by Kathy Lyons
“You’re moving well,” he said, inspecting Bruce from top to bottom.
Truth. Every part of him felt fluid. There was no pain, no ache. He couldn’t remember the last time his back had moved without catching, or his knees had bent without popping. Even his neck didn’t crack. The life of a firefighter often meant body aches, if not from an injury on the job, then from the constant training. He’d been living with that background noise of pain for so long, this was startlingly unfamiliar.
“I don’t see any swelling or red spots.” The man was walking in a slow circle around Bruce. “Nothing out of whack. Sometimes people don’t come back quite right, but you’re good. I’d hoped that shifting would fix this”—he held up his right hand to show two infant-sized middle fingers—“but I’m as I always was.” His eyes narrowed as he moved behind Bruce. “I don’t see any scars. Did you have any? If so, they’re gone now.”
The man chattered on, his tone bright, and he moved like a puppy discovering a new toy. Up, down, sideways. He even squatted down for a moment as he peered at the back of Bruce’s leg.
“There’s a burn scar here. It looks nasty. How long have you had it? I bet it hurt like a bitch when it happened.”
It had. Bruce had gotten it on one of his first calls as a firefighter. It had been a bad house fire, with kids trapped upstairs—two unconscious teenagers. He couldn’t carry both, so he’d picked up the girl, thinking he could carry her faster and then come back for the boy.
There hadn’t been time. He’d gotten the burn when the floor had collapsed beneath his foot, and he’d had to fight to get it out while the flames ate at his flesh. His partner had managed to grab the girl while he worked himself free, but the agony alone had nearly killed him. He’d awoken in the hospital to the sound of a woman crying. It was his own mother at his bedside, but in his mind, he always confused it with the other mother. The one who’d lost her son because he hadn’t been strong enough to get both of her children out.
“You’re not talking,” the man continued. “Strong, silent type. I get that, but you’re going to have to talk to me sooner or later.” God, the image of an overeager puppy wouldn’t go away. He reminded Bruce of Josh on Christmas morning, when the kid had been hopped up on sugar and excitement.
And because that image was so strong, Bruce reacted as he always had with his little brother—he wrapped his arm around the guy’s neck and put him on the floor. Not because he didn’t like happy people, but because in his home, bouncy, excited puppies got kicked. “You need to calm the fuck down.”
He expected a struggle. Josh had always squirmed and twisted while Bruce slowly, inevitably pressed him into the floor. There were usually obscenities and sometimes tears, but this guy was too perky for that. Sure, he squirmed, but he was no match for Bruce’s skill. And he never stopped talking.
“Oh! Oh! I know that voice. That’s the ‘you need coffee’ voice. I bet you like thick-as-tar coffee with like eight teaspoons of sugar.”
“You are really freaking annoying, you know that?”
He snorted. “You think you’re the first person to tell me that?” Then he pushed on Bruce’s arm. “Come on. Let me up. It would be undignified if I was found like this, with my ass waving in the wind.”
Yes, it was, though it was a very cute ass. Bruce eventually let him go; then he smiled as the man scrambled to his feet and tugged down his shirt as if he was trying to cover the important bits. He didn’t.
“Have you gotten over your grumpy mood?” the man asked as he walked over to a nearby car. “I’m really sorry about the shock collar. I had no idea it would do that to you. But I had to, you know?”
Bruce felt his humor fade. How many times had he heard that pathetic excuse? It was what his father had always said after a particularly brutal “training” session.
Sorry about punching you, Bruce, but you have to learn how to take it and keep fighting.
Sorry your ankle’s too jacked up for football, but I’m teaching you how to keep going, even when you’re hurt.
Sorry I turned you into a bastard to your only brother, but I thought he was a monster.
That was the hell of it. Bruce was only now realizing that his father somehow knew Josh was a werewolf. He kept calling Josh a monster, and then he taught Bruce to keep Josh meek. It had taken moving away from home—and years of self-reflection—for Bruce to realize that it had been his father who was the monster, and Josh the innocent victim.
Until Bruce discovered that Josh was a werewolf. Now he didn’t know what to think.
“Who the hell are you?” he said, his voice low and threatening.
