Crying for the Moon

by Sarah Madison

  Alex swallowed hard and nodded in agreement. “Right.”

  He hoped he was doing the right thing for Peter. He really did. But what choice did he have?

  “Okay,” Tate said firmly, in the tone of one making the best of a bad situation. “I can’t tell you how seriously he’s hurt at the moment. Shock can make you look like you’re at death’s door, but once it’s reversed, he might not be as injured as we think. I do need to get him warmed up and explore these wounds a bit, make sure that none of them penetrate into his body at all. Some of them need sutures, and we need to do that before he rouses much. I can’t do any sort of sedation—it’s not allowed under my license. I don’t even carry the drugs.”

  Alex nodded uselessly again.

  “Just for the record here,” Tate added with a raised eyebrow. “As far as I’m concerned, every animal in this room is a husky cross. Crossed with what, I won’t speculate. Let’s just say I hope no one gets bitten because the health department will have a meltdown.”

  The health department would be the least of our worries if someone gets bitten here tonight, Alex thought. Aloud, he said, “Right. Husky mixes.”

  Nick shot him an amazingly indignant look and narrowed his green eyes. It must have been his imagination, but Alex thought he heard Tate smother a small snort.

  “Right,” Tate said, all business again. “Do you have a bathtub where we can shift, um, Shaggy? I need to rinse off all this blood so I can see what’s going on and we can use the water to warm him up as well.”

  Alex had almost forgotten that “Shaggy” was what he’d named Peter. “Yes, yes, of course. I’ll grab some towels and some more blankets.”

  Alex watched Tate work to stabilize and assess Peter’s condition. He efficiently clipped and prepped a spot on Peter’s foreleg and installed an IV catheter, directing Alex to tear off strips of adhesive tape and hand them to him as he taped it in place. Together they carried Peter into the bathroom and lowered him into the tub. Tate commented on Alex’s strength with a smile, adding, “Remind me to take you rock climbing sometime.”

  When Tate reached for the removable showerhead and used it to hose off Peter’s chest and shoulders, he murmured, “I love these things.” The smile he gave Alex was decidedly seductive.

  Nick shoved his head over the edge of the tub to view the proceedings, causing Tate to quip, “The solution to pollution is dilution.” He spoke to Nick as though the wolf could understand him. Alex suspected that it was habitual on Tate’s part. He continued to direct the water over Peter’s wounds, washing away the bits of hair and leaf litter embedded within the flaps of torn skin.

  They got soaked hauling Peter out of the tub and back into the bedroom again. His wounds continued to ooze, but were no longer bleeding heavily. His gums looked terribly pale to Alex, as though he were a victim of a blood feast.

  “Shock,” Tate explained, as though reading Alex’s mind. “If he doesn’t pink up with fluids, then he might need a blood transfusion.” He eyed Nick speculatively. Nick’s ears pricked up and then dropped limply at Tate’s assessing stare. Alex couldn’t help but marvel at his submissiveness in the situation.

  Tate inserted a dose of some medication into Peter’s catheter, drawing it out of an hourglass-shaped bottle that had two separate containers in it until he’d released the vacuum between them. “Solu-Delta,” he explained. “An ultra-fast-acting steroid to help with the shock.” He attached a bag of fluids to the catheter via a drip set and the two of them fashioned a hook out of a coat hanger to suspend the bag from the ceiling. Tate followed the steroid with an antibiotic injection.

  “I need a hair dryer if you have one,” Tate said, after adjusting the drip set to his satisfaction. “Can you turn up the heat in here? Some hot-water bottles would be good too.”

  “I can do better than that,” Alex said firmly, and after he located the hair dryer and offered it to Tate, he built a fire in the bedroom hearth.

  It struck him, as he turned to watch Tate working with the hair dryer over Peter’s body, that he had at least part of his fantasy after all. The firelight did indeed catch the highlights of Tate’s hair and set it aflame with a glow of its own. He was enthralling as he worked.

  “Perfect.” Tate smiled with pleasure at the sight of the fire roaring steadily in its grate. “Okay. Can you bring me another lamp?”

