Of Fur and Ice

by Andrea Marie Brokaw

  The wolf runs out to grab another round for the bar patrons while I set up in the back room for our third game. He returns quickly, saying as he strolls back into the room, “Let me guess! You want to place money on this game, having allowed me to win the first round and almost beat you in the second just to give me a false sense of hope.”

  Giving him the expected laugh, I shake my head. “No, I have to let you win this time too so you'll be willing to place a decent bet on game four.”

  “Right.” He gives me a grin that I am rapidly become fond of seeing. “Smart girl.”

  My break is decent, but he gets four in a row after it before handing the cue ball over. “Is it always this busy here?” I ask him as the other people leave.

  He watches me sink one of my solids, waiting until the shot's over to answer. “We're pretty much open during the day to be nice to the regulars. It'll start picking up by dinner and be packed tonight.”

  “Do people know it's werewolves running the place?” I wince as I narrowly miss my shot and wave Warren toward the table.

  “The weres do. But, no, the local humans don't have a clue.” He easily gets two more, but then gets a disgusted look as the third shot goes wrong. With a head shake, he steps back to make room for me.

  “Then what do the locals think about you working here?” I feel compelled to ask. He gives me a completely baffled look as I set up and asks what I mean. “I mean, it's not legal for minors to run bars in most places. Alcohol licensing and all.”

  He snorts derisively. “Sheriff's were. And the mayor. And the head of the licensing board.”

  “And just like that we don't have to follow laws?” I ask, making a shot I honestly thought I'd missed.

  “Not human ones,” Warren grumbles, folding his arms and looking appalled. “Can you imagine what would happen if we thought we could get away with the things they do?”

  “What?”

  That question is so strange it makes me hit the ball all wrong. Which turns out to be a good thing since the target goes in now.

  He watches me quietly for a few seconds before trying to answer. “We ignore their little rules when we can, yes. But the big rules? Theft? Murder? Rape? They do that stuff and get slapped on the wrists. We do it, and our own families execute us.”

  I shiver. That seems so harsh and unyielding. What about due process and the right of appeal? But I've also been told multiple times weres who attack humans are killed, even though I know of two who weren't. So there is leniency somewhere in the system.

  “Nice shot,” Warren says with genuine enthusiasm as I pull off a miracle to sink the eight and gain my second victory.

  “Thanks.” I smile slightly at him and start taking the balls from pockets, rolling them down to him so he can put them in the triangle.

  “So how did you learn to play this well?” he asks, dropping the balls into place with decisive clicks as he changes the subject. “Are you the daughter of a pair of professional players?”

  “No.” I laugh, but the sound turns sad. “It was Troy who taught me.”

  Damn. I would never have let myself think of him right now if wondering about justice in the world of shape shifters hadn't thrown me off my mental balance.

  “Troy being?” Warren's hands are still on the edges of the triangle.

  My throat hurts as I swallow. “My ex-boyfriend.”

  It's the first time I've had to describe him as such. The phrase send a knife of pain through my heart.

  “Who is good at pool despite being a complete idiot?”

  Huh? I squint at Warren as he bends to hang the triangle in place. Oh. Right. Troy is an idiot because he was my boyfriend. My jaw locks tightly.

  Warren squints back at me as he straightens. He stares at me for a few seconds, as if confused by my change in expression. “He's an idiot because he broke up with you. It was an attempt at a compliment.”

  He rolls the cue ball to me.

  “Oh.”

  I trap the ball in my hand.

  Trying to aim for the break, I realize my entire body is shaking.

  I pull the stick back, make my shot anyway, and manage to miss every single ball on the table.

  “Michaela?”

  “He didn't technically break up with me,” I whisper to the beer stained felt. “He just started going out with someone else.”

  There's a growl from across the table. “Then he's a coward, too.”

  The trembling gets even worse and my hands start to tingle with lost circulation. A wave of dizziness hits me.

  Warm arms wrap around me.

  My pool stick clatters onto the ground.

  Dry sobs slam through my body.

  Warren draws me against him, leads me into another room, and sits me on an old sofa with fluffy pillows and horrible floral fabric. He kneels in front of me, smooths my hair back from my face, and gives me the softest of looks. “What happened?”

  “I don't know.” But despite the fact I haven't said a word about this to anyone else, I find myself telling Warren everything I do know, starting with the way Troy started to distance himself after my attack. I didn't realize it at the time, but it seems obvious in retrospect.

  Tears roll down my cheeks when I get to the part when he started answering his phone less and less, until eventually he wouldn't take my calls at all.

  I end with him not even bothering to e-mail me since I've been here. “How could I have meant so little to him?”

  There's a short silence and eventually a whisper. “I don't know.”

