by Jade Carr
"Do you hate me for what she and I did?" Hah-Tee asked.
"I don't know what I feel."
"Neither do I."
Hah-Tee had to deal with that on his own, something Nokoni wasn't sure the younger shifter had enough human experience to handle. Reality was, Nokoni could tap into Terena's emotions in ways Hah-Tee couldn't.
Yes, her emotions. The part of her that highlighted her as a human being and a woman. Her body challenged him in exciting ways, but her physical form was only part of why he'd been unable to shake off her impact.
Hah-Tee snorted and shifted his hindquarters so his legs were farther apart. The smell of his arousal chased away the desert's aromas. Damn it, he didn't want Hah-Tee here! Today should be about Terena and him.
Yamka's pinto was one of the laziest horses she'd ever ridden, making Terena wonder if her old friend had deliberately chosen the safest mount he had. If that was the case, she'd set Yamka straight.
At the moment, though, she wasn't sure she could conjure up enough indignation to give him a piece of her mind. Between the plodding pinto and the serene setting, she wished she could simply exist. She'd been lonely a lot lately, not truly comfortable in her own skin, for lack of a better explanation. Feeling as if she was off balance in the world was why she'd told the news media she worked for that she was going to take some unpaid time off. She couldn't say she was more in tune with her skin today, but it didn't matter so much.
That was it, she concluded as the pinto started plodding up one of the countless rises. Getting laid twice recently had been exactly what she'd needed. Maybe not everything she needed, but a hell of a lot better than solitary nights with her sad collection of sex toys.
Her back ached, which reminded her of how long it had been since she'd been on horseback. As she'd done more times than she wanted to admit, she straightened and rolled her head. She was out of shape, darn it, not that Nokoni and Hah-Tee had minded.
Nokoni. Hah-Tee.
Something closed around her spine. The sensation flowed over her pelvis and reached her pussy. She tried to tell herself that having her legs apart for so long was responsible for what she was feeling, but the explanation didn't hold. She'd been riding more than an hour. If the shifters were out there, wouldn't they have revealed themselves to her by now?
Maybe Nokoni had run Hah-Tee off, or something had happened to them.
No. It wasn't that because they had everything to do with this heightened awareness.
The lightest touch on the reins was all it took to get the pinto to stop. Terena dismounted and did a series of deep knee bends. She took the canteen Yamka had given her and drank. She shouldn't stay out here much longer if she wanted transportation back home, which she did.
Home.
She paid rent on a Phoenix apartment but spent little time there and didn't know any of her neighbors. Every month she debated whether it made sense to continue paying rent, but she needed to keep her belongings somewhere. Not that said possessions meant that much to her.
Weary of so much self-directed thought, she debated on whether she should scramble up a steep slope. It would probably give her a better view of her surroundings, but it seemed like too much effort. She decided instead to leave the horse tied to a bush while she stretched her legs. If the shifters approached her, so be it. And if not—
Hoof prints in the packed earth caught her attention. Thanks to her uncle, she'd learned a bit about tracking, but even if she hadn't, she would have known these marks had been left by unshod horses.
She looked in the direction the prints headed. Instead of following them, however, she remained where she was.
"Are you here?" she asked. "Both of you?"
She prepared herself to hear nothing. In truth, things would be easier if she didn't. Just the same, she strained to hear anything beyond the wind and her heart. Things were so peaceful here. Why couldn't she just appreciate the day for what it was?
Because her body wouldn't let her.
And because two horses were heading her way.
Hand at her throat, she stared. The stallions walked with purpose, yet there was nothing hurried about their approach. They were far enough apart from each other for the space to register. From what she could see, neither sported fresh wounds, which hopefully meant they hadn't been fighting.
Behind her, the pinto whinnied and stomped his hooves. "Easy, easy," she crooned. "They won't hurt you."
"Are you sure?"
Startled, she covered her throat. "Nokoni, is that you?"
"Yes."
"What are you saying?"
"That you don't know us well enough to promise what you just did."
"You're right," she admitted, her nerve endings snapping. "I don't know you except in one way, but I want to."
"So do we."
Fearing vulnerable, she forced her arms down by her sides. Maybe the time would come when she didn't think of the pair as incredible works of nature, but not now. The sun highlighted each muscle on the pair's perfect bodies. In addition to being larger, Nokoni was slightly darker than Hah-Tee, but what held her attention the most was their chests. The eagle markings, which were as white as new snow, covered most of their chests with the wings spilling onto their shoulders. Both animals had deep chests, and their rumps were densely muscled. She ached to press her hand against them so she could feel every movement. Most impressive were the strong, hard-as-stone hindquarters. These two could outrun or fight any other horse.
"You like what you're seeing?"
"I'd have to be dead not to." She wiped her sweating hands on her thighs. "Are you going to change?"
"We'll be naked."
Fresh sweat dampened her palms and other places. "Do you really think I'd mind?"
"I don't know." Nokoni sighed. "There are many things about humans I don't understand."
"Maybe I can help."
"That's why we're here."
"Then change so we can…talk."
"Talk isn't the only thing you want."
"You either."
