Sheer Bliss

by Leigh Ellwood

  “Our paths crossed briefly,” Caleb said, keeping his mouth a straight line. “Did you see what she was wearing?”

  “See it? I helped her pick it out.”

  Carrie Bradshaw, eat your heart out. “Look, Aunt Sheila, it’s been a long day. If you don’t mind, I want to get in a run while the shoreline is relatively devoid of people.” While most locals knew to expect the occasional shifted beast roaming the beach, the late season tourists concerned him more. Decades after settling in New Jersey, the were population remained Bliss’s best kept secret. Non-shifter locals, while relying upon tourism in summer to keep businesses afloat, did not broadcast the were presence for fear of an uncontrollable surge of curiosity seekers…or else a nationwide panic that stood to threaten an otherwise peaceful shore town. “Can we talk about the Council when I get back?”

  “Actually, it’s my hope you won’t be back until morning,” Sheila said. Her smile unnerved Caleb.

  “I talked to Wes last week,” she continued, referring to another panther shifter within their Council’s jurisdiction, but not of their immediate pride. “He had some blood work and tests done on Calla Savitch and discovered something very interesting.”

  “What’s interesting is how easily the good doctor is willing to breach doctor-patient confidentiality,” Caleb retorted. He didn’t want to think what his aunt had done to the poor panther to get this juicy tidbit of gossip.

  Sheila didn’t appear remorseful. “When it comes to matters that directly affect our pride, all bets are off. And it happens that Calla is recessive for the shifter gene.”

  “The panther gene?”

  “Wes couldn’t say specifically, but you know that recessives are known to adapt to the environment.”

  This environment included wolves. Calla could easily mate with one of them. “So what?” Caleb shrugged. Sheila had revealed nothing earth-shattering; he knew that many non-shifting humans were similarly genetically predisposed. Calla may not be a true shifter, and all this revealed was that one of her ancestors had been one, and either married or mated outside his pack. Big deal—that could have been centuries ago.

  “So, if Calla were to mate with a panther, the chances for naturally shifting children are greater than if you married any other human.” Sheila appeared giddy with the news.

  Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Me specifically?” Lord, he wasn’t ready to marry again. He’d only lost Teresa to cancer four years ago, and attempts to find a new mate among the eligible she-panthers in their region proved disastrous.

  “Caleb, you know I’m not big on...mixing. That we’re able to find a pureblood match for Trisha is nothing short of amazing, but our numbers are dwindling,” Sheila said, impassioned and close to cracking. “By the time Dawn and Robbie are of age there may not be a good pool of candidates left—”

  “Maybe that’s a good thing. Your other children can then marry for love instead of duty,” Caleb spat.

  Sheila took a step closer. Suddenly that Chanel perfume had lost its allure—now it cloyed his senses.

  “We are talking about preserving our race, Caleb.” Her voiced turned cold.

  “The Houlihan name will survive regardless of our genetic makeup, Aunt Sheila,” Caleb said. “Come on,” he touched her shoulder, “I know this means a lot to you. I’m sorry if you’re getting the idea that I don’t think highly of you.” He knew his aunt did care deeply for her children’s welfare, despite her insistence to hold fast to these traditions.

  This seemed to placate her. “You know, I never once heard you complain about your match,” she said. “Only how much you miss her.”

  “It’s like you implied, Aunt Sheila. The times, they are a-changing. You can’t compare my experience to Trisha’s or anybody else’s.” His cousin did have a point that the Council needed to modernize, but blast if he couldn’t outright reject the more conservative point of view. What Sheila told him now, the old guard had warned during each meeting. If intermarriage continued, it posed a threat to the were-panther way of life. What abilities they possessed that gave them an advantage over humankind would certainly become muted over time, until they all might as well be fully human.

  “What do you want me to do about Calla Savitch?” he asked.

  “I want you to go over to her house and show her a good time.”

  “A good time.” Caleb rolled his eyes. “Fine. We’ll make popcorn and rent Sex in the City.”

