by JC Holly
Chapter Eleven
How didn’t I sense him? Jerry allowed himself a sniff as he circled, and was surprised to find the man had no scent whatsoever. On top of that, his feet made no sound on the leaf-strewn ground. The woman was definitely a witch. Nobody else was capable of masking someone’s presence so well. The use of perfume at Bobby’s attack must have been so the shifters wouldn’t immediately suspect witchcraft.
“Bad doggy,” the man said, his lips curled in a mix between a snarl and a grin. “Roll over.”
His accent was broad Scottish, which, combined with him being armed and covered in borrowed magic, confirmed him as the second man in the trio that had attacked Bobby. Slim and tall, he moved like a boxer, light on his heels.
The second throwing knife came so quickly the man’s hand was a blur, but Jerry was faster. He darted left, behind a tree, then lunged out of cover toward the man as he was distracted pulling out another knife. The next blade came out too late, and Jerry smashed the man to the ground then stood over him.
“Get off me!” The man rained punches on Jerry’s flank. “I’ll kill you.”
Tiring of the man’s mouth, Jerry dipped his head and placed his teeth against the man’s jugular. He tried to push Jerry away, but went deathly still when Jerry nipped his skin.
Running footsteps behind him announced Snow’s arrival. Jerry backed up enough for Snow to haul the man to his feet, and sat on his haunches, watching the area.
“No scent,” Snow said, frowning. “Fuckin’ magic.”
The same thought seemed to meet both shifters’ minds at once, and as one they glanced around the trees.
“Witch could be anywhere,” Snow muttered. “Where is she?”
He shook the man by his shoulders, but all he got in response was a laugh. “Go to hell, demon.”
“Demon?” Snow snorted. “We ain’t demons, mate. Though I suppose if you don’t talk, you might see my evil side.”
The man had nothing to say, other than further insults. Snow glanced back at Jerry to roll his eyes, then smirked.
“Looks like his aim was better than you thought.”
Jerry would have frowned but it wasn’t the easiest thing to do in wolf form. Instead he cocked his head to one side. The action brought a flash of pain, and he snarled in surprise.
“Come closer,” Snow said. “I don’t want to let go of this clown.”
Jerry padded over, and Snow plucked a throwing knife from Jerry’s shoulder, then tossed it to the floor. Jerry regarded it, then dug a small hole and buried the bloody blade. The last thing he needed was a witch with access to his blood. The wound itself, though it felt deep, wasn’t too much of a hassle. Shifting while hurt was risky, but the knife hadn’t hit anything vital, meaning the risk of it causing further damage during the change was very low.
“We should move,” Snow said, his eyes on the surrounding area.
With a lightning fast blow, he knocked the man unconscious, before throwing him over one shoulder and taking off through the trees. Jerry took up a position at the rear, his senses on overdrive as they headed to the car.
Wherever the witch was, she didn’t attack, and after stopping to collect Jerry’s things they got back to the car without being assaulted. Snow popped the trunk and dropped the man inside, then opened the back seat for Jerry to climb inside. If anyone saw him on the drive, they’d just assume he was a large dog.
“We’ll head to the other warehouse,” Snow said over his shoulder as he pulled off the quiet road into the traffic. He smiled, all teeth. “I’m sure I can get him to talk.”
* * * *
Mica alternated his gaze between the screen of his phone and the image on his monitor.
“Crap.”
The phone held a text from Jerry, asking if he had any plans that night, and whether he’d like to go out. The monitor held an artist’s conception of a werewolf. It wasn’t a pretty sight. It also went against what the other websites had said about “shifters” taking on the form of an animal. Since he didn’t know what was true and what wasn’t, he was left with too many damn thoughts floating around his head.
“Don’t be an idiot.”
Mica jumped at Molly’s voice, and turned to find her leaning over the back of the couch.
“I’m not!” he said. “I’m just…confused.”
“You really think these shapeshifter people look like that?”
