Moonburn

by Alisa Sheckley

  The problems started when he got better, and hardly looked at me at all.

  Struggling with the scissors, I managed to cut partway through the jacket before having to take a break. Thanks to the sheriff’s wormwood drink, I looked and felt human, but there was a fine tremor in my hands, and I didn’t have complete fine motor control. When I started cutting again, Hunter winced. “I’m sorry if I’m hurting you.”

  “Liar.” His dark eyes met mine, and despite the pain and tension, or maybe because of it, we both burst out laughing. It was the first time in over a year that we had been in accord, and it brought back memories. But the moment passed, and Hunter closed his eyes again, his chest rising and falling with his rapid, shallow breaths.

  “All right. Let’s get your jacket off you before you bleed out.” I gritted my teeth and sawed through the leather with as much strength as I could muster. Hunter was silent, but he slumped when I finally split the sleeve in two and could pull the sides of the jacket away from his arm. I tried to be as careful as I could not to touch the wound while cutting through his shirt, so it was a few minutes before I could really see the whole arm. Putting down the scissors, I peeled the jacket and shirt away from Hunter’s arm.

  “How bad is it, Abs?”

  “Well, you’re not going to bleed to death right away, but it’s not pretty.” The blood flow had slowed, which was good, but there were jagged teeth marks on his forearm, two of them deep enough to reveal the white gleam of bone underneath. Defensive wounds, I thought, the kind you get when you bring your arm up to protect your face. Whatever had tangled with him had also crushed the lower part of his arm, and I could see the tip of the ulna protruding from his skin. Without an X-ray, I couldn’t tell if the break had been a clean one or not, but I suspected there was more than one fracture.

  Hunter struggled to lift himself up onto his good elbow. “Is it broken?”

  “Yes,” I said simply, leaving out that the break was complex, compound, and probably comminuted. “Now, lie back down while I figure out what to do next.” The bleeding wasn’t too bad, but there wasn’t much I could do besides icing and splinting the limb, and I was concerned that Hunter might need an operation to align the bones properly. “What happened? Was it manitou?”

  Hunter looked puzzled. “Bear man,” I clarified. “Or I guess it could be some other kind of combination. It seems we’ve got new shoppers at our local supernatural clearinghouse.”

  Hunter grunted as I irrigated the wound with saline. “Bear. He was on our property.”

  “So he just attacked you with no warning?”

  “Arggh—Jesus, woman.” Hunter grimaced as I finished cleaning his arm. “Talk about no warning.”

  “Sorry, I’m not used to patients who can talk.”

  Hunter smiled at the joke, then winced as I cracked a cold pack and pressed it against his arm, and I felt a rush of my old affection for him.

  “So Bruin didn’t talk to you at all?”

  “Bruin?”

  “That’s what he told me to call him. I’ve run into him, too,” I said, but instead of replying, Hunter just lay there on the floor, his eyes closed. “Hey,” I said, touching his face. “You still with me?”

  “Hurts to breathe,” Hunter said, and I cursed as I realized I hadn’t really checked him over properly.

  “Shit, you probably have a broken rib … Come on, Hunter, stay with me.” I didn’t say it out loud, but I was also wondering if my former husband hadn’t sustained some internal injuries. His face was going gray now, and the minor blood loss from his arm didn’t justify that. Shit. I didn’t have the facilities to treat Hunter for anything serious here, and with a blizzard outside, calling an ambulance to take him to Poughkeepsie might take too long.

  There was only one good option left.

  “We’re going to have to get you to change,” I said, sitting back on my heels. The shift took place on a cellular level, and accelerated healing.

  “Too tired.”

  “I know you are, Hunter, but if you don’t change, there’s a chance your injuries are going to kill you.” Throwing the blanket aside, I pulled off his snow boots and socks, then hesitated, my hands on the snap of his jeans. “Hunter?”

  He had passed out. Working as quickly as I could, I tugged off his jeans, and there he was, the man I had once loved, naked on the rug. His skin was clammy and there were livid bruises forming along his abdomen, but despite everything, he was still a handsome man, tall and broad, his chest hairier than it had been twelve years ago, in college. “Hunter,” I said, lightly slapping his face. “Wake up! Look at me.”