  “Don’t be cute, Caleb. Lorraine Winston was in Shear Bliss today and—”

  “Stop.” Caleb held up his hands, ending all conversation. He should have known the old and ridiculous rivalry with the werewolves came into play here. No doubt Sheila wanted Calla wooed away from some Winston bachelor more than she wanted the hairstylist as part of their pride. No way did he intend to act as a pawn in such a petty game.

  Besides that, if he managed to get through Calla’s door he’d consider it a minor miracle, or severe amnesia on her part. The woman hated him, and confirmed that numerous times over the years since he spurned her romantic overtures to fulfill his arranged courtship with Teresa.

  “I’m not interested,” he told his aunt, yet deep down his conscience nagged at him. He couldn’t say he didn’t find Calla unattractive, but why waste time on a losing proposition? “Leave her to the wolves.”

  Sheila raked a hand through her hair, sighing. “Look, surely to God she’s gotten over—”

  “She hasn’t, so please don’t bring it up.” He wanted to run on the beach, not stroll down a dark-clouded memory lane. He blamed himself mainly for the disintegration of his friendship with Calla. He shouldn’t have led her to think they had a future in the first place.

  As for the prospect of one now...forget it.

  “We can talk more about my meetings with the Council when I get back,” he said as he barreled out of the foyer. “Order something from Nunzio’s, please? I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

  He heard Sheila call to him for specifics, but he was out the back door, shedding articles of clothing along the way. By the time he hit the edge of the fenced backyard where their property met public beach, he had fully shifted and broken into a brisk run down the dark, deserted residential beach.

  He made sure to go fast. He didn’t want to give his aunt the satisfaction of seeing him head toward Calla’s home.

  Chapter Three

  After scanning the digital television guide up and down the spectrum of channels from ABC to WE, Calla mashed a button and turned the plasma screen black. She’d had her fill of reality shows and nonsensical celebrity competitions, and certainly didn’t wish to pass the evening watching an enhanced stereotype of the people in her home state.

  Nope, no Gym-Tan-Laundry for me, she thought with a sad smile, and padded to the kitchen. Barefooted and clad only in a long, satin night shirt that barely dusted her knees, Calla refilled her glass from the bottle of Merlot on the counter. Holding her drink to the light, she swirled the luscious red liquid to gauge its full body. As she brought the rim to her nose to savor the dark fruit and earthy tones, a flash of white streaking across the glass patio doors caught her attention.

  Calla sighed and set down her wine. What now? Given her home’s location along the residential area of the shore, few people had reason to skulk along the backyards.

  People, no, Calla realized. Shifters, however, seemed likely to claim entitlement. After she had specifically warned Sheila and Lorraine to butt out of her personal affairs, too, one of them had sent a potential tutor. Well, time to nip this beast in the bud.

  “Hello?” She slid the glass door a few inches and poked out her head, then scanned the breadth of night for her visitor. The lighted corners of the brick-fenced yard illuminated the hedges and her flower bed, and beyond the opening to the shore path Calla saw no movement.

  Calla’s face warmed with embarrassment. Perhaps her mind had tricked her into seeing something that wasn’t there. As she eased back to return to the living room, a shadow fell upon the
grass and a shape emerged from the dark recesses of an unlit patch. A sleek wolf, streaked black with white underbody and socks, trotted toward her and paused at the first step of Calla’s wooden deck. With a curious cant of the head, the wolf’s mouth gaped open in what Calla interpreted as a flirtation.

  Calla eased further out to lean against the jamb, then folded her arms. All these years of happening upon shifted friends and acquaintances, and she still hadn’t figured out who was who.

  “Unless you brought some cheese and crackers to go with my wine, I’m not interested. Whichever Winston you are,” she said. The further admonishment still brewing in her head fizzled away, however, as the wolf stood on hind legs with fur rippling. Soon it disappeared altogether, and front legs became arms while the hind ones filled out.

  Now, standing before Calla, a naked woman with long brown hair and bright blue eyes smiled and posed in a provocative manner that emphasized her full breasts. “Actually, I did bring dessert,” the interloper said, her voice a near purr in contrast to her canine sensibilities, “though I wonder if you have the appetite for it.”