“They could. I mean, I don’t know, and that’s why I’m stressed the hell out.”
“Think about it, Mica.” She tapped him on the head with her index finger. “Thousands of years of humans killing everything that’s different from us, and not one single museum has a skeleton of anything resembling that.” She pointed at the screen, a blessed relief for Mica’s now sore head. “Stands to reason that it’s because if they were killed in human form, they’d leave a human body, and if they were killed in animal form, they’d leave an animal one.”
Mica shrugged. “I guess. Unless it’s a huge cover-up.”
Molly sighed. “Do I have to poke your head again?”
He held his hands up and ducked his head to one side. “I surrender.”
“Good, now text him back and tell him you want his nummy cock. And I want photos.”
Mica snorted and replied to the message, saying he was free and would love to meet. After a quick breath he hit send and turned to look at Molly.
“Done. Now what?”
“I’d suggest a restaurant. That way when you ask if he’s a supernatural creature with a craving for milk bones, he’s less likely to make a scene.”
“Very funny.”
She had a point, though. Plus, seeing Jerry in something smart would make a nice change. He followed his first text with a suggestion of a restaurant that Molly recommended.
Perhaps it was a little early to be talking about such important things—no, it was definitely early to be covering such topics—but having no secrets would lead to a better relationship, should they continue to see each other. And Mica hoped they would. Not just because he could keep up in the bedroom, either. Just thinking about the guy made him smile.
“This is crazy,” he said to Molly as she sat beside him. “I’ve seen him twice and one of those times barely counts, and already I’m thinking about the future. That’s not me.”
Molly smiled wide. “The heart wants what it wants, Mica. Doesn’t matter if the rest of you thinks it’s fast or silly. If you really like the guy, and he likes you, go for it. Seize the moment, and all that.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Then seize his di—”
“Molly!”
The rest of the afternoon seemed to pass in minutes rather than hours, and before he knew it, Mica stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, struggling to tame his hair. Clothes lay on the bed waiting for him. Thankfully he’d had the foresight to bring something suitable with him, just in case.
He peered at his face in the mirror, looking for anything he needed to deal with, but as usual there was nothing. How he’d managed to get through life without a single pimple or blemish occasionally baffled him. His mother had always said he had great genes on his father’s side. That was all he’d ever gotten from the man, though, since he pulled a disappearing act before Mica was born.
“No time for that crap,” he muttered at his reflection. “It’s date night.”
He headed into the bedroom to dress just as the doorbell rang downstairs. Molly shouted that she’d get it, and Mica listened to the muffled conversation going on beneath him. He caught the odd word, and it sounded like regular pleasantries. Mica just hoped that Molly didn’t act weird because of Mica’s theory about Jerry.
As he pulled on his pants his door opened. Jerry stood there, in a crisp white shirt and a pair of dress slacks that bulged in all the right places. Mica grinned, his worries forgotten.
“You look great.”
Jerry returned the smile. “That’s what I was going to say. Now I’ll have to think of something else.”
“You’re welcome to compliment my ass.” Mica did a quick spin. “Hmm?”
“Damn fine ass, that,” Molly’s voice came, from behind Jerry. “I’d hit that.”
Jerry chuckled and stood aside, revealing the woman.
“You wish,” Mica said, then poked out his tongue.
Molly returned the gesture, then put her hands on her hips and feigned a frown. “Now, you two boys behave yourselves. Only one bottle of wine, and I want you back before sunrise.”
Jerry hung his head, as if chastened. “Yes’m. I’ll be good.”
Molly laughed and patted the man on the shoulder. “Just have fun, okay?”
Mica led the way down the stairs and to the door, then kissed Molly on the cheek as they left. Jerry’s car sat on the driveway, engine still running and lights still on.
“Aren’t you afraid someone will steal it?” Mica asked as Jerry let him into the passenger side.
“Would you steal from a guy who looks like I do?”
“Only his heart.”
