I let my mind wander, then focus, back and forth between trying to force the memory and let it show up on its own. Neither worked.
Gideon brought me a Tropicália, where I slumped on the couch with Mouse and the laptop. That didn’t help either.
The two of them went out the back door at the end of the hall by the family room to sprawl in the grass with their books. I don’t know how they could stand it. It was late afternoon by then, Wade would be back any time, and too hot for a dog to scratch a flea. Another day over 100ºF and so muggy it made even my straight hair a little frizzy.
Obviously the outdoor types, Adam and Gideon seemed to enjoy the break from the AC. Gideon sat against the old oak, out back in the overgrown lawn, flipping through pages and scanning for keywords relevant to our situation rather than actually reading. Adam lay on his chest in the same shade, notebook on the grass, and apparently reading the diary. What had he and Wade learned? Was he really able to read it?
Both ate grass while they read. Not like a farmer with a stalk of straw in his mouth, but a constant plucking of a few blades at a time, eating them, then plucking more, with the mindless, distracted air of someone with a bowl of M&Ms on a desk.
Adam’s rather auburn hair fell in arches around his temples as he looked down at the book, resting on his elbows. There was a hole in the shoulder seam of his red T-shirt, his cutoffs were frayed, and his bare feet were dark even on the bottoms, not just the upper skin tanned, but the whole soles stained by a lifetime of barefoot summers. He rolled onto his back, muscles almost silly, like he’d been Photoshopped, and said something to Gideon, now holding the diary above his nose.
Gideon didn’t look up, absently plucking more grass to chew. He must have shaved yesterday, before I’d been up. Now he had a five o’clock shadow darkening his jaw, making his face appear narrower. They had the sorts of high cheekbones and striking features that made me wonder if they had any Native American ancestry. Had shifters immigrated from the Old World to the New and met locals of their own kind just like humans had?
Gideon’s coffee-colored hair was too short to fall in his face, not severe but short and neat and smelling of woods and canines. When he frowned at the book his dark brows drew in and he looked momentarily like the scholarly one, the mage, frustrated with the day’s studies. He flipped more pages, chewing grass.
Not that I was sitting on the couch, laptop set aside, so that I could watch out the window for all of this. I’d just happened to need a stretch, getting too hunched over.
Adam twisted up a chunk of grass and threw it at Gideon, finally getting his attention as it hit his leg. Gideon looked up, expression blank. Uninterested in Adam’s comments, he returned to his own project without a word.
This second refusal to participate was too much for Adam. He rolled onto his side, moving closer to Gideon, reached out, and kicked his shin.
Reading, Gideon flipped him off. Adam sat up, dropping the diary and expounding on something that was probably unrelated. Throwing out a hand in a grand gesture that took in the yard, or the whole world, he appeared to be lecturing some point. Gideon curled his lip, growling at him, but refused to be pulled away.
Adam moved in closer and snatched the book. He wagged a finger at Gideon. Gideon grabbed his wrist, twisting the book away. In the next second, they were wrestling on the grass, Gideon abandoning all dignity, Adam still talking to him, now Gideon arguing back, voices raised enough to hear the faint sound of them across the yard and through shut windows. After a quick, tumbling struggle, Gideon pinned Adam on his back, returning the lecture. He seized his book off the ground, sat back with an air of finality, and was just getting on with his page-turning when Adam threw a spit-wad of grass at him, sticking to his shirt.
In a flash, Adam was off, tearing across the yard and into the woods, a gleeful look on his face, mouth wide and laughing like a big, panting grin of a dog. Gideon raced after him, almost catching his shirt at the trees when Adam made a sharp left and ran up the bank, then down, weaved through flower beds, around the deer-fence at the vegetable garden, back past the oak tree, grabbing Gideon’s book off grass as he went, and tore for the back door.
Gideon was a few steps behind, just enough that Adam could yank it open, fly inside, slam and throw the deadbolt as Gideon crashed into the door, rattling the walls.
