At Full Sprint (A BBW Shifter Romance) (Last of the Shapeshifters)

by A. E. Grace

  “Mm?” he sounded, looking at her briefly and wrapping a large arm around her shoulders. He pulled her in for a quick hug, and she instinctively rested her hand on his naked chest, and felt there a quick heartbeat and tense muscles.

  “Miles, what’s wrong? What’s going on?”

  He looked at her for a moment, as though not understanding what she was talking about. “Oh,” he said, and he shook his head. “Nothing. Don’t worry.”

  “No,” she said, returning his head shake with her own. “No, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

  “I’m not interested in answering questions tonight, babe. Can you just turn off the little journalist inside you?”

  Circe bristled. “That’s not why I’m asking,” she explained patiently. “I’m asking because I’m worried, because I care. You know what that’s like, right? To have someone care about you?”

  “People usually get sick of me before they start to care.”

  “Well, not me. So, why don’t you just be honest with me and tell me what’s up, okay?”

  He stared off at some space on the wall, evidently lost in thought. Circe felt frustration welling inside her, but it was not like she could force him to open up. She began to wonder then why she wanted to know as much as she did. Had she been totally honest with him when she told him her curiosity was born of worry, and not professional interest?

  A tremor of regret rippled through her thoughts. Not regret that she was beginning to really fall in love with this man, and not regret that all the time they had spent together since Melbourne nearly a month ago – and it was a considerable chunk of time – had been nothing short of either interesting, or amazing. It was regret that she had gotten her personal life and professional life so tangled up, had heeded Ms. Jennings’ orders so completely, that now she didn’t know if she could unknot the two when it was all said and done.

  Circe also doubted herself to a certain extent. Was she interested in him because he offered her such a good career trajectory? Did her professional motives not play a part at all? And if they did, could both co-exist? Or was she going to have to choose between one and the other at some point down the road?

  “You really want to know?” he asked then, severing silence that had enveloped them. In his voice was the typical inflexion of bubbling enthusiasm she had come to expect of him. The spark of life relieved her – she was happy to see it again – though Circe definitely was not thrilled at the prospect that there were more secrets. How deep did this rabbit hole go? Miles must have accumulated more than a lifetime of experiences… of potential hidden truths, character flaws, and bad habits.

  “Yes,” Circe told him truthfully. “I do.”

  “But it has to be off the record,” he said, swiping his flattened hand in the air between them. “You can’t print any of this. You can’t even allude to it.”

  Circe felt a small stab of disappointment, and she felt guilty for it. So her professional motives were at play here… at least in some capacity.

  “Fine,” she said, perhaps eager to satisfy that guilt, to prove she really did care. Not just to him, but also to herself. “That’s totally okay with me. What’s up?”

  “It’s something nobody else knows,” he said through a smirk, but she felt the smile was a little disingenuous. His lips seemed to shake with something akin to anger, and when she looked in his eyes, she saw a fog of emotion there.

  “Isn’t that just par for the course with you?”

  “Come on,” he said, and he got up and led her to his laptop. He pecked at the keyboard the address for YouTube. She read what he typed into the search bar: ‘Poachers Get What’s Coming’. Circe knew of the video. It had gone viral not too long ago.

  It was either an individual or group of people who recorded the sabotaging of equipment that belonged to poachers. This included tire slashing, filling fuel tanks with sugar or sand, padlocking doors with heavy duty chains, and just generally being as annoying a presence as possible. The uploader, ‘HatesPoachers’ had done quite a few similar videos over the past few years, and each one never failed to make the rounds through the blogosphere, and other social-media networks. She recalled that they mainly targeted poachers in the big-cat fur trade, which operated mainly in South-Western Africa…

  “Wait a minute,” Circe whispered, her mind doing a mental double-take as the idea clicked. She pointed at the video. “That’s not you, is it?”

  “It is,” Miles said. “I’m recording. It’s a head cam.” He patted his forehead.

  Circe didn’t know what to say. She looked at him, and grinned. “Oh my God, that’s you? They play your videos on the news!”

  “I know,” he said, but he didn’t return her smile.

  She put her hand to her mouth, remembering waves of details. “But that means that you’ve got a bounty on your head out there!”

  He nodded. “Yup. But nobody knows it’s me.”

  “How?” Circe asked. The thought that this would have been absolutely gold were it on the record crossed her mind. Damn! She continued: “Why?”

  “Do you remember the story I told you about the cheetahs?”

  “Yes.”

  “These people here,” he said, pausing the video. He was apparently holding the camera up through a vent and recording a group of four men sitting at a table playing cards. “They specialize in big cats. For their fur.”

  “That’s terrible,” Circe murmured. “So, what, in your spare time you’re a vigilante, then?”

  “I don’t try to hurt anybody,” he said. “I just make sure they hurt as few animals as possible.”

  Circe had to admit that she was more impressed with the man, but it was a bit like watching someone base jump. The risks were just too immense. It was stupid – though noble – behavior. He’d never single-handedly stop the fur trade! He’d never sabotage the entire poaching industry!

