by Forthright
Charles and Coop were waiting on their front step.
Once more, he marveled at how the Cooper males were both different in appearance and alike in expression. Daroo ruffled his fingers through the boy’s fine hair. All the former spikiness had drooped under its own weight, leaving him with layers of sun-bleached blond.
“Good morning, Coop,” he murmured.
“What’s that?” the boy countered, pointing at the last-minute addition to Drew’s ensemble.
Ignoring the question for the moment, Daroo-fen surprised Charles by giving him the same welcoming tousle. “Good morning, Charles,” he said, using the same inflection. “Your rampant thatch, at least, bodes well for Rose.”
Cole snickered. “Dad’s got pretty hair?”
“I stand by my scruffy verdict as just and equitable.”
Charles batted his hand away, but he was smiling. “We’re scruffy, but clean. We scrub every night.”
“Something that also bodes well for Rose. Is the young lady awake?” Daroo-fen touched the length of cloth he’d draped over his shoulder. “I found this among my things and brought it for her.”
“What is it?” Coop asked again.
“It would be easier to demonstrate than explain.” He hesitated. “Unless you have an errand for me?”
“Maybe later.” Charles waved him in, and Coop held the door. Both radiated happiness.
“This is new.” Daroo-fen had to feign ignorance, but his interest was real enough. He’d been curious about the new addition to the front room, since Charles had put so much effort into its procurement.
“New for us.” The young man looked embarrassed. “I mean, it’s a used couch. But it’s in good shape, and it’s big enough.”
The couch was a ponderous thing, upholstered in turtle green, long, deep, and stalwart, able to bear up under the entire Cooper clan, plus one wolf. Or plus one friend. And for the first time Daroo-fen realized that it wasn’t simply big enough. It was long enough. Had Charles wanted a guest bed?
In the longstanding tradition of ancestors unknown, he was offering hospitality as if it were his duty and his delight.
“Do you like baseball?” Charles nodded toward the television he’d set up opposite the couch.
“I have no objections to the sport.”
“If you wanted to watch a game with us, there’s room.”
Daroo-fen offered a willing smile. “When’s the next game?”
“There’s one this afternoon. I was planning to do a little yardwork, then fire up the grill. Burgers, maybe?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Dad! I can’t find Beast!” Coop hurtled into the room and used the couch as a landing pad. “He’s not in the yard. I checked all the places.”
“He’ll be back,” Charles said mildly.
Coop bounced to his feet and hurried to Daroo. “Can you show us now?”
“With Rose’s cooperation.”
The swaddling had been at the very bottom of Daroo-fen’s stores, and even through long years of disuse, it retained the faint scents of the wolves whose brushings had gone into its looming. With a careful series of twists, folds, and knots, he created a sling for Rose that freed his hands and tucked her safely over his heart.
Charles and Coop watched with matching expressions of fascination.
“I’m guessing you didn’t learn that at law school,” Charles said, checking for and finding his daughter’s smile.
“She likes it,” Coop reported enviously. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“Where does anyone learn anything worth knowing?” posed Daroo-fen.
With a quick glance at his father, the boy answered with confidence. “Home.”
Charles’ plans for the day kept Daroo-fen firmly on the sidelines, either because the man didn’t want to put a guest to work … or because he’d figured out how much Daroo enjoyed cuddling Rose. So the wolf did little more than steady the ladder from time to time, while Charles clambered up and down.
Vines grew along all sides of the house, sometimes on trellises, but just as often finding purchase on sections of brick and stonework. The only problem was, they also grew across windows. Charles was clearing the windowpanes in order to let in more sunlight.
“What about those?” Daroo-fen asked, indicating the set of windows belonging to the den.
“I’m leaving those.” Charles sheepishly explained, “I like the greening light and the way everything dapples. It’s almost like being in the woods.”
This man.
Daroo-fen had resigned himself to a life as well-ordered as the tidy hedgerows that lined every neighborhood in Pine Hall. But Charles had dragged him past the prickly frontages and into the half-wild garden he’d inherited. Where twining and tangling were encouraged and supported. And appreciated.
This was an in-between place, tended by a distant offshoot of the reaver lines. Rare and hidden and his to protect. Because he was their watchdog. Because he’d made himself at home in Charles’ den. And because he wasn’t ready to leave.
He doubted he could.
And he couldn’t bring himself to mind.
Daroo-fen retreated to a bench under an arbor that offered him and Rose some shade. She dozed, and he hummed to guide her into deeper sleep. But he soon had company. Coop startled him by grabbing his face. The boy knelt beside him on the bench, smelling of grass clippings and bruised leaves … and an excitement that put extra shine in his eyes.
“Is it time for me to go to the store?” Daroo inquired softly.
“Hang on a sec,” the boy ordered.
Daroo tried to turn his head, to see where Charles was, to avoid this boy-child’s clear gaze. But Coop held him there. And Daroo-fen let him.
Finally, Coop nodded and said, “You and Beast really need to meet.”
An impossibility. But he was curious why the notion was suddenly so urgent. “Why is that?”
Coop searched his face a little bit longer, then shrugged. “Because you have the same eyes.”
