by Megan Derr
Lowell choked on a laugh. "That will teach them to cry wolf?"
"I cannot believe I just set myself up for that," Peter said with a groan. "I'm going downstairs before I get myself in further trouble." He looked at Lowell, then turned away, closing the door behind him.
Um.
'Wolf Forgets How to Breathe.'
He'd seen people look like that before but, uh, never at him.
Swallowing, Lowell moved to the door and made certain the hallway was clear, then bolted for his room.
An hour later, showered and dressed, he almost felt normal enough to go downstairs without doing something stupid.
No one was in the kitchen, but a cup of coffee waited for him. Smiling, he picked it up and wandered toward the clinic, sipping carefully.
Three women were in the clinic, one of them not entirely human, and to judge from the smell none of them would mind if Peter suggested a very thorough, very private physical. He growled softly to himself, but felt no real threat.
Not when he was still trying very hard not to think about that Look Peter had given him. Part of him wondered if someone had been standing behind him. Another part of him was excited and anticipating…but neither part knew what, precisely, he was anticipating.
Oh, he wasn't wholly ignorant. He wondered now if his being this alpha thing was the reason no one had ever actually propositioned him, unkempt appearance and smell notwithstanding.
Pushing open the door that connected house to clinic, Lowell took another sip of coffee and watched the proceedings.
The women he'd smelled were clustered around Peter, talking roughly ninety miles an hour – with hand gestures to match. Lowell caught snippets of what seemed to be six different conversations at once, stuff about volleyball and bakesales and knitting and a store on fire, something about a ghost…
But his eyes were only for the beleaguered doctor – his doctor, though he still had trouble believing his own thoughts.
Peter looked up and smiled at him, pushing absently at his glasses.
Abruptly the conversation ceased, and as one the three women turned around.
He may be an alpha, but he didn't think even one of those was any match for Women In Search of Fresh Gossip.
"Aren't you a cutie," one cooed, reaching up to pat Lowell's cheek. The others made equally horrifying noises around her, and Lowell fought an urge to turn and run.
"Ladies," Peter said patiently, moving around them to lightly settle an arm around Lowell's waist.
Suddenly Lowell ceased to care one bit about the busybodies assaulting him. He was aware only of that arm, the warmth of his mate – wow was that a heady thought, and he was slowly getting used to thinking it – and of the look Peter had given him not so long ago.
Were they maybe moving too fast? Was any of this real?
Of course, they were ignoring the problems that had not gone away with Stacey…but Lowell was more than content to ignore them for now.
"He's just woken up, let's not overwhelm him, shall we?" Peter said with a laugh. "What health problems did you say you were having?" He asked.
The ladies laughed amongst themselves. "I think we've been cured. Your beau is very handsome, Doctor."
"Thank you," Peter said with a smile. "Now go and report to your mistress, since she didn't get anything out of me this morning."
Cackling, the ladies swiftly obeyed, door slamming shut behind them in their hurry to leave.
Lowell stared after them, coffee mostly forgotten in his hands. "You're, uh, going to be busy today."
"Probably," Peter said, mouth quirking. Then the happy expression abruptly died. "Hopefully in pleasant ways."
"Stacey," Lowell said, his own levity fading.
"Yes," Peter said with a sigh.
Lowell bit his lip, wanting to know but hating to bring up something that obviously caused Peter so much pain – yet now that he was awake, and dressed, and had caffeine in his system…last night had been the full moon. Peter had been bitten before that.
By all rights, he should have turned into a wolf. Why hadn't he?
That wasn't the only question he had surrounding Peter. What about all those pictures upstairs? Where was Peter's family? Why had they left? Why was Peter still here, and so painfully alone?
Did it really matter?
Lowell shook his head. No, it didn't, except that he wanted to know everything about Peter. He wanted to understand this man who somehow, someway, apparently belonged to him…
The thought made his mouth dry. Mate. What, uh, exactly did that mean?
"You look as though your thoughts are giving you quite the headache," Peter said softly.