  While Alex had obediently gone in search of another light source, Tate had shed his damp sweatshirt and replaced his gloves with fresh ones. When Alex returned to the bedroom, Tate was pawing through the trunk, holding a packet of suture material in his mouth as he retrieved a pair of forceps and what looked like a pair of long scissors from the box.

  Tate was wearing an old, tight T-shirt that had shrunk to the point it gaped over his taut, toned abdomen. It read, REAL DOCTORS TREAT MORE THAN ONE SPECIES. The appropriateness of the slogan made Alex snort with appreciation.

  “Needle drivers.” Tate waved the scissor-like instrument at Alex. “I can’t sew without them, even when I do simple clothing repairs. It’s sad, really.” Tate’s smile was a touch smug, belying the tenor of his words.

  “Okay. This is going to be tricky,” he said, all trace of humor gone. “I need to try and close some of these lacerations and Shaggy is showing signs of waking up. Which is a good thing in terms of shock; it means he’s responding to treatment. But it means he’s gonna feel this, too. Here, I need you to come up and talk to him. Just pet him and soothe him a bit, okay?”

  Alex could see that Tate had clipped the margins of several long gashes with a pair of portable shavers. A small hand vacuum had apparently picked up any errant hairs. “You do this sort of thing a lot, don’t you?” he asked curiously.

  Tate shrugged, laying out the various packets of suture and the instruments on a small, green cloth. “My job is to present out all the options and then help my clients decide which ones they can do. For many of them, money is a factor. Sometimes we have to do things in a less-than-ideal fashion under triage conditions. It’s a compromise, but more often than not, it works.”

  “You’re smart as well as clever, and believe me, those two aren’t necessarily the same. You size up a situation in a flash and react to it accordingly. You make the best of the conditions in front of you. Most of the people I meet aren’t that adaptable.”

  Tate looked up sharply at Alex and then flushed, dropping his gaze back to his arrangement of supplies. “Thanks. Could you plug that light in over here, please?”

  Alex positioned the light so that it shone down on Peter’s side and came around to Peter’s head, stroking the soft fur of his ruff. Peter was starting to blink and lick his lips. Alex watched as Tate quickly began sewing the lacerated muscles and skin back together, starting deep and working his way outward in layers. It was fascinating to see the different structures under Peter’s skin and listen to Tate’s commentary as he worked. It was even more amazing to see how neatly he could close the gaping wounds, restoring them to an alignment that Alex wouldn’t have believed possible.

  As though reading his mind, Tate said, “These all look worse than they are. They should heal okay.”

  On the second-to-last deep laceration, Peter shifted suddenly, his head coming up and flailing down with a thump on the bed. Tate was in the middle of suturing his skin, his hands still attached to Peter by the suture material in his needle driver. Peter whipped his head up and snapped in Tate’s direction. Tate barely snatched his hands out of the way; the motion caused the suture to rip through Peter’s already mangled skin. He began to shriek and rolled up on his side, hiking one foot up in the air as he cried. The IV line swung crazily with the movement, threatening to pull the bag off its makeshift hook.

  Nick immediately moved in, nosing Peter’s muzzle and licking his face. Peter whined and thumped his tail briefly before laying his head back down on the bed, looking drained. Nick rested his head across Peter’s neck as though holding him there.

  “Oh, you poor bubby,” Tate croone
d. “Look at your marvelous blue eyes! You just hold still a moment longer and I’ll be done with you. I promise. I’m just a big meanie, working on you without any drugs at all. Aren’t I?” He continued to talk in a soothing, nonsensical fashion as he worked. Alex watched with a rapt gaze as a single bead of sweat formed at Tate’s brow and trickled its way past his cheekbone. Tate was not as calm as he seemed. When Alex listened, he could hear the strong pulse of Tate’s heartbeat.

  Tate finished the laceration he was working on, but Peter was too restive for him to sew up any more. “We’ll just have to let the others go and see what they look like in the morning. Hold him!” he added, when Peter began to go after the IV catheter. He quickly detached the fluid line while Alex held down the struggling Peter, who snarled and snapped while Tate covered the catheter with bandaging material. He gave it a spritz of something from a small bottle and Nick, who had been nosing in, shook his head and sneezed.

