by Forthright
So he awkwardly patted the mattress. “Come on then. Come up here by us.”
Coming to Terms
Charles scooted to the very edge of the mattress. Maybe it was a healthy instinct, but he was horrified to find himself here again. Put in his place. How many times had Ally banished him to the fringes of comfort—warning him off, forbidding his touch, shunning every advance until desire shriveled? This place was no place. A precursor to either the couch or floor.
The mattress shifted.
By the time Charles realized that Beast had left the bed, the wolf had circled it and was doing his whole looming routine again. “What?” he whispered, clutching his blanket to his chest.
Beast huffed and herded him—all poking muzzle and butting head—to the very center of the mattress. Then trotted back around to his side, hopped back up, and settled in his usual way, with his chin resting on Charles chest.
He slowly wrapped his arms around the wolf and tentatively scratched behind one ear. “Is this weird for you?”
With a low huff, Beast licked his cheek.
Charles hated to ask, needed to know. “Did you just kiss me?”
The wolf yawned.
He should have left the nightlight on after tucking Rose back in. Then at least he could look Beast in the eyes and know if Drew was laughing at him from somewhere behind them. It was mindboggling to learn there was a person wrapped up in the animal who’d been his bedmate for days.
“I’m going to pretend this isn’t weird.”
Beast whined.
Charles kept remembering things he never would have done if he’d known. “I told you so many things. If you’re also a lawyer, does that whole confidentiality thing kick in?”
The mattress shifted again, and Drew—who was actually Daroo—was suddenly right there, practically sharing his pillow. “Charles, if you want to talk, I must be in this form.”
Misery swamped him. Regret and loss. How could he pretend nothing had changed? This changed everything.
“You’re making me feel like a bad dream.”
“Sorry. But you’ve got to admit, this is ….”
“Weird?” There was a smile in his voice.
Charles grumbled, “So weird.”
“But not frightening?”
“No.” He felt small and self-conscious and several kinds of embarrassed, but the initial panic was long gone.
Daroo tousled his hair, just the way Drew had … was it only yesterday? It brought Charles’ attention around to all the ways they were too close for comfort. He edged back. To his relief, Daroo let him.
“How’s this going to work?” asked Charles.
“In what sense?”
“You can’t just … stay here.”
Daroo finally said, “If that is what you want.”
“Wait. What?” Charles didn’t care for that stark tone. “Did you want to? Stay, I mean?”
“Only if I’m welcome.”
“Well, yeah. But I mean ….” The questions piled up and spilled out. “Don’t you have a place? What about your job? How much do we tell the kids? Where would we put you?”
Daroo scooped an arm under Charles’ shoulders and rolled into him, laughing softly. “So I am welcome.”
“Well … yeah,” Charles repeated weakly. “Isn’t this a little close?”
“Same as always.” He pulled the blankets higher. “Pack style.”
Charles muttered, “I’m not a wolf. You have to know this is ….”
“Hospitable,” cut in Daroo. “I’m honored that you would set aside your considerable discomfiture in order to meet with me here in the manner of my people.”
“Are you doing a lawyer thing? What do they call it, leading the witness?”
“I’m providing context.” More quietly, Daroo added, “I do want to stay.”
Charles tried not to squirm. “Like this?”
“Like pack.” He sighed a small, “Please?”
It was the verbal equivalent of puppy dog eyes, and Charles was defenseless against such pleading. In part because he’d been reduced to it more than once. It was an awful, wretched thing, having something withheld.
Making an effort to relax, Charles asked, “Which is the real you?”
“They’re all me.” Daroo shifted his hold so that one hand cradled the back of Charles’ head. “Are you a father or a son, a friend or a neighbor, a homemaker or a man?”
He was all those things and more, but none of those things were all of who he was. “Okay. I get it.”
Daroo nodded. Or nuzzled. It was kind of hard to tell them apart at this range.
