Zar stood the torment for several minutes before he was trying to move Jed. Just as Jed had grown more and more agitated, this time Zar began to fall apart. Still, no one spoke. Posturing, growling, then physical contact as he tried to force his body between us. He was no match for Jed, however, and, surely because of my presence, Zar would not resort to methods that involved bloodletting.
The first orgasm found me at the end when Jed, growling at Zar, face again in my hair, returned to real thrusting and finally reached his release. Zar was talking by then, fighting to get Jed to move, cursing him in Lucannis and occasional English. Ripples from my own pleasure were beginning to fade when Zar at last took his place. Surging into me, Zar was already hitting his own orgasm—and almost as quickly bringing me to a second.
He held on for a long time, getting his breath back, still shaking, sweating, before he eased away, gently kissed me, then punched Jed after all.
I couldn’t blame him. The problem with Zar fighting, as I’d learned while Zar had held onto Jed’s throat like a bear trap, was that Zar didn’t have the size and power over the likes of Jed to win a brawl. Instead, he had the brains to fight smart.
There was only one blow in this whole fight but he broke Jed’s nose with the force and precision of it, hurling Jed into rocks and spray of the river’s edge with blood fountaining down his face. Jed did the cursing then. Zar’s muscles were bunched, shaking with his own rage, although silent as I pushed him back, myself between them.
Not how I’d envisioned a first threesome. Even so, as I held Jed’s soaked face, checking his nose, him pulling away—saying he was fine; he could change—my chief feeling was shame. Not because of what we’d done, or them fighting over me. But because, given the chance, I’d have done it all over again.
Chapter 41
I woke in the tent to sounds of dawn songbirds and the first campers starting their propane stoves for coffee. I could get some in Red Eagle on our way out. We’d given our thanks to the coyotes, Si had been willing to exchange numbers with me, then we’d bid our goodbyes as soon as Kage and Jason had returned. Time to go.
I buried my face in a mane of prickly guard hairs and soft undercoat. Only one companion. I’d warned them this might be their last chance to run free, to roam the southern end of Yellowstone National Park, to live as wolves were meant to live. They could sleep most of the day in the van. I was the one who’d needed rest.
Not anymore. Time to go. I kept telling myself, yet it was hard to move, hard to abandon a warm nest for cold air, to face all that we had to accomplish now.
I dragged myself from the sleeping bag enough to wrap my arms around the woolly neck and tried the words out loud. “Time to go.”
Zar rolled on his back, creamy paws folded, and wagged his tail, swishing against the tent wall. I rubbed the thick fur of his chest, stroked his head, ran my thumb repeatedly between his eyes and those charming pale eyebrow spots and black brow whiskers, then sat up.
“How is it you still manage to smell like fish?”
He wagged, eyes shut.
I pulled a shirt over the long underwear top, then my jacket.
Zar blinked drowsily after me. He rolled to his chest and sat up. His head scraped the tent, making him flatten his ears. He touched his nose ever so lightly to mine, gazing into my eyes. It made me shiver.
“I love you too,” I whispered. “Zar? I heard them sing last night. Are you okay? You didn’t have to stay here.”
He rested his chin on my shoulder.
Again, I hugged his neck. “I know. You wanted to. I hope one day … when this is all over, when your pack is safe, maybe we’ll come back.”
Another wag.
By the time we had camp dismantled and the van loaded, we’d had no sighting of the others. Both dressed and ready to go, we walked up the trail to our meeting spot.
Isaac was also changed and dressed, coming to meet us with his bag over his shoulder. The rest were not so timely. It took half an hour before we had everyone, mostly yawning and half asleep, on two feet and heading for the van.
I would have liked to see Jed while the rest were organizing themselves but he was the last to change and shuffle off for the van—disheveled, eyes almost shut, three-day beard, looking like he was hung over.
We drove to Red Eagle in silence, most of those in the back asleep by the time we got there.
