by Fel Fern
* * * *
Dusty couldn’t believe his luck. Today had been unexpected, mind blowing. He wanted to cancel on his brothers that evening. They usually met after work to drink, have dinner, and catch up, but he hadn’t been in a socializing mood lately. After work though, he went right back home for a shower and a change of clothes, then met his friends at the new bar they’d recently taken to—the Buzzing Bee.
He noticed his friends had found a booth near the window, which gave him a view of the entire bar, of who came in and out. Sometimes he thought the training they’d experienced as soldiers would never rub off. He noticed Abram and his mate, Kane, were there, as well as Mike and Bowen.
He remembered Grover was out of town with his mate, Eric, on some romantic trip. That suited Dusty. His friends acted like lovesick teenagers as opposed to hardened soldiers when they were newly mated.
Would he act the same way with Trace?
Fuck.
Where did that stray thought come from?
“Hey, Dusty. Didn’t think you would join us tonight,” Abram said. Mike and Bowen moved so he could slide into the booth.
The smell of burgers, fries, and beer tickled his nose. His stomach rumbled and he called for two burgers and a beer to the nearest waitress.
“Yeah, I decided I miss you bastards.”
“You seem to be in a better mood,” Mike observed out loud. “Did something happen?”
He hesitated. “I met someone today.”
Bowen flashed him a wide grin. “Your mate?”
The lynx shifter sounded hopeful.
“I don’t know. He was about to commit suicide at the park.”
Worried looks, but he knew his friends, his brothers, would understand. All of them suffered PTSD after they were honorably discharged, and a few of them had considered suicide. There was no judgment at this table, and besides, Dusty felt out of his league with Trace. He knew there could be something amazing with Trace though. His leopard sensed it from the moment Trace’s tantalizing scent hit their nose.
“At least this guy didn’t steal from you,” Kane joked and he knew Kane was talking about Eric, who’d tried to snatch Grover’s wallet when they’d first met.
“This mysterious guy have a name?” Abram asked.
“Trace Michaels.”
Kane gasped. “The artist?”
He furrowed his brows. “You know Trace?”
Bowen took out his phone and Mike leaned over to his mate. “Ooh, Kane’s right. Trace Michaels is the town’s local celebrity. He’s an up and coming artist in the region.”
Stunned, Dusty wondered if he should have done more research, then thought better of it. Trace would tell him, if the time came. Trust was fragile, he knew. He sensed old hurt from Trace, knew some fucker had done a number on him.
“Dusty,” Kane said carefully. “You should know something about Trace.”
“Babe, is it important?” Abram asked his mate. “I think it’s better if Dusty handled his dating on his own.”
He appreciated Abram’s intervention, but Kane looked worried. “What about Trace?”
“Three months ago, I remembered he was on the front page of the local paper. His ex-boyfriend was arrested for rape and assault.”
Rage colored his vision. He clenched his fists, his leopard moving inside of him, eager to hunt down this fucker and not just kill him. Dusty would make this poor bastard scream until there was nothing—Mike gripped his shoulder. He snarled loud enough that other diners gave him looks before wisely returning to their food and conversation.
He shoved his leopard aside, knowing if he let his animal take over, he would be reduced to a rogue. Rogues didn’t live long. Once their human consciousness bled away, they attacked those closest to them.
They were eventually put down by the authorities or the dominant paranormal group in town. He and his friends had made a promise that if any of them lost control, they had to be put down, but Dusty knew what kind of burden that would put on his brothers’ souls.
“I need some air.” He headed past the bathrooms and the kitchen to the door leading outside.
The alleyway smelled of smoke and garbage. Dusty guessed this was where employees went for smoking breaks, but the cool air felt good. He wanted to leave behind his human worries and run on all four paws, but he couldn’t afford to change. Dusty knew he was this close to never returning to his human half so he kept his leopard caged.
