Truthfully, he’d been even more disgusted by that hunt’s clients than usual. Those guys weren’t hunters. They were suits who wanted to throw back expensive vodka, show off expensive rifles, and pretend to be real men instead of walking jokes.
The dog, who had affectionately been dubbed Mad Max as a rescue pup, was a wolf dog, half German Shepherd. He was neutered. Smart. Quiet. And loyal to a fault. But he’d forever carry the name he got during a tail-chasing phase of adolescence. He usually stayed with neighbors who knew their way around canines when Foley was away. The frequent absences probably made the dog more clingy than he would have been if things were more settled and routine.
Max stuck his head into the bathroom to make sure it was safe for Foley to bathe alone. When he was satisfied, he flopped down in the hallway outside the bath, put his head on his paws and would sit guard there until Foley emerged.
After three rounds of letting out lukewarm water and refilling with steamy hot water, he felt like he’d soaked away most of the contamination of spending days with men who should never venture to places that don’t offer valet service.
When he emerged, Max followed him to the kitchen, nails lightly clacking on the old wood floor. Foley poured a large can of Sloppy Joe ready-to-eat mix into a saucepan and let it heat while he fed the dog. He spooned a generous portion of sauced and shredded meat onto a pair of hamburger buns, took an equally generous stack of paper napkins, and popped open a green Heineken.
Sitting down at the blocky walnut table that served as his dining surface and office, he set the sandwiches next to the keyboard and fired up the computer. While waiting for everything to check in on the machine that would be considered ancient by some, he got started on the Joes. The simple pleasure of hot, well-tomatoed meat followed by cold Dutch beer was exquisite enough to cause him to momentarily close his eyes. There was just nothing like the quiet solitude of home.
As his eyes slid partly open he saw that emails had popped up. Scanning through mostly junk, his eyes found and fixed on Miles Bogosian. When it came to suits, Miles Bogosian was at the top edge of tolerable. He was an actual, not pretend, hunter with an authentic appreciation for the less spoiled places left on Earth. He loved wildlife. Loved the outdoors. And might have even been able to survive in the wilderness for a day without a babysitter.
Ignoring the other messages he clicked on the email. There was a job.
Foley had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, he wanted steady work that paid into his nest egg. On the other, he wanted time in between jobs. He turned and looked at Max, knowing how the dog would feel about going to the neighbors again so soon. Max raised his head and pointed his ears toward Foley like he was trying to read his owner’s thoughts. And maybe he was.
“Downtime might be cut short,” he told Max. “When we get the money to move north, I won’t be leaving you again.” The dog blinked. He didn’t understood what was being said, but he reacted to Foley’s tone of voice by putting his head down and heaving a mighty sigh. “Yeah. I don’t like excuses much either. Maybe I can make it up to you with some nice steamed salmon?” Max flicked a glance toward Foley, but his gaze didn’t linger. “It’s gonna take more than salmon this time, huh?”
He made a call to Bogosian’s office to find out what the ‘job’ was. He suspected that it was the usual something he didn’t want to do, but would to fund his dream. Probably arranging for some of the corpulent members of his club to chase a Kodiak bear down in a helicopter and shoot it from inside the flying machine. He wasn’t opposed to the practice from a moral perspective, but rather from a sporting principle. If there was anything in Foley’s life he held sacred, it was that the contest was everything. And chasing a bear down in a helicopter was no contest.
CHAPTER EIGHT Shift
Reese’s eyes adjusted to streams of light coming through partially opened shutters. As soon as her vision cleared, she experienced that momentary disorientation of expecting to wake up in one environment and finding oneself somewhere strange.
Then she remembered.
Everything.
She groaned out loud, long and low before saying, “Ugh. I’m a werewolf.”
A velvety smooth and familiar chuckle came from somewhere in the room. For some reason she’d thought she was alone. Her entire body jerked around to face Nick sitting in an armchair with a newspaper spread in front of him.
She looked him over. It didn’t seem fair that he could look that good that early in the morning. She looked around for a clock. “What time is it?”
“Ten thirty.”
She threw herself backward onto the bed in totally futile, but satisfying protest of what had become of her life. “Can’t be.”
“Whatever you say.”
She rolled over far enough so that he was again in her line of vision. “Is that a newspaper?”
“So I’m told.”
“Werewolves read newspapers,” she said drily.
He gave her a wry look. “Nobody is just one thing, Reese. I’m also a businessman. As you know. I have to keep up with local politics, zoning proposals, new business in town, all kinds of things that might affect our bottom line.”
“When you say ‘our’, you mean…”
He put the paper aside. “This is a collective. We share. Everything.” When he saw a flash of panic in her eyes, he hastened to add, “No. No. Not you. You’re mine. Alone. But everything else.”
“So you’re socialist werewolves. Living in a little all-male mountain commune.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You hungry?”
She checked in with systems and concluded that, “Yes. Are you cooking?”
“I’m not, but somebody is. When you’re dressed and ready to venture out, we’ll go to the house and feed you.”
“Okay. Then what?”
