bray’s eyes lit up with understanding. “You mean like a date.”
“Yes,” Kean said patiently. “Like a date. Only a short date, since we both have to work. More like a mini-date, I guess?”
Bray nodded. “Okay. I’d like that.”
“Any ideas what you’d like to do? I have a little over an hour before I need to check on some of the animals.”
Bray stared at him for a second or two, then said, “I’d like to see where you work. The animals, I mean. What you do every day.”
Kean wasn’t sure what he’d expected Bray to say, but it wasn’t that. “You want me to show you my job?”
“Yes. I know we have chickens and cows and whatnot and that you take care of them, but I’d like to see.”
Okay, then. Not what Kean had in mind, but he couldn’t deny it was sweet. And unlike the old Bray, who had only been interested in sex. They were making definite progress. But when Bray hesitantly reached for his hand, Kean realized how far they still had to go. The man could fuck him like a pro, knowing every erogenous spot on his body, but they’d never held hands before. God, they’d really done this whole thing backward, hadn’t they? So he slipped his hand into Bray’s and allowed himself to be pulled close to that strong body.
“How’s Ruari doing?” Bray asked. “About his father, I mean.”
Kean shot him a quick look sideways. “He’s okay. I think he said goodbye to his father a long time ago, but having that final confrontation helped him. The man was nothing to him anymore.”
“It’s still his father,” Bray said.
“I think it’s different for you and me since our fathers love us and did the best they could with us. Wyndham has never been a real father to Ruari. The man made it clear Ruari was never anything other than a disappointment to him. So I think he cut off emotional connections a long time ago. But Bray, you could ask him yourself how he’s doing, you know?"
Bray frowned for a second before he slowly nodded. "You're right. I guess I still think of you as being closer to him than I am."
"I understand, and you may have a point, but if you keep using me as a middleman, that will never change. He wants to talk to you. All you have to do is ask."
Bray squeezed his hand, and they made their way outside. Kean studied the sky. They were in for some long overdue rain, dark clouds gathering all around them. They needed the water, and they all had worked hard to get the irrigation system in order that would capture the rain in an underground reservoir for later use. Today would be the first big test, and Kean hoped with all his heart it would work.
He figured he would make his usual morning rounds with Bray in tow, and so he started with the chicken coop. "We have fifty chickens now," he said. "We're experimenting with different breeds to see which ones have good egg production, which taste best, and which are best suited for our climate and food."
Bray pointed at the nets they'd spun over the outside coop. "That's against birds of prey?"
"Yeah, we lost quite a few in the beginning. This helps, though it doesn't keep the other predators out, like foxes and coyotes. I've been diligent about making sure the night coop is completely closed every night, and we’ve dug an underground fence two feet deep so predators can't get in."
"You don't have a problem with eating the chickens you raise?" Bray asked.
"Not at all. Look, these chickens have a fantastic life here on the ranch. They're happy, they get great food, no hormones, and all the fresh air and sunshine they want. For a chicken, I reckon this is pretty much paradise. So no, I don't have a problem at all eating them."
"Me either," Bray said, then added, "God, I love Vieno's grilled chicken. I don't know what he does to make it that moist and bursting with flavor, but if I had to choose a last meal before I died, that would be it."
Kean chuckled. "I learned something new about you."
Bray bumped his shoulder. "Isn't that the whole idea of dating? What's your favorite food?"
Kean's heart went all soft at how hard the alpha was trying. "I'm partial to a perfectly grilled steak. And I have to admit, that's kind of Lidon's specialty. The man can't cook worth a damn, but he sure as hell can grill."
"True that," Bray agreed.
They walked from the chicken coop to the little pen with the goats, and as soon as it came into sight, Kean let out a frustrated sigh. Instead of the two goats that were supposed to be there, there was only one.
"Oh my god, that little shit has escaped again. If he finds his way into the vegetable patch again, Lars will kill me," he muttered darkly.
"Let's go find him then, before Lars does," Bray said.
They hurried toward the vegetable patch, and wouldn't you know it, there he was, devouring a head of lettuce. Lars was just coming around the corner as well, and as soon as he spotted the goat, which Kean had nicknamed Houdini by now, he let out an angry yell.
"If you don't get that little fucker out of my garden, I will personally wring his neck and throw him on the barbecue," Lars threatened, stalking toward Kean, who held up his hands in surrender.
"I know, I know. I keep trying, but he keeps escaping. I'm sorry."
Lars’s sour expression told him the man wasn't impressed, and he couldn't blame him. This was, what, the fifth time in a month? Lars had a point that by now, that little shit deserved to be eaten. It was a damn shame Kean didn't care much for goat meat.
"I'll get him out of there," he said.
"I'll help," Bray offered. "Just tell me what to do."
Well, that was not only sweet of him, but it made things a hell of a lot easier. "Just walk up to him, careful not to step on any of the veggies, and scare him a bit so he'll run in my direction."
Bray nodded, a serious expression on his face. Then again, the man tended to take everything seriously. He needed to laugh more, Kean thought, then pushed that idea down to focus on catching that fast escape artist.
