by Chant, Zoe
Guess there might be something to that mate thing after all.
Summer opened her eyes and rolled back from him, a little startled. “Um, hey,” she said, rubbing sleep from her eyes, and god help him but he found that adorable.
“Hey,” he said back. He took a deep breath and jumped in, before his second thoughts could get there. “So this is awkward... but I need to get it out there right away. I've never been good at casual, but this is something different: every instinct right now is telling me that you're everything I've always wanted and we would make the perfect couple. And I know that's got to come across as kind of creepy, given that we just met yesterday. And given that technically I'm your employer...oh damn, that is creepy, isn't it? So just, know that I know my feelings are weird, and I don't expect or assume that you'll feel the same way. I'm going to try to act like a normal, appropriate person here, okay?”
Summer sat up and leaned against the headboard, crossing her legs. “Well, thanks for being forthright,” she said with a quizzical smile.
“Forthright?”
“Forthright. It's a perfectly good word,” she said, starting to laugh.
“Oh, it is. It totally is. People should say it more often,” he said, laughing with her. This was going better than he had feared.
When the laughter died down she poked his shoulder. “So, Mr. Creepy Boss, got any coffee?” Her sly smile took any sting out of it.
Summer returned to the studio to get dressed while Brandon made coffee. Over breakfast they reviewed the schedule she'd devised and decided to spend the morning hanging drywall in the studio. Half an hour into it, Brandon decided that drywall must be the most powerful aphrodisiac known to man. His every sense was aware of Summer's every movement, building to an arousal that was downright painful. The curve of her lush breasts under her t-shirt, the extravagant flare of her hips in her well-worn jeans, the musky, floral scent of her... it was all overwhelming.
Brandon paced near the doorway as Summer bent down to measure around a junction box. Last night had been out of character for him, but that was nothing compared to the feral lust he felt now. Now he knew just enough about her – her taste, her scent, her little sounds of passion – to make all his imaginings incredibly vivid. He wanted grab her, wrap her strong legs around his hips, and take her right there, up against the wall they'd just built. So much for normal and appropriate!
He endured another hour of this torment before he finally had to invent some phone calls to take care of.
Halfway back to the house, he turned to watch her. As she stretched up to tape a joint in the drywall, it hit him: of course, the nesting instinct! Building a nest together was one of the prime activities of eagle courtship. The drywall really was an aphrodisiac for him – yet another shifter “myth” that he'd been dismissing all his life.
Restless and frustrated, Brandon didn't return to the house after all. He walked past it, striding off into the woods on a private trail. Brandon had always been the oddball in his family; most of the Falco clan put their shifter heritage first, choosing ways of life that let them spend as much time in raptor form as possible, riding the mountain thermals, looking down on the human world. Too often, that meant a life at the margins of society. After all, why punch the clock at a boring job if you can just eat rabbits? Why pay your rent on time if you can just go sleep in a tree when you get evicted?
Brandon had always sworn he'd never be that irresponsible and flighty; he would build a solid, stable life. He put his human side first, seeking success in human terms – and for a while, it looked like he'd found it. That part of Brandon that had always wanted to fit into the wider world was still there, still bitter about the layoff, still suspicious of Summer and this sudden, wild love. But it was one little voice drowned out by a chorus of YES.
Brandon had never felt so alive.
He reached the hidden forest clearing where his family liked to change. He stepped out of his shoes, then took off his clothes and hung them in the small lean-to. Like most shifters, he could transform with his clothes if he had to, but he didn't like the feeling. He walked out into the patch of sunlight, shrugging and stretching all the muscles of his arms and back as the change rippled over him. With a few strong wingbeats, he was aloft – a golden eagle, king of the mountains. The wind whistled over his crisp feathers and the sun beat down on his wings. He found an air current and circled upward.
He rose up and up, seeing farther with each turn. The landscape beneath him was familiar, but now it had a new focus: his nest, his mate. His to protect and provide for. He lost himself in instinct, crying out the raucous eagle screech that marked this territory as his, hearing it reverberate off the canyon walls. He floated on the winds for what might have been hours, always watching.
When Summer stepped out of the studio, he saw her immediately. He circled lower. She tossed an old blanket out onto the grass, then let down her hair and stepped out of her work boots. She reclined on the blanket, sprawling in the sun like a contented cat. Hundreds of feet in the air, wearing a different form, Brandon still felt the bond between them, pulling him down, stronger than gravity. But he wouldn't let himself fall. He circled her like a faithful moon until the sun began to set.
Chapter 5
Summer was feeling ten different kinds of confused. She smiled at Brandon as he brought coffee and toast to the breakfast table and he smiled back, meeting her eyes and holding her gaze just long enough for it to feel intimate. This – the subtle, slow-burn flirtation – was just one of the things that had been driving her nuts all week.
“Jack at the hardware store might give us the contractor discount if we buy all the primer for the house and studio at once,” she said.
“Yeah, we can do that, no problem,” Brandon said.