"They are," Lowell said, shaking his head again, taking a sip of coffee to hide his embarrassment. "I don't know where to start."
Peter moved away to lean against a desk that was cluttered with paperwork and files. He pulled off his glasses and set them aside on top of the papers. "I am surprised you do not start with me."
Lowell shrugged. "It makes you unhappy. Dealing with me is enough for now." He grimaced. "I don't get why I'm this alpha thing. I'm not…bossy or anything."
"You'll grow into it," Peter said. "That your instinct is to command, to take charge, says that loud and clear. It suits you, or will, once you get comfortable with the idea."
"I'm never going to get comfortable with it," Lowell muttered, drinking more of his coffee. He shied away from thinking of how he'd ordered Stacey to get a glass, the way he'd thrown him out with a promise to kill.
He didn't threaten people. Ever.
"A wise leader," Peter said softly, "knows when to use his authority, and when not. That you never forced the issue says that you have always known your power, if only on a subconscious level. Perhaps you feared abusing your power – because more than merely werewolves will listen if you give an order and compel the listener to obey."
Lowell blinked at that, and went to drink more coffee, only to realize he'd emptied his mug. Drat. He thought about excusing himself to get more, but realized it was just a feeble attempt at running away.
What he really wanted was the nerve to ask about the whole mate thing. Cause it was pretty obvious what all that meant, especially when his stupid wolf form insisted on sleeping in Peter's bed – his cheeks burned just thinking about it – but oh man did he feel like the loser he was when he thought about it.
Ugh.
Peter smiled at him, that easy, gentle way he had that just made everything so much better. When he held out a hand, Lowell could not resist and went toward it, settling his own, Peter's hand soft and warm.
"Your thoughts are plain upon your face, Low," he said with another soft laugh.
"Oh," Lowell said, feeling stupid. "I, uh, am sorry for being such an idiot."
Peter squeezed his hand and tugged him closer still, and Lowell barely noticed when his coffee mug was taken and set aside. "You're not an idiot. Nothing more than overwhelmed. The past few days have been a little much. Most people would have gone insane, I think."
"I, uh, don't see how, um, all this…uh…" He shook his head, wishing his cheeks would cool down cause he felt dumb enough. "I don't see how it's possible."
Or why Peter would want someone like him. He was older, and his former lovers – Lowell ignored the angry jealousy that flared up – had probably all been his age and handsome and experienced and definitely not dumb homeless kids who didn't understand how to be what they were.
"To be honest, I wonder that myself," Peter replied.
Oh. Lowell told himself he shouldn't feel dejected. Of course Peter would wonder why he was apparently mate to a dumb homeless kid.
"A purebred alpha could do far better for a mate than a small town doctor with mediocre alchemical abilities," Peter continued. He reached up with both hands to lightly cup Lowell's face, tilting it up, thumbs brushing his cheeks "Once you are fully come into your power, and comfortable with it, you will be quite the unstoppable force. Whatever you want, Low, you co
uld very likely have."
Lowell tried to focus on speaking, but awareness of Peter filled his senses – the smell of him, the way their scents combined, the gentle stroking of fingers across his face, the pretty eyes free of the shielding spectacles.
"Um…uh…I've been all over," he finally managed. "Maybe it takes me being eighteen for this alpha thing to kick in…but if I'd seen something I wanted, surely I would have stuck with it? I don't know, I'm just a stupid kid way in over his head."
Peter smiled. "Hardly. Anyway, at the moment I'm rather cheating."
"Uh…" Lowell swallowed again. "That's okay. I, uh, kind of, um, like the cheating."
"Oh?" Peter asked softly.
"Y-yeah," Lowell replied, voice just as soft, and he thought he might have moved first but it was hard to tell for certain and then he stopped caring.
He didn't know how kisses were supposed to be, but he rather thought this was a good one – well, Peter was good. Lowell copied the motions, making a sound that might have been a whimper, unconsciously pressing closer, hands flexing uncertainly even as he tamped down on the part of him that wanted to push Peter down.