  Calla laughed—she wanted to sound haughty and confident, yet her voice spilled out in a ridiculous schoolgirl giggle. She regarded Maya Winston under a hooded gaze, her pulse quickening as she took in the lovely women’s shape. “I thought you were still in Paris,” she said.

  Maya shrugged. “Got in last night, slept late. I meant to call, but when I overheard Mother’s plans to fix you up with somebody in the pack I decided to do some damage control.” Maya pouted, pushing out her lower lip in a teasing manner that made Calla’s body react. “You should thank me, you know.”

  “For what?” Already ideas on showing her gratitude formed erotic images in Calla’s mind, more prominently Calla smoothing her hands over Maya’s luscious breasts and taking a nipple into her mouth.

  Maya stepped closer. Calla tracked the she-wolf’s movements, particularly how Maya’s bare pussy disappeared briefly from view when she raised a leg. Her own pussy throbbed for want.

  “I just came from the pack house after spending nearly an hour convincing Mother not to do anything. I told her how you were doing fine on your own and if you wanted a lover you had the wherewithal to find one on your own in good time.” By now Maya had come close enough that her hardened, dark nipples nearly brushed Calla’s night shirt.

  “So,” she said with a leer, “how goes the search?”

  Calla smiled.

  * * * *

  Still in cat form, Caleb took to the sand with graceful stealth, staying to the shadows behind the light posts lining the edge where the sands met the residential area. Closer to Calla’s beachside home, he caught a familiar scent in the air—shifter, yet unmistakably female—and followed it directly to the brick wall that separated Calla’s property from the public walkway to the sea.

  Interesting, Caleb mused to himself, and wondered if Calla herself had the ability to give off such a scent considering her alleged genetic makeup. He hadn’t intended to come here—he’d originally started in this direction to track down Trisha and her friends at The Wall, a favorite night club situated on the shore. If necessary he could shift partially—covering all the essential parts—and order the girl home if she appeared to be having too good of a time to threaten her betrothal to Malcolm Weaver.

  And if I keep telling myself that, I can justify spying on Calla Savitch as a happy accident, he thought as the entranceway to her backyard came into view. On light paws, Caleb bent low and crept closer to the wall, picking up bits of conversation drifting from her porch. He stilled and kept out of view, tuning out the roar of the ocean behind him.

  “So, how goes the search?” asked a woman sounding way too sultry to be Calla.

  A barking laugh broke the short moment of silence that followed. “It’s not so much a search as it is a complete lack of interest.”

  “Cute, Calla.”

  Breathless silence followed. Though curiosity burned through Caleb’s senses, he didn’t dare raise his head even a centimeter over the top of the wall. He inhaled the crisp, heady scent of she-wolf and knew immediately the other voice belonged to a Winston—most likely the uninhibited Maya. He knew the two women were close, but the direction of their conversation—coupled with the amorous heat given off by the shifter—implied to Caleb a more unconventional relationship than friends might have suspected.

  He closed his eyes to better detect their movements. He heard hands smoothing over skin, quiet sighs of pleasures, and finally a juicy, smacking liplock. Sweet Calla, I hardly knew ye. With Maya, of course, he expected a fondness for both genders—the she-wolf was a self-proclaimed trisexual.

  Try anything sexual.

  Caleb grinned to himself, remembering her drunken proclamation at a past Indian Summer Ball. He then wondered if the breakdown of his fling with Calla all those years ago precipitated this broadening of his old flame’s sexual horizons.

  Sighs turned to steady moaning now, and by damn if Caleb didn’t begin to harden in panther form. That’s it, he decided, and shifted to human form. Given the vibes thrumming from the back porch, Caleb doubted either woman would spot him peeking.

