A Changeling For All Seasons Vol. 4

by Changelings

  He moved. She felt his arms around her shoulder, drawing her with him, seating her in the chair, wrapping her fingers around the glass she’d abandoned. His touch was vaguely shocking, warm and gentle despite the roughness of his hands. Like Jared’s and yet not quite.

  “I’ll have that whisky now, if I may,” he murmured.

  She gestured to the dresser where the bottle and the spare glasses lay. His hands were steady, not those of a drunk, and the measure he poured was generous without being excessive. Jared’s normal dram.

  I can’t bear this. Why don’t I know for sure? Shouldn’t I know my own husband?

  She watched mutely as he came back to her and instead of taking the chair on the other side of the fireplace, sat down on the rug, by her feet, facing her.

  He said quietly, “Tell me about your husband.”

  She swallowed. “His name was Jared. He was a soldier, an army captain. He died two years ago.”

  “Then I can’t be your husband.”

  She couldn’t work out if it disappointed him or not. Hell, why should it? She was clearly a half-mad woman damaged beyond repair by grief.

  Perversely, she chose to fight the logic. “There was no body. I never saw the body, was never told how he died. They told me it was classified, but still there was no funeral, no memorial until he’d disappeared officially for two years.”

  The man with Jared’s face frowned and took a sip of his whisky, reminding her to do the same. “That doesn’t sound right,” he observed. “Didn’t you pursue it further?”

  “No. I knew if he was alive, he’d come home. With or without the army’s permission. But he never came.”

  “And now you think I might be him? Why? Do I look so much like him?”

  Ruth nodded, but catching the glimmer of doubt in his eye, she reached down for her bag and dragged out the slightly dog-eared photograph she’d always carried with her, ever since he’d first given her it before they were married. “Look. He was younger then, only twenty-four, but you must be able to see the resemblance. I’ve got a mirror too if you need it.”

  He took the photograph, slowly shaking his head as he stared at it. “I don’t need a mirror. I haven’t recognized my own face in three months. Which is all I remember of my life.”

  “Nothing at all before?” Even without the Jared possibilities, that interested her, arousing compassion and curiosity.

  “Not a jot. I woke up on the intercontinental express and got off at the first stop -- from instinct I suppose. Or panic. I didn’t even know my own name, never mind where I was from or where I was going. And I had no documents to tell me. Only those clothes I’ve just taken off and which didn’t last too long living rough…”

  “What did the doctors say? Shouldn’t you be in a hospital or something?”

  “No way. I’m not going near any doctors. They’ll just take away anything that’s left. Besides…”

  “Besides what?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  She said, “I’m a doctor.”

  His head jerked, his eyes widening as he searched her eyes. “Really?”

  “Really. That’s how I met Jared. He’d broken his arm in some military exercise when I was a student. I got to practice on him.”

  “So… what’s your specialty?”

  “Gynecology.”

  A smile crossed his face, unbearably like Jared. “I don’t think I mind gynecologists.”

  “You know what that is. And you talk like an educated man.”

  “I don’t always behave like one.”

  She wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that. But the sudden gleam in his eye, however quickly subdued, was easy enough to recognize. Knowing she stepped on dangerous ground, she still couldn’t resist reaching out to touch his cheek.

  “Am I familiar at all? Is there nothing about me you remember? Nothing you know you liked?”

  His eyes dropped, then immediately rose again to meet hers. His hand reached up to cover her fingers, holding them lightly to his clean-shaven cheek.

  “There’s a lot about you I like,” he said frankly. “I like your kindness and your loyalty and the way your eyes laugh even when you don’t want them to. I like the softness of your touch and I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I know you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in three months. I hate to see you suffering as you are. But I’d be lying if I said you were familiar, because you’re not.”

  Her face flushed with his compliments, even while her heart twisted with disappointment like a physical pain. “Then what are you doing here?” she whispered. “Why did you come here, to his house, where we spent every Christmas since we met?”

