by Amir Lane
Lysander settled in bed, pulling the thick duvet over himself, and flipped through the channels on the wall-mounted flat screen, only settling on something when fingers tapped at his door.
“Yeah?” he called.
The door opened and Courtney let herself in, her blonde and pink hair a disorganized mess. Her nose ring glittered in the light. She crossed the room in her usual long, determined strides that should have been accompanied by the sound of combat boots and threw herself on his bed.
“You all right?” she asked, holding out a family bag of peanut M&M’s.
Since the dog— wolf attack, Lysander outgrown his peanut allergy and he was making up for lost time. He grabbed a handful of M&M’s and started them. They were all shades of yellow and blue.
“Ever wonder what the Ms stand for?” Courtney asked, taking a couple for herself.
“Not really. Names, probably,” Lysander said.
“Huh.”
Courtney shifted to curl up beside him. She was like him in a lot of ways. There was the gay thing, obviously; she and Alejandra were kind of adorable together. But she’d also come from a violent home with an angry drunk of a father who’d blame anyone but himself for his problems. She’d run away from home years ago and Alejandra had found her, convinced her to go home with her. What it meant, the fact that their fathers could have been the same person, was that she stayed out of his personal space and didn’t touch him without warning.
Touch wasn’t really Lysander’s issue, not all the time. It was more Rachel’s problem than his. She’d nearly punched him out when he brushed against her in the kitchen once. There must have been a hell of a story behind it, and the fact that she always covered up from head to toe, even until the last second before the shift. It wasn’t any of his business any more than the cigarette burns on his shoulders were hers.
Not that anyone had asked. What possible explanation could there be that anyone would want to hear?
“Hey.” Courtney tapped her fingers against the pillow Lysander was leaning on in lieu of touching his arm. “You okay? I thought I smelled you crying.”
Lysander’s expression pulled into a scowl. Smelled?
Courtney seemed to pick up on his train of thought. “Couple years switching back and forth and your senses start to get better.”
If that was the case, than who else had smelled him crying? Not just now, but in the nights when he couldn’t sleep.
“I gained, like, 15 pounds since I moved here,” he said quietly.
“Yeah you did. You got fit. You’re a total babe now.”
Lysander laughed a little. He wouldn’t put it that way, but…
“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked. “I actually sort of like it here. I don’t want to leave.”
“Dude. Nobody’s going to make you.”
She held out the M&Ms, and he took another yellow one.
Chapter 7
Despite the chaos, there was a routine to the pack’s activities, all centered around the full moon.
Big pack breakfasts on the first morning of the new cycle. Courtney and Evan forgetting which cycle they were counting down to and having to ask which time of the month they were approaching while Scott made sure there were enough pads and tampons for four period-having werewolves. Round-the-clock freakouts over tests and projects and assignments. The shift.
Sometimes, Lysander and Scott shifted with the rest of the pack, sometimes it was just the two of them. Both hurt just as much.
Things were good, though. Better than Lysander had ever expected things could be. If not for those longing glances Scott sent his way when he thought Lysander wasn’t looking, it would have been perfect.
It wasn’t that Lysander didn’t like Scott. He did. A lot. More than he should have. More than he was willing to deal with. This was a safe place for those sorts of feelings, Lysander knew that, but it was hard to overwrite 18 years of reflex. It wasn’t like they were ever really going to be together. Lysander was probably going to be a high school dropout and Scott was going to be some big-shot human rights lawyer. In what possible universe would they ever be together? If not for the fact that they were both half-wild animals, they’d never know the other existed. They didn’t belong to the same universe.
Every time Scott looked at Lysander, it made the hair on his body stand on end. And Scott, the dick, didn’t seem the least bothered by it. No, he was a perfect fucking gentleman. He gave Lysander all the space he needed, never made a move, never complained if Lysander walked out of a room the second he walked in, even if Lysander could see the pain in his eyes.