Charles could hear the soft patter of rain. Always nice. But he doubted it was responsible for the familiar sensation that ebbed through him, deep and dark as the woods at night. “Why is it better when you’re here?”
“You felt that?”
He grunted, and his fingers found purchase in the shaggy fur of Daroo’s vest. “Can’t hardly sleep without Beast anymore.”
“There are reasons. It’s a long story, but I’m not at liberty to share it.”
Charles murmured, “I’ll keep your secret.”
“I made a promise.”
That he could understand. “Vows shouldn’t get broken.”
“Charles, can you trust me?”
That was kind of a dumb question. He was smiling when he slurred, “Lemme think ’bout it.”
Daroo’s voice was low in his ear. “This is me. I’m able to get close because of a certain … compatibility of souls.”
He cracked an eye, not that it did any good. Everything was shadow. “You calling me your soulmate?”
“Nothing so romantic,” he said blandly.
Okay, that was good. Because that would put this at a whole different level of weird. Sleeping with an honest-to-God trinity was enough of a stretch for tonight. He was both ratcheted up and totally relaxed. Like he was happy right where he was, but also in a highly charged state of anticipation for whatever might come next.
Daroo said, “I only mean that I find similar contentment in your presence.”
“Uh-huh.” Charles threw an arm around his wolf. “Lucky us.”
And the dark of the woods was all around him, closer than ever, heady with wildness, anchored by trust. He was lost in its vastness, but he wasn’t at all lonesome because he wasn’t alone. Now he knew why.
What Are You?
Charles woke to the strange sensation of fingers sifting through his hair. Not Cole’s usual pell-mell way to start the day. But then he remembered and stirred. It was strange, seeing Beast’s slit-pupiled eyes set into Drew Hunter’s face. Had they always been that color? He’d honestly never noticed.
“Remember me?” Daroo asked. He sat on the floor beside Charles’ mattress.
Charles grunted. He wasn’t likely to forget. His friend’s gaze was as soft as his smile was sharp. Were those fangs? Other details came into focus in the morning light dappling the den. He wasn’t sure which looked stranger, the pointed ears or the long hair.
“Somebody wants her daddy.”
He guiltily scrambled to sit up and reached for her. The hands that lowered Rose into his arms were clawed.
“I’ll bring a bottle.”
When Daroo strolled away, it was with much swishing of tail. Was he wagging it for the usual reasons canines did, or was he showing off a little? “Which do you think?”
Rose wriggled in ecstasy over having gained his attention.
Kissing the top of her head, he whispered, “I think so, too.”
Daroo handed off a bottle at the same time Charles heard Cole coming downstairs in a series of two-footed thuds. The bathroom door half-closed while the boy answered nature’s call. Charles murmured, “We probably shouldn’t let him see ….”
But Daroo had been replaced by Beast, whose tail still swayed.
Because it’s what he would have done, Charles reached for the wolf’s ear, fondling and scratching. It was only a little weird.
With a wry headshake, he admitted, “This might take some getting used to.”
Beast licked his chin.
Charles pushed aside his muzzle.
Rose chortled happily.
Beast licked her, too.
Then Cole was charging in and flung himself at an open section of mattress, bouncing his way over to greet his baby sister. He chattered and coaxed and cooed. Although it was more accurate to say he cooped. The boy was determined that his nickname would be her first word. Beast was tackled next, and the wolf obligingly rolled onto his back.
“You’re a glutton for belly rubs,” Charles accused.
Beast waved his paws in the air and cheerfully sneezed.
Little things changed, but they felt like a big deal to Charles.
Drew Hunter stopped waiting for Saturdays to drop by. He’d bring groceries or pick up pizzas. They’d fish in the creek or work in the yard. Or just lounge on the sofa watching baseball or movies. A couple of nights, he stayed over—officially—camping with them on the screen porch. Otherwise, Mr. Hunter would bid farewell at the front door, only to turn up later as Beast at the back.