He tried to think past his personal troubles and focus on Trace. Had that been the reason why Trace had contemplated suicide today? No wonder Trace was wary of touch, but Trace confessed Dusty was different.
“Hey. You need more time to brood?” It was Mike.
His leopard still hadn’t cooled down but he could think straight at least.
“Brood?” he asked, rolling his eyes. They didn’t speak for a while and finally, he said, “I need to be careful around Trace. He’s not like us. He’s human, and learning about what happened to him—”
“Doesn’t change a thing,” Mike interrupted. He growled but Mike went on, “Treat him as you normally do. Don’t treat him like glass. Would he like that?”
He recalled how defensive Trace could be and shook his head. “There’s steel in his spine.”
They hardly knew each other but he saw the fiery determination in Trace’s eyes. Trace mentioned he was no longer interested in taking his own life but he would quietly keep watch over his human all the same. His human? Could he really call Trace that? Dusty knew he wasn’t anyone’s ideal mate, but he hadn’t reacted like this to anyone else.
“That’s good then.”
“Yeah. I just need to make sure I don’t screw up our date. Any advice?”
Mike had amusement in his eyes. “You’re asking me for dating advice?”
Dusty growled. “As much as I hate to admit it, you got experience in the arena.”
“That’s true.”
“Don’t act all smug and give me some real advice.”
Mike grinned. “Okay then, since you asked so nicely. When’s the date again?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Bring him to the barbecue,” Mike suggested.
Dusty thought about it. Abram and Kane owned a cabin in the woods and they usually had grill-outs and BBQ gatherings twice a week. He considered bringing Trace briefly, but would meeting new people overwhelm Trace? According to the news article Kane had shown him, Trace avoided being seen in public at all costs. Dusty didn’t trust what other people said, preferring to ask Trace himself.
“I’ll ask him.”
“Good, because we’d miss you if you didn’t come.”
Chapter Four
Instead of the address Dusty had dropped Trace off yesterday, Trace had texted him a new one just as he’d finished changing out of his ranger uniform. It turned out to be a bakery. He killed the engine and got out of his car, his brows furrowing. He wondered if this was some kind of practical joke, but he didn’t think Trace had a cruel streak in him.
An old woman wearing an apron with cartoon bread painted on it emerged from the bakery. A bell chimed as the door shut. She didn’t smell human or shifter. Some kind of witch then? He stiffened. Dusty had had bad encounters with witches during his service. They could be deadly when provoked, and he’d seen how they worked some of their curses.
“Hi, I’m looking for Trace,” he said carefully, then added, “Ma’am.”
He could detect Trace’s scent here, confirming he was at the right address, but he had a feeling he couldn’t just pursue Trace. Dusty had to face this deceiving-looking gatekeeper first, who looked more like someone’s elderly grandma than a deadly witch capable of turning his insides to jelly with a single spell.
“Who are you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
A black cat emerged from the alley nearby and started curling around her legs. Her familiar? Then the cat looked at him and started doing the same around his legs, perhaps recognizing another feline predator. He ben
t down and rubbed at the cat’s ears.
“Hello, kitty.” The cat raised its tail and opened its tiny mouth. Dusty guessed it was purring at him. Some domestic dogs didn’t like to be around werewolves, but domestic cats were different. They usually don’t mind being around feline shifters, even predatory ones like him.
He stood again to notice the old witch had shifted her glasses further up her nose and he wondered if he’d missed anything she’d said because he hadn’t been looking at her to read her lips.
“Did you say something? I can’t hear very well, ma’am.” He didn’t know why he told that secret to a stranger, but this old woman seemed to know Trace and was protective of the human. Truth be told, he couldn’t hear a thing, but he didn’t tell her that.
She paused, then said, “You’re one of them.”
“Them?”
“One of the four strong feline shifters who moved into town recently, ex-military, strong enough to lead their own groups but chose to be loners.”
