by BA Tortuga
“Right on. How far is it?” Connor ate the chips, nose wrinkling. “I miss real salsa.”
“I hear you.” Texas had the best Mexican food. Period. “Too much cilantro. It’s an hour and fifteen over the high road if we watch the weather. It can snow up there in July, so we have to watch the clouds.”
“I like snow. The Mustang, not so much.”
“Good thing we have the truck, then.”
Connor nodded. “We’ll take the Mustang anytime we go to Texas and such.”
“Shit, yes,” Brock agreed. “Take her and let her run.”
Connor’s eyes glowed for him, fascinating him and catching him for a second. God. God, so pretty. So much light. The blue and the green seemed to blend sometimes, making this amazing illusion.
Brock grinned. “They have churros. Real ones. We’ll have to get some.”
“Oh. You do love me. Crunchy fried cinnamon goodness.”
Brock went still, his cheeks hot, then cold. Jesus. He did love this man. All of a sudden it hit him. They were mates. They really were. He’d said it before, but…. Christ, they were natural enemies as animals. How the hell had this happened?
Connor laughed, the sound merry. “I found you. You didn’t even know we were lost.”
“I didn’t.” He reached out and touched the back of Connor’s hand. “I never felt alone, but now I know.”
“Good.” Connor winked at him. “Be good or I’ll have to rub cheeks with you, and people will stare.”
“They’ll probably do more than that, babe. Not the friendliest area, if you get me.”
“Yeah. I know about that.”
“Oh?”
“Uh-huh. They drastically underestimated my claws and my desire to not have my ass kicked.”
Brock chuckled. “That’s when the sharp teeth come in handy.” He’d escaped more than one intended bashing by wolfing out. The kinds of guys who would kick a gay man’s ass would never go public about seeing a man change into a wolf.
“Mmm.” Connor purred, and that little sound—more danger-kitty than peaceful-hippie—made him shiver.
Brock grinned. “Complex Ragbone. I like it.” The food arrived, and, damn, it smelled good. Hard to mess up tacos and enchiladas.
Connor ate like he was starving, ordering a second plate of food before he was half through his first. They would have to leave a good tip, especially after they worked through the tres leches cake and the churros. With damned good coffee.
Connor groaned happily. “Better. Better, Brock. I needed that.”
“Eating on the run is never easy for you, I know.” He chuckled, leaving a twenty for Lila. “Come on, babe. We’ll stay at the Rodeway tonight and make the trip over tomorrow. It’s too late today to try it.”
“You’re the boss. I know, Danny said so.”
Yeah. Yeah, right. Shit.
They headed back to the truck, and Brock’s mind was racing. There was only one other way to Grand Lake, and that was back down to Denver and around. Screw that. They would rest up tonight and wake up tomorrow ready to work. Time to get fucking serious.
Connor rolled up into the truck, eyes on the sky.
“What?” Brock asked.
“Just looking. You said to check the weather.”
“Right. Can you check the forecast on my phone too? Just to be on the safe side.” Silly kit.
“I can. We’re looking for any precipitation?”
“Yeah. Or weird pressure systems or even mostly cloudy.” The wind could change in a heartbeat at ten thousand feet. He’d been trapped in storms in the high country more than a few times, but luckily, as a wolf, his survival chances were way better than just human.
“Does that show on the phone? Really?”
“Yeah. The weather app is pretty simple, really. Not much in the way of projections. We smell snow tomorrow, we’ll have to go careful, but this will let us know the best time to head out.”
“Rock on. I usually just go on instinct.”
“You know, I sorta figured that about you.” Brock shook his head. “I prefer a little more sure thing. I combine instinct with a little science.” The Rodeway Inn was just the other side of town. It wasn’t the Stanley or anything, but it would do.
“I like that about you. It’s a little stodgy, but utterly functional.”
Little fucker. He was gonna break down and beat that tight kitty ass one of these days.
Connor snorted softly. “You might try.”
