by L. J. Hamlin
But it's like Casey is a genius, like she knew getting out of his apartment would help, because he's finding it easier to write than he has in days, typing away, the story flowing out of him. Dawson isn't sure how long he's been writing when his shoulder starts to cramp, and he sits up straighter, massaging it.
As he straightens up, he sees something that makes him jump: the face of a wolf in the window. Dawson jumps out of his chair and heads towards the window and the wolf spying on him—only for the wolf disappear. Not drop out of sight, but disappear, vanish into thin air.
Dawson goes to the window anyway, looking out, but there's no sign of the gray wolf he was so sure he saw. Maybe he's going mad, writing about murder and mystery finally warping his brain the way countless people have said it would.
Well, writers can get away with being a little crazy, he tells himself. People just call it creative. Dawson shakes off the weird feeling and goes back to his laptop. Even if a wolf, shifter or not, is lurking, it's not like Dawson is in any danger. A panther is more than capable of taking on a wolf.
Dawson can't quite shake the feeling of being watched for the rest of the night, even though he doesn't see the wolf again. He works on his book, answers a few emails, then sprawls on the couch with some junk food and a stack of movies, all provided by Casey after Dawson complained he hadn't seen half of them. Dawson doesn't like going to the cinema alone, and all his friends have only been available to go when Dawson was working a deadline.
Not everyone gets it. When the urge to create strikes, a writer must write, no matter what time it is or what else is going on.
Dawson has a lazy night and goes to bed early. The bed is king sized, like his at home, but a little softer. It shouldn't be hard to sleep in, but it takes Dawson a while to settle down. In the middle of the night, he's sure he hears the sound of a single wolf howl. The sound sends shivers down his spine.
He wakes up as it's getting light. He decides he'll go for a run before he does anything else. He likes to run first thing in the morning, to get the endorphin rush. Then he'll shower and get back to work on his book.
Dawson puts on his running clothes, secures his cell phone in his pocket, locks up the cabin, and heads out. As soon as he reaches his chosen running path, he can feel someone watching him. Dawson stops, letting out a feline growl, despite his human form.
No one responds, and Dawson breathes in. He can smell dozens of scents, but he can't smell a person or an animal, not close. Dawson thinks he must be cracking up, snarling at the wind.
He starts running again, but he's unable to lose the feeling that someone is following him. After a few minutes more, Dawson stops in his tracks again.
"Alright, whoever is out there, come out. I'm not playing this game."
Dawson half-expects to see a wolf, after what he saw at the cabin, but what appears on the path ahead of him isn't quite right. It is a wolf, but Dawson can see through it, and even now, this close, he can't smell it.
"What are you?"
The wolf cocks its head, clearly listening, clearly understanding, but it makes no sound.
"Are you a ghost?" Dawson guesses, because it seems to fit, even though he's never seen a ghost before, human or animal.
The ghost wolf lowers its head, as if nodding.
"Why are you following me around?" This part of the forest is very remote. Maybe the wolf spirit doesn't get visitors very often.
The ghost walks towards him, not leaving any marks as he walks. He stands beside Dawson, looks away, down the trail. The wolf walks a little, stops, and looks back at Dawson.
"Do you want me to follow you?" Dawson asks.
Once again, the wolf does its version of a nod.
"This is crazy, but okay. You better not be leading me to my death. I'd be really pissed." The problem with Dawson's creative writer's brain is that it is spinning a dozen wild theories on why this spectre wants him to follow it.
When the wolf leaves the path, Dawson keeps following, despite all the reasons he shouldn't. He could get lost, but he has this strong feeling telling him to follow the wolf. He feels like the wolf needs him, which seems crazy: what could the ghost of a wolf want from a stranger?
They seem to walk forever, but suddenly Dawson picks up new scents: blood and werewolf. And the scent is fresh. Dawson looks at the ghost wolf and hurries toward the scent.
And runs into a wolf with its leg caught in a trap, the kind Dawson thinks are called bear traps, even though they're used on all kind of animals. Sharp metal teeth are closed around the blond wolf's leg. Its fur is matted with blood in different shades: brighter, fresher blood; and darker, older blood.