“I’m as new at this as you are.”
“Are not.”
He shook his head. “I don’t mean I’m new at being a shifter. Obviously. I mean I’m new at knowing what to do when a fully grown adult human morphs into a fully grown adult werewolf. On the one hand you’re strong and powerful. Dangerous. On the other hand you’re as clueless as a newborn as to what you can do and how to control it.”
“What’s the goal? Education or control?”
“Both. You need to be able to use your gift only in the way you want when you want.”
“Gift.” The word tasted dubious on her tongue as she repeated it, trying it on for a fit. “That’s what we’re calling this?”
“Before you rush to judgment, you need to take your wolf for a test drive.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at the incongruity of that sentence. “Why don’t you go away so I can get dressed?”
He looked confused. “What do you mean? How does my being here affect you getting dressed?”
“It just does!” She waved her arms in the air for emphasis.
“It just does? Really?”
“Creating the mystique that is me requires a certain measure of privacy.”
“Wolves don’t do privacy.”
“They do now.”
Deciding that surrender was the best strategy, Nick rose, grabbed his coffee cup and said, “I’ll be out there,” meaning the living area. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Close the door.”
He backed up two steps and closed the door behind him. She was adorable.
When she emerged a half hour later, she was wearing enough layers to qualify for the original Banana Republic Tibetan traveler catalog. Nick grinned in a way that made her think he was laughing at her.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
She frowned, clearly not liking that answer. “What!?”
“Well, after you’re fed, I thought we were going to start work on shifting at will.”
“Okay. We can do that.”
He looked blank. “How do you plan to shift to four-legged form in all those clothes?”
She
looked down then up into Nick’s face. “It’s cool outside.”
“Not to wolves.”
“Did you expect me to go naked?”
“That’s pretty commonplace around here. Clothes get in the way.”
There was no mistaking the fact that she looked scandalized. With eyes as wide as saucers, she opened and closed her mouth. “That’s just… That’s…”
“What?”
“Indecent.”
He smiled. “Indecent?”
“You know the idea of being the only woman…”
“Female.”
“Whatever. Who’s in a remote location with a gaggle of guys…”
“A pack,” he said firmly, taking offense to the word ‘gaggle’. “Of wolves.”
“You get my point.”
He studied her for a minute. “I do. You have human notions of modesty.”
She nodded. “Well, yeah. Of course.”
“That’s got to go.”
“Highly unlikely.”
“The first time you get so tangled in clothes you can’t get free, or even see, you may change your mind about that.” She blinked a few times and seemed less sure. “Okay. One step at a time. Let’s go get breakfast and table this until after. Agreed?”
“Yes. But I’m not taking all my clothes off in front of all your friends.”
He sighed. “They’re not friends, Reese. They’re my packmates.”
“Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?”
“No. How ridiculous does it sound?”
“Very!”
It had been a long time since Nick had attempted extended engagement with a female and he’d never had a serious relationship. Just a long series of trysts that were fun, but not frustrating.
“What happened to let’s-have-breakfast-and-then-consider-this?”
“What happened is ground rules. I think it’s appropriate for me to let you know up front what will and will not be happening. It will save you a lot of trouble.”
He ran a hand over his head then shoved both hands into his jeans pockets. “Okay. You want to talk about this now? Consider this. Are you planning to shift in the privacy…” he leaned over her and drew out the word ‘privacy’, “…of the cottage and emerge modestly covered in fur?”
“That’s one plan.” She nodded.
“Okay. How are you planning to open the door to get outside? Do you have magic paws?”
She looked stricken by his tone. “Are you yelling at me?”
“If I am, I don’t mean to be. Why don’t we go have breakfast and give this some thought before we start constructing ‘ground rules’?”
“I’m not taking these clothes off until I’m good and ready.”
“Reese. My packmates and I are going to try to help you learn about being a shifter. There’s a lot to it. Hiding in plain sight isn’t as easy as it sounds. It’s your choice to accept the help. Nothing will be forced on you, certainly not by any of us.”
“Promise?”
“Absolutely. And gods help any human who tries anything with you.””
The tension fell away from her shoulders. “Okay then.” She offered a tight smile. “Breakfast?”
“Let’s go.”
It was late in the morning by pack standards. Mars had gone to work. Ken and Grey were scouting fishing spots. Kai and Shea were cordoning off a hillside where they planned to add additional plants the following spring. Rapp had pulled kitchen duty. He’d finished cleaning up after breakfast and was making sandwiches for lunch.
Whoever had kitchen duty made and wrapped sandwiches then left them out for on-the-go consumption by anybody who walked through the kitchen and grabbed one.
“Hey, kids,” he said cheerfully. Rapp had such an agreeable, charismatic personality that it was hard to imagine him being a monster.
“Hey,” Nick said. “Too late for breakfast?”
Rapp looked at the refrigerator and back at Nick. “Not if you know how to cook. You know how to cook?”
“Not really,” Nick said.
“How about you?” Rapp turned to Reese.
“I know how to cook,” she said.
