HOTSHOT BROTHERS: Coyote Shifters

by Hunt, Sabrina

  “Are you trying to get me naked?” I tried to joke, but my voice was weak.

  “You’re freezing,” she said shortly. “And you’re covered in blood and you reek.”

  “You did give me a bath a few days ago,” I teased, unable to help myself. Willow went rigid, staring at me and then her face pinched, as color rushed up into her face. Grinning at her, I winked. “It was nice. You’ve got good hands.”

  For a second, Willow’s hands twitched and I thought she would punch me or strangle me, but instead, she left me sitting in my boxers while she turned on the shower. It was an ornate, old-fashioned tub, big and spacious, with clawed feet. A circular metal rod held up a movable curtain. Everything in her house had a feeling of outdated splendor like this had been the summer house of a wealthy family a hundred years ago.

  “Can you stand?” Willow asked, coming back to me. Her feet were bare, her pajamas so soaked with water that they were a brighter pink.

  Looking up at her, I sighed, then managed to haul myself upright. Willow caught me and helped me towards the tub.

  “Can I take a bubble bath after? Or is that asking too much?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood. But I could see the blood I’d left behind on the bath tile and my stomach went tight. It wasn’t being in pain that bothered me, but that Willow had to deal with all of this.

  For a second I wished I’d just run when I’d meant to, gone after the Spider Demon. I wished I was back in the storm. Then hot water slid across my cold skin and I sighed.

  Sitting in her tub, I closed my eyes as the shower poured over me. Willow’s hands were deft, cleaning the wounds, which stung, but I didn’t even mind. This was heaven.

  “Most of these are shallow. You just have a lot of them,” she said after a few minutes. “But can I see that one under your hand?”

  Opening my eyes, I looked over at her. She’d discarded her button-up, long-sleeved pajama top. Now she was just in a black tank top and her wet pajama bottoms. Water droplets dusted over her and ran down her toned, tan arms. I swallowed. Then I looked at her face and started.

  “Willow, you’re bleeding, you’re cut,” I reached for her and then cringed in pain.

  She put a steadying hand on my shoulder. “It’s fine.” Reaching for a towel, she wet it and then wiped at her face impatiently. “Doesn’t even hurt.”

  “Yeah, neither do any of mine,” I said dryly, sitting up straighter and lowering my hand. We both looked down. I expected to see an ugly, blossoming purple bruise, a gash – something.

  But there was nothing there.

  “What the hell?” I blurted out.

  “Don’t move.” Willow’s fingers skated across my ribs and I felt the pain recede, a cool feeling coming over me. But when she was done, an ugly mark had appeared, like someone had drawn on me with a paintbrush dipped in ash and blood. “Oh my God.”

  “Do you…? I’ve never seen that before,” I said, shaking water out of my eyes and then meeting hers. Willow was white to the lips. “Lolo?” The name slipped out before I could help it.

  “No, I don’t know what it is, but it’s not good, Burr.” Her chest was rising and falling rapidly. “I don’t know how to fix this!” To my surprise, her voice was cracking and I watched as she hugged herself, rocking a little. “I can’t get a hold of my brothers…”

  “Willow,” I said, in a clear, hard voice. She blinked and seemed to snap out of her daze. “It hasn’t killed me yet. And the pain comes and goes.” I let out a breath. “As for fixing it, when you touched it – well now the pain is gone. So thank you.”

  Her lips pulled into a reluctant smile. “It better be.” Then her eyes traveled up and down me. “You still have so many injuries, though. And you’re caked in blood.”

  Stiffly, I reached for the soap. “It’s fine, I’ll wash it off.”

  Willow beat me to it. “You’re moving like an old man, dumbass. I’ll do it.”

  I burst out laughing without meaning to. “There’s the Willow I know.” She looked irritated and I gave her a lopsided smile. “Fierce as a mother bear.”

  Her eyes clouded and without another word, she moved behind me, washing off my shoulders and my back. I found myself sucking in hard breaths not out of pain, but pleasure. I wasn’t kidding when I said Willow had goods hands.

