by Anh Leod
But all her joy was gone when she opened the paper. On the front page of the Cherry Blossom Gazette was the headline “Pompey in One-Car Crash.” He’d had a fender bender, a one-car accident when he’d hit a tree after falling asleep at the wheel. Thank Apollo he hadn’t been badly injured, though there was a picture of him looking wan, a bandage above one eye.
Other changes in his appearance surprised her, particularly given that it was election year. Why were his eyebrows thicker than she remembered? And he now had a beard? He didn’t have the look of an American political candidate anymore.
That does it. She needed to see him, make sure he was okay. He didn’t deserve this. Neither did the shape-shifter community. They needed someone in human politics to smooth over any problems that might present themselves. Also, it wasn’t his fault he was her mate, that her brother and his friends had trapped him when it wasn’t a full moon. All thoughts of the books slipped her mind.
She only hoped after she’d seen him she’d have the strength to leave to return to her research.
She picked up the phone and dialed his office, reaching an answering service. “Hello, this is the mayor’s fiancée. Do you know his schedule for the day?”
“Hi, Bijou,” said a friendly female voice she recognized from other calls. “He’s in meetings until about ten p.m. tonight.”
Appalled, she asked, “He’s keeping that kind of schedule even with the fender bender?”
Bijou heard a warm chuckle. “You know how politicians are during election season. Go, go, go! But he did get a driver after his little accident.”
She was grateful for that at least. “Are any of the meetings in public places where he might have moment to talk before or after?”
“Let me check.” After a pause, the woman said, “Sorry. It looks like they are all either government or finance meetings today.”
Bijou sighed. “Would you leave a message for him to call me on my cell phone?”
The woman sounded surprised. “You know, you’ve never asked me to do that before.”
“I’ve left messages.”
“Only for his secretary.” Now she was all business. “Any specific message, please?”
“Just that I wanted to chat,” Bijou paused, “about wedding details, I guess.”
“Very good. I’ll let him know.”
“Thanks.” Bijou set the phone back in its receiver. She’d done the best she could. Now it would be hard to focus on her work until she heard from him. Remember, Bijou, this ancient tongue had to be of interest, important even. The casket had been given to a magister, after all. She’d even found a mention of him in an extant letter from 1432, describing his gown. It certainly sounded like it had been covered with symbols from the mysterious language. Perhaps he was a shape-shifter sorcerer, if there ever were such creatures.
Forcing herself to keep going through the routine of her day, she made quick work of breakfast and the walk to Nana’s house, eager to distract herself with her research. Her cell phone was fully charged and the ringer volume was set to high so she couldn’t possibly miss a call from Pompey. Barkley was on his way out when she entered his front door.
“You’re peppy this morning,” he said, his eyes slitted from the morning light.
She felt anything but. “I love my work,” she said with a forced smile. “Do you want to borrow my sunglasses?” It wouldn’t hurt to be extra nice considering she was about to break into his locked cabinets.
He shook his head. “I have some in the car, thanks. Not too much longer now, until the wedding.”
“You’re right.” Time was running out for her as well as Pompey.
“The baby seems strong,” Barkley mused, gazing at some point right over her head.
“You haven’t told anyone, have you?” He was the only one in the Brotherhood she couldn’t hide her little wolf from, since he could see her aura in Bijou’s. Only her brothers and Cere’s wife, Vi, knew about her pregnancy.
“No.” He shook his head. “Have a good day.” He hurried down the steps, obviously in a rush to get somewhere.
It wasn’t important. She had translation to do.
Three hours later she had cobwebs in her hair and an entire new world had been opened to her. Translation had been slow. She’d been forced to pick through bits and pieces of many of the available crumbling books, trying to find something of use to her. There was a history of the Greek gods that seemed to indicate they were real, at least to the author, a history of the founding of the Brotherhood, a history of their expulsion from Greece, various philosophical treatises and what she held now, a book of scientific hypotheses.
“The humans maintain there are four humors that regulate the body,” she translated. “Blood, phlegm, black bile and yellow bile. Balance of these is essential for well-being and the regulation of cold, hot, dry and wet in the human form. These substances can be seen in the human body. We are a higher form of being, but we have these humors as well. What sets us apart?
“I propose a theory of additional shape-shifter humors. If you have ever seen a wounded shape-shifter in his animal form, you can observe a clear, thick fluid runs from his veins as well as blood. This is fact. Clearly there must be another substance to balance. If this clear fluid is perhaps in existence to maintain a shifting, there must be a substance to regulate our transformation to the human form. How are these substances different in those shape-shifter races who can shift between their animal form at will compared to those, like our Legion enemy, who cannot?”
Could it all come down to science and not magic? Bijou wondered as she set down the book and rubbed her eyes. Maybe there was a simple antidote to mating magic in here somewhere. Of course, this was the medieval equivalent of science, which was pretty magical compared to the practical nature of contemporary medicine. Not that shape-shifters had much need for human medicine since they were long-lived, healed quickly and almost never caught human diseases.