  He opened his eyes. “Abs.” My name was barely a whisper.

  “You have to change, Hunter. I think you might have internal injuries, and I can’t do anything about that here.”

  Hunter lifted his good hand toward my face, then let it drop. “Sorry to disappoint,” he said, then groaned.

  “What is it? Is it your chest? Is the pain getting worse? Hunter!” But he had passed out again. Shit. And then I remembered something so basic, it seemed impossible I could have forgotten.

  You can’t shift without being in an altered state. Yes, the full moon was part of the equation, and so was nudity, but the final ingredient was a release of inhibitions. Usually, the release came right along with the moon and the nudity, but not always. I would have thought pain was a disinhibitor, too, but either Hunter was in too much pain, not enough, or he was holding on to his control.

  Looking down at Hunter’s inert form, I racked my brains for a solution. Extreme arousal, in any form, would do it. Excitement, anger—lust. Since it didn’t seem smart to pick a fight with an invalid, that only left one choice. Pulling off my own clothing, I carefully aligned my body with his. I didn’t feel aroused; I felt like I was trying to seduce an unconscious man. I could have tried to do this with clothes on, but sometimes one lycanthrope’s change can trigger another’s. I wasn’t sure if the wormwood potion had worn off enough yet, but I figured it made sense to try everything. I put my hand between Hunter’s legs, and gripped him.

  Hunter moaned a little, and I felt the first stirrings of his response in my palm. That’s it, I thought, remembering how he liked to be touched. I bit him, lightly, on the earlobe, and Hunter’s eyelids flew open. “Ab,” he panted. “Can’t … hurts.”

  “You have to change,” I told him again. “Forget the pain. Just let go, and let yourself change.”

  I saw his eyes change as comprehension dawned, and then he was holding me, kissing me, and for a moment, it was strange, because it had been so long, a year of living with another man, and then it wasn’t strange, because my body remembered.

  I felt Hunter’s erection press between my thighs, and to my surprise, I felt the warm rush of my own response. The wormwood was wearing off.

  “God,” Hunter moaned, “your smell … didn’t notice before …”

  “Yes, Hunter, let go,” I encouraged him, wanting him to change now, not wanting to go any farther. This was bad enough, but to allow that final intimacy felt like a real betrayal of Red and our relationship.

  “Abs … always … loved you.”

  I stroked his thick, dark, sweat-dampened hair back from his brow as Hunter thrust himself against my hand, again and again. With my own heat rising, I felt muzzy, boneless, adrift in my own skin, until Hunter reached around with his good hand, and brought my face in for a kiss. With that tender touch and his familiar scent surrounding me, I felt the ghost of old love brush over my skin.

  And then the ghost possessed me, flooding desire through my veins. My naked skin slid against his, my breasts felt so sensitive as they grazed his hard chest that I cried out. You’re going to regret this, said a little voice in my head, but I ignored it. I was on fire, and too much animal to think about what came after.

  “My ribs … Abra … help me …”

  I moved to straddle Hunter’s hips and then paused. This was not my favorite position, and for a moment, I felt a fla
sh of cold, clear thought: This is a bad idea. But then I could feel Hunter probing at my entrance, and the combination of sheer animal lust and inescapable familiarity overwhelmed me.

  And then he pushed inside.

  “God,” Hunter moaned. It had been over a year since we had last made love, and with a little shock I realized that my body had adjusted to Red’s larger size. I rocked my hips, and Hunter threw back his head again, gasping in pleasure. But my flesh felt oversensitive, aching, and even though arousal kept me sliding myself against Hunter, release—of this sexual tension, of my too-tight human skin—remained just out of reach.

  Fucking sheriff and his fucking wormwood.

  His hand on my hips, Hunter pushed me against him, directing me. “I can’t get any leverage, you have to move.”

  I rocked against him, aware of a rising irritation. His words, the fit of his body, my position on top of him—everything felt wrong. Not the right mate. It was a body thought, straight from the bundle of nerves at the base of the spine. I was no longer aroused, I was disgusted, but having gotten myself into this, I didn’t feel like I could just walk out in the middle.

