by Amira Rain
Amy had never liked her hair color, which was a shade that wasn’t quite light brown, but wasn’t quite chocolate brown, either. She’d always gotten highlights done to make her hair “less boring and flat-toned,” as she said, although a couple years earlier, she’d stopped with the highlights because the chemical process had been making her hair too brittle. Now, with the highlights all grown out, I thought her hair looked lovely. It was soft and bouncy, and I thought of the color as “soft brown.”
Still, though, Amy always said she envied my “gorgeous golden blonde,” which was “literally like pancake syrup mixed with honey,” as she described it. As tasty as that sounded, I wasn’t really sure if my hair color merited her waxing so poetic about it, although I did always appreciate the compliments.
When the two shifters reached the car, Amy and I both got out, and the red-haired man spoke first.
“Are you the two women from Moxon, here to join the NSMP?”
Although he was apparently addressing us both, I noticed that his gaze was locked on Amy.
She nodded and spoke with her breath making clouds in the icy air. “Yes. I’m Amy Ellery, and this is my best friend, Kylie Donovan. We both received email notification that we’ve been ‘paired’ with men here in Greenwood. We just received their names, too, if you need them.”
Although it was only mid-November, it was absolutely freezing out, and I began shivering slightly, my hands jammed into my jeans pockets. I kind of wanted to grab my coat from the car and put it on; however, I was currently riveted by watching Amy and the red-haired man.
As if the sandy blond-haired shifter and I didn’t even exist, they were looking deeply into each other’s eyes now, and Amy was shuffling her feet closer to him, whether she realized it or not, like she was being pulled by a magnet. I began silently praying that her prayers mumbled aloud would be answered, and that the red-haired man would indeed somehow turn out to be Lieutenant Trent Mackenzie.
After looking at Amy for a long, silent moment, he said yes, that the names of the men she and I had been ‘paired’ with would be appreciated. Amy said the two names, making clear that I had been ‘paired’ with Commander Grant, and she with Lieutenant Mackenzie. Another long moment went by before the red-haired man spoke again, with his gaze still locked on Amy.
“I’m Lieutenant Mackenzie.”
As if having received some memo stating that long, soap-opera-esque pauses were the order of the day, Amy just looked at him for a second or two before responding. “Well…that’s good. I mean…that’s just fine with me.”
As if he’d received the memo as well, Lieutenant Mackenzie just looked at her for a long moment, appearing to be flushing slightly, before issuing his response. “Well, that’s just fine with me, too. That’s…that’s just fine.”
The sandy-haired shifter suddenly cleared his throat and spoke to Lieutenant Mackenzie. “So, should we ask for their driver’s licenses to confirm that they are actually the two women we’ve been expecting, or….”
“Yes.” Lieutenant Mackenzie suddenly cleared his throat as well, finally pulling his gaze from Amy’s face. “Yes, of course.”
Amy and I got our licenses and presented them to Lieutenant Mackenzie, and after taking a cursory glance at them, he told us that we could call him Mack, then shifted his gaze to Amy, flushing again. “And, I mean…especially you can.”
Flushing herself, which was something I’d only seen her do maybe once or twice during the course of our two decades long friendship, Amy said all right. “Thank you, Mack. And you can call me Amy.”
“All right, Amy. Thank you.”
I was starting to get the feeling that their Mating Union would be one of great success.
They just stared at each other for a long moment until the sandy-haired shifter cleared his throat for the second time. “So, Miss Ellery and Miss Donovan, I suppose the two of you can just keep driving into the village, where the moving company is already waiting in the ‘town square,’ where all our stores and restaurants are. The two of you can then direct the moving of your things into your respective new homes. Mack will meet the two of you at the square and give you both your new addresses. Miss Donovan, I’m not sure at this moment exactly when the commander will be arriving home, but I’ll get word to him that you’re here.”