And here was another part of the mystery: their horribly stilted conversations. That first day, before they slept together, everything they said to each other had felt free and genuine. Now it seemed like the only reliable topic of conversation was the remodeling, and even that got weird sometimes. Brandon couldn't seem to decide on anything without her, and at one point she got frustrated with with his questions about crown molding and said, “Why don't you just pick? It's not my house.” And Brandon had stared at her, looking wounded, then stalked off.
Last night's dinner had featured the pop culture debacle. Summer and her friends had traveled the festival circuit enough that Summer could speak fairly knowledgeably about music, but it wasn't one of her passions, nor Brandon's either, as it turned out. Brandon tried asking her about TV shows and movies, but Summer had had to explain that she hadn't owned a TV in over a decade, and rarely had the money for movies. They managed to find a few books that they'd both read and enjoyed, but overall the conversation had seemed to make the gulf between them yawn wider than ever.
In the days before Dominic, Summer would have told him stories of the road. Back when she believed in herself, she could bewitch anyone with her tales. Law students, bank tellers, teachers – they would meet Summer at a party and by the end of the evening be sighing, “That sounds amazing. I wish I could come with you.”
But that was before Dominic, before everything went to hell.
Summer finished her toast in silence and brought her dishes to the sink. She and Brandon both made a grab for the dishcloth and it turned into a momentary tug-of-war. A laugh burst out of her, then she shut her mouth, suddenly afraid it would become a sob. He was standing so close, just like the night of the storm, and more than anything she wanted to feel his arms around her again. She wanted to feel that wordless, effortless trust, and believe that none of her secrets could shatter it.
Brandon reached out and touched her arm, just the lightest caress before he stepped back again and turned to the sink. “I've got the dishes, don't worry.”
“Okay. Guess I'll go find those measurements from yesterday.” Summer escaped from the kitchen. She didn't need to “find” anything, she knew right where the papers were, but god,
she needed a break from the longing. She walked out into the morning dampness, listening to the last trills of birdsong.
What would happen if she told him everything? Could he still want her if he knew just how broken she was? Did he even want her now? Sometimes Summer was sure he did, but he was being such a goddamned gentleman; whatever he'd said that first morning, he sure seemed to be keeping a lid on it.
Summer got the measurements from the studio and sat on the hood of Brandon's car to wait.
On the ride into town, Brandon waved at an old woman who was collecting her mail in a housecoat and slippers. “Lucy Cortez,” Brandon said. “She and my grandmother had this weird frenemy thing going on. The only thing they ever agreed on was preventing the township from expanding the campground at the park. I remember her saying –” and then he broke off awkwardly, like he often did when talking about his family. So maybe they had messed-up families in common? That was another conversation she wasn't eager to have.
She leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes until the car was parked. There was a strange heaviness in the air, or maybe in her heart. It felt like another storm was coming.
In the store, Brandon took her paint estimates and went to track down Jack. Summer roamed the aisles, grabbing occasional tools she needed, still feeling unfocused and weighed down. When she came around the corner of the plumbing aisle and saw the familiar silhouette, it was like she'd been punched. Dominic! She dropped her shopping basket and ran. Some skeptical part of her mind dredged up doubts: it might be someone else's tattooed shoulders. It might be someone else's sandy ponytail. But her body knew, from just that glimpse.
She pushed blindly through the door and out into the street. She turned at the next alley, unsure where it would lead, but desperate to leave the wide-open main street. Summer ran until she was stumbling and out of breath. She realized that she had come to the little river that divided town from the park. Earlier in the week Brandon had shown her one of his favorite spots, a bench halfway down the river bank, almost hidden by an old covered bridge. It seemed like the perfect hiding spot right now.
As soon as she sat down, her phone started buzzing. Where are you??? Brandon had texted.
I'm okay, she texted back, and then she paused, miserably confused about what else she should tell him, and how to say it. I really needed some air, she continued. I'm on that bench by the river.
Sooner than she thought possible, Brandon was there. “Summer!” he called out as he skidded down the river bank. “What happened?” He took both her hands and pulled her up from the bench.
And Summer crumbled. Hating herself for this weakness, she melted right into him, hot tears springing to her eyes. Brandon didn't seem to mind. His arms encircled her gently, smoothing her hair and petting her back. She hid her face against his chest for a few minutes, until her shoulders stopped shaking.
She stood up straighter, her eyes still closed, and she felt his hand cradling her cheek, his thumb wiping away tear tracks. He was so tender with her. That's when Summer knew she had to tell him everything. She couldn't stand another minute of wondering – either they would be together, or she would have to harden her heart and move on.
Summer stepped back to sit down again. Brandon moved with her, and they ended up cuddled on the bench together, her head resting on his shoulder. Somehow it was easier to speak when she was looking at the river, not at him.
“Sorry I freaked,” she said. “I thought I saw my ex in the hardware store. He's... not a good guy.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked. Summer loved that she could feel the rumble of his voice.