  “Well, maybe that’ll keep everyone’s mouth off of it,” Tate said to Nick, by way of explanation. “Yuk,” he said to Alex, holding up the bottle so that Alex could see the picture of a green dog sticking its tongue out in disgust. The bottle said YUK in poisonous green letters. Tate left it on the bedside table before sighing and pulling off the latex gloves. He began packing his equipment away.

  Alex felt bad as he watched Tate yawn. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly three a.m. “You can stay here the rest of the night if you like,” he offered.

  “I appreciate it.” Tate smiled tiredly at him. “But I’ll be fine.”

  “Let me at least help you carry stuff out.” Alex didn’t like the idea of Tate running into Tish and Duncan on his way back to the car. He glanced back to see if Nick intended to follow, but he had climbed onto the bed and lay with his head on Peter’s flank, watching them with solemn eyes. Something inside Alex’s heart twisted at the sight, and he realized what he felt was a rush of envy.

  Alex insisted on carrying the trunk to the car, surprised that it was so heavy. Tate opened the back of the car to let Alex set the trunk down within, pulling the hatch closed by its handle. The moon still cast a stark, unforgiving light upon the driveway and yard. The air was decidedly colder; Tate was shrugging back into his sweatshirt and coat.

  “Well,” he said. “I’ll be back tomorrow sometime to check on Shaggy and to bring some more meds. Oral antibiotics and some anti-inflammatories.”

  Alex nodded, weary beyond belief. “I really appreciate all that you’ve done. You have no idea. What do I owe you?”

  Tate looked down at his feet and then up again, smiling as he reached out to touch Alex’s arm. “Nothing. Call it an educational experience.”

  “Tate!” Alex protested. “You have to charge me something. You came out here in the middle of the night, risking your life, simply because—”

  Alex never got to finish his sentence. Tate pushed forward suddenly, brushing his warm lips against Alex’s, his hand still gripping Alex’s arm. “Call it even,” he said, his breath lush against Alex’s skin.

  Alex froze for a second, surprised and yet not surprised by Tate’s boldness. A rush of hunger swept over him like a wildfire on a dry mountainside; he grasped Tate by his coat sleeve and pulled him in even closer. He could sense the pulse of Tate’s heartbeat at his throat. He could feel the intensity of the pull between them, even as Tate licked his lips and tipped his head to meet Alex halfway.

  Alex closed the distance between them, his lips seeking Tate eagerly. Tate responded with a deep intake of breath as he opened his mouth and Alex pressed up against him before he knew it, pushing Tate back onto the rear hatch of the car. Tate let the car support him, spreading his legs as he let Alex in. He welcomed Alex’s kiss with a matching ferocity, tongues pushing against each other, drinking each other in until all ability to breathe, to think, was lost.

  It wasn’t enough. Alex sought skin contact, and was frustrated by Tate’s heavy clothing. He broke off his kiss to nip at Tate’s lips and then the skin of his jaw, alongside his neck. The need to bite until he drew blood almost overwhelmed him, and he took refuge in planting his lips on Tate’s skin, sucking until he left a mark. Tate moaned and twisted underneath him, and Alex could feel his fangs elongate in his mouth, even as the heat pulsed in his groin. He began to thrust his pelvis forward, seeking some sort of purchase, rubbing up against Tate.

  He pulled back just before he completely lost himself and bit down over Tate’s jugular, releasing the warm, hot blood that was life itself to him. Tate’s lips were swollen from the rough kissing; in the moonlight, his pupils were blown into black, fathomless wells.

  Alex staggered back as though he was pure vampire and the dawn’s first light had touched his skin. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” he lied.

  “I’ve wanted you to do that ever since I met you,” Tate said. “Why apologize?”

  “It’s complicated,” Alex said, regret evident in his voice.

  “It always is.” Tate pushed himself off the car and gave Alex an encouraging smile. “And yet, it’s usually not as complicated as you think it is.”

  He got into the car. “Think about it, Alex,” he said as he sat with the door open, the interior light casting a bubble of warm glow around him. “I’ll be back in the morning.” He shut the door and started the engine, heading slowly up the driveway.