The guy looked up from the trunk of the car. “Still grumpy, huh? Okay, I can work with that.” He popped it open without breaking eye contact. “My name’s Laddin. That’s short for Aladdin ’cause my grandmama said I was magical. I know it doesn’t make sense because Aladdin’s lamp was magical, not him, but whatever. Mom was hopped up on painkillers at the time.”
Bruce stared at him. “Do you ever shut up?”
Laddin blinked. “You asked me a question.” He leaned against the car bumper. “Look, I can take grouchiness, but you’re just being illogical.” Then he reached into the trunk and unzipped a bag. A moment later he’d pulled out sweatpants, which he tossed straight at Bruce’s face.
Bruce punched them aside with a swift stab of his fist, only belatedly realizing what they were.
Laddin watched him with an expressive eye roll. “They’re clothes, Bruce. So you don’t have to stand here in your birthday suit.” Then he reached inside and pulled out another pair and yanked them on with swift movements. “And in case you’re wondering, my ass is bare because you bit through my jeans and had me spurting arterial blood everywhere.”
Bruce’s breath caught at that, but he had only the vaguest memory of what had happened more than five minutes ago. It was fuzzy, confusing, and he didn’t like thinking about it. And he really didn’t like the idea that he’d bitten through this guy’s leg, whoever the hell he was. To cover his confusion, he grabbed the sweatpants and tried to pull them on with his usual efficiency.
The moment he bent down, his head started to spin. And though he grabbed on to the sweatpants with a solid grip, that did nothing to keep him upright. He stumbled for balance. He knew this feeling—he was a firefighter and a paramedic, for God’s sake. He should have recognized the symptoms of low blood sugar and dehydration long ago. But no, here he was, about to faint and hurl at the same time.
“I got ya, big guy. Come over here and sit down.”
For such a small guy, Laddin had strong arms. And though it was humiliating, Bruce had seen too many macho men take a header, so he allowed Laddin to guide him over to an old blanket draped across a straw bale. He half sat, half collapsed, down. And when a barn cat hissed at him and dashed off, he barely had the strength to give it an annoyed glare.
“Don’t be like that,” Laddin said, and it took Bruce a moment to realize he was talking to the cat. “Drink this.”
Again, Bruce didn’t know who Laddin was talking to until a warm sports drink was shoved into his hand. When he stared at it, Laddin unscrewed the top and guided the bottle to his mouth.
“Drink,” Laddin ordered. “Shifting takes a lot of energy, and you were cooped up in the van for a long time.”
Not to mention the day Bruce had spent shadowing Josh, then taking a fairy-induced nap. He mentally scrolled back in his mind as he tried to make sense of what was happening. His first clear memory was of Sunday dinner with his family—he had no idea how long ago—when Josh and Nero had shown up to get some specialty fabric from his dad’s company. The rest of his family had been blind to what was going on, but Bruce had seen right away that his brother was under Nero’s spell—as in cult-level brainwashing. He’d tailed his brother and done everything he could to get Josh alone, but he hadn’t been able to make it happen.
At the time, he hadn’t realized they were werewolves. That had come later. I
n the end, he’d realized the only way to save his brother was to join him and somehow create the opportunity to drag his brother’s ass to safety. So he’d popped a fairy cherry and ended up naked in a barn with werewolf Aladdin.
While he was ruminating on that, he drank the sports drink and waited for his lightheadedness to clear.
Then Laddin settled in next to him. Bruce hadn’t even realized how chilly it was until he felt Laddin’s arm around his naked shoulders and the heat as their thighs pressed against each other.
“You’re cold,” Laddin said as he disentangled the sweatpants from Bruce’s grip, then draped them across Bruce’s legs. It wasn’t enough to cover him, but it helped, especially as Laddin pressed his cheek to Bruce’s shoulder as he adjusted the makeshift blanket.
Then they sat there while Bruce slowly sipped his drink. He wanted to chug it down, but his stomach was churning, and queasiness dogged every breath. He sipped while Laddin squeezed his shoulder with one hand and made cooing sounds at the hissing barn cat.
“Come here, puss. I won’t hurt you. I just want to pet you.”
“It probably has fleas,” Bruce grumbled.