  He lowered her hand from his cheek but still held onto it. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was passing, and something drew me here… I feel things sometimes. I’m drawn to particular people for reasons I don’t understand and often with bad intentions. With you… I sense nothing bad and God knows I mean you no harm.”

  His fingers moved on the soft skin between her thumb and forefinger, making her shiver. He seemed to hesitate, then added, “I can only think I was drawn by your sadness, by your need. And you invited me in because you sensed mine. I never believed in Christmas miracles -- at least I don’t think I did -- but maybe we’re meant to help each other.”

  Her body leapt, not with memory of Jared but in response to the man looking into her eyes so seriously right now. Whoever he was. She said breathlessly, “How do you suggest we do that?”

  He rose up on his knees in front of her and leaned forward. Her heart began to hammer in her breast. Panicked, she almost backed away, but her body spoke for her, urging her to close what little distance was left between them.

  Their lips touched and parted. Electricity jolted through her. It might have been recognition or it might have been simple lust. Or a mixture of both. For an instant, they stared into each other’s eyes and then his mouth took hers fully, sinking on it, parting her lips and slowly entering with his tongue.

  She wanted to weep because he felt like Jared, he tasted like Jared, and then he took her in his arms and deepened his kiss and suddenly she no longer cared if he was Jared or not. Desire soared, opening her gasping mouth for him, pressing her closer into his body. She hadn’t had sex in two and a half years, hadn’t been even remotely tempted, and yet one kiss from a stranger who looked like Jared and she was an instantly straining, melting heap of lust.

  “You are Jared, you are,” she whispered against his lips, not knowing which of them she was trying to convince.

  “For tonight, I’m whoever you want me to be. I’m all you have, and I’ll be good because you’re all I want…”

  She didn’t even try to make sense of that, for his hand had found her breast under her sweater, and she let out a low, animal moan she barely recognized as hers. It was as if she threw out all her native caution, all her inhibitions with that one sound. She had to have this man now, feel his naked skin on hers, his exciting hands all over her body, and his cock, most of all his cock, plunging deep inside her.

  Gasping, she pushed him back. He let go at once, but she gave him no time to ask or imagine what was wrong. Instead, she followed, throwing her body against him with such force that he fell backward onto the rug, with her on top of him, and at last she felt the unmistakable, hard ridge of his cock digging into her stomach.

  With a little growl of triumph, she wriggled herself downward, fitting his straining bulge between her thighs. He thrust upward from the hips and bolts of delight whipped through her, egging her on.

  She rose up, straddling him, loving the feel of his erect shaft from her clitoris to her anus as she rocked on him. Dragging her sweater up over her head, she moaned again as his hands closed over her breasts, impatiently shoving aside the bra before she’d even unclipped it. His hips gyrated under her, driving her nearer to orgasm, which she’d never expected to share with anyone again.

  Spurred on, she pus
hed up his sweater and T-shirt until he pulled them off and she fell forward onto him, pressing her breasts into his hard chest, rubbing her pebbled nipples across his hot, responsive skin. Rough chest hair ground against her skin, her nipples, exciting her further. His hands roved across her back and shoulders, sliding up her throat to hold her head steady before he took her mouth and thrust his cock against her clothed clitoris.

  “I’m coming too fast,” she gasped into his mouth as the almost forgotten tide of ecstasy began to rise. “Wait…”

  “No.” He deepened the kiss and she gave up and writhed with him until the waves broke over her like surf.

  She lost control of mind and body, could do nothing but give herself over to the shattering pleasure. Yet through it all, she was aware of his mouth kissing her, his hot avid eyes on hers, drinking in her climax as if it was his own. But it was all hers, and surely one of the most intense she’d ever known. So why wasn’t it enough? Because he hadn’t come with her.

