Dark of Night

by T. F. Walsh

  “See,” Curtis said, “definitely not angry. Antsy. He’s cooped up and wants to play. Probably jealous of the attention we’re giving our timid friend. Too bad for him because I think Mr. Shy there is coming home with me.” The mutt rolled over on his back. “And that’s about as submissive as you get. When a dog shows you its belly and throat, you know for sure you’re in charge.” To the mutt, he said, “Beg all you want, I’m not letting you out.”

  While Curtis chatted up the playful mutt, Izzy read the tag fixed to the husky’s cage where someone had scrawled information in blue, looping script. The staff had named him Nook and he’d been rescued from an abusive home.

  “What do you see?” Curtis rested his chin on her shoulder.

  “His former owner was abusive.”

  “That explains a lot. Let’s see if the shelter will let us spend some time with him.”

  The cheery volunteer brought them to a smaller, quieter room with a bench attached to one wall and a few dog toys — squeaky balls and a length of knotted rope — scattered over the floor. She warned them Nook didn’t always take to strangers and not to get discouraged if he wasn’t ultra social.

  “What did his last owner do to him?” Izzy asked.

  Expression shuttering, the girl retrieved a leash hanging from a hook. “Kept him in a tiny, squalid yard tied to a metal stake. The hair around his neck is still thin from straining against the rope. When he’d get loose, he’d dig under the fence to get out, and when his owner found him he’d beat on him. Some new neighbors called animal control. Poor baby had a couple broken ribs when he came to us. He’s not the most outgoing little guy, but he’s a softy once he gets used to you.” The pleading undercurrent was evident in her tone. She really wanted Nook to get a home.

  “He bite at all?” Curtis asked.

  The volunteer pursed her lips. “He nipped at a few of us at first, but we spent a lot of time with him every day. He hasn’t taken a chomp at anyone in a month, but I’ll be watching. If he’s super skittish I’ll take him back.”

  “Right,” Izzy said when the volunteer left the room. “Nook bites.” She fretted with the right sleeve of her robe sweater.

  “Give him a chance.” Curtis took a seat on the built in bench.

  The door swung open and Nook padded in, hugging close to the girl’s leg and whining. She unhooked him from her lead and gave his ruff a light stroke.

  “I’ll be right outside,” she said and closed them in with Nook, who hunched low to the floor as far from Curtis and Izzy as he could get. There was a clicking noise and the top half of the playroom’s door swung inward, creating a window so others could monitor their activity.

  Spreading his legs, Curtis slapped the inside of his thigh and whistled. Nook’s ears perked and twitched in the sound’s direction, but he didn’t come. Curtis dropped one hand between his legs and snapped. When the dog didn’t budge, he made a low noise in his throat — the sound gave Izzy the chills — he promptly cut off with a shake of his head, but the damage was done. Nook’s ears went back and he flattened against the floor, pressing himself to the wall and whimpering when Curtis stood.

  “What was that?” Izzy hopped in the space Curtis vacated and tucked her feet onto the seat. Nook wasn’t exactly an agro-beast but, a dog was a dog and the more distance between her and him the better.

  Curtis pinched his Adam’s apple. “Lost patience.” His rough voice rumbled like he’d spent a night shooting whiskey over gravel. Already spooked by her surroundings, the sound that had come from Curtis struck Izzy as bestial. It had sounded like he’d growled at Nook, but that wasn’t possible. Curtis coughed and cleared his throat and moved to the door. The husky tracked his movements as he exited into the hall and closed the lower half of the partition.

  • • •

  What the hell happened?

  Curtis hadn’t been that out of control of Clear-Skies since he’d first inherited his father’s wolf at twenty-five. Usually, the wolf spirit made himself unobtrusive until Curtis needed him. When he did need him, Clear-Skies permeated his being, suffused his bone and tissue with quicksilver spirit and changed him from man into monstrous wolf. Then Curtis became the small flame flickering within the beast, a human soul directing a force of nature. Only twice during the course of their symbiosis had the spirit overcome Curtis’s dominance. When the mantle of the wolf descended upon him after his father’s death, Curtis lost control. His mind couldn’t cope with the spirit’s intrusion. The wolf dominated him. Trapped in his bestial form, he raged and attacked his pack mates. Thomas overpowered Curtis and, under threat of death, had his Beta sequestered until he could control his wolf. Curtis mastered the wild spirit. The second lapse in his control occurred when he challenged Thomas for Izzy’s life.