  Then she shampooed my hair and I almost groaned out loud from the bliss of it. The pain had all but receded now, even from the cuts, and I could feel the stiffness fading as well.

  Willow did insist, however… I thought to myself with a smirk.

  Once I was rinsed off, the last of the blood and grime down the drain, I turned to her with a smile as she stood up. Her hair was a tangled mess, her tank top soaked and her hands pruning. She turned the shower off, then turned on the faucet for the tub. Bemused, I watched her dump bubble bath in, her shoulders tensing as she did so. I could tell by the look on her face that she was waiting for some comment, but I let her continue in silence.

  Once the tub was full I was laid back in it with my hands behind my head. “Thanks,” I drawled. “You didn’t have to.”

  “You’ve been through a lot,” she said shortly.

  “Don’t suppose you could bring me something to eat,” I added wickedly, unable to resist as Willow picked up the scattered clothes.

  She gave me a dirty look. “When you’re done, sure.” And with that, she turned to leave. “By the way, you need a shave. Badly,” she snapped over her shoulder.

  “Willow, hey wait, you forgot something,” I said.

  “What, Burr?” She asked in an exasperated tone, turning back around, then her mouth dropped open, eyes wide.

  I held out my boxers on one finger and grinned widely. Her face went bright red and then she marched over, snatched them from me, and left.

  “Shave, Sasquatch!” I heard her yell down the hall.

  A half-hour later, I wandered into the kitchen, a long towel snug around my waist. I’d bandaged up the cuts that were still bleeding, but most had stopped and some were already pink and healing. I’d also cleaned up the bathroom to the best of my ability – at least getting rid of all the blood, that is. But now my stomach was rumbling with hunger and while I wasn’t in pain, I felt as weak as though I’d just spent the last week fighting. It was like my muscles didn’t want to move.

  “Burr!” Willow had appeared in the doorway across from me, changed into sweats and a loose t-shirt. “Wh-what do you think you’re doing?” she spluttered.

  “I’m starving,” I said with a shrug, but I could feel a small smile creeping onto my face.

  “You’re – I – you can’t be in here like that. I thought you’d wait till I got you some of Juni’s clothes!” She sighed, rubbing her forehead, and muttered, “I should have known better.”

  “You’re in a fine fettle,” I remarked airily. “I think both of us need something to eat. You know how we get grumpy.”

  “Not until you’re dressed!” Willow exclaimed, moving towards me, hands on her hips now.

  “Willow, Willow, Willow,” I said, my voice almost sad. “After everything we’ve been through, a towel is bothering you? Or is it my chiseled chest? You can go ahead and stare, you know.”

  Sucking in a breath, Willow stopped a foot away from me and glared. “Go get dressed.”

  I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t seen her in so long, but old habits came back to me without a second thought. “I thought nothing fazed you. Yet, half-naked, I do? Interesting. Apparently I vastly underestimated how good-looking I am. I'll have to make a note of it when I get back to Montana.”

  Rolling her eyes, Willow kept her eyes fastened on my face. But I thought I saw her lips twitch. I’d been good at making her laugh once. “I will throw your ass outside.”

  I stepped even closer, looking down at her and folded my arms. “After you just nursed me back to health and bathed me? I don’t think so.”

  Willow flushed, looking down, and I grinned. But then I saw her eyes go wide and pain flashed acr
oss face. I swallowed, realizing she was looking at my tattoo.

  A silvery-white coyote paw print above my heart.

  Her eyes were distant when she looked back up. “When did it happen?”

  I hesitated, rubbing the back of my neck, then said, “Just over five years ago.”

  She took a step back, fists clenching. “I see,” was all she said, then she turned, going to the fridge.

  “Lolo,” I started, frustrated. “It’s not what you think–”

  “I’m not having this conversation with you in one of my mother’s beach towels, Burr Santana.” Willow’s voice was icy cold. “Juni’s clothes are in the room second from the bathroom on the left.”

  “Your mom does have great taste, though, you have to admit,” I tried to joke, but the temperature in the room had plummeted. Things felt awkward now and cumbersome.