  Still crouched low in the sand, he bent his fingers over the brick and lifted his head to skim the yard area. In the glow of porch light, Calla and Maya stood locked in a tight embrace. Calla, willowy and pale in her nightshirt, rested one hand on Maya’s bare bottom, kneading the ample flesh while her other hand cupped a breast. Maya’s hand had to work as well, though with their position Caleb couldn’t readily see where the she-wolf touched her…friend. Wherever Maya devoted that attention, though, Calla appeared to enjoy it. Caleb’s keen eyesight picked up on the rapid flittering of the woman’s eyelids, her face twisting with ecstasy as she moved with Maya to deepen and prolong their kiss.

  It seemed to go on forever, and Maya finally broke free and moved to Calla’s side, pressing her breasts against the other woman’s shoulder. Here Caleb made out Calla’s inviting shape underneath the skimpy shift—rock hard nipples denting the fabric, which dipped at the delta between her quivering thighs. Unconsciously he grasped the base of his cock, and his fingers curled around his sac, tugging and massaging to full arousal.

  Maya lifted the hem of Calla’s short gown high enough to reach the waistband of her floral-patterned panties. She slipped her hand underneath the slim triangle—Caleb watched fingers flex and bend as Maya presumably worked Calla’s pussy and clit to a near-liquid state.

  “Let’s go inside,” he heard the she-wolf buzz in Calla’s ear. “We can do so much more, comfortably.”

  No sooner were the words said, though, when Calla’s heavy-lidded expression slowly sobered. She seemed to awake from a dream and turned to Maya as though seeing her for the first time. Her hand fell limp from Maya’s backside and she gently extracted the she-wolf from her private parts.

  “You are definitely tempting me tonight,” Calla said, appearing to ignore Maya’s look of confused disappointment, “but I’m sorry. I’m just not feeling it right it.”

  “I didn’t get that impression a second ago,” Maya said accusingly.

  Calla, however, just smiled and offered a chaste kiss to Maya’s nose. “Come by the salon for a freebie. I’ll make it up to you.” Without another word, she backed into her house and slid the glass patio door shut.

  “Calla?” Maya called after her, but her plea met with the quiet swish of a curtain blocking her—and Caleb’s—view of Calla’s kitchen. The she-wolf growled and turned sharply away, storming down the path toward the ocean. “I doubt it’s the kind of ‘freebie’ I’d want,” she grumbled.

  Still in human form, Caleb pressed his back to the wall and hoped the aborted seduction preoccupied Maya enough not to detect his scent. At it was, he expected her to shift back to wolf form once she hit the beach, and dash into the dark.

  Instead, Maya fulfilled half his prediction. Not seconds after shifting, those white socks trotted over the sand to where he
hid. Caleb glared uneasily into bright blue eyes and the best approximation of a canine grin.

  Hello, Caleb.

  * * * *

  Caleb didn’t waste time reverting to his panther shape. He found it better to communicate with other shifters this way, particularly where Winstons were involved. If claws had to come out, he wanted the advantage.

  Maya. He stood at attention, bowing his head only slightly.

  How was New York?

  How it usually is, old and small and dirty. Tell me, Maya, he canted his head to one side and scratched one paw in the sand, had you known I was here?

  Of course, Maya said. I can smell desperation a mile away.

  The panther let out a low growl, the best Caleb could come to an exhausted sigh in this form. Makes sense, he conceded, to know a scent with which you’re so closely associated.

  Fuck you. Maya turned to leave.

  Hey, I’d gladly offer. It’s not like Plan A worked out for you.

  Oh, I suppose Calla is your Plan A as well? Maya’s canine head craned back to face him, teeth bared. What you saw back there, you’d never get that close to her again.

  Did I say I came here for Calla? I was on my way to The Wall when I heard a commotion. I figured I should check it out. I still consider Calla a friend, despite what she thinks of me.

  Maya didn’t respond immediately, and Caleb wondered if the she-wolf bought the lie.

  Eventually she let out a howl and stretched. Well, as you probably surmised, Calla is just fine without either of us. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to seek out more agreeable company for the evening.

  Caleb called out to her retreating form, You don’t worry about leaving me here with a clear path to the object of your desire?