  Forcing her shaking limbs to move, she tried to sit up on him, to reach for the fastening of his jeans, but he was ahead of her. He flipped her onto her back so quickly that her already dizzy vision almost disintegrated. Before she knew it, her jeans and her panties were tugged down her legs, hanging off one ankle, and he was yanking down his own trousers with one hand while his other thrust between her thighs.

  “Still wet for me?” he demanded hoarsely. His eyes scalded her, excited her beyond endurance, especially when the smile of triumph lit them as his fingers found her soaking, desperate pussy. “Oh yes…”

  She wanted to feel his fingers inside her, as something more immediately possible than his cock, but it seemed he couldn’t wait. Without troubling to take off his jeans and underpants properly, he freed his rampant cock. While she moaned at the sight of it in his fist, he pushed it against her pussy. She cried out as it slid against her over sensitized clitoris and pushed straight inside her.

  Nothing had filled her for over two years. She felt unbearably stretched, and yet his hot hardness within her was stunning, wonderful, amazing. And he gave her no time to get used to it. Although he shook with his need, it didn’t detract from his strength or his purpose as he thrust fully inside her.

  The glowing embers of her orgasm sparked back into life, and without meaning to, without even knowing she could, she strained upward to take as much of his cock as she possibly could. He ground down on her and thrust again, and she began to moan and cry with every movement.

  As if encouraged by her obvious pleasure, he pushed harder, driving her across the rug. She clung around his neck, her hands all over the rippling muscles of his back and hips as he pounded into her. He reached under her to hold her buttocks and protect her from carpet burn, but never let up. Leaving her mouth, he sucked one hard, elongated nipple into his mouth, shooting sharp, new pleasure straight to her womb, while he fucked her with wild, almost savage strokes that only lifted her lust higher.

  She fought to meet him, to pleasure him with the tight, straining muscles of her vagina while she reached for her own climax with a desperation she’d never known before. His teeth grazed her nipple, dragging across it before he released it and fell on the other, bucking and groaning as he slammed his cock into her.

  His breathing became a breathless pant. She knew he was coming, felt his trembling fingers splay as far as her anus and knead her buttocks with a desperate, involuntary motion that pushed her over the edge with him.

  Even more shattering than the last one, the orgasm claimed her in a storm of joy. Somewhere in among it, she found his mouth and kissed him, glorying in his weight as he collapsed on her, in the sheer power of the pleasure he’d taken from her as well as given.

  As his mouth loosened on hers, she opened her eyes and saw his almost rolled up in his head. His whole face was contorted with passion, hot and clouded, and yet surely his eyes shouldn’t do that? Surely that was pain, not pleasure twisting his mouth?

  “Are you all right?” she whispered. “What is it?”

  His groan of passion changed in pitch, becoming an agonized howl. Without warning, an animal’s snout pushed out of his mouth.

  Chapter Three

  He catapulted off her body, fur springing out on his altered face, all over him as he twisted and reformed in front of her eyes.

  She couldn’t move, couldn’t believe, let alone comprehend, the nightmare unfolding so suddenly from her joy. Her mouth opened as if it wanted to cry out, but it made no sound. Which didn’t really matter since there was no one but this impossible being to hear her.

  It was a huge wolf. The man who’d just made love to her with such exquisite savagery was a wolf. She was crying inside, with primal fear, but she knew it was all in her head. The wolf’s eyes silenced her, paralyzed her. Because they were still blue. Still like Jared’s.

  Then the wolf moved, leaping toward her face, and she let out a long, panicked sound like keening.

  I’m dead. I wanted to be dead, but not like this, not from a creature with Jared’s eyes…

  But the wolf didn’t tear out her throat. It stood over her, one thick, powerful foreleg planted on either side of her head, holding her eyes with his. It made a sound, not a growl but a whine, like a dog crying. Its mouth opened; its tongue unfurled and licked her cheek once.

  Then with another cut-off whine, it leapt off her and dived straight at the window. Glass shattered as its huge body hurtled through the opening and was gone.