Adam was laughing when he strolled in. He grabbed one of their glasses of ice water off the coffee table, dropping the book.
Gideon yanked at the door, then started around the house.
“What was that about?” I looked up at Adam.
He was sweaty and grinning as he set down the glass. “No one changing the damn menu in three generations.”
“Uh…”
“Hash-browns and flapjacks and omelets—the food’s fine, but when are they going to update? Where’s something new?” Throwing out his hands. “Know how many millions of deer are in East Tennessee?”
“Millions?”
“But is there venison on the menu?”
“No?”
“Just one example. Know what else they need? Barbecue.”
“At a diner?”
“Already got a dandy pit and smoker at home. Bring in home-smoked meat. Fine as a month of Sundays. Gideon says no, says it has to be processed in a commercial kitchen and all that hogwash. I’ll start a pit there on the side, smoker out back, do it myself. Is that good enough?”
“No?”
The front door banged open.
“I know, I know,” Adam sighed. “Ain’t just him. Not like he’s silver there—or anywhere else. But he won’t put a word in, won’t even hunt my trail. What do you think of that?”
“I don’t know… Sounds like an old-school diner. People coming there probably aren’t looking for barbecue breakfasts and smoked venison sausages with their wild boar bacon.”
Gideon stalked past Adam without a word, grabbed his book, and turned for the back door.
Adam grinned at his back, then me. “Should hear him cuss me out if you ain’t around. Been mighty polite, keeping a good balance on his high horse since we met you.”
“He doesn’t have to put on a show for me,” I said as Gideon vanished into the corridor and yanked back the deadbolt at the end of the hall. “I’m not easily offended.”
“Wouldn’t cotton anyway.” Adam took another drink. “Most would be in Lucannis.”
“In what?”
“Lucannis, our language.”
“Oh… I get it. You really do have your own shifter language. I’d wondered. I’ve heard Vel use it also.”
“Nah,” Adam snorted. “That’s Vulpen. Have their own tongue, like all their sneaking, no account ways.”
“Talk about dying languages. Probably not many people who—Blue!”
I hadn’t even noticed him in the family room, but Blue was a little black shadow, usually flickering in the wake of overbearing Pickles and a sweet, less demanding lap-cat. He was also sneaky as anything about the back door.
Maybe Gideon thought Adam was following, or he just left the door open so he could hear our conversation. For whatever reason, he left it ajar as he walked back toward the oak tree, and Blue made his move.
32
Adam turned as I sprang up. I’d been wearing socks and sneakers to protect my feet and still had them on.
We ran out after Blue, who was not a nervous slinker like Olive if she got out, or happy to come right back if you called, like Pickles or Mouse. Blue was off like a shot, dashing past Gideon as he made a grab. Then through the long grass, straight for the woods.
Adam slammed the door.
“Blue!” I ran.
“Don’t chase him!” Gideon shouted. “He’ll just spook!”
“I want him to! He’ll go up a tree!”
Adam ran with me, both of us yelling at Blue, and, sure enough, less than a hundred yards from the back door, I just spotted the little black form dash up a tree when he lost courage in his own path and heard us comin
g.
It was a young maple, the sort that turned this woodland into a breathtaking blaze of color in October. Now it was still green and full, hiding the cat so fast it was a wonder I’d caught that glimpse of him.
We jogged after, Gideon following, until we gathered around the base of the tree, all gazing up to the light branches and tiny black cat.
Gideon glared at Adam. Adam gave his shoulder a playful shove. “Wasn’t me.”
“Oh, Blue,” I sighed and grabbed a branch.
“I’ll get him.” Gideon waved a hand at me.
“I don’t know… It’s not a big tree.” I was no lightweight, but this was Gideon for comparison.
He shook his head. “It’s fine. As long as he doesn’t go higher on those little points there’s support.”
“He will if you go up like that. You have to be nice to him.”
“Yeah, Gid, don’t forget to sweet-talk him while you climb.”
Gideon rounded on the beaming Adam.
