Another? Another what? And when had Albert said anything? Cole buried his nose against Albert, confused. So close, his friend smelled perfect, rich and curiously right -- curiously familiar. Then Cole picked it out, like a rainbow-colored thread braided among black ones, that odd, almost spicy musk. An appealing, challenging smell, like the one that had so overwhelmed him in the living room, a delicious smell he wanted to lose himself in, like freshly killed venison or smoky wood chips. He sat up startled, wondering.
And then he remembered -(Two wolves, one pale and ivory, one cinnamon and spotted, running side by side under the half-moon, howling their companionship to the heart of their power. Snow under paws, the biting cold of it, the simultaneous sharpness and softness as he ran, tongue lolling, eyes laughing. Running, hunting, chasing, laughing. Alive.)
Cole's eyes widened, but it felt wrong on this strange face, and the expression slipped away quickly. He stared at Albert, needing answers but unable to form the words to ask for them.
(Fingers combing through the thick ruff of fur at his neck, hands that changed and shortened and became tipped with claws, coffee colored skin sprouting cinnamon fur, glasses glinting on the floor, no longer necessary.)
Albert didn't seem to notice, wrapping his arms around Cole's neck like a boy with a big dog. "You never listen to me when you're just person-Cole. I wish you'd remember some of this." (Side by side escaping out the open window, amusement in their scent and the twitch of their tails, running until muscles burned, finding the scent of fresh prey and following it until the kill. Nose in the soft belly, pinned down under the paws of his alpha and licked clean like a pup, blurring between almost-man and almost-wolf as they joined, blood hot from the chase, smell so good, mating fucking loving lover pack-mate alpha-)
Cole made a soft "whuff" of surprise. (Cold night spent exhausted and dreaming in warm arms, until the fur split, the wolf-body melted away and there was only the taste of blood in his mouth and the vague memory of something his human mind called nightmares. Albert, soft words, remember. He shakes his head, doesn't want to remember, monstrous bloody vomiting regret.)
(Too soft and vulnerable. Too ugly. Too...)
He sat abruptly on his haunches. Albert misunderstood him, glancing over his shoulder. "Don't worry. I asked Lindsay to send them home. We can go out soon." Albert put aside his glasses. He carefully unbuttoned his shirt, folding it neatly as he set it aside, then slipped out of his slacks. Cole was startled; a wave of heat rippled past him and Albert's scent deepened, becoming richer.
Unlike the agony Cole had been through, Albert's change seemed effortless and eerily beautiful: melting and flowing until he stood as the grinning cinnamon-colored wolf of memory. He trotted over to Cole, rubbing muzzles and licking his shoulder briefly.
You're so uptight, pack-mate , Albert said, only it wasn't speaking at all. The words were in the twitches of his ears and his soft grunts and growls, meanings somehow translated in Cole's mind. I'll protect you. They won't find out.
Cole backed away further, ears flattening as he pressed against the wall. One of Albert's ears twitched. You're different . Albert's shape shimmered again, melting halfway to man, modesty hardly protected by his thin pelt. "You're Cole. Person-Cole. Aren't you? You remember yourself, don't you?"
Cole, at a loss for any other way to communicate, licked Albert's dark, twisted fingers. Fur felt odd against his tongue and tasted odder; earthy, dark and rich. He tasted too much in this shape.
"I wonder... How much do you-" Albert blurred again, becoming himself and watching Cole with a thoughtful expression. "Never mind. You can change back, you know," he said, his voice soft and patient. Cole thought he must sound like this when he spoke to his students, careful and understanding, subtly encouraging. His fingers buried themselves in the soft, thick fur at Cole's neck. "You always could. Your mother should have showed you. I don't know why you never did before -- maybe because you couldn't remember yourself. Or the half blood-"
Cole laid his chin against Albert's knee and whined. Albert scratched between Cole's ears and sighed. "Just sleep, Cole. You'll wake up yourself again. You always do." Cole didn't miss the edge of disappointment in Albert's voice. But Albert was warm under his chin and he was exhausted now that the fear had drained out of him, so he shut his eyes and pretended to listen. Eventually, he slept.
*** Cole awoke slowly in his own bed, blinking against the sunlight cast with careful strategy straight into his eyes. He groaned, yanking his blankets over his head in a weak attempt to block out the vicious light. A tentative knock sounded at his door.