  The door opens in the front room and he glances back.

  “You can go,” I tell him, trying to smile.

  He gives me a very long look as he thinks about whether he should leave me alone or not.

  “Honest, I'm not going to hurt myself or anything.”

  His head shakes. “Not what I was worried about.”

  Oh. What was he worried about?

  The front door opens again and a loud party comes through it. Warren looks torn.

  “I'll just lay down,” I offer with sniffle. “Try to take a nap...”

  He doesn't look convinced, but he gets up when someone up front yells out for attention.

  “We'll leave the second I can get my relief in,” he tells me.

  Nodding, I hold back on crying anymore until he closes the door behind him, at which point I break down again, letting giant sobs tear their way through me.

  I do lie down and try to sleep, but my brain won't stop thinking about Troy, dwelling on my hurt. I can't even make myself be angry, I'm so miserable. I've been repressing so much without even knowing I was doing it. And now it's all caught up with me in one sudden blow. In front of Warren, of all people!

  With a growl of defeat, I grab the remote on the coffee table. Turning on the TV, I flip channels until I find a show I can stand.

  The couch smells like wolves. Somehow, that comforts me, and I start to calm down, eventually falling asleep until Warren wakes me by gently saying my name. “Michaela?”

  He squats in front of me, smiling and stroking my hair. “Good morning.”

  The TV is off and the lights are on. A mug of something steaming sits on the table.

  I open my mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a yawn.

  Chuckling softly, Warren picks up the mug. “Hot chocolate, sleepy girl?”

  “Thanks.” My fingers wrap around the cup, brushing against Warren's. His hand zips away hastily, almost making me spill the drink. Looking at the beverage, I try a small sip to hide the unreasonable hurt I feel at his reaction to my touch.

  “I need to bring another keg up from the basement, then we can go, alright?” He neither looks at me nor waits for an answer. In fact, he's out the door before he even finishes the sentence.

  What a strange wolf... a strange wolf that makes very good hot chocolate. Made with real milk and marshmallows, it is quite possibly the best cocoa I've ever had. I wonder with a tiny smile if it's a family recipe
like the chili.

  “You ready to go?” Warren asks right after I drain the last of the drink. It's almost as if he was waiting outside for me to finish before he came in. And maybe he was.

  “Sure.” I bring the cup with me, taking the time to put it in the dishwasher on our way to the parking lot. My ride watches me do it with a hint of humor playing on his lips and tiny wrinkles around his eyes. My breath catches when I see the look. When he's not busy scaring me out of my wits, Warren really is something to look at.

  The ride back to school is much less chatty than my ride down was. Warren doesn't say a word from the time we leave the kitchen until we pull up at the school, and I can't think of a thing to say to him. Should I thank him for being so nice about my little breakdown? Apologize for it? Mention that I wish he'd spend more time smiling at me and less time glaring because I like his smile?

  He pulls into the drive rather than the parking garage. “I have to run an errand for my mom,” he offers as explanation.

  “Alright,” I respond, aware he'd just as soon I get out of the truck without saying anything. My hand goes to the door, but I don't climb out yet. “Thank you. For earlier. For listening.”

  I move the door handle towards me, but halt when he whispers my name.

  “Michaela.” He leans over, placing his fingers on my cheek and turning my face toward his. “Please don't cry over that jackass. He's not worth it.”

  Sniffling, I lean into the seat. The worn cloth is soft and cool. The skin of Warren's hand is warm and comforting. “I know. I think I'm crying more for me.”

  He removes his hand, letting the cold air chill me again. “That's different then.”

  He turns back to the steering wheel, placing his hands on it, but then he looks back to me. “I would prefer you not cry over anything.”

  I wish I could find the strength to smile. “I'll try not to.”

  I very nearly ask if I can go with him, and he must sense that because his features turn hostile again quickly. “It's pack business,” he says with clipped, terse words.

  Nodding, I brush the fresh tears away from my face and whisper a goodbye, jumping quickly from the vehicle and running straight inside before the moisture on my cheeks can freeze.

  That night, I dream again of a wolf. One that is kind to me, but then attacks. And poor Leo has to rescue me again.

  My subconscious isn't very subtle, is it?

  Chapter Ten

  Seth strolls into the mini-kitchen as I am stirring some creamer into a cup of coffee. I wish I had a real mug, but I didn't think to bring one with me.

  “I am so sorry about yesterday,” he starts before he's even though the door. His hair is pulled back against the nape of his neck and the sapphire blue sweater he wears really brings out his eyes.

  “It's alright.” Smiling, I pick up the silly little Styrofoam container. “How's Simone?”

  He rolls his eyes as he opens the donut box and pulls out a powder-coated selection. “She's fine.” He doesn't exactly radiate concern for her well-being.