“You know what?” I stepped back from the tree. “You should go, Adam.”
“Eh?”
“Please? No one in a bad mood should rescue a cat up a tree. He’ll know. But you’re in great spirits. You can get him. I bet he’ll come right to you.”
Adam looked at me, looked up, shrugged. “Don’t mind. Good deed for the day and all that.” He pulled himself up.
I talked to Blue. “Here, kitty-kitty-kitty. It’s okay, Blue. That wasn’t very nice to scare you just when you thought you’d have a big adventure, was it? Here, Blue, come on.”
Adam clicked his tongue and talked to him. Blue climbed higher. Adam kept going, slowing down, singing what sounded like a chanting little nursery rhyme in that language while Blue watched him with wide, green eyes.
“Good cat.” Adam finally reached out to tickle Blue’s chin with one finger. Blue turned his head to let Adam rub his cheek while they teetered on absurdly small branches. “Good cat…” Adam rubbed around to the back of his ear, then … grab—seized the scruff of his neck.
Blue tensed up like a block, pulling back, claws digging into the branch. Adam pulled him in against his chest. There was one frantic moment, Blue lashing out, until he felt himself pinned tight. His eyes bulged with the skin pulled back from his face, jaws tight shut, never uttering a sound, as Adam carefully climbed back down with one hand. He jumped the last four feet.
Adam shifted his grip around the silky black form to hold him with both arms, shunning my attempt to take him. “Got to be friends now,” he informed me. “Or he’ll think I didn’t mean it.” He stroked Blue’s back as he marched off for the house, Gideon and me trailing.
Adam kept talking to the cat as he went.
Beside me, Gideon smirked at his back. I was pretty sure neither of these guys liked cats. At all. But they’d been doing all right with pretending and Gideon was pleased as punch to see Adam take one for the team.
I wanted to hurry back for the AC. Just standing out here was a sauna, much less having run. Gideon kept slowing down and I lingered with him in the shade as he looked around. He hadn’t been out here in daylight, but they’d chased Vel through here in the dark two nights ago. Seemed like two months ago.
“It’s a nice spot.” He smiled at me, almost stopping.
“It is. They got the house for a song. It had foreclosed and sat empty—like a bunch of even the nice places in town.” I had to pause to look around at him, wiping my sweaty brow.
“What’s that say?” He gestured with a couple of fingers. “Classical Latin characters?”
I looked down at my own wrist and nodded. “It means ‘live.’ I got it a couple years ago when my parents were still clinging to the idea that becoming an adult meant I’d start working with them. I felt like dead people were shoved down my throat. Spirit this and vampire that. I had this thing where … I was more sensitive about spirits. I … saw things that now I don’t. At that time, I just wanted away from it all. I wanted to be among the living.” I dropped my gaze. “I still do. But I have to get this done.”
“You will. Your hunt with the dead is just for this Moon, Ripley. It doesn’t have to be your whole life.”
“I hope.” I looked up. “Just putting things on hold. Not forever.”
“What then? After this work?”
“Then… School. I’m interested in biology, field studies, endangered species and feral animal welfare. I don’t have some big life plan. Just interests and I think … that’s usually enough. I’ve been pretty lucky in my life, meeting people when I need to, right place, right time. I figured, once I start school, or even a year or two in, the rest will fall into place. Whatever it is I’m meant to be doing.”
“Feral cat?” He indicated my ankle this time.
Only a few lines; an abstract, Japanese-style calligraphy cat just above the ankle sock.
“I love that little guy.” I grinned. “Kind of been thinking of a wolf now.”
Gideon inclined his head. “I’m honored.”
“No ink for you?” I was just realizing we’d stopped all together, still in the last shade of the maples.
“Sadly, no. We can’t. The ink itself would not be part of our bodies—or even internal workings like stomach contents which handle the change just fine.”
“I never thought of it. So … if you had a tattoo, and you changed, you’d just end up with an … ink blot?”
“A permanent bruise, shifting a bit here and there with each change, trapped below the surface.”