“Not really. But I think I need to. His name is Dominic. When I met him, my friend Annabeth and I were doing face-painting at music festivals in the summer. Dominic had this traveling sweat lodge thing that he would do in campgrounds – all totally fake, I know that now, but I was younger then and honestly I was not into critical thinking. And Dominic has this vibe... this charisma. I don't think his sweat lodge itself was bad as far as fake sweat lodges go; he never endangered anyone's life, and he didn't charge that much. Most people just had a nice sweat and said some fake prayers and went on their way.”
“Most people.”
“Yeah, most.”
“But not you.”
“Nope. Dominic was always on the lookout for 'special people', he said. People with spiritual gifts. He said that mine were the strongest he'd ever felt.” Just saying the words made her mouth taste bitter. Summer stared at the river and forced herself to go on. “I wish this could just be a story about him being a bad guy who did mean things to me. It is, but it's not only that. It's a story about me being a gullible fool and missing one red flag after another, for months.”
Brandon gently kissed her hair, and that gave her the heart to continue. “He asked me to travel with him, and I did. And we were lovers, and it was magic. Late at night after all the sweat lodgers were gone, he would recite poetry around the campfire. I think he really did write it himself – I've searched on the internet for bits that I can remember, and I've never found a match. With the embers glowing in the fire circle and the stars blazing overhead, his words had so much power. It was like living in a different world, a richer, stranger, better one. He was a kind of genius in his own fucked-up way. That's why I believed him when he told me that he was actually channeling spirits.”
There, that was the next hurdle over with. There was a brave part of her that wanted to turn and look at Brandon now, to gauge his true reaction. But most of her just wanted this time in his arms to last as long as possible. Because when her story was over, it would surely end.
“Pretty soon he found a couple more 'special people', Mari and Deena. Both attractive young women, naturally. But I don't think he was sleeping with them, at least not very often; in a campsite like ours, it would be hard to hide that. Mostly what he wanted was an audience. He wanted our shining faces gazing up at him in worship while he manipulated our emotions – and that's exactly what he got. We were sort of like a church, and sort of like a family, and they were my friends. And I had to give all that up when I dumped him, and that still hurts.” Tears spilled again and Summer scrubbed them away.
“What ended it all for me was Megan. When she started traveling with us, something seemed off. She was talking like she already knew him from somewhere. It only took a few days to get the whole story from her: he'd become her friend online and had been talking to her for months, encouraging her to come join us... and she was only sixteen. Finally I got hold of his phone and went to the sites she told me about, and saw that he was basically seducing a whole group of vulnerable teens.”
Nausea rose in her throat, the way it always did when she relived that moment of betrayal, the moment when she realized that all her dreams were lies. She hunched forward, away from Brandon, unable to relax any longer.
“So the end was short and ugly: I confronted him, I left, and then I was totally lost. Then I found whiskey. Which didn't give me any purpose in life, but sure helped to pass the time. A few months later Dominic tracked me down. Oh, he was so sorry, true love blah blah blah... I think the most horrifying thing about it was realizing that a year ago, I would have bought every single word of it. But somehow I had been given the gift of truth, and now I could see everything behind the words: I had upset his applecart, and now Mari and Deena were having doubts too, and I'd better come back and fix his perfect life if I knew what was good for me.”
Brandon leaned forward, too, his knee just touching hers. “Did he get violent?”
“Eventually. I got a restraining order against him. And the victim advocate from the women's shelter politely suggested to me that maybe my drinking wasn't the greatest coping mechanism. She found me a spot in rehab. Honestly, I probably could have quit without it, but I was just so tired of being alone.” That last word was almost a sob. Summer covered her mouth with her hand, willing herself to get it under control again. “So there you have it: my
pathetic story. I know last week you said you had feelings for me, but I don't see how you can after this.”
She looked up at him, wanting him to see the truth, unwilling to live a lie again even if it meant being with him. When she met his amber eyes, she felt that flare again, like always, but she ignored it and pressed on. “You're a gorgeous, successful guy who's made all the smart decisions and all the right moves. You've hit a temporary stumbling block, and that's why you're even considering being with me. But you'll be back on your feet before you know it, and you're going to want someone who's smart and successful like you. Someone who's not an embarrassment at dinner parties... like, do normal people even do dinner parties in real life? I don't even know, I'm such a freak!”
Brandon took hold of her hands and spoke intensely, “No, Summer, you've got me all wrong.”
“How? How am I wrong? What can you possibly have in common with an idiot who threw her life away on a fake shaman, all because she wanted to believe in magic?”
“I swear to god, I know exactly what you're talking about. I know about that different world, at night under the stars. I know how it breaks you open and makes everything so real and intense you can hardly stand it. That's exactly why I've been running from it my whole life!”
There was such desperation on his face, Summer couldn't doubt him any longer. Brandon stood and pulled her up, then enfolded her in his arms. At first it was just a hug, intense but not passionate, but the longer she stood there pressed against him, the more her body remembered the night of the storm. She angled her hips a little differently, and oh, she could tell now that he remembered it too. That hardness against her was insistent and tantalizing. The mood changed in an instant; she was breathing faster, and so was he.