“The mind boggles.” His truck was beginning to smell like Connor. Brock didn’t examine that too closely, just noted it with a smile.
“We don’t have to get a hotel, Fuzzy. We have a tent and a big bedroll in the toolkit. We can camp up by the park.”
“You’re obsessed with camping. I want a real bed while I can have one.”
“That’s cool. I was just looking at saving you money.”
“We’re on expense account with Danny.” Brock wouldn’t go nuts, but there was no sense in sleeping cold and uncomfortable. “I expect gymnastic sex in thanks.”
Connor tilted his head. “Are you thinking pommel horse or parallel bars?”
“Floor exercise.” He chuckled, warmth blooming in his belly, though that might have been the Mexican food.
“Ah. Excellent. I will be good at that.”
“Right? You tumble well, and you have that stubby tail for balance.”
“Don’t diss the tail, Fuzzy.”
“Never. I like it. It makes you, well, you. Like the dreads.”
Brock turned off at the hotel. The place was decently clean and well situated.
Connor beamed at him. “Thank you. My favorite part of you is your eyes. They shine.”
“I’m a wolf.” He was pleased as hell, though, and he gave Connor a kiss before hopping out to go get them a room. “Be right back.”
One more night of bed before they spent who knew how long on the ground. As much as he enjoyed wolfing out, he preferred it on a bed. The days of finding a cave or something were long gone.
When he returned to the truck, Connor was gone.
Brock stared at the passenger seat, his heart beginning to pound.
“Connor? Connor, where the fuck are you?”
He didn’t need this shit. He didn’t need Connor to be a freak and wander off. The back of the truck was empty, and when he scanned the area around the parking lot, he saw no one. Jesus Christ on a pogo stick!
Connor? Mate?
Here! You want a Dr Pepper or a Coke?
Dr Pepper. And a PayDay or something with peanuts. He would need to chomp something so he didn’t yell.
Oh. PayDays….
He rolled his eyes. Damned kitten. He’d bet Connor came back with a handful of candy bars and maybe some chips. Lord have mercy. Brock took a deep breath. It was okay. Connor was okay.
“Of course I’m okay. I’m right here.” Candy bars, Cokes, chips, and some Lifesavers. Someone was worried about dragon breath.
“Sorry, I had a moment of panic. Next time just… woo-hoo.” He pointed to his head. “You know. Holler.”
“No worries. I saw the sign.”
“Yeah.” He unlocked the toolbox so they could grab bags and shit. He took everything but the camping gear, because this was a high-traffic area this time of year. No sense tempting anyone to find their sidearms.
“You’re worried.” Connor bumped their shoulders together.
“I need to know we’re on the same page, Ragbone. I was a little worried you’d run off to find whatever it is that’s the same direction as mine.”
“I didn’t. I went for Cokes. I’m not untrustworthy.”
“No, just unpredictable.” He tried for a smile, not wanting to hurt Ragbone’s feelings. This was all damned new.
Connor handed over the candy bar and one of the Cokes, then took some of the bags. “What room?”
“One twenty-two.” That back didn’t seem overly stiff when Brock followed, so maybe he was okay.
“Good deal. Don’t forget to lock the truck.”
“Shit.” Returning to the truck took only a few seconds, but Brock felt like an idiot.
Connor stood at the room door, watching him with those mismatched eyes.
“You pissed at me, Ragbone?” he asked when he walked up to the door.
“I don’t waste time with being aggravated. It’s not my style.”
“No? It’s my style to worry over shit. I bet you know that by now.” Their bodies brushed when he slid by, and he pulled Connor into the room with him. They leaned against the closed door so Brock could kiss Connor silly.
He’d fucked up. He knew it. He just…. He was being asked to adjust to so many things, so quickly. He didn’t do quick adjustments.
So he showed Connor how he felt physically, with touches that got more and more desperate. He needed Ragbone to understand. Connor stroked and petted, easing him, loving on him gently.
