Tate took the camera and turned it on, adjusting the lens and focusing on Alex.
Alex set the can down and began to speak to the camera. “I’m destroying the coffin, so there’s no point in coming after me or it anymore. There’s nothing in it for you, Victor.”
He reached into his coat pocket and felt around. Empty. Frowning, he switched hands and explored the other pocket. Nothing.
Tate lowered the camera and looked at him with a smirk. “Do you need a light?” He placed his free hand into his back pocket and pulled out a lighter, tossing it to Alex, who caught it neatly.
“Something you want to tell me, Edwards?” Alex asked as he examined the disposable lighter.
“I use it to heat-fix slides.” At Alex’s blank look, he continued. “A vet med thing. Don’t let it distract you from your planned pyromancy.”
“Have I told you how hot I find it that you’re a guy who reads?” Alex smiled to himself as he picked up a stick from the ground. The leaves were too wet to serve as a starter. He found some grocery receipts crumbled up in his pocket and poked them over the end of the stick.
“Be careful,” Tate warned, as he began filming again.
Alex rolled his eyes. “I’ve been lighting bonfires since before…. Well, for a long time.” He thumbed the wheel of the lighter. The receipts took a while to catch, and smoked badly, but when he was satisfied with the flame, he lowered it to his gasoline fuse.
There was a long pause before anything happened, but then the gasoline caught and flared up brightly, running back along its path to the coffin itself.
It went up with a whoosh and a blast of heat that was stronger than Alex expected. He stepped back from the flames, motioning Tate to fall back with him. Together they stood and watched as the fire roared and crackled over the dark wood, purple, green, and blue flames reaching for the sky.
I hope I don’t burn down the entire mountainside, Alex thought uneasily. Tate silently raised both eyebrows at him, while aiming the camera at the fire. Alex gave him a sheepish grin and Tate bit his lip to keep from laughing.
It was over far sooner than he expected. The fire burned hot, but burned clean, and in less than an hour, all that was left was a large soot spot where the coffin had rested.
Tate had stopped filming when it was apparent the coffin was going to be completely consumed. He handed the camera back to Alex, who tucked it into his coat pocket.
“Come here, you,” Tate said, pulling Alex into a hug. “I’m proud of you. You know that, right? That took some real guts to do.”
Alex kissed him, hard. He could feel Tate’s smile beneath his lips and Tate’s hands came up from behind to pull Alex in even closer, which made him grin in return. The buzzing of the cell phone in his back pocket made Alex jump. He placed enough distance between him and Tate to pull the phone out and look at it.
“It’s Nick,” he said with a frown, as he flipped open the phone. Tate had one hand on his arm, flexing his fingers against the sleeve of Alex’s sweater.
“Nick,” Alex said by way of answering the phone. He smiled at Tate.
“Alex.” Nick’s voice was cool. “Mind if we come by sometime today and pick up our things?”
“Sure. Any time. You know, though, you can leave some stuff here if it’s more convenient for you guys. You know, for the next cycle.”
There was a long pause before Nick spoke again. “You want us to come out again?”
“Nick.” Alex sighed. “As I said last night, my friends are always welcome.”
He could picture Nick nodding on the other end. “Well, only if it’s no trouble.”
Alex laughed. “Define trouble? Speaking of which, I just want you to know, I really appreciate your willingness to come to my defense last night. It was stupid, but in a noble sort of way.”
“That sounds like us,” Nick said. Alex could hear the smile in his voice. Tate leaned in by Alex’s shoulder to listen; his damp skin smelled musky and Alex turned his nose into Tate’s hair to inhale deeply.
Tate smiled enticingly at him and pulled up the bottom of Alex’s sweater to place his hands on Alex’s skin. “By the way,” Alex said, trying not to yelp at the cold touch of Tate’s fingers. “You guys showed up with awfully good timing last night. How’d you manage that? Do you have some sort of werewolf telepathy thing?”
“Yeah.” Nick laughed in his ear. “It’s called a cell phone.”
He could hear Peter in the background. “Tell him I called you from upstairs,” Peter was saying.
“Yes,” Nick said, obviously not talking to Alex now. “And I thought I told you to wait upstairs until we got there. But you didn’t listen, did you? Obviously this is a Mabry family trait.” There was a moment of muffled sound and then Tate punched Alex on the arm and grinned. He made an exaggerated kissing face.
“Eww! Werewolf kissing,” Alex said into the phone as Tate snorted.
“Peter wants his shoes back,” Nick said with great dignity. “And his laptop. Tish wants her fiddle. And I want my guitar.”
“Well, come on over and get them,” Alex said. “But this time, dinner’s on you.” He disconnected the call.
“It would be easier just to let them move in up here,” Tate said. He stretched up to nibble on Alex’s neck. “Then you could move in with me.”
Alex thought of Tate’s beautiful house and all its rooms filled with warmth and light. Too much light. “I’d never be able to take off my shades,” he said.
Tate’s lips quirked into a little smile as he looked up at Alex through the fringe of his hair. “And this would be a bad thing because…?”
“Because the tall boots and riding crop are still in storage somewhere and I don’t know what I did with the key,” Alex said. He was certain, however, that he still had a fedora from back when hats were standard attire for men. He liked fedoras.
“Oh, my.” Tate’s Southern accent became much more prominent. “Babe, we’d better start looking for that key right now.”
About the Author
SARAH MADISON is a veterinarian with a busy practice, a great boyfriend, a large dog, and an even bigger horse. She enjoys hiking along the Appalachian Trail with her German Shepherd and competing her horse in the sport of combined training and eventing. Writing has become a passion that sometimes takes precedence over everything else. In fact, when she is in the middle of a chapter, she usually relies on the smoke detector to tell her when dinner is ready.
You can contact Sarah at [email protected].
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Crying for the Moon Page 21