  Willow didn’t answer, so I went and got dressed. The clothes she’d laid out were a big, loose muscle tank and an oversized pair of sweats. But Juni was so thin, the tank clung to me and I plucked at it, amused. I never wore things like this, showing off every ridge of my stomach and chest. At least the sweats fit.

  Walking back into the kitchen, I was suddenly struck even more by the awkwardness of the situation. During the aftermath of the fight with Sorvang, there’d been enough adrenaline to unify us. But now I could feel that dissolving, and the space of years pushed between us.

  Willow was hugging her middle, feet up on the chair, a cup of tea in front of her and staring out the window at the storm.

  She looked young – her hair in a messy braid, a bandage across one cheek and her posture contained. Suddenly I found myself remembering that strange night when she’d sobbed her heart out on this very floor. How her hand had held onto me.

  Then this morning, when I’d changed back.

  The look in her eyes when she saw me – a bewildering tumult of relief, pain, and shock. How she’d run at me, the way she’d hugged me so tightly and how she’d said, Oh Burr, you’re alive.

  A peculiar emotion went through my chest, making my shoulders droop even as hope blossomed as well. Had Willow been crying about me? I wondered. Does she care?

  Then she looked up at me, her expression flat and cold. I repressed making a face. If I hadn’t known better, I thought I could have imagined the whole thing.

  But here we were. Willow looking after me. She’d cleaned me up, chased the pain away and even put together food for me. A bowl of oatmeal was on the table, along with bananas, peanut butter toast, and ginger snaps.

  “Thanks,” I said, and sat down smiling at her, even though it hurt a little. With the other pain gone, being this close to Willow was tearing apart my insides. I couldn’t win.

  I could tell she was holding back her questions, letting me eat, so I asked her after I’d finished my oatmeal and drank some water, my head clearing, “Why did you think I was dead?”

  It wasn’t what she’d been expecting. Her face went white and she stared at me. I met her gaze and raised my eyebrows. Finally she said, her voice low, “My mother is visiting Aunt Sil.”

  “I know that,” I said. “I saw her briefly before I came up here.”

  Willow nodded, her face becoming pained. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

  “Thank you,” I said, then picked up a ginger snap. “Willow, please. Why? It’s important.”

  “I don’t know everything. You went out with some friends drinking and then you vanished.” Willow looked away from me, out the window. She tried to play it off, but I saw her throat working and her hands knotted together. “My mother called me a week later, I think, and asked me if I’d heard from you.” Her voice lowered. “She said Aunt Sil couldn’t sense you.”

  “Oh, jeez,” I said, putting a hand over my eyes. “They do think I’m dead.”

  “Who’s they?” Willow asked, her voice full of curiosity now. “Are there more shifters?”

  When I lowered my hand, she was watching me and I nodded. “Five of us. The Hotshot Brothers. All coyotes.”

  She looked down, nodding. “Like Uncle Aspen. He’d have been so happy.” She let out a shaky breath and then asked, her voice low and accusatory, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I stared at Willow in surprise. I hadn’t imagined she’d be so direct, although I didn’t know why. Willow was always ruthlessly direct.

  Maybe I should be back.

  “We weren’t friends anymore, Willow,” I said, my tone casual. It gave away nothing – not the terrible ache that went through me, the churning in my stomach and the longing I could never quell.

  Her head flew up, her lips parted and pupils dilated. “Burr, I–”

  “I didn’t think you’d care,” I said, a little cruelly. “So I asked Aunt Sil not to say anything.”

  Reaching up, her hands found her braid and began to tug it apart. For a second, remorse and guilt swooped in my stomach. Willow only did that when she was deeply upset.

  “I never thought we weren’t friends, Burr,” she said in a voice just above a whisper.

  Suddenly I couldn’t take it anymore. I was exhausted, my head pounding, and all I wanted to do was sleep. Abruptly I stood up and said, “Don’t worry about it. Listen, I’m exhausted. We can talk tomorrow. Is there somewhere I can sleep?”

  Willow was looking down and she nodded. Her hands were clutched around the mug and her shoulders were slumped. “Take any room,” she said, her voice strained.