Then hands latched onto his arms and guided, until he wrapped his arms around Peter's neck, felt Peter's slide around his own waist, and the kiss paused briefly before turning into another, and another after that, until Lowell thought he was rather starting to get the hang of it.
Peter's hands smoothed lightly up and down his back, just barely touching skin where Lowell's t-shirt was slightly bunched up. Lowell shivered, and kissed harder, digging his own fingers into Peter's so-soft hair
He jumped when the phone abruptly rang, jerking back, eyes wide. The phone rang again, the sharp sound loud and near-painful after the near-perfect silence. Lowell licked his lips and cleared his throat, watching as Peter glared at the phone beside him and snatched it from the cradle.
"What?" Peter snapped. He frowned. "Are you sure? Damn it." He sighed and fumbled for his glasses as he hung up the phone, shoving them back on his face.
Lowell tamped down on his disappointment that there would be no more kisses. "What's wrong?"
"That was Jordan," Peter replied. "Apparently Sally put the town on alert. Jordan just called to say that someone saw Stacey and two other men driving through town – headed this way."
"I see," Lowell said, rage beginning to simmer. He had told Stacey not to come back, and he very much intended to kill the bastard this time.
No one was going to hurt his mate. He would not permit it.
That forced him to consider the questions he had been avoiding so far. "Why does he hate you so much? Because the experiments didn't work? Is that all?"
"I think you can guess the other reason," Peter said quietly, resting a hand on his arm, right over the wound that Lowell knew was there beneath the white lab coat.
He licked his lips, tasting Peter on them, and it was enough to steady him. "You don't turn into a wolf. Why?"
Peter laughed, though to Lowell's ears it sounded more like he was crying. "I don't know. I never have. They never forgave me for it, and they probably never will. I didn't know, it wasn't my fault…but they blame me all the same." He looked up, smile so sad it hurt, eyes dark with pain as he looked pleadingly at Lowell. "I am a werewolf…or should be…but…" He drifted off, turning away.
Fear. Lowell could smell the fear on him as plainly as he'd been able to smell the lust only minutes ago. He hated it. His mate should not smell so, not where he was concerned. Peter was his, and had nothing to fear from him. "But what?"
Drawing a shaky breath, Peter continued. "I'm immune to silver. For some reason, that immunity blocks the werewolf in me. I have improved senses, though not as good as those of a true werewolf. My adoration for the moon is the same… I can't change, that's all." He laughed bitterly, voice full of self loathing as he held tightly to his wound and stared at the floor, hair falling in his face. "I'm everything you and every other werewolf wants to be, probably much like humans wanted to be when they first began experimenting on werewolves. By sheer dumb luck, and I can't figure out how to recreate it, how to copy what I am to share with other werewolves…and so they all hate me for it, when they realize what's wrong with me."
Oh. Jeez. Uh.
"How, uh, is that possible?"
"I don't know," Peter said quietly, pushing at his glasses, eyes still on the floor. "I've tried to figure it out most of my life, from the moment I realized that I was the true freak. Everything a werewolf wants is in me, and I can't figure it out."
He slowly looked up, and Lowell couldn't bear it. Moving forward, he threw his arms around Peter and held him tight.
Not so long ago, only a few days really, he would have been insanely jealous and bitter. He knew it. Peter had the right of it – he was exactly what Lowell had always wanted to be. A werewolf that didn't have to fear changing. He was, in every way that counted, normal.
Now, though…Lowell tried to figure out when he'd stopped caring about being a werewolf. Maybe the point he realized he wasn’t alone.
"It's okay," he said quietly.
Peter was stiff in his arms, then suddenly just…melted. Lowell held all the tighter, breathing in the way their scents mingled, still tasting a hint of Peter on his tongue. Peter held him just as tightly, trembling slightly.
Lowell could understand. Until Peter, he'd been a freak too.
Soft, warm lips brushed against his throat, and suddenly it was his turn to shiver. "Peter…"
"I think," Peter said softly, pulling away to look at him, "that perhaps we are even more well-suited than either of us realized. You…truly do not hate me for being what you cannot?"