  Technically, no one could act against the pack leader. The spirit, human souls included, bowed to the Alpha. Personal will determined spiritual dominance. Those most sure of themselves, their position in the world, and their individual power became Alphas. But the position wasn’t permanent. If a pack mate’s will exceeded their leader’s one of three things could happen: the Alpha could peaceably concede the rank; the challenger could split from his or her pack and form a new one; or the Alpha and challenger entered combat and the one left breathing assumed leadership.

  Stirrings of discontent in pack hierarchy stirred malcontent in the collective spirit of the pack, and Curtis and Thomas had butted heads for a long time. It made Clear-Skies unruly, so that a frightened hound unheeding of an unfamiliar hand triggered a very wolfish, a very Alpha, dominance display.

  Closing his eyes, Curtis thudded his head against the wall. He opposed Thomas and his plan to lure Rapid out, and Curtis’s will concerning Izzy was quite strong. Beta or not, he couldn’t change the depth and strength of his desire.

  The wall propped up Curtis’s slumped weight. He waved the volunteer away when she made to approach. He didn’t trust himself not to lash out. Not with Clear-Skies a blue wash rippling just below his skin, so close to initiating the change and taking over. Hyper aware of his body, he felt the microscopic expansion of each pore and its accompanying contraction, the currents of circulated air passing through the black hairs covering his arms.

  Easy friend, easy, he inwardly addressed his wolf. There is no danger here to us or Izzy. No enemy. No one challenges our will.

  Even his inner monologue sounded like a burgeoning Alpha’s. The Tavella wolves had treated him like one when he’d paid his visit, answering his questions without hesitation and offering their hospitality. They knew nothing of coming enemies or darkness, but they’d heard a rumor or two, mentioned an old wolf in Arizona who rambled to anyone who’d listen about how the wolves had strayed from their duties. Might be worth a trip west when local pack business resolved.

  One of the female wolves he’d visited had listened to his Izzy woes — that he wanted more time with her and to help with her animal phobias — and she’d suggested the animal shelter. She, too, volunteered there and if she got an adoption out of an unconventional date, she’d be pleased. A sound idea, since Petey, the hyperactive ruffian, really did need a brother and Izzy might benefit from a jaunt around some animals that couldn’t get to her without someone unlocking their cages.

  Curtis pushed off the wall and shook his tingling hands. His wolf had receded some and he’d come out of the danger zone. A smiling staffer came his way with a cup of water he gratefully accepted and an offer of coffee or soda he declined. He indulged her light conversation. The pleasant chatter helped reign in Clear-Skies and soon he felt fully human and the master of his faculties.

  • • •

  Izzy started to uncurl from the bench when a chuffing wuff from across the playroom rooted her to her seat. It was a Siberian standoff.

  Nook sat again, his belly no longer kissing the tile. His frosty blue eyes assessed her, and when she
met them, he didn’t shy toward the wall. Was that a good thing? She couldn’t remember if direct eye contact with an animal was good or bad, but Nook didn’t turn aggressive. He looked away first, gave another wuff like a quiet belch, and did the hokey pokey with one paw, placing it forward, then drawing it back.

  Nook wasn’t loud. He didn’t run around or jump up. Izzy liked that. She didn’t like how fearful he seemed. That he’d been hurt without cause, crippled in his own way. He didn’t deserve it.

  Slowly, Izzy eased herself to the tile floor and positioned her legs in a wide vee. She rubbed the floor between her knees with her left hand and dusty grime accumulated on her fingertips. Nook’s head bobbed and he stretched his muzzle in her direction and sniffed. Puckering her lips, she made kissy noises and patted the floor. Nook obeyed her summons and darted forward.

  Startled at the sudden reaction, Izzy jumped back and Nook froze, looking from her to the wall as though unsure of his place. What did she expect when she sent such mixed messages? With her left hand, she reached out and Nook skittered back, whining a little. She kept still and left her arm outstretched.