“Come to bed with me, Ragbone.” He wanted to be close. That would do it. Just close and holding on.
“I can do that. In fact, I’m brilliant at the whole to-bed thing.”
“You so are, Kitty.” They both stripped on the way to the bed, and he tackled Connor to the mattress after he tugged off the bedspread.
He was going to make Connor feel good. He was going to make up the best way he knew how.
Connor just laughed and wrapped around him, no weirdness or censure in his multicolored eyes.
“You’re something else, Ragbone.”
“This is true. I’m special.”
That glinting grin made Brock snort, and he took another deep, hard kiss. “And mine.”
Connor’s eyes went wide, and then they softened, the gaze warm and happy. “I can live with that, Fuzzy.”
“I thought you might, Ragbone. In fact, I was hoping real hard that was the case.”
Connor rubbed their noses together, slow and easy, and that made Brock a little dizzy.
All Brock could do was hold on and close his eyes, their legs tangled together, cocks rubbing nice and slow. The luxury of it wasn’t lost on him. All the time he needed to touch and tease. All night.
Tomorrow they’d be back at work, but tonight… tonight was theirs.
Chapter Eighteen
CONNOR STARED at the rain. He didn’t mind the snow, but he didn’t love the rain. Especially the heavy, bitter-cold rain.
Especially the heavy, bitter-cold rain with a piece-of-shit tent hidden on the ground and his perch was in the trees.
The bears were unhappy, and the men were stinky—unwashed and snappy, wet and bored and drinking too much. What were they waiting for? What kept them in one place for so long?
Connor twitched his whiskers, ridding them of moisture. Again.
The whisper of finding was out here, proving that they were in the right place. Brock had been clear about not interfering, though.
So Connor listened but kept it at the back of his mind until it became a scream. It would, but not right now. Right now he had to watch the stinky men and not sing songs to himself because Brock heard him and got annoyed.
Wolves. They only knew one song. Aroooo.
Seriously? How not fun was that?
Will you focus?
I am!
No, you’re chatting to yourself nonstop. I fucking hate this weather. Brock was so grumpy.
So crawl under the tent, butthead.
If you can’t be in the tent, neither can I. We need to be alert.
He barely saw Brock’s wolf self, tucked at the base of a tree on the other side of the men’s camp.
I dare you to go bite one on the butt.
Stop it. Brock did sound amused now, though. I would rather bite your butt.
If you can reach it, go for it. Are all poachers ugly?
If they were decent specimens, they wouldn’t do this for a living.
More water dripped on his head, and Connor fought the urge to jump up and shake it off.
True. They look miserable, the bears. They need out of the cages.
Brock’s growl came across loud and clear. I know. They’re not mistreating them, though, and they’re clearly waiting on something. We have to find out.
Do you think it’ll snow?
If it does, it won’t stick.
That wasn’t an answer. Maybe Brock couldn’t tell without his phone.
He’d have to check out Brock’s bloomers, see if they were puffier than normal. If they were, he would have to find what he was here for and drag Brock home soon. He’d promised Sam he would be home before the snows.
They wanted to have Christmas together as a family.
Do you think we should get squeaky snowmen for the babies for Christmas?
Are you smoking crack? The noise!
The men all began to mill around, so Connor lifted his head, his ears swiveling. What now?
Someone walked up—just like a ghost out of the mist. That was cool. Cool and weird and more than a little creepy. All his fur stood up on end, and a curious little sound escaped him.
The man glanced his way, but Connor knew he was hidden too well. There was no way he’d heard that. No way.
The man held up a hand when one of the poachers would have spoken to him. He went to each cage in turn, getting far closer to the cages than Connor would have.
What are you? He caught himself baring his teeth.
Hey. No giving us away. Brock’s voice snapped him back to himself, and Connor stilled his tail.
“None of these are right,” the man said, clear as day.
Right? What’s wrong with them? What are you going on about? Who are you? What are you?