Bray followed Kean's instructions, carefully stepping between the vegetables in the direction of the goat, who took a good look at the imposing alpha encroaching on his personal space, and then decided he did not like that at all. Unfortunately, he hadn't gotten the memo that he was supposed to turn around and flee into Kean's direction. Instead, he lowered his head. Uh oh.
Before Kean could call out a warning, the little shit charged. Bray wasn't expecting it, and how could he, since Kean had never warned him of this possibility. He was caught unaware, and the goat only had little horns, but they packed a punch, as Kean had found out multiple times himself, coming home with big bruises on his legs after a run-in. Only this time, the goat didn't aim for Bray's legs but for his groin, and the alpha went down with a yelp that made Kean's nuts shrivel in response.
Oh god. He and Lars shared a look of horror, instantly bonding over what they had witnessed. "You take care of Bray, I'll catch that damn goat," Lars said, and Kean could've kissed him for understanding he had different priorities now.
He hurried over to Bray, causing the goat to scurry off in a different direction. At least he was out of the vegetable patch now. "God, I'm so sorry," he said to Bray, kneeling beside him in the dirt.
The alpha lay in a fetal position, cradling his junk, his face red and sweaty. His eyes were closed, and the tiniest of whimpers fell from his lips.
"I'll get you some ice," Kean said, but when he went to rise to his feet, Bray's hand clamped down around his wrist.
"Don't leave me," he said between clenched teeth.
"Okay," Kean immediately agreed. "I'm right here. It'll pass."
It was the lamest thing to say, but what else could he o
ffer? Then Bray laced his fingers through Kean's and held on to his hand for dear life, and Kean felt a little less lame.
It took minutes before the alpha made another attempt at speaking. "Can you…check?"
Kean had no trouble understanding what he meant. "You want me to make sure your junk is still all there?" he asked, making sure to keep his voice level.
"Don't you dare laugh at me," Bray said, and Kean had to search his face, because he did hear the tiniest hint of laughter in his voice, and when he saw that same spark in his eyes, he breathed a sigh of relief.
"I'll laugh as soon as I've made sure your whole package is still intact," he told him. "After all, I have a vested interest in your junk myself."
Bray finally removed his hands from his crotch, and Kean was gentle as he unzipped his pants and very carefully dragged them down. Still, Bray let out another moan of pain.
"It's all still there," Kean said. "But it looks like you took a full hit, so as soon as you can walk, we really need to go inside so we can ice it."
"I just don't think I can walk," Bray said, and Kean had never heard him this vulnerable.
"Do I need to get some help? I wish I could carry you, but you're too heavy for me," Kean said with regret.
He was already going over various scenarios in his head, like asking Grayson for help, or maybe Enar or Maz, since they could check Bray out as well, when the solution hit him. "Shift," he said. "You saw what happened to me once I shifted. It'll heal in no time."
Bray's eyes drilled into his, the doubt visible. "It seems like a rather mundane reason to shift."
"Dude, there's nothing mundane about your junk. If you don't ice that shit soon, you're gonna end up with serious swelling. You won’t be able to touch it for days, let alone have sex."
The look on Bray's face was pure horror. "Good point. But I'm not ruining another set of clothes. Help me undress."
That, Kean could do, and it didn't even take a minute to unlace his boots and carefully inch down his pants and underwear, then help him pull his shirt over his head. Bray closed his eyes, and Kean braced for the impact. It hit betas less than alphas, supposedly, but he still felt it every single time.
The wave came, and then Bray was wolf. He lay motionless for a few seconds, then carefully moved, letting out a little yelp.
"Give it a little time. I could feel my bruises fade," Kean said, putting his hand on Bray's head and scratching his ears. Bray immediately moved against his hand, seeking more contact. "Look at you, you do realize you're a wolf and not a lapdog, right?"
Bray fake-nipped at his hand and Kean laughed. "Oh, you're such a big, bad wolf," he teased. "I'm so scared."
In response, Bray nudged him so hard he fell backward, still laughing. Behind him, he heard Lars yelling in frustration. "You have to warn me before you shift, asshole! I just had that damn goat, and the shock of the shift make me let him go again."
Kean didn't turn around, too afraid he would incur Lars's eternal wrath by breaking out in uncontrollable laughter. Bray moved, probably another attempt at sensing if he was doing better already. He was, apparently, since the wolf rose to his feet and shook himself. He took a few steps, shook himself again, then let out a low growl.
"Bray, no, don't tell me you're gonna—"
Bray sprinted away before Kean could even finish his sentence, setting course straight for that little shit of a goat. And Kean had never seen that animal run as fast as when he was chased by a big alpha wolf. He got up and held his stomach as he laughed until tears streamed down his face. Lars joined him, and they hung against each other, weak with laughter as Bray chased the goat all around before finally making it jump right back into its pen.
Only then did he trot back to Kean and Lars, and Kean got the unique visual of what pride and glee looked like on a wolf. Bray was positively prancing, there was no other word for it, and Kean laughed so hard that he didn't even mind when Bray shifted back right next to him, treating both Kean and Lars to a stunning view of his now healed body.
They really needed to date more often.