Immediately upon seeing the two shifters now standing in front of me, I’d just had a feeling that neither of them was Commander Grant, and this feeling had been confirmed when Mack had spoken first, seeming to be some sort of a superior to the sandy-haired shifter. Now, I was relieved to again get confirmation from the sandy-haired shifter himself that he definitely wasn’t my husband-to-be.
It wasn’t that there was anything specifically off-putting about him; it was just that there wasn’t anything specific about him that really “did it” for me, either. He was nice enough looking, I supposed, but he was just kind of nondescript. I certainly didn’t feel like flushing around him, like how Amy was flushing just in response to Mack speaking to her.
She and I soon got back in the car; Mack and the sandy-haired shifter moved the neon orange barricade; and I began driving up the road past it. With her face turned toward my window, Amy gave Mack a little smile, which he returned, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, as if extremely flustered.
Once up the road a little way, I glanced over at Amy, who was staring straight ahead with a little goofy-looking sort of grin on her face. “So…what was that? Was that ‘love at first sight?’”
Breaking into a grin, Amy nodded. “Yeah…for me, anyway, but I hope for Mack, too. I’ve just never looked into a man’s eyes and had my insides rattled like that before. If that’s even a thing. Can a person get their insides rattled? Do you know what I mean?”
I started to say yes, but Amy cut me off.
“At any rate, I hope the same happens for you with Commander Grant. I hope he ‘rattles your insides.’”
In about an hour, he would be “rattling my insides,” although not with “love at first sight.” He’d be “rattling my insides” with anger.
*
Greenwood was the most charming little village I’d ever seen. Hundreds of newly-constructed homes of all different styles and sizes surrounded a “town square” that consisted of an open greenspace and a park, as well as the “commercial district,” with many different little stores, shops, and restaurants. Most of these businesses operated out of one and two-story red brick buildings with plate-glass storefronts, allowing passers-by to see what was inside.
After telling the movers that we’d be just a minute, Mack gave Amy and me a brief “sidewalk tour,” pointing out the village’s little grocery store, the village bar, and a few restaurants. While he did this, he barely took his gaze off Amy, and she barely took hers off him.
When describing the kind of food served inside a particular restaurant, Mack trailed off, seeming to forget what he was saying. He then raked a hand through his thick auburn hair, beet red, apologizing to Amy, then said that her “beautiful eyes” were just “so distracting.” Amy thanked him, smiling and turning beet red herself, something I’d never seen her do.
Soon, after Mack had given me detailed directions to Commander Grant’s house, he and Amy went over to the greenspace, where Mack shifted into his dragon form, large, dark, and scaly. With an expression of awe and pleasure clearly visible on her face, even from fifty or so feet away, Amy began climbing up the side of his body to get to his back.
They were going to fly to Mack’s house, which would soon be their house, with the movers following them there. Then, once they’d unpacked Amy’s things, the movers would come to Commander Grant’s house, where I would be waiting for my things.
After returning the friendly smile and wave of a young woman pushing a blanket-covered stroller along the sidewalk, I got in my car and began driving toward Commander Grant’s house, wondering when I was finally going to meet him. I was glad I’d be “meeting” his house soon enough, anyway. I
hoped the home itself would give me at least a few clues about what kind of a man Commander Grant was.
It soon did, with the first clue being that Commander Grant was the kind of man who liked privacy, or being set apart or something. This was because his house was about a mile away from the town square, nestled deep within the dense woodland that surrounded Greenwood. His nearest neighbor was a good hop away, probably somewhere between a quarter and an eighth of a mile from him. Most of the other homes in the village were closer to the square, situated on large lots bordered by thick trees on all sides behind the square.
After driving up a long, winding, tree-lined dirt driveway, I got my second clue about what kind of a man Commander Grant was. He was the kind of man who not only liked privacy and being set apart, but space as well. He had to, I figured. His house was massive. A rambling white colonial with a wraparound porch, it was so massive that my apartment back in Moxon probably could have fit inside of it ten or fifteen times.
