by Hunter, Troy
“This is how I like my meat,” he says through a mouthful of food.
I grimace internally. I can handle people eating meat in front of me, I had to learn how to. But it’s difficult to maintain control in front of a juicy steak, ribbons of blood drizzling down the flesh.
“Anyway, as I was saying,” he starts. “If you can’t find me in my garage working on my truck, you’ll find me hunting.”
“Hunting?” I’m immediately taken aback, the fries in my mouth losing all their flavor. “I didn’t know you were a hunter. I thought you liked animals?” I’d assumed all the camo was simply because he was a country boy.
“Oh yeah, I hunt all the time. And I love animals, especially the way they taste,” he jokes. “But I’ve got a hound, comes hunting with me. Tomorrow, my brothers and I are headed up to Hollow Grove. You wanna come?”
“What part of ‘I’m a vegetarian’ makes you think I’m down with hunting?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.
His brows bunch with confusion, a frown tugging at his lips. “I don’t know.”
I force my anger to take a back seat and take a deep breath. “So, why do you hunt?”
“I’ll tell you—I’m in it for the challenge,” Nicholas says, leaning forward eagerly. “The hunt is the best part, chasing your prey.”
He’s as much a wolf as I am, I think.
“Half of these antlers were brought in by my brothers and I,” he brags, oblivious to the hard look settling on my face.
“So, you hunt without a gun then,” I say. If he likes a challenge, hunting without equipment would certainly be the ultimate one.
He scoffs. “No way, I love my guns.”
I raise my brows incredulously. “You say you like a challenge but you use a gun? Come on, man.”
His lips twist. “What the hell do you mean?”
“I mean, wouldn’t it be an actual challenge without a gun? Using traps and such? Anyone can point and shoot—you’re making it too easy.” My voice is rising as I argue with him, my food all but forgotten.
He rolls his eyes. “That’s such bullshit. Like you’d know anything about that, vegetarian.”
The rage I’d stemmed earlier comes flooding back, settling in my chest like a burning coal. I’ve already gone out on a limb by going on a date with this man, a person who didn’t have the decency to eat respectfully in front of me, a “vegetarian.” Someone who can’t even appreciate an animal beyond its usefulness or taste. Anger comes quickly to me. I usually try to ignore it, quench it, but I can feel the beast growing in strength. It’s itching to come out.
“Bullshit?” I laugh loudly, drawing eyes toward our table. “I think you’re just lazy. Or you suck. Half these antlers are small as hell anyway.”
His face reddens. “What the hell did you say to me, bitch?”
Bitch? The wolf within me snarls. I’m losing control and I know it, but I’m struggling to calm down. Part of me doesn’t want to calm down. It’s like I have tunnel vision, focused only on Nicholas’s furious face. The wolf is breaking free, it’s always like this. First, the tunnel vision, and then…my hands.
Nicholas’s eyes drop to the hand I have resting on the table, now growing in size, my nails sharpening to end in deadly points.
“What the hell?” he mumbles, his eyes darting between my hand and my face. “Is that…?”
Damn it, I curse, dropping my hand beneath the table. I look around wildly, searching for a solution, even as I’m combatting the wolf. My eyes land on the mug of beer. I grab it and toss it in his face, drenching him. He splutters angrily but by the time he’s gotten to his feet I’m halfway out the door.
“Hey, fuck you,” Nicholas shouts as the door swings shut behind me.
The wolf is raging, tearing at me internally. I sprint to the fields of corn nearby, the stalks tall and green, too early to harvest. I leap the fence, throwing myself into the vegetation. And then I shift, releasing myself to embrace the wolf within me.
I howl triumphantly as I shift, doubling over until I’m on all fours, my clothes shredding as my limbs bulge and change. My vision changes and I know the shift has reached my skull, my teeth elongating, my jaw stretching. The shift is painless, quick, easy. I’m in the recesses of my mind, my animal instincts taking prevalence. I stretch, shaking my head and rolling out my shoulders in preparation for the long run.