  “Glad to hear it,” I offer in the same tone.

  “I'm getting out of here before she wakes up.” He grins before stuffing about a third of the donut into his mouth.

  Laughing, I lean against the counter beside him. “Don't blame you.” Blowing on the coffee, I breathe in its aroma, appreciating the little nuances that I never noticed before. My senses are continuing to sharpen.

  “Wanna come with me?”

  The cup pauses just before my lips. “Skiing?” I ask, making an assumption based on the pants he's wearing.

  “Yeah, skiing.” His lopsided smile warms me more than the coffee.

  Skiing with Seth? There is no way I could keep up with him. “Can't,” I demure. “I'm supposed to go snowshoeing with the foxes.” Not that I'll do great at that either, having never before put snowshoes on my feet.

  Eyebrows rise over the most amazing eyes on earth. “You're joining the den?”

  Huh?

  Laughing, Seth shakes his head. “Nothing. It's just that the outing sounds like a den activity. And you're not, technically speaking, a fox.”

  “For all we know, I am,” I argue, threatening to spill my drink with the sharpening of my posture that goes with my words.

  “Really?” He leans back and gives me a taunting smile. “So a fox mauled you badly enough that you spent a week in the hospital?”

  It wasn't a full week.

  But he has a point. Of all the creatures here, the one I am least likely to be would be fox.

  “Maybe I pissed it off,” I theorize.

  Seth laughs again. “Yeah, could be.” He grins at me and wipes his hands together to get the last of the donut powder off of them. “I'm going to run before anyone can beg me not to.”

  “Won't they just call you?” I ask.

  He gives me a mischievous look. “The phone only works at base.” Starting to the door, he waves cheerfully. “See you, kit.”

  Kit: (noun) An endearment for a young fox. Or, possibly, for a young leopard if it's short for kitten.

  I finish my coffee and have a donut myself, then head upstairs to find my boots and my guide. Sam approves of what I'm wearing before leading me down to one of the nearest outbuildings. It's made of the same gray wood as the skate barn, but is maybe a tenth of the size, if that.

  We enter to find several of the foxes inside, standing in two different groups and talking to one another. Sam goes to a wall where the snowshoes are stored, pulls down a pair, and hands them to me as if she thinks I have any idea what to do with them.

  I sit down and try to figure out how to get the things on, making Sam laugh at me. Not in a mean way, more in an aren't-you-the-cutest-thing way.

  Tod walks over to see what's happening and shakes his head. “You don't put them on inside. That would damage the grampons on the bottom. Take them out.”

  He grabs another pair of shoes and motions for me to follow him out. Sam trails behind us, still looking amused.

  It's not nearly as cold outside as I feared it was going to be. It's still somewhere shy of freezing, but the wind has died. Constant freezing is so much easier to handle than being ravished by uneven gusts of ice, and I suspect once we start exercising, I may actually approach comfortable.

  Tod tosses all of the shoes onto the ground, two of the smaller ones directly before me, and kneels in front of me without seeming to notice the snow. Taking my foot in his hands, he guides it onto one of the the shoes and then fastens the straps that will hold it to my boot, talking me through the process as he goes. “See? Easy! You try the other one.”

  As he sits back watching, I slide my foot into the bindings of the other one and fuss with them until they close. The heel strap requires ratcheting, which throws me off balance, but I somehow manage to stay upright. “Like that?”

  “Like that.” He smiles up at me. “You're a natural.”

  “Yep,” agrees his sister. “Although, it does beg the question of a natural what.”

  She grins at me to show she's just teasing, and I smile back. “A natural something. Let's leave it at that.”

  As Tod wanders off to round up the others, Aliah, decked out in a large woolly gray sunhat, picks her way over to us. She carries half a dozen poles, two of which she holds out to me when she comes to a stop. “For balance?”

  To demonstrate how much I need help with that, I nearly fall reaching over to grab them. The shoes don't seem like they should be causing problems, especially while standing still, but putting anything on my feet without being used to it tends to give me issues. “Thanks! I have a feeling I need them.”

  Aliah smiles her shy smile. “Me too?”

  “I don't need them at all,” Sam says. However, her claim is a bit on the suspicious side as she makes it while grabbing a pair off her friend. “I just carry them so people who do need them don't feel bad.”

  “Uh huh.” Aliah lowers her sunglasses enough to wink at me. “She doesn't need a ca
lculator in geometry class either? She just doesn't want me to feel stupid?”

  “Of course I don't.” Sam puts an arm around her shoulders. “I can't have my bestest friend thinking she's lacking.”

  Aliah just shakes her head at that and starts putting her own snowshoes on.