“For all you know, you could have fleas,” Laddin countered in a teasing tone.
The cat sniffed at Laddin for a moment, then turned on its tail and stalked away. Laddin sighed in disappointment, and Bruce couldn’t help but remember all the times his sister, Ivy, had begged for a cat. She’d never gotten to keep one, but that hadn’t stopped her from trying to get one, including bringing a kitten home from a neighbor as a Christmas gift.
That had not gone well for anyone—especially the kitten. Bruce shuddered at the memory of his sister’s tearstained cheeks as she watched their father toss the tiny cat out into the snow. Bruce had managed to sneak out and rescue it a half hour later, quietly taking it back to the neighbor, but that had been a long, awful thirty minutes for everyone. And the beating he’d earned from his father afterward hadn’t been fun either.
Now, Laddin leaned his head back against the straw bale. “The cats probably know we’re werewolves. They probably have some sort of instinct to keep away from us.”
Bruce didn’t comment. He was still waiting on his blood sugar to stabilize, while being ridiculously mesmerized by the feeling of having Laddin’s arm across his shoulders and the idle way that Laddin stroked a couple of fingers through his hair. It didn’t feel sexual. Well, not much. It was more like the way a kid would pet a cat. Since the feline had run away, Laddin was petting Bruce instead. Normally he’d hate it, but he wasn’t feeling so great, and the caress was soothing. And when Laddin’s fingers touched the back of his neck, he shivered in delight. That really ought to have set off all sorts of alarms in his thoughts, but honestly, it just felt nice.
He closed his eyes and let his head drop forward, giving Laddin better access to his neck and shoulders. There was lots of skin there to caress, and the guy seemed all too willing to touch him.
“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Laddin said, his voice slightly breathless. “Which do you want first?”
Neither, but it didn’t sound like he had a choice. “Hit me with the bad stuff.”
Laddin nodded, but instead of speaking, he twisted around such that he was half hugging Bruce. He dropped his chin on Bruce’s shoulder, and his free landed gently on Bruce’s thigh. It was warm and squeezed down hard enough to be felt through the thick sweatpants. And damn if the nearness of that pressure didn’t make certain other parts of him perk up.
Hell. He was getting a boner. He couldn’t possibly be that hard up. Sure, Mr. Sunshine was attractive. And the man made him smile—inside—and that was more anybody ever had. But still….
Rather than dwell on those thoughts, he shifted to look Laddin in the eye. “You’re not talking.”
“I hate giving bad news.”
“You’d rather give it after, then, and kill the happy one?”
Laddin’s lips curved. “I usually solve the problem first, then say I’ve fixed it. In this case, I have some ideas, but I’m not absolutely sure. Do you want to know what ‘the problem’ is?”
“Yes.”
Laddin blew out a breath that skated across Bruce’s chin and heated him enough that his nipples tightened. Bruce didn’t move. It would draw too much attention to it if he covered up. But damn if his chest didn’t tingle in a really embarrassing way.
“Your body isn’t handling coming back to being human very well.” Then, before Bruce could ask, Laddin rushed on to reassure him. “Overall you’re doing great. I mean, there’s a one-in-three survival rate for new recruits, so by that standard, you’re doing amazing.”
“One in three?” he echoed, the idea terrifying.
“Yeah. But the odds get worse when you count the ones who can’t come back to human well.”
“Like me.”
Laddin winced. “Maybe like you. I’m still hoping the electrolytes will help. Gelpack could probably stabilize you, but he isn’t here.” He slanted Bruce a sidelong look. “We weren’t expecting you.”
Because he’d gone the fairy-fruit route. “Who’s Gelpack?”
“You’ll meet him later, but be careful. He’s kind of like a clown. You’ll either like him or he’ll haunt your nightmares.” Then Laddin brightened up. “I like him.”
Bruce would lay odds that Laddin liked just about everyone. He had one of those eternally bright personalities Bruce usually hated. “So back to me….”
Laddin sobered. “Yeah. Your brother had a real problem grounding back into his body. That’s the good news.”
“Josh’s problem is good news?”
“Yup, because I paid attention. I know how to help you, but you aren’t going to like it.” He grinned. “Unless you love it. Josh ended up loving it, so there’s no telling—”
“Get to the point!”