Jerry smiled, and Mica was sure he caught a hint of a blush as the guy moved to his own side of the car. After a wave to Molly, they pulled out and headed to the restaurant.
“You’re lucky,” Jerry said, as he turned onto the main road.
“That’s what I thought when you first dropped your pants.”
“I was referring to the restaurant having a last-minute cancellation,” he said, eyebrow arched. “Though, yeah, I guess you’re lucky there, too.”
“Confident, eh?” Mica reached over and squeezed Jerry’s cock through his pants. “I like that in my men.”
Jerry rolled his eyes. “If you start that now, we’ll never make it through the meal.”
Mica withdrew his hand. “Then I’ll wait like a good boy. On one condition.”
“And what’s that?”
“That when we’re through with the meal you’ll fuck me till I pass out.”
Jerry growled softly under his breath. “Not a problem.”
Chapter Twelve
The restaurant was a swanky-looking place in the high-class part of town. The kind of place where the waiters were dressed like they’d just won an Oscar. Mica didn’t even want to think about the cost of the meals. He wasn’t exactly broke, but if he’d known how fancy the place would be, he’d have suggested somewhere else.
“Whoa,” he muttered as they walked to the maître d’.
Jerry nudged him gently with his arm. “Your friend Molly has taste.”
“She told you she recommended the place?”
Jerry nodded and Mica relaxed a little. At least he could blame the bill on her if it were extortionate.
They were seated quickly at a table near the back of the restaurant. It was the perfect place for either people-watching or quiet conversations. In this case it would be the latter.
The menus were mostly in French, so Mica let Jerry do the ordering, after telling him he’d be happy with anything containing meat. By the sounds of it, they were having steak and something. The waiter took the menus away and left them alone. Jerry glanced over his shoulder to watch the man leave, then winced as he turned back.
“You okay?” Mica asked.
“Hmm?”
“You winced. Shit!”
A red stain began to spread over Jerry’s shoulder, soaking his white shirt. Jerry saw Mica’s expression and then noticed he was bleeding.
“Damn it. I must’ve popped the stitches.”
Mica grabbed a napkin and leaned over to put pressure on the wound, but Jerry waved him away, then pulled his jacket on to cover the mark.
“It’ll be fine. Really. It looks a lot worse than it actually is.”
“But it’s bleeding, and a lot by the looks of it.”
Jerry shook his head. “It’s just the tight shirt. A little blood spreading a long way, that’s all.”
Mica chewed at his lip. “You are, aren’t you?”
Jerry frowned. “I’m what?”
“A goddamn werewolf.”
Silence fell and neither spoke. To Mica it felt like a year, but it was probably more like a few seconds. He watched Jerry’s face carefully as it flitted between a number of emotions. None of them were anger or confusion, though, which cemented Mica’s theory.
“Yes,” Jerry finally said. “Is that a problem?”
Mica cycled through a hundred answers in his head. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. He’d planned out the whole conversation, but that had gone out the window as soon as Jerry had started to bleed.
“Not necessarily, no,” Mica said. “Though I have questions.”
Jerry nodded. “I’m sure you do. Obviously, I wasn’t intending on telling you like this. You’ve caught me off guard.”
Mica smirked. “Me too. I was going to bring it up more…subtly.”
Jerry chuckled. “The shoulder, right?”
“Yup. I know it’s deep, and I know on a regular guy it’d hurt like a motherfucker.”
“Believe me, it’s not sunshine and roses for me, either.”
“What did you do?”
Jerry shrugged, then winced again. “I injured myself in my…other form. When I changed back it tore and made it a lot worse. It’ll heal, though. Couple days. I have to ask though…”
“What?”
“When did you first suspect?”
It was Mica’s turn to shrug. “I got a feeling that morning we were in bed. My instincts are pretty astute. On top of that, you mentioned a pack then covered it up really badly.”
Jerry snorted and shook his head. “Yeah, that wasn’t my best moment.”