  She sat down at the table, and looked up at him. “This is some pretty dangerous shit, right?”

  He sat down opposite her and nodded. “Yup.”

  Peering at the video, Circe saw a gun propped up against one of the chairs. “They’ve got guns!”

  “Of course they do.”

  “Aren’t you afraid?”

  He smiled then for the first time since loading the video. “Sure.”

  Circe was beginning to feel that she couldn’t possibly keep up with this man. Maybe their fling was doomed to fail. Maybe they had already crossed the finish line of their race, and were simply doing a victory lap before they parted ways forever. She didn’t want to be with a man who took risks like this… who broke the law, and could be sent to jail at any time. Or worse… killed by someone out to collect the bounty on his head.

  A brief burst of anger flared up inside her, and Circe realized that she felt betrayed. He’d held out on a pretty big secret. And if she was guessing right, this man probably had more than his share of enemies.

  “You should have told me.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Darling,” he soothed, putting his hand on her hip. He pulled her into him, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I’ve lived most of my life being closed to everyone else. I can’t open the doors so wide so quickly. Give me a chance. I’m really trying.”

  “Yeah,” Circe whispered, touching his face. “But this is a big deal. I need to know this if we’re going to be… you know. Serious.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “So why did you show me the video? Why did you tell me that was you? How is it connected to what has been bothering you since we arrived in Bahrain.”

  “There is a network of buyers out here.”

  Circe’s eyes widened. “You’re worried?”

  He shook his head. “No. But I’m… reminded. Of what they do. It bothers me, intensely. You understand, right? They are shooting and skinning cheetahs and lions. They are ripping the tusks from elephants while they’re still alive!”<
br />
  “I know. It’s horrible.” Circe reflected that she hadn’t spent much time in her life worrying about the plight of animals that were hunted by humans for product. She’d seen the advertisements on the telly, and she’d talked about it with friends before… all in theory, of course.

  “Are you in danger here, Miles?”

  He shook his head again, but she wasn’t convinced. “No, Circe. Like I said, they don’t know me.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m always careful.”

  “Sometimes that’s not enough, Miles.”

  He kissed her on the lips, embracing her tight. “Don’t worry.”

  *

  “Let’s go out.” He looked around for his shirt, but couldn’t find it.

  “Go out?” Circe echoed him, chucking his top at him. Not expecting it, he failed the catch, and the shirt wrapped itself around his face.

  Circe laughed. “Cat-like reflexes, huh?”

  “Damn straight,” he said through a grin. “Yeah. Let’s go for a walk.”

  She made a face at him. “Now?”

  Miles blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s like two in the morning.”

  “So what?” Miles cried.

  “Well, you’ve got a race tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “It’s a bit late, don’t you think?” she asked, scratching her nose.

  “Oh, don’t’ worry,” Miles said, walking quickly over to her and wrapping her up in his arms. “I know this place like the back of my hand. And if you think about it, that’s something a driver would know very, very well.”

  “Is it safe?” Circe asked. “I don’t particularly want to wear long sleeves.” Miles knew she was thinking about the dress code, given that they were in an Islamic country.

  “Don’t worry,” Miles said. “It’s late.”

  “Okay,” Circe told him. “Just let me change first.”

  “Hurry up!” he called after her as she walked into the bedroom.

  “Never rush a woman,” he heard called back at him. “Especially if she’s writing an article about you.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  “What?” she said from the bathroom.

  “You’ve handled this all pretty well. I mean, me being what I am, doing what I do. I sort of expected outright disbelief or hysterics.”

  Circe popped her head out from the bathroom. “Was that a sexist remark, Miles?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  She shrugged. “Guess I’m just not that surprised.”

  “Why not?”

  “I used to watch The X-Files.”

  “Be serious, Circe.”

  She poked her head out again. “I am being serious. I mean, yeah, I was shocked when you showed me first. But it all seemed to fit, you know? It’s not like I’m going to have a mental breakdown because my world is falling apart. It’s not. I mean, there are myths and legends about shapeshifters in nearly every culture going back tens of thousands of years. While I admire the human imagination, it seems an awfully large coincidence, doesn’t it? I mean, some of those cultures must have been separated over both time and distance, and yet still told similar stories about people than can change shape.”

  “Isn’t it a normal human longing?” Miles countered. “We all dream of flying like birds at some stage. Does that mean you’d not be surprised if you saw a man sprout wings and soar?”

  Circe pushed her lips together. “I don’t think that would surprise me anymore. But don’t worry,” Circe said, winking at him. “I know you’re a creature of vanity, and if it helps satisfy that, I was surprised, and I am intrigued. I’ve got a bunch of questions, obviously. I’m interested in the fact that you’ve been alive for over a hundred years. You’ve lived through… well… nearly everything we were ever taught at school.”

  “Thanks for not asking them all at once.”

  “Oh, they’ll get asked eventually,” she said, pointing at him.