Maybe Commander Grant is the kind of man who built such a large home because he wants to fill it with lots of kids, I thought while parking my car at the top of the drive, thinking that I might not be opposed to “lots” of kids, either, providing that the commander and I got along well. I certainly didn’t want any child of mine to grow up an only child like I had. My growing-up years had been far too lonely.
I received my next clue about what kind of a man Commander Grant was the moment I stepped in the front door. Mack had told me that there was a spare key under the mat, and to just let myself in and make myself at home. So, I did, being immediately greeted by two very rambunctious dogs. Oh, thank you, God, I thought. He’s a dog lover.
Although I knew that bad people of all kinds could and did own dogs, I’d always seen dog lovers as a group as somehow intrinsically good for some reason. As to why I thought this, I really didn’t even know, although maybe I just ascribed some of the positive qualities of the animals themselves onto their owners.
Even though I’d never owned one myself, I’d always loved dogs, and I’d always wanted one. Being a neat freak who didn’t really like animals, my mom had always said no to my requests for one, and then in my adult life, always living in apartment buildings that prohibited dogs had prevented me from owning one. Now, though, it seemed that I’d entered dog heaven.
The more rambunctious of the two was a golden retriever who appeared to be maybe “teenager” age, maybe not far out of puppy years just based on its energy level. The other dog was a black lab, and it wagged its tail furiously, although without yipping and shaking its entire body with enthusiasm like the golden was doing.
However, within just a few seconds, it seemed to simultaneously dawn on both dogs that I was not their owner, and they both brought their enthusiasm down a notch. The golden continued wriggling and tail-wagging but stopped yipping, and the black lab slowed the pace of its tail-wagging and looked up at me with just the vaguest hints of confusion and maybe even fear in its big, dark eyes.
Heart melting, I closed the front door behind me, knelt, and began petting the two dogs, giving one hand to each. “Hi, guys. Hi. I know I’m a stranger, but I’m a friend.”
My petting and words sent the golden into a paroxysm of joy, and it began licking my face, panting and shaking, as if completely overcome by emotion at the prospect of having a new human friend. The black lab shared in some of this joy, and gave my face a few tentative licks as well. Soon laughing, I asked both dogs what they would do if I were a robber, ready to clean out their master’s home.
“The two of you would lead me right to the silver, right?”
The golden paused in climbing up on my lap just long enough to issue a loud, happy-sounding bark, as if to say that yes, he certainly would. The black lab, however, paused in his tail-wagging and turned his gaze to the side, as if my question had caused him to seriously contemplate an answer.
By way of their tags, I soon discovered my two new friends’ names. The golden was Charlie, and the black lab was Shadow. I’d just called them by their names, causing a decided increase in tail-wagging, when my phone dinged with a text alert. After gently pushing Charlie off me, which took some doing, I stood to take my phone out of my jeans pocket, and saw that the text was from Amy.
Mack says he forgot to tell you about the commander’s dogs. Mack says don’t worry- they’re both good boys. He also says that if the golden one won’t settle down, sternly call him Charles, not Charlie, and he usually will. You have to say it in a pretty booming voice, though, according to Mack.
I’d just finished reading this text when another came in from Amy.
Mack says the commander will be home any minute. Mack also says to not worry if the commander seems a little harsh. He’ll come around. Mack is one of his good friends, and he says he’s sure of it.
With Charlie and Shadow happily dancing around my feet, I felt my blood turn to ice. My blood remained feeling ice-cold while I quickly typed out a response and sent it. What the hell does Mack mean when he says the commander might seem “a little harsh?” What does he mean, specifically? Am I entering into a Mating Union with some abusive asshole or something?
Amy quickly responded. Always, Ky. You always think of the worst possible scenario.
I sighed, realizing that she wasn’t exactly wrong. I did sometimes tend to “disaster-ize” things, although I took issue with the assertion that I did this “always.”