12
They’d closed the clinic after the attack, much to Enar’s chagrin. Oh, he understood, and he agreed it was the necessary course of action, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He missed it, taking care of his patients. Maz and Lucan had volunteered to help Sando with his research, and they were making great progress. Enar had helped out a few hours as well, but he missed the patient contact. He wasn’t in it for the discovery or the research. He wanted to help people, see that he was making a positive impact on their lives.
The good news was that he’d been able to do some necessary tidying and cleaning—not his strongest points—and with help from Lucan, the clinic looked spick and span again. He and Maz had made some calls and put some feelers out with friends and acquaintances they both had in the hopes of finding more medical personnel willing to join the pack. They had a few who were interested and who had promised to stop by as soon as the clinic was open again.
They hadn’t mentioned the pack, of course, nor the shifting. Lidon had said they’d invite people to visit first and that they had to trust their instincts. Enar had to smile at times at the things coming out of his best friend’s mouth—a stark contrast with, say, two years ago. They’d all changed, but Lidon most of all, he felt.
Enar himself had changed as well, of course, but it was more like his outward behavior matched who and how he’d felt on the inside. With Lidon, the change was far more radical, and he was still growing. Enar was stunned by how the man had opened himself to his mates, his pack, and not only tolerated input from everyone, but welcomed it.
And the shifting, god, the shifting. It was addictive, there was no denying it, and Lidon and Palani had discussed if they should limit it. One reason to do so were the complaints from everyone about the effects it had, especially from those who weren’t mated. That made total sense because that sexual boost was no joke, and Enar couldn’t imagine riding that out without a partner every single time.
His phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. Palani. “Hey,” he picked up.
“Doc, we’re bringing in a wounded man to the clinic. Get ready. You’ll need Maz as well, I think.”
Adrenaline already fired up his system as Enar jumped up and hurried toward the room in the back where Maz was helping Sando. “Who is it?” he asked.
“Duer. Gotta go.”
Duer. It took a second or two before Enar could place that name, because he’d definitely heard it before. But where? Right, Lidon’s union representative back when he’d tried to fight his suspension from the force. A smart, feisty beta, if Enar remembered correctly, having met him only once. What was he doing here? And wounded?
“Maz, incoming trauma,” he called out into Sando’s room, which looked much more organized than he’d expected, with neat stacks of papers instead of the usual avalanche. Lucan’s work, no doubt, since he was a born organizer.
Maz got up right away. “Who?” Lucan called after them, and the worry in his voice was easy to spot.
“Not a pack member,” Enar called over his shoulder to reassure him, and then they hurried to the entrance.
Thank fuck he’d restocked everything the day before after a shipment of new supplies had arrived. They’d gone through a lot of bandages and gauze pads after the attack, especially when patching up Lars and Adar, and he’d made sure everything was in stock again.
It was Lidon who came running in with Duer in his arms, Palani and Bray on his heels. “Put him in the exam room,” Enar told Lidon, who gently lowered the man on the exam table.
He snapped on gloves, then got a first good look. He’d taken a beating, was his first thought. Then he looked closer and saw marks on his body that weren’t so easy to explain by a mere beating. Duer’s eyes were closed, his breathing weak and labored.
“What happened?” Maz asked.
“A cab dropped him off here at the gate. The driver said Duer had been conscious when he
got in, told him to drive here and don’t stop if he passed out, and assured him that we would pay him,” Bray said.
“Do we have any information about what happened to him?” Enar asked.
Bray shook his head. “He was unconscious when he arrived, but the cab driver said he’d been adamant he didn’t want to go to the hospital.”
“Okay,” Enar said. “Maz, let’s have a look. Guys, can you step outside and give us some room to work?”
They cut his bloody clothes off him, revealing a plethora of bruises and swelling. His face had taken the brunt of it, by the looks of it, but he’d definitely been beaten. Hard. And over a longer period of time, because some of the bruises were older. Two, three days old, at least.
Enar pushed down his anger and forced himself to stay methodical, checking his airway first. His throat showed some bruising, but no severe swelling, which was a good sign. Maz had already hooked him up to a monitor, and his breathing and pulse ox were low, but not critically low. They had an electronic blood pressure cuff, but Enar had taught Maz to always check manually first to get an accurate baseline in case the electronics malfunctioned, and he was taking his now, calling out the numbers to Enar. They were low, but not critical.
He was pale underneath his bruises, Enar noted as he started his clinical exam, feeling his head first. He had a large bump on the back of his head, which could’ve caused him to pass out.
“Minor blunt force trauma,” he told Maz, who was observing and making notes of what Enar told him. They had a basic but sufficient system for patient records that had worked well so far.
Enar checked Duer’s arms. No protruding bones or obvious breaks, he noted, until he reached his hands. They were swollen on the right side, his fingers at least twice the normal size. Then he spotted two fingers that were definitely broken, and his stomach dropped.
“Maz, check his left hand. They broke the metacarpals and the proximal phalanxes on the medius and annularis on the right hand.”
Maz gently lifted the other hand. “Same here, but on his medius and secundus. And Enar,” Maz’s voice dropped. “Look under his nails.”