  I walked away, pausing in the doorway when I felt her eyes on me. Turning, our gazes met. “You know, I never wanted to stop being friends, Lolo.” My heart throbbed in my chest and I didn’t know why I was saying these insane things, but I couldn’t stop. “You know what I wanted.”

  I heard her breath catch, but she looked away quickly and I turned away as well. Almost blindly, I went through the hall, opening the door of the first room I found.

  Of course, it was Willow’s. Her scent hit me the second I walked in. It was dimly lit and comfortable, with a messy bed, a thick purple comforter falling to the floor and pillows everywhere. Bookshelves lined the walls, several filled with artifacts from her Inuit and Blackfoot heritage. An open closet showed clothes spilling out. I was a little surprised; usually Willow was much neater than this. Her desk had empty coffee cups on it and a mess of papers.

  I was about to leave when a diabolical thought occurred to me. Walking across the room, I fell into her bed and tugged the comforter up over me. Closing my eyes, I breathed in deeply, trying to hold onto this moment of being as close to Willow as I could get.

  She was my greatest weakness. I couldn’t get her out of my skin, no matter how hard I tried.

  And she did say, take any room.

  Chapter 6

  Tears burned in my throat as I sat hunched over the kitchen table. Somewhere in the house, I heard a door close and a wild, sudden urge to laugh at myself rose up. A bitter kind of laughter for indulging in the kind of idiocy and foolishness of which I’d always accused Burr.

  Like a child, I’d been hoping Burr had forgiven and forgotten in the time that had passed. That once we saw each other, in that moment, all would be well. He’d always been like that before  big-hearted and unable to hold a grudge.

  But I suppose if anyone could test the limits of his kindness, it would be me.

  Putting a hand to my throat, pulsing now with sharp pain, I remembered it all. It was two years after the Ash Walker attack. Burr and I were both in our early twenties. We’d been at a lake in the Montana Mountains, not far from Aunt Sil’s.

  It was just the two of us that day, lying in the summer sunshine and watching the sky. Then Burr had taken my hand. When I’d tried to pull away he looked over at me and grinned.

  “Whoa. Can’t not hold hands on a first date.”

  Tingles had rushed up my neck while my entire body whooshed with blood. Terror, anger, and hope were darting through me so fast I couldn’t even think. Sitting up, hiding behind my hair, I’d stammered out that
it wasn’t and that he shouldn’t make such tasteless jokes. Something like that.

  And he’d laughed, then said, “Willow.”

  That was all Burr had said, and I’d met his eyes to see him looking at me in a way that made me blush to this day. I’d stopped trying to pull my hand away.

  But I’d been so confused. Sure, Burr had put together a basket, but how was that any different than usual? With that thought, I’d yanked myself away and scrambled to my feet.

  He was too tall and quick to let me get away, though. Caught again, Burr had pulled me close, holding my hands and looking into my face. He didn’t kiss me – even though I thought he would. No, Burr had just pressed his forehead against mine and sighed. A happy, satisfied sound.

  “You’re my favorite person in the world, Willow. You know that. So how about you go on a date with me where I don’t have to trick you into it?” he’d asked.

  Nerves had sparked and writhed around like live wires in my stomach. Somehow, I’d squeaked out an “okay.” At that Burr had hugged me tightly, his face on my shoulder and chest rumbling with laughter.

  The following month I’d spent the days floating, smiling all the time, and thinking about Burr. About making him laugh, holding hands, and spending our lives together. Giddy, I’d wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Blushing as I dreamed about when it would happen.

  During the second date, everything had been perfect. But again Burr didn’t kiss me.

  That didn’t matter, I had thought.

  But in the weeks that passed, as our third date kept getting rescheduled, something began to nag at me. A thought I couldn’t shake, no matter how much I tried.

  Because it made perfect, awful sense.

  Burr was a good man. He’d come into his own as Aspen and Santana’s son. He was even studying wildland firefighting, trying to do his part to fight back against the Ash Walkers. Once they’d passed, he took my aunt’s name as his surname, doing his best to soldier on with his life. And he’d come to live with us at Aunt Sil’s, commuting over two hours to school so he could help take care of everyone. He’d made sacrifice after sacrifice.