  *

  Circe watched as Miles bounded in wide zig-zagging curves, his paws and claws kicking up plumes of sand and dust turned blue in a stream of moonlight. He weaved, his feline body low to the ground, his legs criss-crossing with each sprinting gallop. It wasn’t long until he was just a silhouette far, far away, barely visible, save for the occasional flashes of his eyes as he looked at her.

  She sat, leaning back on her elbows, wishing the mat they’d brought was a little thicker. But her attention did not stay on her discomfort for very long. The fact that there was a cheetah sprinting at sixty kilometers an hour heading right for her had a way of snatching one’s senses.

  Miles was lean as his big cat, long and lithe, and with a nimbleness and agility that really had to be seen to be appreciated. The nature shows didn’t do the big cats justice. The speed at which he could sprint was simply breathtaking.

  Slowing to a stop before her, Miles nuzzled his head against Circe’s shoulder, his whiskers tickling her cheek. He was panting, and she could feel the warmth of it rushing down her back. She had to admit to herself that she didn’t really know what to do with Miles when he shifted. Stroking or scratching the cat seemed oddly against type, as it was not something she particularly wanted to do. But at the same time, before her was a cheetah, black tear-streaks like running eyeliner, and it was safe!

  “Are you done yet?” she said as Miles pulled away. He began to change, his body a lumpy and tangled mass of flesh for a moment before the fur receded, the limbs grew out, and the tail disappeared.

  Naked beside her, on his side, resting on an elbow, he touched her feet and ran his hands up and down her shins. He was panting, grinning, and when he made eye contact with her, she saw a kind of elation in him that instantly made her jealous.

  “Is it pleasurable, Miles? Being a cheetah?”

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “It is.”

  Circe sighed. “Can I become one?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She ran a finger up and down the ridges of his naked stomach, her eyes drifting downward toward his crotch. He was sweating from his exertion, and she could smell his musk.

  “How did you become one?”

  He paused, inhaling deeply. “I’ll tell you up-front that you won’t be satisfied.”

  Circe shrugged. “I haven’t even heard it yet.”

  “Remember the story I told you about seeing that coalition of young male cheetahs?”

  “When you were chasing after a football. I remember.”

  “Well, I left out the next bit of the story. They all ran off, and we watched them, screaming and cheering. Anyway, back then, we lived in the hospital, if you could call it one, that my parents set up each time they traveled to different towns. It wasn’t anything fancy, of course. Just a bit of wood, corrugated iron sheets, and glassless windows. We used to hang up spare pillow cases for curtains. For some reason, we had so many pillow cases.”

  Circe waited while he delved into his memories. All of this had happened so long ago, she was surprised he could remember at all. She could barely remember her own childhood!

  “Anyway, so I refused to sleep in the same room with my parents. I think I was getting a bit old for that. So I slept in a cot in the office, which was a bit behind the main area where people were treated. There was a large window, so wide we had to use the pillow case sideways, so it only covered half of the window. The top half.” He gestured with his hands, and Circe nodded. “I couldn’t sleep that night. I kept thinking about the cheetahs, you know? I’d never seen so many together like that before. Usually we just got a glimpse of one from the car, or maybe two or three if it was a mother and her cubs. So I’m lying awake in bed, right, and that’s when I notice there’s something in the window, the bottom half that isn’t covered. I remember blinking away the darkness, and then I just froze. All my hairs stood on end.”

  “It was a cheetah?”

  “Yes. A young male. It still had the fu
zz around its face and whiskers, so it was quite young. Probably only recently left his mother’s side. I thought they had come to scavenge food. Anyway, I remember looking into the eyes of this just absolutely beautiful cat, and it was just staring back at me! Like… like it was trying to communicate or something.”

  “Did you call for your parents?”

  “No,” Miles said quietly, shaking his head. “I just looked at this cat. Eventually, it just slinked away, and I watched it disappear into the darkness. So I fell asleep, pretty much the happiest boy alive at that point. But I had a nightmare. I can’t remember the details that well, but I woke up, feeling this intense pain all through my body. It was like every muscle was cramping at the same time.”

  Circe made a face. “A seizure?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. But that was my first shift. I didn’t even particularly realize, because we didn’t have full body mirrors or anything like that. I remember just being assaulted by all this new information. Smells, sounds, feeling the vibrations of the air around my lips! I couldn’t process it all. My whiskers were telling me so much. My ears were picking up sounds that seemed impossible to me. The croak of a frog I hadn’t heard just moments ago. The baying of a wild dog that must have been kilometers away. And the smell!”

  He shook his head, wordlessly conveying the complexity.

  “You were still in your bed?”

  “Yeah,” he said through a laugh. “Still under the sheet I used as a blanket. The smell of my own head on the pillow was just… wow! It was completely overwhelming. It was so intense, just this smell of… body. I vomited, actually.”

  Circe snorted. “What?”

  “Yeah. It was too much to handle, and the smells of the people outside, the antiseptics in the office, everything… it was just too much. I vomited it all out onto the floor beside my cot, and that was when I realized that I couldn’t use my hands the same way. I had four legs. Looking down at my own body, I think I must have gone into shock or something.”