A diner: myself in alone with Isaac for two to-go expressos, one now, one on the road, and six side orders of bacon. I should have had a muffin to go with the drink but my stomach churned, queasy in the face of all that grease. Coffee only.
While we waited for bacon, Isaac, phone newly turned on, listened to voicemails. I should have been checking messages of my own. I only sat with him at a tiny table, below antique photos of cowboys and ranch houses, thinking of killers I already knew, shamans I’d just met, and a wolf I needed to know better. Until I noticed Isaac’s face; the color draining away.
“Isaac?”
He checked for more, then lowered the phone. He stared at a bulletin board by the door before his eyes met mine.
“Peter is missing,” he said so quietly I barely caught it in the busy diner. “He and the others with him. They questioned the Greys and Traeth Pack, then were going to speak with the Mountain Pack. That was the last anyone heard from them. Which was three days ago.”
We only looked into one another’s eyes for seconds, heartbeats. Nothing to say. Nothing to add. We both knew what it implied.
What mattered for us now…
“Will you please call Gabriel? Give us … three nights in Portland. That’ll be two days. Then … whatever’s cheapest to get back to the pack as quick as we can.”
He nodded, standing. He looked pale, hand tight on his phone.
“Isaac?”
He glanced at me again.
I swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
In another minute, I brought out the bacon box. I distributed this—three slices each—through the Chrysler Pacifica’s door, effectively waking up the inhabitants.
Kage, ever watchful, asked who Isaac was ringing. Isaac stood on the sidewalk a few doors down, pacing, phone to his ear.
“He’s had some news. He’ll tell you about it. I need a minute—coffee, stretch my legs before the drive.” I left the box with the final three slices on the passenger seat, looking to Jed. “We need to talk anyway. Walk with me.”
It took him a while to follow, as if he thought I might change my mind. Then, with the rest watching, no doubt, Jed joined me to walk past the diner, away from Isaac, up the road, and into an empty school lot freshly bathed in morning sun.
We walked slowly around the grassy lot, past basketball nets and kickball poles.
“Jed?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He looked ahead and to the dusty, brown grass as we went.
“It doesn’t?”
“Why do you care?” He stopped. “Why would you even want to talk about this?”
I squinted at him through fresh sun. “Because you need to.”
“No, I don’t. Or I would. You’re the one insisting.”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to push you. I want to be available, not forcing the issue. What happened?”
He blinked and frowned. “Is that supposed to be funny?”
“I want to be available rather than pushy in most cases. It seems to me this is important. You never told your mother, or Zar, or Diana, or anyone, that they executed your father for a crime he didn’t commit? Is that right?”
Jed looked at me, then away, back, then off toward the western mountains again.
“What? You didn’t think I was listening? That I would miss the details? Or that I wouldn’t care? I care a lot, Jed. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what you said. That’s why I want to talk—to understand what’s going on. And because I think you need to talk about it.”
He started walking again.
I moved with him, took a drink, waited a long ti
me, but he didn’t say anything.
“I’m on your side,” I said softly. “Maybe you don’t believe that. Or you’re just not used to having a friend.”
He stopped as I spoke, abruptly this time, facing me fully. “How can I believe that? I want to be with you but you don’t want to be with me. You won’t go out with me on your terms, like a worm, and you can’t run in fur, so what does that leave? Sometimes you’re fine with me in fur. Sometimes you’re not. Then you say I have to change to be like you because I’m not good enough the way I am—which is in fur. So what am I supposed to believe?” His words were rushed, angry, vicious by the last question.
I simply stared into his eyes for a minute before Jed looked away. He grabbed his right arm with his left hand, turning a bit sideways to me, taking a step back, as if he could cut himself off, disengage from the whole thing and I would let him go.
“I’m so sorry, Jed. I wish it wasn’t me. I wish you’d found someone with fur to love. Or I wish I wasn’t me. I wish I could be who you need, someone you can be happy with—”
“I am happy when I’m with you.” He glanced at me sharply, still angry, like he couldn’t believe he was having to explain something so obvious.