She carefully turned the pages of the manuscript, looking for the symbol that represented this clear fluid the author had described. The author was correct. She had noticed the substance herself, though she’d never paid much attention to body fluids when she was in wolf form. But then again, had she seen it only when she was in wolf form? She was tempted to prick her finger and find out, but she didn’t want to get blood on the old book, so she went back to carefully turning the pages. There was the symbol for humors again, toward the back.
“One can surmise that, in the situation where one of us is separated from their mate, the humors are disturbed. Perhaps the humor regulating the human form is no longer present in a shape-shifter except as it acts upon their mate. Something changes in the body once true mates are joined. That would explain why many shape-shifters find it difficult to hold on to a fully human form when they have been separated from their mates for many months.”
What? Why had she never heard this before? She set down the book. Medieval medicine or not, this hypothesis did explain exactly what appeared to be going on with Pompey. The question was, had the science or magic or whatever it was advanced to the point of fixing the problem before these books and the knowledge they contained had been lost? It didn’t seem likely, since treating the humors hadn’t done much for human patients in the medieval era. She knew that bloodletting, in fact, had been deadly at times.
She leafed through the rest of the book, looking for the symbols she needed, but couldn’t find anything more. The treatise hadn’t given her any clue as to what this substance might be, what it might look like.
If it even existed.
Several hours past her usual stopping time, she’d been through nine of the twelve books and her head was pounding. She hadn’t heard from Pompey either. Why hadn’t he been eager to contact her in response to her phone message, considering her body held the key to his physical decline? Did he have too much pride to ask her for help? Or maybe he really couldn’t stand her and preferred to stay away even at risk of his own health? What
a depressing thought. Locking the books back into the cabinet, she left Nana’s house and walked back to hers through the cool, dark night in a foul mood.
When she saw her car in her driveway, she knew she’d have to drive to Pompey’s. What she couldn’t solve with research or science, she’d have to fix with simple contact. She couldn’t let her little wolf’s father deteriorate any further, even if he didn’t want to see her. Maybe an hour or so together would be enough to bolster his strength and return him to human form.
He probably wouldn’t be home this early, but he had given her access upon demand so she could bring over anything she needed. After all, their wedding was only three weeks away. She wondered when he would be home. Probably very late, and she needed to get quite a bit of rest.
Ironically, even pregnant, she could probably sacrifice the rest more readily than he could in his deteriorated condition. She’d survive one late night.
Without even entering her house, she got in her car and drove to his. Otherwise she might never get up the nerve to visit him. Her nipples hardened in anticipation as she saw his house. Traitorous body. The mere thought of Pompey brought it alive and wanting. She left her car in his driveway and entered his house from the side door to the kitchen behind the garage, which had a fingerprint lock.
The house was silent and had a dusty, decayed feeling, like it was deteriorating along with its owner. Did these old clan houses, lived in by alphas for generations, take on the characteristics of the owner? Were they alive somehow? Was her refusal to be with him now killing the house too?
She sneezed and when she rubbed her nose, her fingers came away black. The old books she’d been translating were coated with the dust of ages. Surely she had time to take a shower before Pompey appeared. She went down the halls to his glorious bathroom, glad to have an excuse to check it out again.
The space was as glorious as she remembered and definitely something to look forward to when they lived together. That and regular brain-dissolving sex.
Standing in the spiral reminded her of that first night. It was easy to remember due to the scent of the soap Pompey used filling dim mosaic-covered space. This time, when she found the spray that lined up so perfectly with her pussy, she spread her legs and let it pound against her. She arched into the water, leaning her head against her hands above it and pretended Pompey’s fingers were touching her intimately.
Could she allow herself regret that she hadn’t let him touch her all along? Her hips moved with the water spray as she reminded herself that on July fifth he had left, deserting her even though he’d brought roses.
He’d only courted her that one night.
She came with tears in her eyes, then moved aside and shuddered against the wall. It wasn’t the same as a strong body against hers, but her orgasm helped her relax a little. She wiped her eyes. At least the tears had stopped as quickly as they began. Pregnancy hormones were funny. Pompey hadn’t done anything wrong. He respected her work and wanted to give her time to do it. That was all. She was the one who had told him to stay away.
As she calmed her breathing, she heard steps outside the shower. A man’s steady footfalls. Her nostrils flared, her wolf senses picking up the musk of her mate’s body.
She ran out of the spiral.
“Pompey?”
He looked even more tired than she had expected, more aged and wolflike. She had to blink away more tears, a little afraid to touch him.
His hands stilled at the tie on his throat. “Bijou.” He cleared his throat.
Gods. He was still so beautiful.
“Why are you…well, why are you naked in my shower?” he asked.
“I was dusty,” she explained, defiantly refusing to cover up. She felt water drip off her body, pooling on the floor. “I called you this morning but I never heard from you.”
“I never got the message. The office must not have clarified it as a number one priority.”
“Your future wife isn’t the highest priority?” she snapped, her concern coming out as anger.