  * * *

  The wolf ran for the woods, consumed with unendurable pain. For he knew now who he was and what had been done to him. The government he’d trusted, had been prepared to die for, had made him like this, without permission and for a purpose he couldn’t quite remember yet, though he was sure it was something to do with the three people he’d deliberately targeted and killed over the last few months.

  But the woman at the cottage, she hadn’t been his victim or even his target. She had been his wife. Something had made it through his reconditioning, bringing him here, drawing him to her and now she’d seen what he was.

  The wolf rushed on through the darkness, trying to escape the awful fear and revulsion he’d read in her eyes. How could he have done this to her? Just when she’d accepted his death, he’d shown up again, raked it all up again, and destroyed whatever good memories she’d had left of him. They’d be lost now in the terror, in the loathsome thing he’d become.

  He should never have gone inside. Should certainly never have kissed her, or made love to her. But the sexual urge had been so strong, and she was so beautiful, so hurt. It hadn’t been all selfish either. Although he’d wanted to fuck her, very badly, he’d meant to give her something to live for too, a reminder that there could still be sex, even love in her life. And instead he’d turned that very act into horror.

  What would she do now?

  The wolf stopped running, came to a halt so abruptly that his paws actually skidded on the frosty ground.

  She’d been suicidal when he found her. She’d admitted that. And having scared the shit out of her, destroying all her pleasant memories of what had been good in her life, he’d just run and left her to deal with it alone.

  Jared lifted up his head to the moon and howled with shame and fear.

  * * *

  In the cottage, shivering in the icy air, Ruth heard him howl. Standing at the broken window, staring up at the same moon, she knew it was him. Her lover was a wolf, and the wolf was her husband.

  As her brain struggled to deal with the impossibilities, she glanced blindly at her watch, seeking reality and comfort in the mundane.

  My husband’s not dead after all. He’s some kind of werewolf.

  Really? Shall I put the kettle on? What’s the time?

  Midnight. It was two minutes past midnight. Which meant it was Christmas Day. The day she’d been celebrating all her life without truly believing in the reason.

  “He came home,” she whispered. “I knew he’d come home…”

&
nbsp; She gasped as the tears welled up her throat and spilled over.

  * * *

  Although it was still dark, Jared managed to force the wolf back inside him, and reached out to bang his fists on the cottage door. But at the last minute he drew back. He needed to know she was all right, needed to explain things. What he didn’t need was to scare the shit out of her all over again by thundering on the door. Or to appear naked, but there wasn’t a lot he could do about that.

  He took a deep breath and knocked politely.

  The door gave way under his knuckle, opening silently. His throat constricted. Why had she left the door open? Surely she couldn’t have…

  No. Sniffing the air, he got no scent of blood or death. She was inside. Jared stepped into the cottage. He knew at once that she was in the kitchen at the end of the little hall, although the door was partially closed, hiding her from his view.

  He went nearer, his heart beating fast with dread as well as all the love he remembered and still felt. At the living room door, he caught sight of his clothes, the ones he’d taken off to make love to her. She’d piled them neatly on the arm of her chair.

  He went quickly inside, noticing with peculiar pride that she’d boarded up the broken window, using the wood he’d once planned to build shelves with for the spare room. He climbed hastily into the jeans and dragged the sweater over his head before striding out of the room and across to the kitchen.

  He pushed open the door slowly, almost afraid of what he would find, preparing to meet her cries of rage and fear with calm, soothing reason. If he could find any.

  She stood by the kitchen table with her back to him. She was dressed in fresh clothes, the familiar, simple, red wool dress that hugged her hips. In spite of everything, he felt his libido stir and growl.

  Heat from the oven hit him in waves, and he realized she was wrapping a turkey in foil.

  His throat closed up. God, did Jane and Charlie still give her one of their turkeys at Christmas? Shit, were they coming over for dinner? He frowned. It was still the middle of the night.