“I wasn’t aware we were that popular, ma’am,” he said dryly, although he knew some of the townsfolk occasionally called Mike and Abram to help with their problems—situations ranging from helping new shifters control their animals to breaking up bar fights between two paranormals.
The witch considered him again. “You’re the reason he was in a good mood yesterday.”
“He was?” he asked, unable to keep the delight from his voice. “I meant, that’s good to hear, ma’am.”
She nodded, softening. “That young man’s gone through a lot these past few months. He values his privacy and I respect that. Forgive me for being suspicious, but sometimes the press can be pushy.”
Dusty noticed that after that article Kane had shown him came out, there had been no news of Trace. He had a sneaking suspicion this old witch had a hand in that and was grateful.
“His studio is above my bakery, but knock first. Sometimes he gets lost in his work. Oh, wait here.” She disappeared inside, her black cat following her. She emerged with a brown paper bag in hand. His stomach grumbled. “These are extra cherry pastries. Be good to my Trace.”
He nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Just so you know, hurt him and I’ll come after you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am.”
She laughed. “My ex-husband, Kyle, used to be in the military, too. I loved it when we first met and he kept calling me ma’am.”
She retreated to the bakery and he headed up the stairs, popping a pastry into his mouth. He groaned. Oh. That was good. Trace was damn lucky to have a powerful witch who happened to make amazing pastries for a guardian. He heeded her advice and knocked first.
“Trace? It’s Dusty.”
“Come on in.”
Dusty turned the door knob, surprised it was unlocked. Maybe Trace was anticipating him. He was treated to the sight of an artist’s studio. It was a single room with a door he suspected connected to a bathroom. He immediately understood why Trace had picked the space. It had three broad windows, which he guessed provided plenty of sunlight during the day. Aside from the well-used leather couch, numerous canvases had been stacked against the walls, some painted, others blank.
Trace peered at him from behind a large canvas, flecks of paint on his face and fingers. The human looked flustered.
“Sorry, I’ll be done soon. Just give me a couple of minutes to wash up. I lost track of time.”
“No rush,” he said. Trace hopped off his stool, placed his paintbrush down, then hesitated. “No looking, okay?”
“You know, cats are curious by nature. If you say one thing, we do the opposite thing,” he informed Trace with a smile.
Trace groaned. “Fine, but no judgments.”
“Trace, I don’t know much about art, but these are amazing,” he said, although he noticed most of them were painted in dark colors.
Even as a novice, looking at those paintings told him plenty about the pain Trace kept locked inside of him. All he wanted to do was pull Trace in his arms, coax the human to tell him his secrets to understand what made Trace hurt so he could help heal him. However, doing so might scare Trace right off the bat.
Trace blushed. “Thanks.”
“A friend helped me google your name. I know you’re a big deal. I want to learn more about you, about art. Fuck. I’m nervous as hell. I’m not usually like this.”
“It’s kind of cute.” Trace flashed him a nervous smile. “I am, too. I don’t usually date.”
“Me either.”
“We’re on the same boat then.” Trace disappeared inside the bathroom.
He walked around the studio, seeing more canvases painted solely in shades of black and red. His soul clenched, bled for Trace, but he came to a halt at the painting Trace had been working on. A quarter of it had been done, but had greens and blues in it—the exact replica of the view of the river yesterday. Across the river, he glimpsed the graceful form of an animal. A leopard. Him?
“So sorry,” Trace mumbled, coming out of the bathroom in a fresh shirt and jeans. Then Trace halted, seeing him.
“I can’t help myself.” Seeing those new colors gave him hope. Was he the reason Trace started painting in other colors aside from red and black?
“I usually don’t like when people see my work before it’s completed, and seldom let people in my studio, but you’re strangely different,” Trace admitted as they walked out and he waited for Trace to lock the door.
Dusty felt touched, knowing letting someone else inside the studio was a big deal to Trace. “I won’t betray your trust.”