Dangers of Intoxication
It had been a good day—burgers and baseball and tucking in tuckered out kids. Drew had stayed late, lingering over bottles of root beer on the back porch, talking about random stuff. He’d been reluctant to go, so Charles had offered the couch.
Next time, he’d promised. Did Drew do that on purpose? He never left without promising to return.
Charles sat alone on the back porch, watching fireflies wander through the back garden. The scent of rain made the summer night soft, and heat lightning flickered through distant clouds. He should check the downspouts.
As he made sure everything was battened down for a storm, he paused every so often to listen. He wasn’t exactly worried about Beast, but he’d rest easier if the wolf came home. Actually, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to sleep without him.
Maybe he should grab a flashlight, walk a little ways into the wood?
But Charles couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t leave the kids alone.
A shadowy form swung into view, and as Charles stood, it seemed to pick up speed at the sight of him. He was probably grinning like a fool, but he was too happy to pretend he wasn’t glad to see the big, beautiful beast.
The wolf bounced around him, tail wagging. Then Beast planted his forepaws on Charles’ shoulders and licked his forehead.
“Welcome back. I saved you a burger. Are you hungry?”
Dropping to all fours, Beast trotted to the kitchen door and waited for Charles to let him in.
While Beast ate, Charles tidied the kitchen.
While Charles bathed, Beast heard about the day.
And by the time they soft-footed it into the den, the storm had reached Pine Hall. Rain drummed on the roof and lashed at the windows. Charles opened the door and let in a breath of drenched night air—heavy, earthy, and invigorating.
“Listen to that,” he murmured, for the rainfall was like an old song, half-forgotten to time, but still capable of tugging at
his heartstrings. He used the doorstop to prop the door open an inch or two, checked to make sure Rose was covered, then navigated toward the bed.
Beast already owned the mattress, forcing Charles to reclaim and defend his territory. But he didn’t mind at all. This was how it had always been with Beast. This is how he hoped it would stay. It was embarrassing how much he needed Beast to be here for him. Then again, it was better to be needy and clingy and selfish and lame with one’s wolf than with one’s lawyer.
“I love you,” he whispered.
As he had once before, Beast resituated, draping himself over Charles. Holding him down, holding him together.
The weight and his weariness conspired with the storm, and Charles was soon drifting in a calm place that only found him when he was with his wolf. Dark and wild, like the woods at night, it was easier to forget his sadness and fears here.
Here was the rest he craved. Here was steadiness and safety.
Here, the loneliness vanished, because here, he wasn’t alone.
Daroo-fen was getting better at comforting Charles. He may have fumbled at first, but he’d always been patient and methodical. It was why the pack had singled him out. Why they’d agreed he was right and ripe for the challenge he’d undertaken.
By degrees, he’d figured out that Charles responded best when he was in an in-between place—no longer awake, not truly asleep. Here, he was more receptive. Here, Daroo-fen was able to lend him a little of the strength he barely touched, the wildness that was going to waste.
These were euphemisms, of course. Word games to soothe a guilty conscience.
Comforting. Supporting. Nurturing. They amounted to a breach of trust, for such intimacies weren’t meant to be stolen. True, it was all backwards. He was on the wrong side of the equation. But it was still tending.
He rationalized his way around his appalling lack of manners like a lawyer building his case. Several facts cast his actions in a more favorable light.
That the packs’ truce was with reavers, and Charles wasn’t one. Technically. That Daroo-fen only gave, never took. So there was no chance of harm. Probably. He wasn’t sure if Charles ran the same risk as Amaranthine when it came to the give and take of souls. Addiction.
And Daroo-fen strongly suspected that on some level, Charles was aware of his efforts … and welcomed them. For he resisted the pull of sleep, prolonging this connection Daroo had forged.
It had been a good day, and he was tired. Maybe that’s why he gave in to the pull of Charles’ presence. Dipping down. Lapping lightly. Finding bliss.
He shouldn’t have. Really, really shouldn’t have.
And he definitely shouldn’t have allowed the intoxication to carry him into sleep.
Can We Pretend
Charles woke to a deep growl that resonated through his chest and set his hair on end. An animal crouched over him, except it was a man, too. But people couldn’t make such paralyzing sounds.
Very slowly, Charles raised his hands toward its chest, thinking to push it away before the thing realized it had a ready meal cowering under its very nose. He needed to get clear, fend it off, find the kids. He couldn’t have been more shocked when the thing spoke.
“I will not abandon him! This one is mine, and I have become his. Any may know it, even the Moon herself and all her maidens.”
A strange vow, slurred by sleep and roughened by the growl that wasn’t letting up.
Charles’ trembled in the dark. The nightlight outlined a hulking form. His heart jammed into overdrive as the thing snuffled at his neck. Would it tear out his throat?
Harsh breathing gave way to a huff and a grumble. Then a hushing and shushing that did little to reassure Charles. He tried to wriggle free, but its limbs framed him, penning him in, pinning him down.
He had to try.
His hand met bare skin, and he pushed.