Dawson carefully steps toward the wolf. An injured werewolf, in its wolf form, could be very dangerous, even to a panther shifter. Slowly, Dawson gets closer. The whole time, the spirit wolf watches him. Dawson gets his hands on the trap and pulls the spring-loaded metal apart. It takes a lot of strength for Dawson to open it and reset it so it's fixed open.
Then carefully Dawson removes the wolf's leg from the trap. He notices the wound hasn't healed, and he looks at the trap, noticing the flecks of silver in the rusty metal. Silver doesn't burn a shifter, but it keeps wounds open, makes them heal slower, which is why shifters use silver for piercings and tattoos. A small amount, just enough to counteract their faster than human healing.
Dawson puts his hand on the wolf's neck, feeling for a pulse, which he finds.
"Wake up, okay? I need to get you to a doctor."
The wolf starts to stir, and then he turns, body shifting right in front of Dawson's eyes. He goes from gold wolf to naked man in seconds. His leg's still bloody, but his blue eyes open. Looking at the spirit for a second, instead of the younger naked man, Dawson would swear the ghost looks relieved, if it's possible for a ghost to feel relief. Dawson doesn't know.
"Who are you?" the werewolf asks in a rough voice.
"Dawson Ray. I live in town," Dawson explains.
"Dawson Ray? The writer? I've heard of you. My sister loves your books," the wolf says, trying to sit up, but it looks like he's having trouble.
"Yeah, the writer. What's your name? Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere else?" Dawson asks, looking the werewolf in front of him over. He's short, with blue eyes and blond hair. He's cute, even covered in dirt. Very cute—and naked.
As a shifter, Dawson is used to nudity, and he's used to being a gay man surrounded by naked men, who usually, being shifters, have good bodies. Dawson can control himself. But he can't help noticing that this young man is gorgeous, even with the jagged wound in his leg.
"My name's Pace Thompson. I think I'm okay, apart from my leg," Pace says, pressing a hand close to the wound. It's started healing now that the silver is out of the wound, but it'll take a few days to fully heal.
"Pace. This is going to seem weird, and I'm worried about you and getting you help, but first I must know: can you see another wolf here?" Dawson asks, because no one has mentioned it, and the ghost wolf seems to just be standing there, silently watching them.
"You can see him?" Pace asks, looking at the spirit.
"Yes, he led me here," Dawson says, relieved. He hasn't finally lost it. He's always been told he will, by friends and family, locked up alone most of the time, lost in worlds he creates, full of murder and intrigue.
"Not everyone can see him, not even my whole pack. And he doesn't usually appear for anyone outside of the pack. Strange he let you see him." Pace frowns.
"But what is he? A ghost?" Dawson asks.
"Yes, he's my godfather, the ghost of my godfather. He watches over me," Pace says softly, looking at the ghostly grey wolf.
"Maybe that's why he let me see him, because he wanted me to find you?" Dawson suggests.
"That could be it. He's been coming and going since I got hurt. We're far from my house, or any of the pack's. Is your car close? I hate to ask for help, but my leg needs treatment, and I need to report this trap to the police. It has silver. Silver traps
are illegal in these woods," Pace growls.
"I'm renting a nearby cabin. I can get you back to there and patch you up, if you like. And I have my cell phone. We can call and report the trap to the police. Will you remember where it is?" Dawson asks.
Not all humans get along with shape shifters, so over the years shifters have had to fight for their rights. And one law they managed to get passed was that hunters weren't allowed to use weapons, or traps, that use silver. So this trap is breaking several laws, and the person who set it probably knows all too well that it is illegal.
"Yeah, I'll be able to find it again. Do you mind helping me up?" Pace asks him.
"No, of course not." Dawson would help anyone he found injured in the woods. The fact that Pace is sizzling hot is just a bonus. Spending a little time with him won't be a hardship.
"I'm heavier than I look," Pace warns.
"I'm a panther shifter. We tend to be pretty strong," Dawson replies, leaning down to put an arm around Pace. Hoisting Pace to his feet, Dawson takes his weight when Pace can't put it all on his injured leg.