The national forest is seven miles from here, my favorite haunt is even farther. So I run, throwing myself through the corn toward the mountains in the distance. The corn quickly gives way to open, untilled fields. I streak through the moonlight, grateful that the only civilization nearby is a homestead to the east. No one will notice a chestnut colored wolf on their farmland.
As I run, I know I’m working off the angry energy of my date. Fuming, I toss a glance over my shoulder in the direction I came from, where Nicholas is no doubt stuffing his face with steak and bitching about me.
Nicholas was not who he said he was, I think angrily as I tear into the forest and leave the open meadows behind. “Animal Lover” he’d written, “At Home in Nature.” I scoff, but as a wolf it comes out as a choked huffing noise. The truth was, Nicholas was nothing more than a stereotypical hunter, from this area anyway. He wasn’t special, they were all the same. And I’d missed the signs.
I hadn’t been on a date in a few months. I’d been busy with work and travelling. Today I had high hopes—Nicholas’s profile had led me to believe we might be similar. But we couldn’t be more different. Misrepresentation was too soft a word for it but lied felt right. He had lied. And I’d fallen for it.
I slip under a fallen tree and continue my run; the den of my adopted pack is nearby. At least the night wouldn’t end as terribly as my date had. Visiting the small family of young wolves always made me feel better. They were like family to me now. I could only hope that Nicholas and his brothers would stay away from the gorges in the national forest, where the wolves’ mother had made their den.
Slowing, I jump down into a gorge, like the earth was torn apart here and the forest was left to fill it. I weave between a few young saplings, yipping softly. In the distance, deeper into the gorge, I hear a young wolf return my call. Approaching carefully, I make sure to show submission to the mother, assuring her that I’m not a threat to her and her adolescent wolf pups. In any other pack, this would be unusual behavior for an alpha, but this technically isn’t my pack. I’m a guest here, a protector. Not their leader.
The mother sniffs me, then walks away, disinterested. Suddenly, I’m thrown to the side, landing heavily on the mossy earth as a weight crushes me. A second fuzzy weight joins the first, and then a third, all yipping and snarling playfully. I snap my teeth at them, the first bites gentle on the flesh of my neck.
Wrestling is a game we play, and I usually let them win to help them learn. Showing off in the human world doesn’t usually have many consequences. But when the reality of these wolves is life or death, feeding my own ego is unsavory. Under the light of the moon, the three wolves circle me, lunging in to attack me with soft, harmless bites and swats of their paws. I fight back as gently as I can until, eventually, they scramble on top of me.
Inwardly, I laugh as they growl ferociously, working hard to keep me down as they fight for supremacy. This is much better than my date, probably better than any date. I huff at them, urging them to get off. But they don’t. They turn their heads to the moon and howl good and long. Their mother watches from her perch on a nearby boulder. Accepting my defeat, I let my head fall to the moss beneath me and stare up at the moon.
Dale
I pull off the main highway and drive down a one lane road toward the mountains in the distance. Bear Moose is off the beaten track, a small town backed up against a mountain range. It’s a slow town, the kind of town people never leave and no one ever visits. The only thing keeping it going is the national forest and wolf reserve nearby, making it a tourist destination in the summer months.
It’s a pret
ty place, mostly because of the imposing mountains and the thick greenery of the forests. The town itself is nothing special, log cabins mostly. I pull onto the main drag, the only street with any traffic lights.
It took me three hours to get here from the closest airport, which is in Cheyenne, Wyoming. I had to rent a car, a little four door sedan, nice leather seats and plenty of room. It’s summer, so there aren’t any parking spaces along the road and tourists are milling about on the sidewalk, ice creams in hand.
My parents live just on the outskirts of town, in a little farmhouse that backs up against the mountain. I roll my eyes as a tourist sprints across the street in front of a line of cars, oblivious.
I hear the crunch of gravel beneath my tires as I pull into my parent’s driveway. Their beat-up truck is parked in front of the garage, as usual. I spot a basketball hoop pushed to the side and frown. That’s new.