  “Yes, ah, Abra, yes, that’s it,” Hunter moaned, oblivious to my lack of involvement. “Oh, yes, Jesus, Magda’s so rough, I’ve missed you so much, your softness, your … move faster now, yes, come on, girl.” And then he slapped me on the ass, as if spurring on a reluctant horse.

  That did it. With a burst of anger, I stood up, sliding off Hunter just as his spine began to bow and ripple with the change.

  NINETEEN

  I locked myself in the bathroom, using a washcloth and cold water to clean myself off and wishing with all my heart for a shower. There was a whining sound from outside the door, and the scratch of claws on wood as Hunter begged to be allowed in.

  “Go away,” I said. “Leave me alone.”

  Hunter whined again and I stared at my own reflection in the mirror. In my new glasses, I didn’t look like the same woman who had loved Hunter and would have done anything to keep him.

  Funny, how changing eyeglass frames could change your whole look. I pulled my hair back into a bun at the back of my head. Now I looked sharp and clever and decisive, the kind of woman who would never be stupid enough to have sex with a man she didn’t even respect. Crap, crap, crap. I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been. On the bright side, there couldn’t be much of a chance of my getting pregnant, but still. I wasn’t sure what disgusted me more: the thought that I’d nearly committed bestiality, or the fact that I’d just had sex with my bastard ex-husband. My only consolation was that being in estrus was like being drunk, except that there weren’t any twelve-step programs for swearing off your own hormones. I scrubbed until I smelled clean to myself, but I still didn’t feel clean.

  Ugh. I couldn’t believe what I’d done. I felt like divorcing myself.

  “Abra? You okay in there?”

  Oh, great, he was human again. The only thing worse than listening to him whine would be having to talk this thing out. Then I realized: He was human again. That shouldn’t have been possible. “Hunter, how did you shift back?”

  “I don’t know. I found some weird-tasting jerky and ate it, and the next thing I knew, I was standing on two feet.”

  Ah, the sheriff’s wormwood werewolf treats. “I’m assuming you’re all healed?”

  There was a pause. “Yes,” he said.

  I stared at my own unhappy eyes in the mirror. “Then please get the hell out of here.”

  I waited a few minutes, deliberately taking my time to get dressed in the clothes I’d grabbed off the floor in the other room. I brushed my hair out, pulling out strands as I yanked through the tangles and knots. It didn’t bother me. I felt like tearing my hair out. When I finally opened the bathroom door, he was still there, wearing his jeans and looking through the bookcase in a way that made my hackles rise.

  “I thought you were leaving.”

  “I just was looking through your books and realized that some of them are actually mine. I was wondering where the Conrad had gone to. I was just thinking of rereading Heart of Darkness.”

  “Take it.”

  “Actually, I think I’ll leave it here.” He smiled, all charm and seduction. “Gives me an excuse to come back and visit.” Hunter’s hand came to rest on the small of my back.

  God, he really was clueless. “Move it or lose it.”

  In response, Hunter moved his hand in lazy circles at the base of my spine, slipping under my sweatpants until they skimmed the top of my buttocks. “There. I’m moving it.”

  I took his thumb and twisted it in a move Red had shown me. “Hunter. Let me make this perfectly clear. What just happened … that was a mistake. I don’t want to repeat it. Ever.” I gave him his hand back and folded my arms over my chest.

  “Aw, come on, give me a break. I was injured. But it couldn’t have been that bad.” Hunter grinned rakishly, and I caught a glimpse of the Ivy League boy I had fallen in love with over a decade earlier.

  “I’m not joking, Hunter. Now please, you have to go. I need to clean the floor before your blood stains it.” And I needed to find some way to get rid of the scent of sweat and semen before Red came home. Suddenly anxious, I bustled around, gathering up the remnants of Hunter’s shirt and jacket. “Keep it or toss it?”

  “Toss it. I can’t see either Magda or myself getting them mended—she’s not domestic like you.”