“You just said you feel like I won’t let you be yourself, and I’m sending mixed-messages. Poor communication, bait and switch, lack of respect from your partner … is that happiness for you?”
“I didn’t say you—” He spun away, even more frustrated, pushing a hand through his curly hair. He left the hand on top of his head while he looked around as if for a sign, a path, a way out. “I didn’t say you don’t respect me.”
“The way you’re interpreting my behavior sounds like someone who is disrespectful,” I said quietly. “If I was seeing my actions in that way, I’d think I was downright cruel. I’ve tried to talk to you a few times already about both of our perspectives so we can understand one another without the guesses and projections. I’m not going to try again unless that’s something you want. That’s up to you. If you want to listen and talk, for me to see how you feel, and for you to understand how I feel about you, skin or fur, I would love that. It would make my day if you wanted to have an exchange like that. If you decide that you do, tell me. I’m not going to beg you to understand me. Or for you to allow me to better understand you. If you don’t already know that I want those things, we’re in even worse shape than I thought—which is really saying something.”
He only stood there, again holding his arm, sideways, shut down.
“Let’s walk. It’s going to be a long day in the car.” I went on and he followed. I slowed to a crawl to get him next to me.
Jed still wouldn’t look at me, gaze to the brown track we followed.
We walked past a play set, past another gate, turned a corner.
I thought Jed mumbled something—so soft I wasn’t even sure it was a word.
“What?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated under his breath.
I stopped to face him, throat tight. “Jed, I don’t want you to be sorry. I’m not mad at you. It’s just that what’s happening with us—confusion, hurt feelings, misunderstanding—is exactly what I was afraid of.”
Another long silence, Jed looking around, hunting for something.
At last, he said, “I like to swim.”
“Excuse me?”
He met my eyes. “You said … if there were other things we could do together … not meal dates … that would be better.”
“That’s right.” I wanted to smile but couldn’t pull it off around the weight in my chest and throat. “I’m glad you remembered that.”
“You swim. I like to swim. I’ve only ever really swum in fur…”
“But we’d be going at the same pace if you swam in fur and me in skin, unlike running. That’s a wonderful idea, Jed.”
“Or…”
“I’d be happy to teach you to swim in skin. If time and place allow.”
He nodded. “I wouldn’t have minded seeing more of the museum where the foxes were…”
“Natural history museums? I love museums. Walks, fetch, swimming, museums. That’s a good start.”
He swallowed. “We found their trail last night.”
“The total wolves? You went up to Yellowstone, didn’t you?”
Another nod. “I tracked them. I sang to them. They answered us but … I think we scared them off. Maybe we didn’t sound like them. I used to think … when I got away, when I escaped the Sables, I’d find total wolves and run with them. I’d have a mate I could provide for, a pack I loved… Then … I’d think how I’d bring her flowers to the den, or some other rubbish idea like that. Too daft to think like a total wolf, even pretending.” He shook his head violently. “They knew that. They heard us, probably smelled us last night, and they took off. They knew we weren’t total wolves, weren’t from around here: the sort of prat who thinks he’ll bring flowers to a den.”
He stopped, gazing at the ground, and I was finally grateful he did so he couldn’t see the tears in my eyes.
It took me a minute to speak, voice even softer. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with bringing flowers to your mate.”
“You’re a worm, though.” He still didn’t look up. “That’s my point. It’s different.”
“It’s my point also, Jed. You live trapped between worlds. You can’t expect a total wolf to be like you. Or a worm to be like you. At the same time, both have some connection to you. We still have common ground.”
“There’s your bird.”
I looked around.
A western meadowlark perched on the chain link fence, investigating something tied to the wire. Probably many chances for snacks here in the yard.
I watched the yellow and brown bird, then Jed. “How can you pay such close attention, be so observant, and still say that I don’t want to be with you? Or that my reason for asking you to change to skin is that you’re not good enough for me in fur?”