Two upper lips rolled back in classic horse smiles. The stallion that was Nokoni began to shiver. The shuddering movement increased in tempo and strength.
"Do it," she managed. "Oh, yes, do it."
The potent body supported by long, strong legs began to shrink. No, she amended, not shrink so much as fold in upon itself. It didn't matter that she'd seen the transformation before. She was just as awed as the first time. Maybe more so because, as Nokoni had warned her, he wore nothing.
The thick, black tail shrank and disappeared. He tucked his hindquarters under him and reared. As he did, his front legs slipped away to be replaced by a strong man's arms. A horse's head gave way to the angular features already burned into her brain.
There he was, Nokoni, his flesh painted by genetics and the sun. His broad, straight shoulders and solid chest echoed the strength in the animal he'd been. She noted sinewy hips and potent thighs. Positioned the way he was, she couldn't see his buttocks, but his cock, yes, it was ready for her.
She melted, became less. Not caring whether she would survive, she continued to stare. Then Hah-Tee began the same transformation, and it took everything she had in her not to cry out. The pinto tossed her head. White showed in her eyes.
"What are you doing here?" Nokoni asked.
"Looking for you." This was her time, her pleasure, her fantasy and reality. The greatest challenge she'd ever faced.
"That's not what I'm talking about."
Nokoni folded his arms across his chest, making his shoulder muscles flex and tighten and shredding her mind.
"He asked you a question." Hah-Tee spoke for the first time. "What are you doing here?"
"I don't know what you want me to say."
Nokoni nodded. "I'm just learning what it means to be human and he—" He nodded at Hah-Tee—"knows even less. One thing I do know is that I'll need a job so I can support myself, maybe a career. You don't have anyone paying your bills, and yet
you've been here for days. What did you leave behind? What do you have to go back to?"
I don't know if I can go back. "It doesn't matter." Her attempt at a smile didn't succeed.
"How do you earn a living?"
"Didn't I tell you? I'm a photojournalist." Trying not to look at two dark, thick erections was almost more than her still-splintered mind could handle.
"That sounds like two things."
"I guess it does, but it isn't. I write articles and illustrate them with photographs I've taken."
"Where is your camera?"
"I didn't bring it because I didn't know I was coming out here."
"What are you writing these days?"
"Nothing."
The pair exchanged a glance. "Why not?"
"I'm taking a break. I thought I'd made that clear."
"Why?"
For all she knew, someone was watching this exchange via binoculars. If so, they'd see a woman talking to two naked men who could pass as weight lifters. What that person wouldn't know was how hard she found it to be to answer Nokoni's question.
"A number of reasons." She retraced her steps to where she'd left the mare. After stroking the excited animal's forehead, she turned around. Not looking at the men for a few seconds hadn't done enough to restore her equilibrium. In fact, the respite had loosened something inside her, something more important than staring at two naked bodies and taking things to the next physical level.
"You want answers," she said, "because you're thinking this might help you, ah, make the transition to the other half of what you are."
Nokoni nodded. "That's part of it. The other is because I care about you."
"So do I." Hah-Tee's words were clipped, and he glared at Nokoni.
"Thank you for saying that." She hurried her words in an attempt to defuse the tension. "Everyone needs to know someone else is invested in them. I understand loneliness, in part because much of what I do takes me to people who are in crises. They feel isolated."
She paused while waiting for any indication that the men were listening to her and not just focused on their complex relationship. After a moment, they nodded. "I go where there have been tornadoes, earthquakes, hurricanes. Sometimes it's something small, like a parent losing a child or a husband whose wife has just died." Memories piled inside her, forcing her to clasp her hands together. The shifters came closer but made no attempt to touch her. Right now, that was what she needed if she was going to be able to continue.
"Not everything I write about is about people in crises, thank goodness, or I would have quit a long time ago."
"You quit your job?" Nokoni asked.
"No. I just… I'm taking a break."
Hah-Tee had contributed little since revealing himself. She wondered if the conversation was beyond his ability to comprehend, that his journey to becoming a man had that much farther to go—all except for the physical part.
"I'm good at what I do. I've won several awards, and many times the news service I work for calls me first when they want something covered. It can be a heady experience."
"Heady?" Hah-Tee asked.
"An ego boost. I was proud of what I produced, and it made all the work worth it when others complimented me." She didn't really want to talk about herself, she wanted to touch. Experience. But the men needed what she could give them.
"I can't remember when I picked up my first camera. Losing myself in photography allowed me to forget some of the things that were going on in my life." As childhood memories surfaced, she stared beyond Nokoni and Hah-Tee to the horizon. She might be mistaken but thought there were several horses out there. "My aunt and uncle encouraged me to express myself in writing. The two skills, if that's what they are, came together, and here I am."
Nokoni held out his big, dark hand. After a moment, she placed hers in it. Need tingled from the point of contact. Judging by his flaring nostrils, he felt the same thing.
"You're here," he said. "Not at work."
Hearing the question behind his words, she nodded. At the same time, concerned that Hah-Tee might not approve of the hand contact, she glanced at him. Hah-Tee was looking at the intertwined fingers, but she saw no anger in his expression. If anything, he was envious.