It hurt, liking a guy he couldn’t have, didn’t it? And it fucking served Scott right, making Lysander like him, a guy he could never have.
Scott was never going to make a move, Lysander was sure of it.
Except he did.
It was those goddamn nightmares. Lysander didn’t get them as often as he used to, only a few times a week now instead of every night. A slim improvement, but still an improvement. Some nights were worse than others. Tonight was one of those nights. On nights like these, when he screamed loud enough to wake the whole house, Scott sat next to him until he woke up.
On this night, Lysander didn’t wake up until he fell out of bed and hit the floor. He screamed and jerked away from the pain and saw Scott’s fucking eyes reflecting the moonlight. Scott didn’t move, letting Lysander catch his breath and sit back on the bed before approaching.
“Do you want me to stay?” Scott asked, the same way he had so many nights ago and just like that night, Lysander nodded.
They kissed. It was only a kiss at first. Then hands roaming across skin, Scott settling on his hips and reaching down into his sweats. Their bodies moving together, every inch of them in sync.
The feelings that swarmed in Lysander’s stomach as he stared up at the ceiling, an arm wrapped around Scott’s waist, made him dizzy. This wasn’t supposed to happen. No matter how much he’d wanted it — and he had wanted it — it wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t ready for this.
Scott pressed a gentle, loving kiss to Lysander’s chest while his fingers brushed the cigarette burns on his shoulder with the utmost care. It was such a soft, almost submissive gesture compared to how he did everything else, like he was handing his leadership over to Lysander. Or maybe Lysander was projecting some deeply ingrained hypermasculine bullshit onto someone who didn’t believe in that at all. Scott wasn’t an alpha male, not the way alpha males were alpha males on TV or in books and movies. He was that leader who would actually get his hands dirty instead of just bossing people around. There was no shame in this for Scott, in any of this, and it made Lysander feel not ashamed.
Not ashamed for the sex, at least. He was ashamed for the feelings he wouldn’t let himself return, the feelings he silently begged Scott not to address.
Of course, Scott couldn’t read his thoughts and like the perfect dick he was, he did the opposite of what Lysander wanted.
“I love you,” he whispered, his fingers tracing a path over the soft hairs on Lysander’s stomach.
Scott might as well have set Lysander on fire for the way he reacted. He jerked away from Scott and got out of bed. He grabbed a shirt from the floor and realized only when he couldn’t move much that it was Scott’s. Was there anything that Scott didn’t fuck up?
It wasn’t Scott’s fault, Lysander knew that. Of course he knew that. But it was a habit he’d picked up from foster homes, like drinking too much and smoking. Blaming other people was so much easier than just dealing with shit. Right now, Scott was the only one Lysander could blame, even though he was just as much responsible for whatever the fuck this was supposed to be.
“Lysander—”
“Fuck you, Scott.”
Scott flinched, actually flinched, as if Lysander didn’t feel guilty enough. Things had been perfect here, and Scott had to ruin it with these goddamn feelings, the son of a bitch. Shit, and Lysander liked it here. But he couldn’t stay anym
ore, not with the way Scott was looking at him, not with the way it made Lysander’s chest tighten. Why now? Why like this? He wasn’t ready for this.
“What are you doing?” Scott asked.
As if it wasn’t obvious, while Lysander shoved things into a gym bag. He didn’t need much.
“I’m leaving.”
“Why?”
Why? Why?
“Because, Scott! Things were good, but you just couldn’t— You just— You ruined everything!”
God, if Scott started crying, if the glassy look in Scott’s eyes was from tears—
“I don’t understand. I thought—”
“I can’t do a— a— a relationship right now, Scott.”
“Okay. Okay, we don’t have to be in a relationship. We can still be friends. You don’t have to go.”
And, fuck, if that little pleading edge in Scott’s voice didn’t want to make Lysander break. It would have been easy to pretend they could be a fling or friends with benefits, but the reality wouldn’t be that easy. Lysander couldn’t pretend he didn’t see the heartbreak in Scott’s face. It was too late for all of that.