Amy soon sent me another response. I have to go direct the movers. Good luck. I think things are going to work out just fine for both of us. We’ll text more later.
I’d just pocketed my phone when I heard the door beginning to open just behind me. I turned just in time to see the door open, and there he was. Commander Grant. Only the most devastatingly attractive man I’d ever seen in my life.
CHAPTER FIVE
Standing a few inches over six feet tall, and with thick, dark hair, beautiful gray eyes, and a square, masculine jaw, Commander Matthew Grant was “tall, dark, and handsome” personified. This description didn’t even cover his physique, though. Even though he was wearing a coat, a quick up-and-down glance told me that Commander Grant had an incredible body, with broad shoulders, and long, muscular legs, to go with his handsome looks. Because his coat was unzipped, I could even see the outline of a six-pack through the thin fabric of the black sweater he was wearing.
I had only a moment to size him up before the dogs went into a frenzy, both jumping up and down and barking, getting in between Commander Grant and me.
Closing the door on the blast of icy November air rushing in behind him, he began roughly petting both the dogs, telling them to settle down, although his petting and his voice only wound them up further. Trying to lick Commander Grant’s hands, Shadow wagged his tail so hard against the wall that it honestly sounded painful. Barking and whining, Charlie began doing a series of little jumps, as if wanting to jump right up into the commander’s arms.
It wasn’t long before the commander knelt and took Charlie’s golden-furred little face in his strong, long-fingered hands. “That’s enough, Charlie. Do you hear me? I’m glad to see you, too, but that’s enough.”
The commander’s voice was deep and mostly clear-toned, although it held just a hint of gravel. It was a wholly masculine voice, and it caused a second wave of butterflies in my stomach. I’d experienced the first wave when first setting eyes on Commander Grant.
In response to what he’d said to Charlie, Charlie just became even more worked up, wriggling, barking, and licking at the commander’s hands furiously.
Drawing his dark brows closer together, the commander “barked” back. “Charles! I said that’s enough!”
Charlie suddenly stilled and quieted, panting, although just for a moment or two, before leaping up on the commander, paws right on his shoulders. He then began to lick his face, his voluminous golden tail wagging wildly. Scowling, the commander heaved a sigh, seeming resigned to letting Charlie welcome him home in the way that Charli
e seemed determined to. At the same time, Shadow continued welcoming the commander home, too, although in a more subdued way, panting happily by his side and issuing a quiet bark every now and again.
After letting Charlie freely love on him just briefly, the commander pushed him off, stood, and began brushing the golden fur off the front of his sweater, glancing up at me. “You must be Kylie Donovan.”
He didn’t sound exactly thrilled.
I answered his question in the affirmative. “And you must be Commander Matthew Grant.”
“I am.” Without even glancing at me again, he removed his thick black coat and hung it on a wooden hook by the door. “You can call me Matt, if you’d like.”
I didn’t know what I would like at present. I maybe would have liked for Matt to be friendlier.
“All right. And you can call me Kylie, if you’d like.”
A grunt was Matt’s only response, and he began striding out of the foyer, gruffly telling me to follow him. “We’ll get the dogs some bones so they’ll settle down.”
Shadow was already pretty well “settled,” but Charlie was another story, trotting beside Matt’s heavy black boots so closely that he was nearly tripping him.
Feeling distinctly unwelcome, I followed Matt and the dogs out to the kitchen, where he got two small rawhide bones from a cupboard and told the dogs to sit. Shadow immediately did, but the sight of the bones sent Charlie into a frenzy again. Yipping with joy, he began doing a series of leaps, leaping higher each and every time Matt commanded him to sit.
Clearly frustrated, Matt told him to look at Shadow. “See how he’s sitting? Now, you sit, too, if you want a bone.”
As if he could understand Matt perfectly, Charlie looked at Shadow, panting, then shifted his gaze back to Matt. Right before leaping the highest he had yet, barking loudly.