"I kind of forgot you were a shifter till I smelled you. I mean, I've heard of you. I know you live in town. I've seen you in the papers. I guess they don't mention much that you're a shifter," Pace says as he settles against Dawson's side.
"Some stories go on about it, like the fact that I'm a shifter and a writer is amazing. But that was more when I started out. Now I'm on my thirteenth book, I guess they mention it less. Think you can walk if I help?" Dawson asks.
"Yeah, it'll hurt like a bitch, but I can do it." Pace nods, and they start walking awkwardly through the forest.
"So, what brought you to the woods?" Pace asks through gritted teeth as they walk.
"My publisher thought I could use some quiet to work on my book. And it's kind of worked. I've been writing. Even though I thought I was going mad, seeing the ghost around," Dawson comments, glancing to his side, where the spirit wolf is silently following along with them.
"This is kind of cool, being rescued by our town's local celebrity. My sister will shit a brick. She's always wanted to meet you," Pace replies.
"I can sign something for her, if you like? I like talking to people who've read my books—even better if they've enjoyed them."
Pace grins. "Thanks, she'd love that."
They don't talk much on the way back to Dawson's cabin, but Dawson does learn that Pace is three years younger than him at twenty-six, and he's studying chemistry at the local college. When they reach the cabin, and Dawson opens the door, he notices the spirit wolf has disappeared.
"Where did your godfather go?" Dawson asks, helping Pace inside.
"He usually only turns up if I need him, or I'm alone. He probably knows I'm going to be okay now, so he left. He doesn't follow me twenty-four-seven."
Dawson gets Pace into a chair by the TV. "I didn't even know ghosts were real. Just wait here." Dawson leaves Pace, and goes to get his first aid box and some spare clothes.
"He died when I was ten. I started seeing him at the funeral. I thought I was crazy, but then other people started to see him, too. Thank you," Pace takes the shirt first and pulls it over his head, covering his toned chest. Then he takes the shorts Dawson offers. He has more trouble lifting up to put them on, and Dawson wants to help but doesn't really know how. He offers an arm for support, and that seems to help.
"Can I ask how he died?" Dawson says, sitting on the floor between Pace's legs, which makes the part of his brain that hasn't had sex for over a year get some funny ideas. Dawson has to remind himself that Pace is an injured stranger. His spread legs don't mean anything sexual.
"Heart attack. Never even knew he was sick," Pace says.
"I'm so sorry." Dawson takes out some wipes to clean the wound as he speaks.
"Not your fault. And it was quick. Sucked for us, but better for him, I guess."
"You guys were close?" Dawson asks.
"Very. He saved my life when I was six. I almost drowned. He was my hero. And now I could have died from silver poisoning. I was too weak to even shift back before you removed it." Pace shudders.
"Kind of like you have a guardian angel watching over you. I'm glad I followed him." Dawson cleans the wound and bandages it. It won't need stitches. A human would, but a shifter doesn't.
"I'm glad you did too. Thank you for everything." Pace smiles slightly, and he has a nice smile. Dawson's stomach does a little flip.
"Um, here. My cell phone. You can make the report to the police." Dawson takes his cell phone out of his pocket and hands it to Pace. While Pace calls, Dawson tidies up, putting away the first aid kit and then washing his hands.
When he's finished, Pace is still talking on the phone, so he goes and makes a pot of coffee. By the time Dawson finishes that, Pace has finished his phone call.
"They said they'll send someone out to take my statement in a bit. Is it okay if I stay here for that? I can call them back if you'd rather I leave. "
"Don't be silly. Of course you can stay. It's probably better I'm here as a witness, anyway. I might not mention I followed a ghost to you. Not sure how they'd take that." Dawson shakes his head and takes a seat next to Pace.
"Not everyone accepts ghosts so easily. I'm glad you did." Pace reaches out and places his hand on Dawson's forearm. It's just a brief touch, but it feels electric. Dawson wants to write it off as his over active writer's imagination, but after today? Ghosts are real, so why can't he feel a spark for a stranger?