The growling ceased as the thing’s head snapped up, and they were face-to-face. An instant later, its forehead dropped to his chest, and a muffled voice asked, “Can we pretend this didn’t happen?”
“Drew?”
“Yes,” he sighed. “It’s me.”
Charles whispered, “Let me go?”
To his relief, Drew backed off, all the way to the far wall. But he had full range of the room. Charles scrambled to put himself between Drew and Rose.
“Charles,” he said in injured tones.
There was something wrong with Drew’s silhouette. Even though the light was low and the night was far from over, Charles could tell that the hair was wrong, the clothes were wrong, and the … the tail was very wrong. Should he turn on the light?
As if reading his mind, Drew suggested, “The kitchen? We shouldn’t wake Rose.”
Unable to turn around, Charles backed toward the door. Drew followed, which was unnerving, even though it was the point. He slapped the switch for the kitchen light, blinding himself, berating himself for his stupidity. But Drew didn’t take advantage.
“Charles, I would never intentionally hurt you or the children.”
“So this is unintentional?” he asked, voice tight.
“Yes.” Drew eased into the light. “I am in a great deal of trouble, letting you see me like this.”
Like always, he loomed large. But Drew Hunter had lost his professional polish. Not that he was any less intimidating. Charles’ back hit the counter, and he gripped it with both hands, holding himself up. Moving slowly, Drew took a seat at the kitchen table and placed his hands on the surface.
He was sort of the same—skin tone, hair color, facial features, muscles for days. But now he had a man bun and a fur vest and claws. And yeah, he hadn’t imagined the tail.
“You’re what, a werewolf?” he asked.
Drew actually looked offended. “Nothing of the sort.”
“But you’re not … normal.”
“I could debate that into the dust, but I’ll grant you this—I am not human.”
Charles was distracted then. Because Drew’s pleading eyes were strange, with narrow pupils. And with the fur and the tail and his missing wolf, his mind made a disconcerting leap. “Beast?”
“Yes.”
“Nooo,” he moaned, not wanting it to be true. His knees had gone all wobbly, and his breath was coming in gasps. Charles sank to the floor before he could fall, and then Beast was there, large as life. But Drew was gone. Because Drew was Beast.
And even though it was stupid, he reached for his wolf, needing him to at least be real.
Beast came and sat with him, and when Charles wrapped his arms around him, he huffed in his ear, the same as always. But it wasn’t the same, and it never would be again. And the loss cut deep, and Charles was crying.
His wolf whined, and that felt like an apology.
And then there were arms and a voice in his ear, and he was being carried. Which triggered a fresh wave of panic. But Drew cut him short with three words. “Rose is waking.”
Charles begged, “Let me go to her.”
But they were already there. Drew set him down beside the playpen, then stepped away. He crossed to the propped door and opened it wide. He leaned against the doorframe, gazing out into the night, tail switching and puffing by turns. Like he was as upset as Charles.
Putting on a brave face for his little girl, Charles changed her diaper, but he couldn’t bear releasing her. Not in this uncertain atmosphere. So he sank wearily onto his own bed, pulling his sheet and blanket around him. A pitiful shield.
“Will you go away if I ask you to?” he asked.
Drew watched him from the doorway. “Would you keep my secret if I did?”
Was that a threat? Charles couldn’t tell. “What happens if we pretend this didn’t happen?”
“We stay friends.”
Charles tried to imagine it, only to realize what that meant. And what he’d done.
He’d told Beast everything. How he’d been gutted. How much it galled him. Every confession and crying session came back to him, f
locked by shame and humiliation. But there was so much stupid stuff, too.
“I made you eat dogfood.”
“A minor indignity, I assure you.”
“We’ve been … I mean … every night.”
Drew’s gaze was steady. “Thank you for that. I was lonesome.”
Charles got the idea that Drew was willing to pretend if he would. That he didn’t want to lose what they’d been finding, little by little. However, Charles didn’t think he could live with lies again. He didn’t want them in his home. But he’d wanted Beast, and he’d wanted Drew. That was the truth. And that was the only place to start.
“What are you?”
Drew’s gaze dropped. “A lawyer by trade.”
“Who are you?”
A soft look. “Your friend.”
“Why won’t you tell me?” Charles was frustrated. “Tell me what I want to know.”
Drew started toward him, hesitated, then knelt a short distance from the bed. “You need to know that I will never abandon you. And that I will always respect your wishes. If you ask me to leave, I will go. If you never want to see me again, you won’t.”
Charles shook his head.
“If you want me to stay, I will. In any guise.” He placed one large hand over his heart. “All that you need, I will be.”
Rose reached out then, waving one small hand toward Drew and making a funny little crooning noise. For the first time, it occurred to Charles that Drew’s tuneless little lullabies sounded a whole lot like wolfsong.
“Who are you really?”
He crept closer, looking a whole lot like Beast when he was begging at the table. Offering both hands, palm up, he said, “My name is Daroo-fen Clearsong.”
Charles found himself in an empty moment, and for once, he would get to choose how to fill it. Knowing was simple. He knew what it was like to want to stay and be told to go. And he knew he could never do that to a friend like Drew, to a wolf like Beast, or even to this uncanny version of them.