Connor!
What?
You’re thinking loud enough they can probably hear you down there! Brock moved, slipping along the edge of the poacher camp, working around, most likely to get a better view of the new guy.
He wanted to go see. He needed to. He wanted to bite.
Stop it. Breathe. Just stop. Brock was soon not far from Connor’s tree, sort of putting his furry self between Connor and the man.
Brock. Something’s wrong with him. Something’s… wrong.
I know.
Okay. Okay, so Brock knew. Didn’t think he was nuts.
We have to see, though. Brock lifted his nose and sniffed the air.
How? Connor couldn’t see so well with the rain, but he’d go bite….
No bitey.
“So what do you want us to do with them?” Poacher One asked. “Kill them?”
“No.” The word snapped out like a shot. “No, hold them. They’ll attract the one I want.”
Which one? Why? What do you want, you bad man? I will bite you and make you scared. The thoughts ran through his mind, faster and faster, and he couldn’t control them.
Brock prowled the edges of his thoughts, worried and distracted. Connor needed to get a grip or Brock could get hurt.
“And for God’s sake, feed them. They’re animals; they need food.” The man turned away from the bears. “Widen your scope. Winter is almost here. Try Estes as well. Whatever it takes. Gather every bear you find until you find the right one.”
“Jesus, man, that’s a lot of bears.”
“I have a great deal of money. Bring in more people. I expect you to get the job done, before hibernation.”
“Yeah, you haven’t left us much time.”
The man—who was big and broad, weirdly fuzzy, dark and hard to focus on—stepped right into the poacher’s face.
Connor crept forward on the branch to hear better.
“I don’t care how you fucking do it. Just do it.” The voice became a low, ominous growl.
Don’t you dare fall.
He’s a shifter. Connor smelled it. The raw, musky smell had been hidden under the other…. He’s a bear shifter.
Shit. Okay, we back off. We know they don’t have what he wants. I need to call Danny.
Okay. Okay, but we have to let the bears go. That wasn’t fai
r. Not at all.
After I call Danny, Connor. We have to know what’s going on. Brock prowled to the tent, putting his feet down carefully. No breaking twigs and drawing attention. Good wolf.
No fair. Still, Brock had a point, Connor supposed. He guessed. He turned to head down the tree, and then stilled, went stiff as the branch cracked.
“What was that?” the shifter man asked.
“What was what? It’s fucking freezing rain. Branches have been snapping all day.” The poacher in charge sounded as grumpy as Brock.
Fuck. Fuck-a-doodle-do. Okay, okay. Okay. The cat in him went stiff and still, while his human screamed that he was visible here, that he was out in the elements, in the air.
Stay still as stone, babe. Brock crept back out of the tent, and Connor knew he hadn’t made his phone call. What was he going to do?
The bear started sniffing, gaze searching the trees. He has my scent, Brock.
Not for long. Slowly, with agonizing care, Brock slipped back around the camp and popped up by the tree where he’d been before. Then he lifted his leg and peed right on the trunk before tearing off through the trees, crashing against brush.
As soon as Brock did, Connor started down, scrambling fast and hard, claws catching in the wet wood. He fell the final six or seven feet, landing with a wet thump. He yowled softly, then shook himself, dazed.
“What the fuck is going on around here!” someone screamed, and Connor scrambled up, knowing he had to run. Brock would be waiting for him at the truck nearly a mile away.
He headed for the tent. Phone. Bags. He wouldn’t be able to tear it down, but he could get the important stuff before they found it. With any luck, the simpletons at the camp would think it had been there all along, and that they were far away.
Not so much with the bear, but the guy could hardly shift and chase with all those humans there.
He hit the tent at full speed, demolishing it and running out the other side with the two small bags that held all their important belongings. They were light enough to carry by the straps.
Shots rang out behind him, proving Brock hadn’t fooled everyone.
Bummer. Still, people chasing him meant fewer idiots chasing Brock, which was yay.