Lowell stared at him. "You don't hate me. How could I hate you? Uh, and it's, um, sort of hard to be mad about being someone who can, um, apparently give orders that people can't refuse. 'Werewolf Rules World' like, yeah?" He flushed as he realized he'd just spoken one of his dumb headline things aloud.
Peter laughed, then dipped his head and brushed a soft kiss across Lowell's lips.
It didn't stay soft long, and Lowell pressed closer, held tighter – then broke away with a frustrated, angry snarl as unwelcome scents caught his attention. He squeezed Peter's shoulders, then tore away to bolt across the room and throw himself outside.
A fancy-looking, dark blue car pulled into Peter's driveway.
He wished it were evening, because the drinkers would make good backup – but the werewolves probably knew that, and had chosen the daylight for a reason.
Well, it didn't matter. He didn't need drinkers to take care of a bunch of foolish, disobedient mongrels. They would obey or die, that was the law of Moon.
Growling softly, skin prickling as he tensed to change should it be necessary, Lowell stalked across the yard as the werewolves climbed out of the car.
He recognized Stacey immediately, but ignored him for the time being. That one knew he was as good as dead, let him wait for it. No, he was more interested in the two that smelled like his mate and yet not.
The taller of the two had a mop of curly dark hair, and eyes exactly like Peter's, though his looks were rather more on the pretty side than Peter's quiet handsomeness. The second one looked a lot like Peter, except his hair was pale blonde, eyes dark brown. Lowell recalled him from a few of the pictures, and always the little boy was with a little girl of the same hair and eyes. There had also been a picture of the brothers with her, playing in the creek.
"You are not welcome here," he said, "if you have only come to cause harm. Leave." He said the words softly, without much force – but that would change if they proved to be problematic, as they likely would.
The one that could only be Peter's brother stepped forward. "You're the jailbait Stacey mentioned."
"My name is Lowell, and you will use it," Lowell said, this time putting true command behind the words, forcing them to obey him.
All three werewolves looked at him in surprise.
"Tell me your names,"
Lowell ordered. "You are Peter's brother…and you must be a cousin or something."
"That's right," said the brother. "My name is Connor. This is Antonio…the sister of Anita, for whose death Peter is responsible."
Lowell growled. "Why would you say something like that?"
"Because it's true," Antonio snapped. "Now we hear from Stacey that he is playing around with cures and such. That freak – can he not leave well enough alone? How many more wolves is he going to hurt?"
"It was an accident," Peter said from behind Lowell.
"I remember it," Connor snapped. "You shoved her so the wolf wouldn't bite you."
"Stop it!" Lowell bellowed. He pointed at the three werewolves. "Do not speak. Do not move. Do nothing until I give you leave."
They glared at him, all but vibrating with fury – but they did not defy him.
Lowell trembled, both with the realization that he really did have such authority – and that he apparently had no qualms about using it. He turned to Peter. "What is going on here? Why do they hate you? Why…why are you alone, Peter?"
"You were looking at my pictures," Peter said with a sad sigh. "Do you remember the little girl in many of them?"
"Yes."
Peter pushed at his glasses. "Her name was Anita," he said softly. "She was my cousin, and probably we all were half in love with her. A sweeter girl was never born, and she likely would have become a fine woman. Like me, she was born human, though the rest of our families are werewolves. Unlike me, she was completely human…and back then, everyone thought me the same…"
He sighed softly. "Many werewolf parents, when they give birth to a human child, bite it so that it will fit in with the rest of the family. My parents, as well Anita's, saw no reason to do that – mostly because it is always a gamble. There is no guarantee the change will take well. So we grew up the only humans…"
Silence fell, and Lowell moved closer, reaching out to hold fast to Peter's hand.
That got him a weak smile, and Peter resumed speaking, the words coming slowly. "One night we were playing; it was summer, we always stayed out late then. A full moon night, and Anita and I loved to play with our siblings in wolf form. But that night…a…strange wolf…came out of nowhere. He was…not right…"