And isolated.
Chapter 17
Something I've learned about what I do," Terena began, "is that a crisis brings people together. Neighbors who barely nodded at each other open their homes, pocketbooks, and hearts. When people lose everything, including the roofs over their heads, they learn that possessions mean nothing next to their loved ones. If family members are safe, that's the important thing."
She paused to see if the men had grasped what she was saying. They looked a little confused, not that she blamed them. After all, neither probably knew who their parents were. Most likely they couldn't identify their siblings and saw their offspring as little more than responsibilities. Soon Nokoni would step into a world where the people in it were more important than the food in his belly, more essential than sex.
"It's been coming on for a while," she continued. Her fingers were becoming numb from Nokoni's grip, but she didn't try to pull away. "The sense that I'm on the outside looking in. What truly hit me upside the head—"
"You were hit in the head?" Hah-Tee asked.
Stifling the urge to laugh, she chewed on her lower lip. "It's an expression, one of many you're going to have to try to make sense of. What it means is…" Darn it, she'd been about to say something about a lightbulb going on. "Something happened that made me realize no matter how much I might empathize with people, I can't truly feel what they are."
"What was it?" Nokoni asked.
She pulled free and massaged her hand. "I was in eastern Oregon doing research for an article on how a new law intended to insure livestock safety was impacting ranchers. There'd hardly been any rain that winter, and residents of the small town had to conserve water. Then a wildfire started, and—"
"How did it start?"
"Careless hikers. Damn stupid hikers, more like it. Because of the wind and dry conditions, the fire exploded." Despite her growing agitation, she forced herself to continue. "People barely had time to jump in their vehicles and leave. Some managed to grab their pets but not all. Ten families lost their homes."
"How did they react?" Hah-Tee asked.
"Damn, how do you think they reacted?" Nokoni demanded.
"I don't know. That's why I'm asking. I need to understand these things."
"He does," she said, determined to stop the argument before it became worse. "Some people broke down, but many just stood there, staring at what was left. I offered my sympathy, even hugged some of them, but they barely acknowledged me."
She opened her mouth to continue, but nothing came out. The shifters might not understand what she was going through. She felt disloyal talking about the people whose homes had burned. More to the personal point, she wished she could keep her own emotions under wraps, but maybe that was what they most needed to hear.
"Except for a couple of reporters from the local newspaper, I was the first journalist on the scene. It didn't matter to the victims that I was already there on another story, they saw—they saw me as someone who was trying to make money off their tragedy."
Hah-Tee frowned while Nokoni nodded.
"It's human nature," she told Hah-Tee. "A protective mechanism, something to focus on to take their minds off the nightmare. I tried to tell them that my interviewing them wasn't so I could get a scoop, but in part, it was."
"What are you talking about?" Hah-Tee asked. Hokoni's expression said he didn't understand either. Knowing the shifters needed her to paint a clear picture of what it meant to be human made it easier to continue.
"The public can't get enough of human-interest stories. We're all voyeurs, and the media feeds that insatiable need for the sensational." She felt dirty admitting that. "I was on the ground floor of something people all over the country would want to read about, but in order for me t
o make the story compelling, I had to get ten families to bleed."
"Bleed?"
She wanted to hug Hah-Tee. He had a man's body, but beneath that, he was an innocent in many ways. "Not literally. But what sells are close-ups of a couple holding on to each other with the charred ruins of their home in the background." She felt worn-out. Done in. "I did what I get paid for, but it made me sick."
"I'm sorry."
Meeting Nokoni's gaze, she couldn't remember when two words had meant more. She wanted to tell him and Hah-Tee about her dysfunctional parents and the holes even her aunt and uncle's love hadn't been able to fully fill. Instead, she went back in time so she could finish what she'd begun and give them what they needed.
"At the end of the first day, I returned to my motel room while those ten families gathered at a church that had been opened so they'd have a place to stay. Early the next morning, I went there because I wanted to get to the people before the reporters who were flying in did. That way, I'd have pictures of parents and children waking up with the aftermath of what they'd endured etched on their faces."
Nokoni's arms went around her, and he pulled her against his sun-heated body. She wasn't sure how he'd gotten so close. Hah-Tee brushed her hair back from her face.
"Right then, you didn't like being who you were, did you?" Hah-Tee asked.
"No, I didn't. I found—when I walked into the church, there was this little girl standing in the middle of all those cots. She was wobbly and kept falling on her diapered bottom. Everyone was laughing and crying, watching her learn to walk." Her throat constricted. "The families had lost everything. They didn't know when or how they'd be able to change their clothes, but for a few minutes, the only thing that mattered was sharing one of life's signature moments."
"You must have felt as if you were part of that," Nokoni said.
Distracted by the rumble in his chest and the press of his cock against her belly, she struggled to concentrate. "Yes and no. I wasn't trying to crawl out of a cot. I didn't have to wait my turn at the only bathroom or stand in line for the breakfast the church women had made. I, ah, I hadn't read the little girl's birth announcement. I'd be gone long before the rebuilding began."