Trace beamed at him. “I know you won’t.”
They headed downstairs. “Are those Mrs. Irwin’s pastries?”
“Yeah. She sort of conducted an interview.”
Trace looked appalled.
“Don’t worry about it. We understood each other and I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side anyway. She must have been a pretty powerful witch in her time.”
Trace froze on the last step. “What?”
“You didn’t know?” he asked.
Trace shook his head as Dusty led him to where his bike was parked.
“I should have known you rode a bike.”
“Don’t worry,” he said with as much assurance as he could muster. “I’m a careful driver.”
He extracted a spare helmet for Trace and helped the human put it on.
“Okay, I’ve never done anything like this, but it’s exciting. Where are you taking me? Um, I want to let you know that I’m not good with crowded places or socializing.”
* * * *
Oh God. Did those words just come out of Trace’s mouth? Dusty said nothing, regarding him. Out of his ranger’s uniform, Dusty looked hotter than hell, like some bad boy out of a motorcycle magazine in his leather jacket, torn jeans, and plain white shirt. Every inch of Dusty screamed dangerous, but at the same time, Trace wanted to know what it was like, being with a guy like Dusty.
Correction. There wasn’t anyone quite like Dusty. Trace knew that despite Dusty’s physical appearance, he’d glimpsed the protective but sensitive shifter underneath.
“That’s fine. I don’t like crowds either.” Dusty seemed to hesitate, then said, “Are you up for meeting new people? Just a small group of my friends, well, Abram and Mike are like family to me. We all served together and Abram was my former commander. Bowen and Kane are their mates.”
Trace froze in the middle of buckling his helmet. The invitation sounded personal, special.
“If it’s too much, then we can do something else,” Dusty said quickly.
Trace preferred a little one-on-one time with Dusty, but Dusty considered these guys his family and he wanted to know more about his leopard shifter. Okay. Dusty wasn’t his anything, but Trace wanted them to be something more than strangers.
“Let’s go,” he said. “Where is it?”
“Abram and Kane own this cabin by the woods.” Dusty watched him, gauging his reaction.
Dusty buckled the strap of his helmet, and to his surprise, gave his hand a squeeze. “I appreciate it. I also know this isn’t easy for you.”
Trace nodded, then told Dusty the truth. “Meeting you yesterday changed my outlook on life. Maybe it’s worth finding out if life has other things to offer after all.”
“I understand where you’re coming from. Not long ago, I wanted to give up, too, but my friends encouraged me to give it a try. We’ll find out together.”
Those words lit a tiny, flickering flame inside of him—hope. Trace hadn’t felt that in a long time. Braver now, he leaned in to kiss Dusty, but his helmet bumped into Dusty’s forehead. He blushed, but Dusty didn’t seem to mind. The leopard shifter slanted his lips over his, rendering his skin fever hot, and fanning his need. When Dusty pulled back, he panted, eyes wide.
“That look is good on you,” Dusty said, voice harsh and edged with need.
Trace didn’t know where this was going, whether trusting this leopard shifter was wise, but wherever this road took him, he wanted to see the entire journey through.
Chapter Five
“Should we bring something? I mean, don’t people bring food or drinks?” Trace nervously asked.
Dusty shook his head. “Just ourselves is fine. Besides, Abram and Mike just texted me that they took down a boar. Bowen and Kane caught a few trout, too.”
Trace stared at Dusty for a couple of seconds, wondering if the shifter was joking, but Dusty sounded matter-of-fact, as if catching boar was a normal pastime for his friends. “Oh hell, you’re not joking, are you?”
“Boar tastes good and don’t worry, they have hunting licenses.”
That wasn’t exactly what Trace was worried about, more like if he could fit in with a bunch of shifters. Like most humans who lived in Cherry Hill, he was used to having paranormal neighbors, but humans, and even certain supernatural groups, stuck together. What if Dusty’s friends didn’t like him?