  “Noo-ook.” Izzy sung his name in a two-note melody and rubbed her fingers together like she had a treat.

  Air hissed through Nook’s nostrils and he shook himself. Inching closer, he sniffed at Izzy’s hand. She itched to give him a comforting pat and prove she wasn’t a threat, but she didn’t. Patience rewarded her.

  Nook took the final step and nudged Izzy’s hand, licking her fingers and getting a good whiff of her scent. She let him investigate for a while before petting him. At her movement he retreated, dancing away and then re-approaching. When he came near enough, she placed her hand between his flattening ears and scratched. Eventually, he relaxed and soaked up the attention.

  Izzy ran her hand over Nook’s head and back. A ring of thin hair and tough skin circled his neck. He squeaked when her fingers brushed that spot and she stiffened.

  “I’m sorry,” she said and dropped her arm.

  Nook followed her hand and pushed his head under it. Soundly corrected, Izzy caressed him. His ears were so soft. They slipped through her hand when she stroked them. With a large yawn — she swallowed at his many sharp teeth — he stretched out between her legs and rested his head on her thigh. He was a pleasant warmth beside her, like Curtis had been sprawled next to her in bed.

  “Wow.” Curtis’s voice drew Izzy’s attention. He and the volunteer leaned on the half-partition, observing the cozy scene. “Looks like someone made a friend.”

  Izzy made a face. “You think?”

  “Affirmative,” Curtis said. “Sit tight you two.”

  Curtis entered the playroom and Nook went on high alert. His head lifted, his ears perked and when Curtis stepped next to Izzy, the dog’s upper lip curled and the beginnings of a growl started in his throat.

  “Easy boy,” Curtis said and brushed the back of his hand over Izzy’s cheek. Nook’s growling ratcheted up, but as she leaned into Curtis’s touch — his ease radiating through her — the dog quieted and lowered into her lap. He watched Curtis with guarded blue eyes.

  Accompanying Izzy on the floor, Curtis put his arm around her. Every ten minutes or so, he tried petting Nook. After forty, the dog allowed it.

  “His last owner must have been a big guy,” Izzy said, wondering what it was about Curtis that Nook didn’t like.

  “He and I will have lots of time for get-to-know-you. Unless you want to adopt him, that is.”

  “Not quite ready for that. My complex is pet free anyhow.”

  “Then he’ll have to settle for Keene property. Good thing huskies dig wide open spaces.”

  Nook answered with his cough-like wuff and thumped his tail on the floor when Curtis scratched behind his ears.

  • • •

  Meat sizzled in the pan Curtis manipulated on Izzy’s tiny stove. Perched on the counter to his left, she steadied a mixing bowl filled with half-smashed potatoes, milk, and butter. She rotated her left wrist, her hand cramping with the mashing she’d accomplished.

  “That’s at least two meals for me,” she said as Curtis spatulaed her steak onto a cooling plate. Red juices pooled in the black porcelain. “And we need some leafy greens to go with all these proteins, carbs, and fats.”

  “Green? Blarg.” An exaggerated shudder shook Curtis’s shoulders. “No leaves. No pods. More flesh.”

  “Then what are you having for a side dish?”

  “Mmm … bacon?”

  “Steak with a side of bacon?”

  “Fantastic idea, Isabelle. Pass the pork.”

  “You’re serious?” Izzy picked up her work again. Sloppy potato mixture wormed through triangular openings in the masher.

  “Deadly.” He pointed the spatula at her throat like a blade. “Tell me where you’re holding the pork and no one gets hurt.”

  “Fridge, meat drawer, lower right.”

  Curtis snatched the utensil away and eyed her suspiciously as he rummaged in the fridge. Twenty minutes later, steak and a stack of bacon sat on his plate alongside a hillock of mashed potatoes covered in shredded cheddar. Izzy halved the meat he’d prepared for her, spooned some of her mash next to it and decided to forego toppings. They sat together at the circular table next to the large window dominating the east wall. Curtains and sheers open, the starry night sky over the neighboring luxury condos added an elegant touch to their homey meal.