"I'm glad I followed him, too. I'd have felt awful if I heard someone had been found dead in the woods when I was here. Lucky I took a break from writing this morning to go for a run," Dawson replies.
"I know that feeling. That's why I went for the run that got me into trouble." Pace shakes his head.
"It must be nice, being able to run whenever you want up here. I have to make the trip up here or to one of the protected parks in the city. The forest is better though, more real. My panther enjoys it more. I like taking my cat form. Sometimes I'll just hang out on my couch at home as a jungle cat." Dawson smiles, not sure why he's telling Pace something so personal. But then, Pace has shared about his godfather.
They chat a little about city life versus rural life, and before Dawson knows it, there's a knock on the door of his cabin. Dawson gets up to answer it.
"Hello, I'm Detective Carter, and this is Officer Quinn." Detective Carter is an older man, human, and Officer Quinn is a woman in her early thirties, also human. Dawson can tell by their scents.
"Come in. I'm Dawson Ray. The man who called you, Pace, is sitting down. He was badly injured." Dawson steps back to let them inside.
"Of course, we know who you are, Mr. Ray. My officer here is a big fan of your books," Detective Carter says with a hint of teasing.
"I'm flattered. Take a seat, please." Dawson takes his seat back beside Pace, leaving the officers to pull out two chairs from the table to face them.
"I'm sure you meet fans of your books all the time." Officer Quinn smiles, and Dawson can only call her smile flirty.
"I'm blessed with a healthy fan base. Mystery is a popular genre." Dawson smiles.
Detective Carter turns to Pace. "So tell us what happened."
Pace tells the story about how he went for a run, and then suddenly felt a horrible pain in his leg as he hit the ground. He remembers blacking out from pain, and in the times he woke up, being too weak to turn back into his human form, due to the silver.
"And then Mr. Ray found you?" Officer Quinn asks.
"Yes, I was out running, and thought I heard a noise," Dawson says.
"All right. We're going to go locate this trap, take it in for evidence. We'll need to take your fingerprints down at the station as soon as possible so we can exclude them from any prints we find on the trap. So please do that as soon as you can. We'll get back to you with any news. We do take hate crimes against shifters seriously," Detective Carter says, getting up from his chair.
"If y
ou remember anything else important, feel free to call us, or if you have any questions," Officer Quinn offers as she too rises from her chair.
"Thank you. We'll both go to the station as soon as possible." Dawson gets up to show them to the door. He bids them good luck, and closes the door behind them.
Pace smirks as Dawson comes back over to sit down. "I think she wanted to give you her number."
"Well, she was barking up the wrong tree, so to speak. Hell, she was in the wrong forest, if you get what I'm saying." Dawson isn't blind. He'd noticed officer Quinn was attractive, but she isn't his type, as Dawson only dates men.
"You're gay?" Pace asks.
"I thought maybe you knew already, your sister being a fan of my books. It's something I'm open about in interviews—not that it stops some of my female fans." Dawson knows he's a good looking man. He's also successful and makes plenty of money, so he knows that gives men and women alike reason to pay him attention. But Dawson doesn't want to date someone just because they're impressed by his ten-book deal, or that his first book is being optioned to make into a movie.
"I thought I heard it somewhere," Pace says softly.
"Is it a problem?" Dawson asks.
"No! Not at all. I'm actually gay, myself. I'm surprised my sister hasn't tried to hook us up. She tries to get me a date with every gay guy of a certain age in town that she can. Dawn is happily married, and she thinks everyone should be now." Pace rolls his eyes.
"I know what that's like. Would you like a ride to the police station? Best to get our prints taken sooner rather than later, " Dawson says.
Pace bites his lip, looking guilty. "I don't want to put you out. I've already brought all this hassle on you. My godfather haunting you, finding me as an injured wolf, bringing me here, the police."
"I have to go to the station anyway, so taking you is no extra bother. And none of this is your fault. You didn't ask to get hurt. It could have happened to anyone in your pack, or any other runner in this forest. If it happened to me, I might have died. I don't have a spirit watching over me. What I'm saying is: none of this is your fault. I'm happy to help you."