Still my throat was tight and I swallowed. Those words, the fact that he would be thinking that, stung so much it made me a little breathless.
The meadowlark called out, a beautiful, piping song, then flew away in a flash of yellow. Jed watched it go.
Very slowly, finally running out of alternatives, he turned his gaze to me. “I hate walking upright like a tree, putting on clothes, being expected to talk, work, and interact in the pack like I care—like they’re any more than murderers and backstabbers.” He didn’t sound angry anymore, but strained, forcing the words out as if they would break him. “This body is so weak and soft and ugly it repulses me. Until all of this started with you, I spent eight hours out of every twenty-four in skin so I could do my job. That was it. When I had a day off, I never put on skin if I could help it. Everyone knew I was always in fur. If they wanted anything they came to speak to me in the shop while I worked because that was the only chance. Merab fed me in fur, pups played with me in fur, I went in and out of my room through the window.
“They don’t like a stranger, but I did my job as a crafter so they left me alone. That was as much as anyone expected from me. Eight hours a day of bloody great flapping arms and cloth covers and the asinine work and company. Eight hours a day unable to jump more than a few feet in the air, or run faster than a butterfly. Hardly able to smell meat in front of my nose. The rest was my time. Not some shallow, talking, upright imitation, but true Jed. Sixteen hours a day strong, quick, aware of everything around me. Sixteen hours of digging, running, graceful motions and taking in all the world at a sniff. Sixteen hours of truth, of being proud of myself. Then get up in the morning and change and go back to work.”
Again, he looked away and stood for a long time in silence.
I only waited.
“Our father was a stranger first—that’s what led him to drinking. He hated being in skin, started trying to take the edge off, make the day go faster. I tried to get him to stop. I needed him. I needed my pack and … after Kage was
gone…
“But I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t do anything but follow him, try to keep him out of trouble—away from worms when he’d take off in the night in fur after he’d been drinking all day in skin. Sometimes it made him sick and he’d pass out. Then it was all right. Sometimes he’d run into town or chase sheep.
“That night … I tried. I knew he shouldn’t be out. It was a weekend, hot, the last hot day of summer. Autumn, really, but it was a heatwave and all the worms were out enjoying it. Cooking outside or eating in their gardens. He said they’d be at it. That he could go from garden to garden in the dark and take his pick. It was mental, utter madness. But it was just the sort of thing he thought was a laugh when he was drunk.
“I knew where he was going. I fought him at the rail lines. He wouldn’t stop. He got right past me and loped all the way into Brighton. He’d been seen before, again and again. Stories in the news about a black wolf someone must have kept as a pet. The sheep, the motorists spotting him, the run-ins with dogs… It was so bad already, he was on his last chance with the pack.
“But he wouldn’t listen and he wouldn’t stop. I followed him through gardens by back lights while the worms were finishing their dinners. The girl was almost at the end of a row, one of the last gardens. He went for the charcoal grill, didn’t even look at her. But she yelled, sitting out there alone with her toy horses, the family in the kitchen washing up. I scared her jumping over the wall. That’s why she yelled, alerting the worms inside. Just a quick touch: tell her to be quiet. I didn’t mean it to be hard. I didn’t know her skin would break so easily—but she was only a little worm’s pup, soft and screaming and there was blood all over her face and I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know what to do or how to make it stop. I panicked at the blood. I wanted to save him. Instead, I left him. I jumped over the next fence and ran. When the mother and father came out, he was the only one left, taking off as well. One big, black wolf.
“I knew they’d come for me—the pack. This would be in the news. They’d know right away. It was over. I’d bit wolves when I was in fur before. Multiple times, including with Kage when it was really bad. They wouldn’t scratch out a wolf for that—it was all lockdown and cuff. But this? Bite a human? A mundane human? A child? Endanger everything about our way of life? This was it.
Moonlight Journey: A Reverse Harem Shifter Romance (The Witch and the Wolf Pack Book 6) Page 27