“I’m sure anyone less awesome wouldn’t have picked up on it.” Mica poked out his tongue.
Jerry glanced around the table, then shook his head again, the smile still present on his lips.
“And here was me thinking tonight’s conversation would be about something else entirely.”
Mica cocked his head to one side. “Oh? Anything in particular?”
“I think you know. After all, regular people don’t get a sense that someone’s a shapeshifter.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh come on, you can be honest now.” Jerry leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I know you’re an incubus.”
“What?”
He must have misheard. An incubus? Jerry thought he wasn’t human? He must be joking around, trying to turn the tables on Mica after the revelation about being a shapeshifter.
Jerry’s face fell. It was no joke. At least, Jerry didn’t think so.
“Shit.” The man straightened and sighed. “I thought you knew.”
“Knew? That I’m an incubus?” Mica rubbed at his hair. “I don’t even know what that is!”
A man at the table next to them glanced over, glaring disapprovingly. Jerry shot him a look of his own and the man shrank down in his chair. Mica lowered his voice.
“What the hell are you talking about, Jerry? You’re the supernatural one here, not me.”
Jerry shook his head and clenched his fist on the table. “Damn it. When you told me you knew what I was, I figured it was because you were aware of your heightened senses.”
“I don’t have heightened senses, Jerry. None of this makes sense.”
“I know, and I’m sorry.” He cursed. “This is not the place to have this conversation.”
Mica glanced around again. Jerry was right. It had been a foolish idea.
“Then let’s go,” Mica said, his voice lower still. “We’ll get drive-through and discuss this in private.”
Jerry nodded and stood. Mica joined him and they walked out the door, ignoring the call from the waiter. They reached the car in silence, and drove on in the same manner. Mica couldn’t have held a conversation even if he’d wanted to. His brain had switched to autopilot while a thousand questions stabbed at him.
They pulled into a burger joint and Mica grunted his order to Jerry, who did the same to the employee behind the speaker box. F
ive minutes later they were driving back to Jerry’s place, and before Mica realized he was sat on Jerry’s sofa, with the man across from him, watching him. The food sat between them, still in the paper bag, untouched. Jerry’s jacket was off again, exposing the large blood stain on his shoulder once again.
“How are you feeling?” Jerry asked.
“What the fuck is an incubus, and why do you think I am one?”
He hadn’t meant it to come out so bluntly, but he was running on a limited number of brain cells. The rest were busy running in circles, bumping into each other and screaming.
If Jerry took offense at the question, he didn’t show it.
“I don’t think you are one,” Jerry said, his voice steady. “I know you are. Or half of one, anyway.”
“Half?”
He nodded. “Your father. Is he different from other men? Did you get a sense from him like you did with me?”
“I never met him. He ran off before I was born. Mom’s…mom’s normal, though.” Mica rubbed at his neck. “I mean, I think she is.”
“She is,” Jerry said. “Incubi are always male. I can only assume your father is—”
“A demon,” Mica said.
The words refused to sink in. My father was a demon? And I’m half of one?
“That doesn’t mean he was bad,” Jerry said.
“If demons aren’t bad, they really need better marketing people.”
“It’s like humans. You get good ones, bad ones, great ones, and evil ones. You can’t tar them all with the same brush.”
“Okay. Fine.” Mica swallowed, then licked his dry lips. “Prove it.”
“Prove it?”
“That I’m half-incubus. Right here, right now.” He winced as he realized how loud he’d said the last part. “Sorry. This is kinda stressful.”
“When you sleep with someone, you tire them out, right?”
“Yeah, sure, but doesn’t everyone?”
“Not in the same way, Mica. When you do it, you’re unintentionally draining your partner’s life energy. I’m guessing that’s why they don’t last.”
Mica chewed his lip. Each of his boyfriends had said basically the same thing. They couldn’t keep up with him. Now that he thought of it, by the end of the relationship each guy had looked older, too. Not by much, but enough that it was noticeable. His stomach lurched.