  “Is that supposed to be a dig?” I stuffed Hunter’s torn and stained clothes into a plastic bag, then double knotted it. The plastic would mask the scent a little, so Red wasn’t overpowered by it the minute he walked in the door.

  “It was supposed to be a compliment. Sometimes I think I never appreciated all the little ways you took care of me.” Hunter’s face softened as he added, “I think about you, you know.”

  I raked my hands through my hair, feeling frantic. “Hunter, you need to go home. Now.”

  “In case he comes home? Is that what’s worrying you?” Hunter gave a harsh laugh, reaching into the bookcase and picking out a Louis L’Amour Western. “Christ,” he said, holding it up as if it were proof of infidelity, “how can you live with a man who enjoys this crap?”

  “Because he doesn’t give me crap.” I plucked the book from his fingers and replaced it. “And instead of going on about how much I love him, he tells me how much he loves me.” No way was I confessing any reservations about my relationship with Red to Hunter.

  “So that’s it. This time around, you get to be the one in charge.” Hunter rubbed his chin. “That’s why he’s good for you. You’re more sure of yourself. More confident of your own attractiveness.” He paused, and then added, “except that you’re frightened of him right now. You’re terrified about how he’ll react if he finds me here.”

  “Hunter, clearly you’re having your own issues with Magda right now, but I’m not going to discuss my love life with you.” I wet a rag in the sink, then walked back over to where Hunter sat by the fireplace. Kneeling down to scrub at the bloodstain, I felt a wave of dizziness. I closed my eyes for a moment, fighting the slow rotation of the room around me.

  “You all right?”

  I opened my eyes, swallowed, and couldn’t quite answer.

  “Hell,” said Hunter, sounding surprised, “You’re as close to the change as I am. Maybe closer.”

  I looked up at him. He’d knelt down next to me, still shirtless, and I saw that he’d put on weight in the past year, most of it muscle. The scent of his warm, bare flesh was familiar, and not unpleasant. “Damn.” I stood up, fighting another wave of light-headedness. Opening Red’s drawer, I pulled out an old flannel shirt and threw it at Hunter. “Here,” I said. “Put this on and go.”

  Hunter caught the shirt and looked at it consideringly. “It’s too small. Red’s kind of on the short side, for a guy.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Put it on anyway.”

  Hunter slid his arms through the shirt, but left it unbuttoned.
“I thought Red didn’t want me getting my smell on his stuff.”

  “Trust me, he’d rather you wear his shirt than walk around half naked.”

  “If half naked’s a problem, I could always take off all my clothes.”

  “God, no.” I braced myself against the dresser. The thought of getting naked with him again made me feel slightly nauseated.

  Hunter stood up and closed the distance between us. “You only think that from the neck up.”

  “Well, that’s the part that makes the decisions.” I didn’t want to insult Hunter, but my stomach was really rebelling now, telling me in the most visceral way possible that he was not the one.

  “Or maybe not,” said Hunter, reaching down to cup my crotch.

  “Stop it, Hunter, I said no!” Acting on instinct, I shoved him so hard that he bounced off the dresser, upsetting an oil lamp.

  “Oh, crap,” I said, but managed to catch the lamp and set it right before anything caught on fire. From atop her perch, Ladyhawke flapped and gave an angry squawk. I wondered if, in a pinch, she might actually come to my defense.

  “Jesus, woman, what is wrong with you?” Hunter raked one hand through his floppy brown hair, a gesture I had once adored.

  I crossed my hands over my chest, trying to breathe through the cramping in my stomach. “You had a fight with Magda, didn’t you? That’s why you were wandering around out here. What did you think, I’d take you back?”

  “I figured you sort of owed me, since in a sense it was partially your fault.” The trace of a British accent was back in Hunter’s voice. At one time, I thought it was a remnant of the time he’d spent in England as a teenager. These days, I felt pretty sure it was an affectation, since it seemed to come and go.

  “All right, that’s it,” I said. “Time for you,” I poked him in the chest, “to go.” I pointed at the door.

  “You didn’t ask me to explain,” Hunter murmured, curling his fingers around my hand and pulling me against his chest.