"'M sleeping!" he shouted, muffled by the pillow he was pressing over his face. "Are you alright?" He sat up abruptly at the sound of Albert's voice, pillows and blankets flying. His skin crawled and he remembered the feel of it stretching and tightening into a monster's hide. Cole shuddered, clenched his eyes, and willed it to be just a dream. It couldn't be real. Monsters weren't real. He wasn't a…
The door cracked open. He whipped around to face it; Albert stood framed in the doorway, looking tired and withdrawn. "Cole?"
"I'm... I'm fine." Albert turned to go, then paused. "You're sure?"
Cole looked away. "Yeah."
"You're not." Albert's voice sounded raw.
Cole didn't speak at first, hesitating. He stared at the frayed edge of his blanket. "Why..." he began, but he didn't know how to finish. "What am I? What are we?"
Albert stared at him. "You know." Cole chewed his lip. He did. If he wanted it, everything he'd kept behind the locked door of his blackouts was available to him. He could remember the first change, Albert's shocked face, then his delight; the excitement of his first kill and the freedom, the feeling of wind in his fur. He remembered feeling more alive, more vibrant, than he had ever felt as ordinary person-Cole, and he remembered the warmth and love of his tiny two-person pack, of his faithful friend and lover.
He shut his eyes and scrunched them together hard enough to see flickers of light behind the black. He didn't want to remember. It only made him feel empty, being as he was now. "I didn't ask to be this," he said, but he didn't know if he meant being human, or being a werewolf. "Did you -- did you do this to me?"
Albert's eyes narrowed. "Don't. It's not like that. We aren't made, we're born, just like everyone else. Your-" He stopped abruptly.
"My?"
"Your mother should have told you."
"She -- she's a werewolf?" Albert nodded. "My mother, too. And my father. Only they didn't hide anything from me." Cole heard the disapproval in Albert's voice and thought he finally understood it. He chewed on his lip. "Why didn't they tell me?" He thought of his mother and her perfect clothes and plastic face, and he wasn't surprised that she'd pretended to be something other than what she was. "Why didn't you tell me?" Cole frowned, staring at his hands on the blankets. His nails were bitten to the quick, his fingers too thick and awkward-looking. He imagined them melting into paws, nails becoming curved claws.
Albert looked embarrassed. "It wasn't my place. I'm not your mother."
"No," Cole said, voice quiet. "You're my fucking best friend." Cole frowned harder when Albert said nothing. "And don't give me that crap about knowing each other for so long doesn't mean best friends! I can remember everything you did for me. Every night, all that -- you were-" He stopped, feeling his cheeks go hot. "I've been such a jerk and you were always around anyway."
"Yeah, well." Albert shifted his weight, not quite meeting Cole's eyes.
There was an awkward silence.
Albert cleared his throat. "Look, I've got class this afternoon and I really need to grade these papers. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright." He turned to go, reaching to pull Cole's door shut behind him. "Albert-"
He didn't stop. Desperate, Cole resorted to Albert's real name. "Ahbay. Please."
Albert froze, his back to Cole.
"Please don't go. Please. I'm... I'm fucking scared."
Albert turned, but not enough for Cole to see h
is face. "Don't be," he said, a smile in his voice. "You still control it. You always have."
Cole rolled onto his side to face the wall, wishing he could pretend it all away again. He listened to the door shut and curled into a tighter ball. He tossed and turned until he couldn't take it any more, then pried himself from the comfort of the mattress. There was too much in his head, too many things he wanted answers from Albert about. Too many things he wasn't even sure Albert could answer. Trying to busy himself with morning errands, he wandered through the apartment, but every time he passed Albert's open door, he paused.
About the eleventh time, his friend finally sighed and said, "Cole. I give up. Come in. I'll call in sick."
Cole fidgeted, feeling guilty. "If it's too much of a bother..."
Albert looked wry. "It's not. Seriously."
Cole slipped into Albert's room, biting his lip. "I'm sorry. I just can't stop thinking."