He pulled off his tie. She could see his fingers trembled. “I’ll get that fixed in the morning, make sure you’re at the top of the list. I’m sorry. Is anything wrong?”
She took a step toward him and began to unbutton his shirt for him. His hands went limp at his sides, as if her help was an almost necessary relief.
“Nothing is wrong with me. I’m blooming. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Blooming? Aren’t you having…problems?”
“No. Nothing has changed for me in that regard.” She pulled his shirt off his shoulders and glanced up at his face. Didn’t he know? Couldn’t he sense their cub growing inside her? She had to admit though, it was a surprise to her that the pregnancy protected her from deteriorating physically. She put her hands to his belt and unbuckled it.
“Bijou, I need to get my shoes off first or I’ll fall over when you try to pull my pants off.”
“Of course.” She pushed her damp hair out of her eyes as he bent and slipped off his shoes.
When he had straightened again, she said, “I’m pregnant. I guess I thought you’d know that, though there’s no reason why you would.”
She pulled down his zipper. His hand stilled hers. She was sure he hadn’t meant to do that with her hand only one thin cotton layer above his growing cock.
He shook his head. “I hoped, of course, but I didn’t know.”
She wished he looked happy and excited, but she suspected he was too tired to find the energy for emotion. “That’s why I sped up the wedding, instead of taking the entire six months you offered me.”
“I guessed.” He stepped away from her, letting her hand drop from his crotch. As he pulled off his slacks he said, “That’s wonderful news. Exactly what I’d hoped for.”
His exhausted appearance kept her from attacking his lack of enthusiasm. At least he was saying the right things. “You sound so tired, Pompey, not thrilled at all. What’s wrong? Has something else happened since the fender bender or are you just as tired as you look?”
He kicked off his socks. “You know about that?”
Her damp body was beginning to chill. She crossed her arms over herself. “I saw it in the newspaper.”
“I see.”
She saw a glint in his eye now, as he took in her form. Something about the way she’d accidentally plumped her breasts above her chilly arms must have piqued his interest. Could she be giving him strength so quickly?
“What brings you by? What was I supposed to call you about?”
“I wanted to check on you. After the car accident.”
He stepped toward her. “Is that all?”
“I thought being with me might help you a little. To regain your strength.”
“What did you have in mind?”
She took an involuntary step back toward the safety of the shower. But a puddle of water was right behind her and she slipped, just a little.
His arms were around her in a blur of motion. Where had the energy come from?
“You move pretty fast for a half moon,” she said, leaning her head into his chest. Only his formfitting blue boxers separated her from his naked body.
“When my lady stops by for a booty call, it refreshes me.” He sounded like his old self for a moment.
She put her hands on his chest. “A booty call? I’m just here to keep you going!”
He took her hands in his and slowly inched them down his broad, warm chest to the top of his boxers. She was certain his chest was much fuzzier than it had been, but the hair felt silky, springy. “Don’t you want me?”
“That’s not why I came.” But her pussy was soft and relaxed from her orgasm and even now, she could feel moisture between her lips. She didn’t fight the urge to press herself against his hard thigh.
“But could you come?” he asked. “For me?” He pulled their joined fingers down his boxers, pulling them off together.
His cock sprang free, this potent part of him unin
jured by his deterioration. She was glad.
“You’re still so perfect,” she moaned, looking at his thick length. The large head wept a drop of fluid as she caressed him with her fingers.
He led her back to the shower, which was still misting water. The steamy air had her senses reeling and she didn’t curb her impulse to kneel at his feet and take him in her mouth as he leaned against the wall.
The relative darkness gave her a sense of otherworldliness, timelessness. She licked and suckled his hot cock, playing with the insides of his thighs with her fingers. When he gasped, she moved her hand to his balls and cupped them in her palm, gently massaging them as she took him deep into her throat.
Then, he was pushing her away, grabbing her as if to lift her against the wall. But she felt his arms tremble and didn’t want him to have to take her weight. She turned around, bent forward and came up on her tiptoes to give him access, her body trembling with need.
His hands pulled her hips to him, tilting her butt. His cock slid between her cheeks. She wondered where he would enter her, but then he pushed into her pussy in a violent thrust of homecoming. Her channel tightened around him instinctively.
She felt filled beyond hope and remembered this was her true mate, the one her body had been craving for so long. How could she have denied herself this pleasure, this intensity?
His hands left her hips as he thrust, their bodies perfectly aligned. The scent of his body mingled with the clean soapy aroma in the shower, enveloping her in him. He put one hand on the wall above her, his head curled around hers, nuzzling her hair. The other went to her pussy, his fingers encircling her clit.
“Harder,” she moaned. “Don’t you dare be gentle with me.”
“Bijou,” he gasped, pushing his palm hard against her clit while simultaneously slamming into her pussy. Her body began to tremble, jerking forward and back, unsure whether it wanted to push onto his cock or forward into his hand.
“You’re the best,” she cried. “Don’t ever stop!”