  Alex stood in the moonlit yard for a long time before the chill sank into his bones, and he remembered that Tish and Duncan were still somewhere out there in the forest. He shoved his hands in his pockets and returned to the house, pausing on the steps for one last look out into the darkness.

  Chapter 5

  ALEX tossed back the blanket he’d used to cover him as he’d dozed on the couch and sat up stiffly, stretching out his neck and shoulders. He would have to make some other form of sleeping arrangements before nightfall, he thought grimly, as he headed toward the kitchen. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee was in the air, which moderated his bad mood slightly.

  Nick was in the kitchen with his back to the door when Alex came into the room. He was dressed only in a pair of jeans; he stood with one bare foot resting on top of the other as he leaned on the counter, staring at the coffeemaker as it slowly filled the carafe one drop at a time. The coffee was nearly ready. Alex knew Nick had heard him come down the hall, so he didn’t announce his presence. Instead, he waited for Nick to acknowledge him.

  Slowly, Nick straightened and turned to face him.

  He looked like shit. His hair was more disheveled than usual and looked a little stringy as well. There were bags under his eyes and his stubble was threatening to become a full beard. Alex had never seen Nick without his shirt before; he couldn’t help but note the odd scar here and there, standing out as thin, white lines on his tanned skin. His lean chest was not nearly as hairy as Alex had presumed, and Alex felt that little odd flicker of attraction again. Nick was wearing battered dog tags, which was also unexpected.

  “I’m sorry,” Nick said, before Alex could speak. “I’m sorry we brought all this upon you.”

  “Are you okay?” he asked, instead of taking Nick to task as he’d planned.

  “I’m just worried about Peter, that’s all.” He gave himself a little shake and attempted a brief smile that seemed like more of a grimace.

  Disturbed without knowing why, Alex brushed past him to open the cabinet and take out another mug. Coffee was the one constant through the centuries that he still craved, no matter how deeply he was or was not entrenched in the Life. “Have you heard from Tish and Duncan?”

  The half smile grew stronger. “It might take them a while to make it back here this morning. Tish and Duncan get a little… frisky when the moon is full.”

  Alex felt his mouth open and close briefly. Everyone in Nick’s group had been on edge as the moon waxed closer to full these past few nights. Nick had stopped shaving, becoming even scruffier than usual, and Duncan was more abrupt than ever; even Tish had been irritable and sha
rp. He’d assumed sex would be part of the bloodlust and feasting. However, Tish and Duncan? It defied all logic. “And you’re okay with that?”

  Nick shrugged. The coffeemaker switched off and Nick poured out two steaming mugs. “Why not?”

  It just contradicted everything Alex had ever learned about werewolf pack behavior; that was all. When the numbers of women in the group were few, alphas rarely shared. Part of the reason he’d become friends with Nick’s pack was their unconventional approach to were life, but this was unexpected.

  “How’d you guys meet anyway?” Alex asked. The question had been on his mind for a while and now seemed as good a time as any to bring it up. Alex added sugar to his coffee and watched as Nick cradled his mug in his hands. Nick leaned back against the counter, crossing his feet at the ankles.

  “I met Duncan when he was in the middle of a bar fight in downtown LA during the sixties.” Nick grinned briefly, obviously remembering. “He’s been a were for a long time, but he’d gotten himself in a corner where he was outnumbered and he wasn’t going to be able to get out of it without someone getting killed in public. The moon was rising full; the last thing he needed was an overnight stint in jail. Like an idiot, I stepped in to help him out.”

  Alex rolled his eyes at him. Nick snorted. “I know, I know. Anyway, he was at loose ends; his previous pack had kicked him out. At least, that’s the story he gives out. Not so sure, myself. I think it was worse than that. He doesn’t talk about it.”

  “He seems oddly loyal to you. He could have his own pack if he wanted it.”

  Nick nodded and sipped his coffee. “Yeah. He just doesn’t want it.” He set the mug down, resting his hands on the counter behind him. “I met Tish down in New Orleans, after Hurricane Katrina. She’d just turned were and the guy that turned her took off without telling her anything. She had nowhere else to go. Don’t tell her, but she’s been a civilizing influence on us.”