All the switching certainly livened up Charles’ days.
“What are you doing?” Charles asked.
Daroo’s tail puffed, but he didn’t stop his stealthy removal of the screen from one of the side windows. “Expanding my options.”
“You’ll let in flies.”
Secreting the screen behind the china cupboard that stood empty against the dining room wall, Daroo whisked briefly into the pantry, where an old mesh flyswatter hung from its nail. Presenting it to Charles across his palms, he solemnly said, “You take the first watch.”
That whole day, Daroo messed with Cole, making the kid believe that both the lawyer and the wolf were in the house at the same time.
In a door, out a window.
Up the stairs, into the kitchen.
Through the front door, down a garden path.
Charles was almost getting used to having Drew or Beast rush past, often diving headlong out a window with little more than the flutter of a one of Mom’s old lace curtains. Moving faster than humanly possible. Leading Cole on a merry chase.
It was a silly game, firmly grounded in affection. And Charles had no part in it, except to watch and smile and let it continue. And to prop open the door to the den. And to lower the top panes in the windows of the master suite upstairs. To let in some fresh air while he worked, of course.
He was halfway through disassembling the antique bedstead from which he’d stolen his mattress when Drew swung through and landed in a crouch on the rug. “What are you, anyhow? A mutant?”
“No.”
“Bitten by a radioactive wolf?”
Drew’s lips twitched. “No.”
Charles went right back to unscrewing slats. “You and your familiar had a transporter accident.”
“No.” Drew paused to touch Rose’s hair. She was fast asleep, despite the ruckus.
“Intergalactic castaway.” Charles popped the next board loose and moved to stand it in the corner. “Emissary from another world.”
With a soft huff, Drew shook his head.
“Part of an undiscovered ancient civilization.” He’d been planning to make reference to Atlantis, but something in Drew’s eyes hauled him short.
Drew softly said, “You watch too many movies.”
Charles was kind of glad to know that while Daroo was good at secrets, he was terrible at lies. Looking away, he said, “I don’t need to know. Doesn’t matter, really. But since my world’s falling apart, I distract myself by wondering about yours.”
Drew seized his hands, enfolding them in his much larger ones. “Your world isn’t falling apart,” he said firmly. “You’re holding it together for all of us.”
He leaned down and whispered one word. Then he kissed Charles’ brow, held a finger to his lips, changed into a wolf, and charged out the door, tail flagging.
Rubbing distractedly at his forehead, Charles echoed, “Alpha?”
Half a Bottle
Charles tucked in Rose for the night—done in, but far from done. Taking a deep breath, he surveyed the besmeared kitchen and went into their bathroom-utility room combo to see if that’s still where his parents kept the box of spare rags. “You two all right?” he asked.
“Dad! Dad! Look what Beast can do!”
The wolf sat on his haunches, balancing a rubber duck on his muzzle.
“I’m sure he’s very proud,” Charles said by way of acknowledgment. “Wash your hair.”
“I did.”
“You missed a spot.” He gestured toward the left-hand side, where chocolate sauce still darkened Cole’s hair. “While you do that, I’ll do the kitchen.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
Charles grabbed a bucket and shrugged. “Accidents happen. We’ll be more careful next time.”
Fifteen minutes later, the footprints, pawprints, and skid marks were gone without a trace. Proof that Cole’s little mishap hadn’t really been a disaster to begin with. So why fuss?
He went to check on Cole again and stopped in the doorway. “How in the world did you get him in there with you?”
“He jumped.”
Beast sat in the tub, head and ears drooping while Cole worked his thick coat into a lather. The boy had easily used half the bottle of baby shampoo. Charles covered his smile with his hand. Then added a second in order to hold back his laughter.
The wolf narrowed his eyes, then simply turned his head away.
Cole’s thin arms barely reached around Beast’s sodden bulk, but he kept up an enthusiastic—if disorganized—effort to spread suds everywhere.