“I am!” Laddin huffed as his hand brushed across Bruce’s chest.
Fire spun through Bruce’s body, totally out of proportion to what that simple contact should have created, and he gasped as much in embarrassment as delight.
“Do you think I drape myself all over the first hot stranger I meet?”
Bruce was still in the grips of reaction, his cock suddenly throbbing beneath the sweatpants. “Maybe. I don’t know you,” he growled.
“Well, I don’t. But Josh was all about touch. In the beginning, it was the only way to get him back into his body. Then, later….” Laddin shrugged, his torso rubbing erotically against Bruce’s arm. “Well, he did it by enthusiastic choice afterward.”
Bruce closed his eyes, trying to get a grip on his whirling thoughts. “What are you talking about?”
Laddin tilted his head so that his temple was on Bruce’s shoulder and his mouth was perilously close to Bruce’s jaw. “You need to have an orgasm,” he said. “It’s the fastest way to get into your body. It’s also pretty damn fun, so all in all, it’s not such a bad thing.”
Horror shuddered through Bruce’s body. “You are not going to jerk me off, you perv.”
Laddin reared back. “As if! Mamma mia, I don’t want to touch you any more than you want me to.”
That would have been reassuring, except his dick was screaming, Yes, yes, yes! And if he didn’t miss his guess, Laddin’s sweatpants were tenting, though he’d adjusted his hips to try to hide it.
Meanwhile, Laddin continued to stroke Bruce’s shoulders, the touch growing firmer until it felt more like a massage. And damn it all, Bruce really wanted to close his eyes and feel.
“You need to have a personal moment,” Laddin said gently. “I get that it’s awkward and embarrassing. Believe me, I feel the same way. But you need it, and I can’t leave you alone until you do it.”
“This is bullshit,” Bruce said, though he couldn’t deny the temptation to touch his own dick. “I was fine a few minutes ago. This is just low blood sugar.”
“Uh-huh. Believe me, I was thinking the same thing at first. But it’s been fifteen minut
es since you started drinking. Five since you finished the bottle. Feel any more connected to your body?”
No. If anything, he felt more lightheaded. He could imagine his entire body floating off into a hazy sleep except for the places where Laddin heated his skin. Those spots were warm, happy, and begging for more.
“Something happened to put you into your head. One minute you were all grouchy bear, and suddenly you’re dizzy and can barely lift your arms. Care to tell me what it was?”
He hadn’t a clue.
“Never mind. You need to get on with polishing your knob.”
“Are you twelve?”
“You don’t like that phrase? I’ve got others. ‘Choke the chicken.’ ‘Go fly fishing.’ ‘Liquidate the inventory.’”
“You are a child.”
“And you need to get busy.”
Hell no.
“How about ‘celebrating palm Sunday’? ‘Digital penile oscillation’? ‘Give yourself a low five’?”
“Holy hell, how many of those have you got?”
“You kidding? I went through the LA public school system. I’m just getting started. Like you need to,” he said, pinching Bruce’s taut nipple. And while Bruce bucked in reaction, Laddin kept talking. “You must have done it with your friends when you were a kid. Didn’t all eleven-year-old boys go into a back room and spit-shine their water pump? Yank on the crank and whack the weasel?”
Yeah, so there had been some of that when he’d been young and randy. “We called it ‘visiting Miss Michigan.’” He held up a hand with his fingers together. “Because the state is shaped like a hand.”
“And the UP has that very pointed shape.”
Bruce hadn’t thought about it that deeply, but he supposed it applied. “I had a friend who called it ‘teaching Cyclops the lambada.’”
Laddin tilted his head. “Not bad. Gives it a bit of an international flavor.”
Bruce chuckled. “I think it’s a global phenomenon.”
Laddin grinned as he straightened, moving away from Bruce’s shoulder. “How ya feeling now?”
It took a moment for Bruce to check himself. He remembered the protocol he used to go through as a paramedic, checking a patient’s vitals and doing a head-to-toe inventory. He used it now and was disappointed to realize he felt good. His heartbeat was steady, his breath was even, and his legs and even his toes had heated up.