  “When I come down next weekend,” Curtis said around a cheek full of steak, “you want to come back up to the lodge with me?”

  Izzy’s fork clanked against her plate. Her throat constricted and she had trouble swallowing the morsel of beef she chewed.

  “Nook’s comfortable with you,” he went on, advocating his case for her visit. “The more he sees me with you, the more comfortable he’ll get with me.”

  The relatively simple adoption process took about an hour, a few questions, a little paperwork, and a checkup for Nook who wasn’t fixed. Curtis didn’t want him breeding any strays. Scheduled for Tuesday, the operation would be quick with recovery slated for Friday, just in time for pick up and transport to DeConing.

  “I’ll think about it,” Izzy said. “It depends how much progress my soloists make.” She gave the safest answer. The invite threw her off guard and her immediate response was “Yes, yes, yes, yes, a billion times, yes!” That couldn’t be healthy. Time without him would give her perspective and she could hash out this whole mess with Dr. Turner. “Did you take care of all your business in town today? You looked pissed in your car this morning.” She didn’t bother with subtlety in her conversational shift.

  When Curtis answered he kept his eyes on his food. “Lodge management BS. My business was seeing you, a few local friends, and snagging a new bud for Petey. Mission accomplished.” He flashed her that smile that begged for reciprocation.

  “Problems at the lodge?” Izzy asked. Her mouth curled up to match his. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t be a serious fuddy-duddy around him.

  “Aren’t there always. Spending a weekend away brings all that crap to the forefront.” Curtis’s gaze grew distant. He appeared almost desolate. “I wish I could spend more time away.”

  “You can’t delegate?”

  “I wish I could,” he said.

  Dinner was delicious if imbalanced. Curtis couldn’t do eggs, but prepared dinner like a chef. Taking care of herself wasn’t a problem for Izzy, but food wise she was limited to meals with less than four uncomplicated steps. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a real dinner, side dishes and everything, in her apartment. If it wasn’t salad with baked chicken breast on top, it was something she ate at a restaurant.

  “The steak was great,” Izzy said while she rinsed their plates. Hot water rushed over her hand and pink liquid dish soap scent
ed the steamy air with flowers. “Did you enjoy your meat and meat?”

  Curtis’s hands appeared on the counter at Izzy’s sides, his arms trapping her in place. She felt him at her back, his breath on her neck when he spoke.

  “One of my physical appetites is wholly satisfied.” He nipped at her neck and a tremor passed through her like a ripple over water.

  “You have a lot of appetites,” she said.

  “At times I am a product of my hungers and I give them free reign.” Curtis shut off the tap. Water pattered from the faucet into the sink’s steel bowl, thunderously loud in the loaded silence. Curtis turned Izzy to him and her damp rag plopped on the floor. He placed a line of soft, questioning kisses along her jaw. She answered those questions when her mouth found his. How could she deny him when he did such wonderful things to her body? Would he stay the night again? What her heart needed from him was at utter odds with rational behavior.

  Running her left hand through his hair, Izzy flecked her tongue at his lips before he slid his between hers. Arms wrapped around her and his palms traveled to her ass, which he squeezed. Then he lifted her onto the counter. With his hips, he knocked her legs wide and filled that space with his bulk, grinding against her, thrusting as though nothing, save skin, separated them.

  Desperately, they tore at each other. One hand Curtis clamped over the back of Izzy’s neck while the other slipped beneath her tank top and up to knead her breast. Her nipples stood out against the fabric of bra and shirt. She wanted to reach down and squeeze the cock riding against her sex, making her damp and ready, but she couldn’t, not with his mouth and body bearing down on hers, pushing her back toward the sink. The faucet prodded her back. Reaching her strong arm over his shoulder and back, she anchored herself to him.

  Breaking away, Curtis said, “Hold onto me,” and hoisted her off the counter. Izzy gripped his hips with her legs and circled her arms around his neck as he carried her to the bedroom.

  Tumbling Izzy onto the bed, Curtis did away with her shirt and jeans, tossing everything in a sloppy pile in the corner. He added his own shirt to the top of the heap and climbed onto the mattress, getting her out of her harness.