I park next to the truck and leap out of the car, grabbing my duffel bag from the passenger seat. I’m glad they’re home. I didn’t tell them ahead of time that I was coming into town. A surprise visit to the parents never hurt anyone, right?
I knock on the front door and hear the shuffling of footsteps within. But when the door opens it’s not my father or mother appearing to greet me. A dark-skinned man, my parent’s age, fills the door way. He’s almost as tall as me but a little burlier. I look him up and down, confused.
“Hello,” he says in greeting, his dark brown eyes studying me. But then recognition flashes across his face. “You must be Dale! Come in, come in.”
Hesitantly, I step across the threshold. “I’m sorry, who are you? Are my parents home?” I ask, slipping my shoes off.
“They’re in the kitchen. They’ll be so surprised to see you. Oh, I’m Michael.” I follow him through the hall toward the kitchen in the back of the house.
They’ve done some updating. There are new hardwood floors, a fresh coat of paint on the walls and I even spy some new furniture in the sitting room as we pass by. “Mom? Dad?” I call, hoping they answer soon so I know I’m not being lured to my death by a stranger.
“Dale?” my dad’s voice echoes toward us.
“Honey?” my mom’s voice follows.
I sigh with relief. Michael must be one of their friends and they asked him to open the door. The kitchen is open-concept, looking out at the living room and dining room. Floor to ceiling windows line the wall, affording them an excellent view of the mountains out back. My dad is at the dining room table, a mug of coffee in hand. I spy my mom by the sink, finishing up the dishes from breakfast.
“Dale, sweetie,” my mom says, pausing her washing to give me a tight hug. “What are you doing here? I thought you decided to stay in Silicon Valley after the wedding was cancelled.” Her eyes dart between my dad and Michael.
I look suspiciously at her. “I know, but the tickets were nonrefundable, and I wanted to take some time off work anyway.” Which wasn’t entirely true. I was mostly here to run field tests on the ARF.
“Oh, isn’t it just so sad what happened to Jennie,” my mother says conspiratorially.
I shrug. Jennie, my cousin, was set to get married this week, which is why I originally made plans to visit. But the wedding fell apart after she caught the groom and the best man together. In her parent’s house no less. It was obvious to the rest of us that something was up between the two men, but Jennie wasn’t prone to listening well.
My dad throws an arm around me. “Son, it’s good to have you home,” he says gruffly.
My dad does his best to fit in with most of the other men in town by wearing lots of plaid and the occasional cowboy boots, but he’s more of a soft-spoken book nerd than rough and tumble rancher. He runs the local library while my mom is a freelance programmer. She taught me all I know about computers and coding.
“Hey Dad,” I say, clapping him on the back before tossing my duffel bag on the sofa.
My dad falls back to stand beside Michael, and they exchange a glance. I narrow my eyes at them; they still haven’t told me what Michael is doing there, or even who he is. I hop onto one of the stools at the counter.
“So, Michael, do you work at the library?” I ask, fishing for information.
Michael scratches his head, looking toward my dad. But my dad doesn’t say much, his face reddening. “Oh, Michael, he, uh,” he sputters. “You see, what it is…well I mean to say…”
My mother huffs, her hands folded in front of her. “Oh, my word, Hank.” She turns to me, all business. “Michael is your father’s lover.”
I almost topple off the stool. “What?”
My eyes swing between Michael, my dad, and my mom. They’re divorcing, oh my god, they’re divorcing, and my dad has the nerve to bring in a boyfriend. I grind my teeth, glaring at the two men. How could my dad do this to my mom? She’s the sweetest woman who ever walked the face of the earth and he’s insulting her.
“Now, honey,” my mom says soothingly. “Don’t get worked up, and before you jump to any conclusions, we’re fine.”
“But, Mom, what do you mean you’re fine? You’re not getting divorced?”
The three of them laugh, my mom even wipes away a tear she’s laughing so hard. “Oh, you’re so dramatic, Dale. No, no. Your father is exploring his bisexuality. We met Michael through an app I developed last year and we all hit it off immediately.”