“I’m sorry, Scott. I can’t thank you enough for what you did for me, but I… I’m sorry.”
Scott nodded and the son of a bitch was actually crying.
“Okay,” Scott said again, his voice breaking. “If this is what you need to do, then I understand. You know you can call me if you need anything. This doesn’t change anything for me. We’re still a pack.”
Lysander slung his bag over his shoulder. He looked into Scott’s teary forest eyes, and he knew that was true.
Chapter 8
The thing that worried Lysander the most about leaving the pack was giving them the news. So he just… didn’t.
It was terrible and unfair and he knew it, but he couldn’t face the guilt. He couldn’t say goodbye to them, couldn’t face how much he’d hurt Scott. And, egotistic as it may have been, he knew he had. Scott was sensitive, wore his goddamn heart on his sleeve. Lysander had seen the look in Scott’s eyes, the heartbreak. How was he supposed to face any of them after that? After just leaving in the middle of the night?
He couldn’t. So he didn’t.
Instead, he dropped out of school, got his GED and a job fixing bikes, some 20-to-30-odd hours a week. He got an old truck for a few hundred bucks, a rusty Ford that probably wouldn’t last until he could afford something better. But he’d made his decision, he could live with it. He could keep living in the truck until winter. After that, he didn’t know what he was going to. At least on the full mooons, he didn’t have to worry about keeping warm, even as the nights began to grow cooler.
For the past few months, his wolf brain had been fixated on this one spot. For a reason his stupid human brain couldn’t understand, there was something he liked about these woods. Or maybe it was the house at the edge of them and the smell of cooked lamb waiting for him.
He padded on all fours through the familiar terrain, walking a path worn down only by his feet. He followed the smell of lamb and chicken to an open backyard, his mouth watering. It wasn’t the only smell in the area. The sharp, incense smell of magic coated the place in a heavy layer. The first time, that smell had kept him inching forward anxiously, but his hunger had outweighed the anxiety of so much magic in one place. Now, it didn’t bother him. He knew this place. This place was safe.
There was a man sitting on the porch steps, watching him, but Lysander paid him no attention. He was always there, always just watching. As long as he didn’t bother Lysander, Lysander didn’t bother him. The only thing Lysander was interested in was the meat. He ate the chicken first, which had been deboned for him, then as much as the lamb as he could stomach. It was more food than he’d had in… well, since the last full moon, and even with how fucking starving he was, his stomach had shrunk too much to handle more.
A blanket was laid out on the ground for him this time, a big, fluffy duvet that would certainly keep his human side warm when he shifted back. It smelled like the man on the porch. There was something comforting about it. He had never much liked the smell of magic, but there was something trustworthy about this witch, though that might have been the food. Anyone who purposely left food out for him couldn’t have been bad. And even if he was, Lysander was tired. Sleeping in his truck wasn’t exactly the most comfortable thing. Lysander curled up on the blanket and let himself fall asleep.
* * *
Morning was warmer than Lysander expected it to be this time of year. The sun had barely risen, and he expected to be shivering and half-hypothermic in his ass-naked state. He wasn’t. For a good half-second, he thought he might have been back at Scott’s. Thank fuck he wasn’t. He shifted, stretched out on the grass, and it took him longer to realize that it wasn’t grass.
“What…?”
Lysander squinted at his surroundings. This wasn’t where he usually woke up. This was someone’s backyard.
Fucking fantastic. This was exactly what he needed, to wake up in some stranger’s backyard, completely naked.
The way he saw it, he had two options: leave the blanket here and hope nobody saw him as he ran back through the woods to his truck, or return it to the owner. It was too early for these sorts of decisions.
Lysander gathered the blanket in his arms and noticed a bundle near his feet. Clothes. Someone left him clothes? Did the people in this house know what he was? Fuck, it would have been so much easier if he could remember what he did on the full moon. But thinking of the blood he usually woke up covered in, Lysander wasn’t sure how much it he really wanted to be aware of. Compartmentalization was easier.