"It's ok. What do you want to know?" Albert spread his hands, palms upward. His nostrils flared and he nodded. "Or I can just listen." "I'm still -- I'm scared. Of it. Of... being that." Cole chewed on his thumbnail. "Maybe if you change in front of me -- maybe if I change.... You can do it any time, right? What about me? You said I'm only half -- and it's always, you know, that time of the month sort of thing for me..."
Albert laughed, soft and not unkind. "You're always separating the two, Cole. It's not like that." He reached out, hesitating a fraction of a second before patting Cole's chest, just over his heart. "It's all you -- wolf, man and everything in between. The moon doesn't control your change, it's just another thing that can affect you, like hormones. There's only you underneath, when you take all that away. Not wolf-Cole and person-Cole, just Cole Kipling the Third." He smiled. "My richest and most annoying friend."
He couldn't help himself, grinning back. "Don't you mean 'asshole of a best friend'?"
Albert snorted. "Right. As for changing." He shrugged. "Don't think about it. Just do it." Cole nodded and Albert caught his wrist. "Wait, you might want to -- ah, undress first. If you don't want to ruin more clothing."
"I bet you just want to see me naked," he teased, but he did as he was told, throwing his shirt and boxers over the back of Albert's desk chair.
He closed his eyes. "Just do it, huh?" He thought about his hands, thought about the moon, thought about fur. He cracked on eye open, looked down at himself.
"Nothing's happening," he complained.
"You're trying too hard. Just do it. Like bending your knee." And then he thought about nothing, he just decided he was going to be wolf-shape, and it was easy; he knew, suddenly, that he had always known how, without being told, without being taught. It was as natural as breathing. He melted into the wolf and back again, coming up from the change with laughter on his lips like a kid surfacing after his first dive. Albert was smiling at him, as fond and proud as a big brother.
Cole picked up his fallen clothing and started to pull his pants back on. He was surprised to feel suddenly shy. He glanced at Albert. "I want -- Can I see you change?" Albert gave him a long look, the sun reflecting in flat, opaque shapes from his glasses. Then he shook his head lightly and like a ripple, fur grew along his cheeks and down the bared swatches of skin on his arms. As the change washed over him, Albert stripped off his shirt and slacks, letting them fall to the ground.
Cole shivered. "Fuck," he breathed. Albert was beautiful, cinnamon mottled with darker shapes, hazel eyes watching out of a sharp wolf's face. Cole was shocked to find he was getting hard; worse yet, he could smell himself, the salt-scent of his arousal. He must reek of it to Albert's more sensitive nose. Some part of him recognized the twitch of Albert's ears and tail as wolfish laughter; then as quickly as it had been assumed, the wolf-shape was melting away.
Cole reached out a hand, stopped Albert midway. "Don't."
They stood face to face for a moment, half-naked man and half-man wolf. Cole leaned in, hesitating just a breath as he watched for Albert's reaction, and laid his mouth over dark lips stretched over wicked fangs.
Albert stepped back, startled. "Cole," he said, the word emerging twisted from his strange mouth.
"You never stopped me before." "Was different."
Cole bit his lip, not knowing quite how to say what he wanted to say. "I want to... I want to know what I forgot." Albert looked doubtful but Cole yanked him forward, kissing him again. The shape of their faces met awkwardly, but something thrilled through Cole, making him smile. "I remember this," he said. Albert kissed him back, all thin lips and teeth and fur.
Cole's kisses became affectionate licking, and almost unaware, his own body changed to match Albert's, wolf and man and something else. Albert pressed him down into the carpet, hands traveling and mouth nipping, A warm tongue traveled down Cole's pale-furred belly as the hair deepened into gold and retreated into a neat line from belly-button to the curls between his still-shifting thighs; he laughed and then moaned as a soft, wide tongue lapped at his proudly standing sex. Albert's furred cheeks tickled him to the point of distraction until his friend shifted back to human, pressing soft lips against the inside of Cole's thigh.
"You smell," Albert breathed, "incredible." Cole tipped his head back, mouth open and nostrils flaring as he breathed in. Albert's heat was delicious, coffee-warm, making his skin tingle and his cock twitch. He wanted to be inside Albert, or have Albert in him, he wanted to take and fight and fuck for dominance. He wanted to play and chase and flee and wrestle. Taste blood and come and sweat. "I want you," he growled, dragging Albert upwards into another kiss.