“Well, then it’s not too late for breakfast. There’s stuff in the fridge. Just clean up when you’re done.” And with that Rapp wrapped the last sandwich, set it on top of the pyramid, smiled, and said, “Later.”
The day was cool, but not too cool to have the kitchen separated from the great outdoors by only a screen door. On his way out, Rapp let the door slip from his hand and slam against the casing while thinking that sound never got old.
Nick shrugged when Reese looked at him. “I think I know how to put bread in the toaster.”
“That would be a big help,” she said sarcastically. She opened the refrigerator hoping for a nice fresh container of Greek yogurt, maybe some seedless purple grapes, and the toast Nick mentioned. But when she ducked her head to look inside the refrigerator, she found that she was okay with not seeing yogurt. Because she didn’t want yogurt. She wanted protein.
Hmmm.
Reese had never been big on bacon and eggs, but she’d been raised by grandparents who were. So she knew what to do.
She pulled the thick sliced bacon and jumbo brown cage-free eggs out of the refrigerator. She didn’t have to raid the cabinets. Three large iron skillets had been left wiped clean and sitting on top of the six-burner gas stove.
Wanting to feel useful in some way, Nick said, “There’s still coffee. Want some?”
She glanced his way. “Only if there’s cream.”
He smiled. “There’s cream. Shea feels the same way. So there’s always cream. Or half and half. Is that okay?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
In half an hour they were sitting down to six scrambled eggs and half a pound of bacon. If it registered with Reese that she normally didn’t consume that much protein in four days, it didn’t slow her down. What did slow her down was Nick watching her.
“Oh.” Her chewing slowed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t ask if you’d already eaten. Did you have breakfast?” She looked a little distraught about the possibility of having to share. “Did you want some of this?”
He laughed. “Yes. I ate earlier. No. I don’t want any. It’s all yours, which is a good thing because your appetite seems, ah, healthy this morning.”
Reese looked at the platter in front of her. “I don’t usually eat bacon and eggs.”
“No?”
“No. And when I have I didn’t eat this much.”
“Hmmm.”
She looked up. “Is it a werewolf thing? Am I going to get fat?”
He laughed out loud. “You couldn’t get fat if you wanted to. You’ll eat meat and run it off.”
“Eat meat and run it off,” she repeated with less enthusiasm than he would have liked. “Can I have another coffee?”
“Of course.”
“With cream.”
“Goes without saying.”
“Is it ground rules time?”
“I don’t know how to cook, but I do know how to clean up. Let’s put things back to rights. Then we’ll go for a walk. Maybe sort things out.”
Reese had to admit that the mountaintop property could challenge any scenery anywhere for sheer natural beauty. They walked past the young cannabis plantings, past the new terraces being built on the side of the mountain. Rapp, Kai, and Shea waved as they went by.
“They look like normal, um, people,” she said.
Nick turned his head toward her. “So do you.” She sighed and looked off into the distance. “Give it a chance, Reese. Maybe you’ll like it.”
They continued in silence for a time, but when they stepped inside the cover of the tree line, Nick pulled her to a stop and said, “You know. There’s no one around.”
She looked up into his suggestive smile. “You want nookie? Out here?” She scanned the surroundings like she was checking to see if he was telling the truth about no one being around.
He l
aughed. “I do want, ah, ‘nookie’. Always. But I was thinking that maybe you’d like to try shifting. Just the two of us.” She looked dubious. “I can’t describe to you what it feels like to run in four-legged form. You have to experience it for yourself.”
She searched his eyes before whispering, “This is really happening.”
Sensing her need for reassurance, he pulled her close, wrapped her in his arms and treated her to a long, leisurely kiss, the kind that sent a message. And the message was, there’s no hurry. We have a lifetime to take things as slow as you want.
When Nick pulled back and away, she growled her displeasure, then slapped her palm over her mouth not believing the sound that had just erupted from her throat.
Laughing, Nick said, “That’s one of the things we have to get under control before you rejoin polite society.”
Her eyes drifted downward to his fingers unbuttoning the vintage gray chambray shirt he wore so well. After tugging the hem of his shirt from his jeans he unbuttoned the cuffs and dropped it to the ground. Her eyes followed the discarded garment.
“We’re going to just leave our clothes here? On the ground?”
Nick smiled like he had the best secret ever kept. “Works for us.” He kept his tone light so that she would understand that he was proposing the delight of a playful adventure. Letting his gaze drift down her body, he waved a hand in her direction and said teasingly, “You’d better get started on those layers if you want to get in a trot before dark.”
Reese Braga had always been a practical person, the sort of person who made things work and adjusted her psyche to be okay with her lot. When presented with a harvest of lemons, she didn’t always come up with lemonade. Instead, she learned to appreciate the scent of citrus.
She’d faced a series of significant challenges for her quarter century history and could point to rising above adversity with pride. She was a twenty-something who wasn’t afraid of life, because she was certain she was equipped to cope with whatever was thrown at her next. Of course, that self-assurance had been donned before she knew that werewolves were real, much less that she might be one.
Stalk (Hotblooded Book 1) Page 8