“So,” I speak slowly, trying to wrap my head around the situation. “You three are…together?”
My dad laces his fingers through Michael’s. “We are. Michael has done wonders for our relationship.”
“And our sex life,” my mother chirps.
I drop my head to the counter. “Oh, my God.”
These are things I never needed to know or wanted to know. No kid wants to know anything about their parents’ sex life.
They’ve been talking to me, but I haven’t heard a word they’ve said as I try to wrap my head around my parent’s new situation.
“Oh, and by the way,” my mother says. “Michael is staying in your room, Dale.”
I finally lift my head, staring at her. “What? Where will I sleep?”
The farmhouse looks big on the outside but it’s only a two bedroom. We don’t have guests often, so we never invested in a guest room.
“You’ll share with Michael, of course,” she says, returning to the dishes.
I swivel around to eye Michael. He beams at me. “This is great—we’ll be roomies,” he says happily, clapping me on the back.
I force myself to smile, though it’s more of a grimace. “Great,” I say.
He flashes me one last smile before joining my dad at the table. I turn away, staring blankly at the two cupboards in front of me. My parents have more of a sex life than I do. The whispered flirtations and coy glances between the three of them have me gagging. I don’t want to know anything more about my parents having sex, it’d be too much for any kid, so I grab my duffel bag and bound up the stairs to my room.
On the landing, there are only three doors and one of them is a bathroom. I stalwartly avoid looking at my parents’ door and step into my room. I always had a bunk bed, even as a teenager. It looks like Michael is on top. I shudder. I change into a fresh shirt, a light sweater, and check my beard in the mirror in case I need to trim it again.
The ARF device is in the side pocket of my duffle and I remove it. It’s fully charged, and so is the wireless earpiece I’ll be wearing when I test it. I tuck the device in my pocket and slip the earpiece into my ear, it chirps at me. So, it works, I’ll be able to hear every message and suggestion from the ARF device when I test it today.
Feeling a tendril of excitement, I rush down the stairs. “See you guys at dinner!” I shout as I tug my shoes on.
“Okay, bye sweetie,” my mom yells back, but her voice is breathy and I have no doubt they’ll keep themselves busy while I’m gone.
My lips twist into a frown at the idea. Gross. And then I’m out the door, starting up my rental car.
It’s not that I disapprove of threesomes, or even that I don’t like Michael. But, much to my chagrin, they didn’t even tell me beforehand that they’ve invited someone new into their lives. On top of that, he stole my room.
Call me petty, but my role in my parents’ lives seems to have shrunk considerably as they made room for Michael. As an only child I’m used to having my parents’ attention—they doted on me, and only me, since I was just a toddler. But I’m an adult now, and they have other…pursuits. I sigh acceptingly. This is just the way it is now.
I turn into Bear Moose proper. Welcome to the family, Michael.
Cliff
Summertime in Bear Moose is busy. With tourists popping in and out of town, beating the sidewalks in their Chacos and imitation cowboy boots, and cleaning us out of ice cream. It can be hellish for the locals. But not for our wallets.
And so we do our best to welcome the tourists that flock to our little town for an authentic taste of the American West. Every Friday, the city sponsors an arts and craft fair and a farmer’s market, held along Main Street. It’s a big pull for tourists.
I adjust one of my landscape prints, a photo of the majestic mountain peaks at dawn. My booth is a small one but I snagged the best spot, a prime location for tourists wandering the fair. Right in the center of Main Street, a few yards from the best ice cream joint in town, I’m practically guaranteed customers. I grin at Harold in a booth selling wind chimes a few yards away from me. He scowls. The competition for spots is fierce and I beat him to the punch, barely.
Two girls are at my booth, casually perusing my prints. I know they aren’t buyers. I’ve been doing this long enough to tell when people are just biding their time.
“Oh, look at this one,” one of the girls coos, pointing at a photo of a wild stallion.
“Gorgeous,” the other says. “Anyway, so this guy turns out to be a total creep.”