They broke apart and Albert hovered over him, hesitating. "Is this..." He paused, searching for the words. "I don't think I can do this if you're just trying to find the wolf again." Cole buried his face against the curve of Albert's shoulder and inhaled. Was that all this was, trying to find the wolf-dream, trying to remember who he was? He pulled back and searched his friend's face; he wanted to say for certain no, but was it the truth? Or was he still in halves, still unresolved, still only the wolf who loved the werewolf?
He shook his head. "Fuck," he said. "I just want this. I just -- I just want you. Want to fuck you."
Albert studied him, strange and almost sad. But his cheeks were flushed, his breathing shallow. Cole realized with a flash of guilt that Albert had wanted this for too long. Eventually, Albert smiled at him. "Apparently you don't remember," his friend said, taking off his glasses and folding them, placing them neatly on his desk. "I'm sorry to break it to you, Cole, but you're the bitch in this relationship."
They laughed, their bodies twisting and moving fluidly from shape to shape as they rolled on the floor, biting, tasting, kissing, licking. Albert crushed him against the ground, teeth scraping at the nape of his neck, a rich, low growl erupting from his too-human throat. Cole almost came at the sound of it, but he twisted away, laughing until it became a silent wolfish grin; he twitched his tail in Albert's face. If I'm the bitch, catch me. Albert looked startled, and then he too was grinning, melting into his wolf-shape. They scampered through the house, claws clicking and skidding against the hardwood floors, blood racing and tongues lolling. As Cole turned into his room, Albert tackled him, pinning him down with teeth and claws. Yield? Albert growled. Cole turned onto his back, licking Albert's chin.
Yield, he said, paws becoming hands, muzzle shaping into a mouth. "And the lube is in the drawer behind your head." Albert's wolf shape dropped away and he was laughing. "Clever," he said, reaching back into the drawer; then he was spreading Cole's legs, slicking them both, the smell of lube rude and synthetic in his nose, yet somehow amplifying the smell of sex. They fumbled a moment more, awkward, shifting shape to fit each other better; and then Albert was pressing into him, fucking him. He lost coherence, clawed hands scraping lines through the hardwood floor, into Albert's shoulders and back. He thought he howled out of a human mouth, smelling the moment before Albert came, sea-salt and sweet, lost in his own ecstasy with the next moment.
Albe
rt's lips were on his throat as he came down, human lips, whispering. He spoke so softly Cole almost didn't hear him. "Is it really you, Cole?" he asked. "My friend -- my mate." Happiness put a tremble in his voice, a weakness that terrified Cole and exhilarated him all at once.
Lying against Albert, listening to the slowing of their hearts, some part of him filled with unexplainable longing at Albert's words. "I..." he started. When had he ever been so uncertain of himself? All his life, maybe. He'd just never faced it before. "I want to be...."
Albert kissed his forehead. "Just be you." Cole wondered if either of them knew who that really was.
Prey
by Angel There it lurked, hulking atop a low rise, half hidden by overgrown tress and out-of-control weeds. Old Baptist Hospital with its wide lawns, iron fence and empty windows, loomed at the intersection where Pauline ran into Crump, a photographer's dream of light and shadow.
I drove by it a lot, my eyes always shifting to it of their own accord, but on this late autumn afternoon, I finally stopped to shoot. No one stopped me as I drove up the old drive, running over the weeds that came up over my bumper. I parked out by a building with a huge smokestack labeled "Hope Clinic." My cynical side made me wonder just what sort of "hope" the clinic peddled.
I wandered the grounds, shooting the broken-out windows, the long shadows, the overgrowth and desolation. I got a pretty decent shot of my shadow next to the entrance sign, heading for the missing door. After two rolls, I got up my nerve to venture inside.
"This is stupid, Michael. Don't do it," I whispered to myself. Ignoring my own good advice, I walked the sickly green halls, taking pictures of the empty rooms, shooting them so they'd look like antechambers of Hell. Trees were framed at just the wrong angle in the windows. The light was getting chancier and I took advantage of the shadows and unexpected illuminations.
The building had been used as shelter by transients. Bits of fires, graffiti, the occasional den in a sheltered corner where the remaining doors could be closed for protection from the wind and ice. I caught a few of these. The Flyer always ran a heart-tugging story on homelessness when the weather started getting cold.
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