“The benefits of singles.”
He touched my scarlet hair, pushing it back, while I was still smiling, still burning up but not minding staying out a little longer.
“What would you get?” I hadn’t meant my voice to come out so hushed, as if for secrets. “If you could?”
He pushed back the left, colorful, side of my hair and drew his thumb down my jaw, watching where he touched rather than my eyes, standing so close he added to the shade’s warmth.
“A flame,” he said, equally hushed.
33
He kissed me gently this time, almost casual, and intimate, as if we did this all the time. Nothing pushy about it. Yet my breath caught with the thrill of it, as if the first one, as if a secret grove and special moment instead of a scorching backyard and maple trees after an impromptu chase and cat rescue.
His bare toes touched my big sneakers, so close, chin tipped down as he looked into my eyes, he slid his hand along my arm, trialing smoothly over the film of sweat to capture my fingers in his. His brown eyes were intense, like the vampire reading minds, searching through my secrets. I’d call it a passionate look, but not a lustful one. There was something expectant, even…
“You don’t have to worry about me,” I said quietly, wishing I could see his thoughts as he examined mine. “About last night… I’m good. Really and truly. I’m so glad you’re here. All of you.”
Then a smile returned to his lips, and eyes, and he kissed me again, lingering, mouths closed. “And I’m so glad we found you at the end of the trail.” He pulled back, the smile even broader, searching my face, lifting his free hand to touch my lips with his fingertips.
I kissed the skin, each fingerprint, firm but not callused like Adam’s. “You’re left-handed?”
“Most wolves are.”
“Really? Has anyone ever studied you?”
“Want to?” He kissed my hand.
“I’d love to.”
“Come home with me. We’ll dig a den together. There’s your future, all Moons after.”
“All right. What about Wade? And how would Adam feel about that?”
“Every wolf needs a pack.” Kissing my lips.
“This is getting interesting. What do I do with all the field notes?”
“Your thesis?”
I laughed, heart hammering with the close contact of him. “That would go over well. Your people are like the most secretive in the world. I didn’t even know there were shifters east of the Rocky Mou
ntains. Quite a paper to publish—even in the community.”
“No one will kill you as long as you’re with me.”
I snorted, pushing his chest and stumbling back against a tree trunk as it turned into a real laugh. “There’s a way to lock someone into a relationship. ‘Come stay with me and my family. As long as we’re good, your life will be spared.’”
“You like that?” He grinned, moving after me. “Solid way to keep a mate then.”
“Is a mate always such a life or death thing with you?”
“Only one way to find out.” He opened his mouth this time.
I sucked his tongue while he gradually leaned pressure of his body into me, forcing me back against the tree. I totally had to do a tick check when we got inside from this.
Even the tree was hot, the bark pleasantly rough against the backs of my bare arms and legs. I walked up it with my heels, toes pressed into roots at the base, elevating myself against Gideon so our bodies were close to lining up—him still taller. A fox scratch on my back and shoulder stung. My jaw remained sore. I didn’t flinch. I pushed harder into Gideon, encouraging him to return it, reminding him of the kitchen island, that I wasn’t delicate.
He crushed me into the tree, mouth painful on mine, devouring, gulping me down, feeling along my body from hair to hips. When his teeth closed sharply on my throat, I gasped. I twisted my head away to lean sideways, along the tree trunk instead of straight back so my throat could be fully exposed to him.
He dragged his teeth down my windpipe, making me shudder, almost crying out, arms around his back, pulling him in. He kissed my collarbone, my ear, then back to my lips. He rocked his hips against me, hard, pushing with an aching force as unyielding as the tree.
I wasn’t totally sure until then. Twice we’d made out and pulled apart due to circumstances. I’d even slept with the guy last night, then held onto him on the couch for hours, fighting sleep, and it wasn’t like anything happened. This was just another intense moment with him, kiss and force and tease and heat of him. But then I knew, the way he pushed against me, the way my body responded, begging for him, crying out for more, I never wanted him to stop.
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