Okay. Intervention time.
Charles came to kneel beside the tub. “You know, this isn’t dog shampoo.”
Cole hesitated. “Does that matter?”
“I think so. Let’s get him rinsed.”
It took the better part of an hour to slosh and spray all the soap out of Beast’s fur. Naturally, this meant the entire vicinity was now sloshed, sprayed, and soapy. But they used several towels to fluff Beast dry, and then Charles ushered Cole to his room. It was now well past bedtime, so the boy offered no resistance. A weary grin. A whisper of love. A mumbled goodnight.
One last mess.
When he returned to the scene of the bath, the door closed behind him, and the lock made an ominous click. Daroo gave him no chance to react before lifting him right off his feet and lowering him—clothes and all—into a tub filled with soap scum, shed fur, and tepid water.
“Hey!”
Daroo poured a basin of water over his head.
“What are you doing?” he gasped.
“Returning favors.” A slow drizzle became a big dose of baby shampoo in Daroo’s hand. “You were amused.”
He only had one defense for that. “It was funny. How did you even get into the tub?”
“You don’t question how I can enter through upper-story windows, but this mystifies you?”
Charles couldn’t tell if he was teasing. “Are you angry with Cole?”
“For his abundant and sometimes misguided shows of affection?” Daroo slathered the excess of shampoo over Charles’ head. “Not in the least.”
“Can I at least have fresh water?”
Daroo fished around for the chain and pulled the plug.
“Are you angry with me?” Charles took over the washing of his own hair.
“Not at all.” With an approving nod, Daroo busied himself around the room, changing over the laundry load and beginning to wipe up the mess caused by Beast’s impromptu bath. Meanwhile, Charles pulled a wad of wolf’s fur out of the drain, opened the tap, and shimmied out of wet denim and cotton.
“Can you quick check on the kids?”
“They’re both asleep.”
“How can you tell?” The door was shut. The dryer was running.
Daroo sat back on his heels, head cocked to one side. “I have excellent hearing
.”
Charles didn’t doubt it. And he wondered what else his friend could do. He ventured to ask, “Is the world you come from wonderful?”
“You seem to think so.” He resumed his methodical mopping up. “I was telling the truth when I said I’m from the area. I grew up in these woods, as well.”
He almost said that he wished they’d been friends sooner, but Charles couldn’t bring himself to want things changed. It would almost be like wishing away parts of his past. Maybe even the choices that had given him Cole and Rose.
“Charles?”
He started. While he’d been lost in thought, Daroo had moved to the edge of the tub, draping his arms along the side the same way he did when watching over Cole’s baths.
“Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“You often do.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” And because that came off sounding sappy, he gruffly added, “You’re a decent watchdog.”
“Watchwolf,” Daroo said in tones of mild reproach. Then dumped a fresh basin of water over Charles.
It took considerable dousing to rid his hair of all that shampoo. Charles didn’t protest, but he thought Daroo was enjoying the process a little too much. Like the connection they always wandered into at bedtime was still in force. Assuring him that Daroo was in a good mood.
Since they were alone in a locked room, Charles thought it was safe to ask. “Are there more like you?”
“Yes.”
“Am I allowed to know anything?”
Daroo inclined his head. “I can tell you a little. Personal things. Things not bound by my vows.”
“That makes you sound like a monk.”
His gaze turned inward. “Not a bad analogy. Such is the life of a lone wolf.”
Charles caught a tendril of something aching and empty.
“Ask anything. I’ll answer if I can.”
After a moment’s thought, Charles shrugged. “What should I ask?”
Daroo chuckled. “Ask about my name.”
“Which one?”
“My true name. For while I have borrowed many over the years, I’ve always been and always will be Daroo-fen Clearsong.”
And then he did the strangest thing. Lifting his chin toward the ceiling, he crooned a series of soft notes. It was eerie, but also beautiful.