He yanked the track pants on, though they were way too tight and if not for the fact that it would probably get him arrested, he would have preferred to go naked. Why hadn’t he gone back to his usual place? It was close enough to his truck that he could avoid running into anyone. That was exactly why he parked there. The shirt was way too tight to attempt wearing. He held the blanket and the shirt against his chest and, after a long moment of delibration, walked around to the front of the house.
For what must have been at least a solid five minutes, he shifted from bare foot to bare foot, trying to decide if he wanted to knock or not. It wasn’t too late to just leave everything but the pants and run. But the door opened and the decision was made for him.
The few words Lysander had rehearsed as he’d walked up to the house disappeared from his mind. The man who answered was hands down the most beautiful man Lysander had ever seen. He didn’t have that English-class-classic look like Scott. No, he was beautiful in an entirely different sort of way, and he smelled like magic and spices. Eyes the colour of amber stared up at Lysander and full lips spread into a wide grin.
Fuck, if Lysander wasn’t a sucker for pretty boys.
“It’s you!” the man exclaimed, the taste of an accent on his tongue, like he’d grown up speaking some language other than English. “You’re the wolf. Come in, you must be hungry.”
The man grabbed Lysander’s wrist without giving him a chance to say anything and Lysander let himself be dragged into the house, too dazed to do anything to stop it.
“I wasn’t sure what would fit you but I didn’t want you to be cold. I can try to find you something else to wear. I’m Rohan, by the way. Misra.”
“Uhm— Lisandros Athanas. People call me Lysander.”
Rohan was a whirlwind of excited chatter. It was like he was meeting a celebrity. He talked about the first night he’d seen Lysander in the backyard, the way his roommates had locked themselves inside while Rohan nudged some food out to him, the way Lysander had devoured the raw hamburger meat.
“Animals don’t really come around here. They don’t like the smell of this place. It’s all the magic in the air. I’m sure you can still smell it. You must have been starving to brave it.”
Lysander gave a small, dazed nod. He’d never liked the smell of magic, especially on or around the full moon when his s
enses were at their sharpest. It didn’t bother him much now, and it clearly didn’t bothered his wolf alter-ego anymore. Maybe he was just used to it by now. Maybe he had just been that hungry. It wasn’t like he was eating the same way he did while living with Scott.
“Freddy’s a kitchen witch,” Rohan said, pulling Tupperware container after Tupperware container out of the fridge. “He actually owns a restaurant in town. You aren’t vegetarian, are you? My sister is, so it’s not a problem if you are.”
“I’m a werewolf.” Lysander was too caught off guard by the question to keep from blurting it out.
“Well, you might be a vegetarian the rest of the month.”
There was a duh missing from the end of that sentence. The tips of Lysander’s ears felt hot.
“No, I’m not vegetarian.”
“Perfect. Do you want to take a shower while I heat this up? Bathroom’s upstairs, second door to the right. I can try to find you something bigger to wear.”
The heat in Lysander’s ears travelled down his face and neck. He must have reeked. If he wasn’t so used to his own smell post-shift, he might have noticed it. He cleared his throat and mumbled something incoherent as he turned to the stairs Rohan had pointed out. He felt those eyes on his scars as he moved and wished he’d attempted the shirt. At least Rohan had the decency to wait until Lysander wasn’t facing him to stare.
It was a relief to get out of the suffocating track pants. The waistband left an indent around his hips.
The bathroom, like the rest of the house, smelled great. So much better than the gym change rooms he’d been showering in the past few months. He stepped under the spray of the shower, the heat easing some of the knots in his shoulders. Caddies and shelves full of soaps and shampoos lined the shower walls. There was no way to tell which belonged to Rohan, so he scrubbed the days of grime off his body with citrus soap and washed his hair out with grapefruit-scented hemp shampoo. The smell was nice, if not a little overwhelming. When would he have a chance to actually use nice soap again? He might as well take advantage.
