Ambereye

by Gill McKnight

  For the rest of the afternoon Jolie kept her office door firmly closed. Hope was confused and a little hurt at this mood swing from the shared victory of the morning to that afternoon’s shutout. She was very conscious of the dark, enigmatic looks Jolie flashed her way every time her back was turned. She caught every unsettling one in the little mirrors strategically placed around her desk. Jolie Garoul was burning holes through her, and Hope didn’t know why.

  It was never the wisest thing, to run in the cities, but many wolven did. Sly and stealthy, they were seldom, if ever, noticed. The alarmed barking of domestic dogs soon fell mute. Even the fiercest dog did not wish to draw this predator’s attention. Cats hid and watched from a safe vantage point, and humans were always clueless, as they should be.

  One by one, street after street, yard after yard, Hope’s neighborhood fell silent. The earlier onslaught of barking had quieted as suddenly as it had begun. Now streets sat eerily silent under the new moon peeping out from behind scattered rain clouds.

  Hope puttered around her kitchen, cleaning up after supper and chatting away to her dog. Her kitchen blind was open, and light spilled out onto the tarmac path that skirted her house, shining on the oily black surface still slick from an earlier rainfall. Tadpole was restless; he paced around the small kitchen floor, staring uneasily at the door, then the window, then the door again.

  “Do you want out, Taddy?”

  He quickly slithered into his basket and curled up tight.

  Outside, in the boughs of a neighboring honey locust tree, a liquid shadow crouched. Jolie’s gaze was glued to Hope’s every move as she dried her dishes and stacked them away in the cupboard, emptied the sink, wrung out the dish sponge, and watered the potted plants on her window ledge.

  Jolie’s ears flattened as she picked up Hope’s quiet humming of a popular tune. She stretched her lips over her muzzle of sharply curved teeth and ran her tongue over their smooth surface, savoring an imagined delicacy. She devoured the curve of Hope’s neck, the pale flesh of her forearms, the flush on her chin and cheek as she worked in her kitchen.

  Jolie sat there, immobile, transfixed, until the light was snapped off, plunging the room into darkness. She waited, hesitant. Then with a deep, satisfied growl, she gracefully leapt a full twelve feet from the tree limb to the ground and simply melted into the night.

  Jolie pulled into Hope’s driveway at nine o’clock on the dot to be greeted by a barking Tadpole. He was out doing the morning circuit of his doggy kingdom, especially sniffing around the neighbor’s honey locust tree.

  “Quit yapping, you mad ferret, or you’ll be my new exhaust muffler.” Jolie growled.

  “Hi, there.” Hope appeared smiling at the door, bag in hand, “Taddy, stop that racket at once,” she said. “Here, could you take this for me?” She passed a sizeable tote bag to Jolie, who stashed it in the trunk with her own.

  “Is that all?”

  “No. That’s Taddy’s. It’s got his food and bedding. I have another one for me.” This time she passed out a much smaller bag.

  “Mmm,” Jolie mumbled, not at all amused that Hope so obviously put the small dog’s needs before her own. Jolie still thought the kennels would be the best place for the mutt. Lots of excitement there for him.

  She put Hope’s bag in beside the others, then picked up the runt and popped him in the trunk, too. Jeeps were great for transporting dogs, if you absolutely had to, she decided. Satisfied, she snapped the rear door closed as Hope locked up her house. Settling into the passenger seat, Hope looked behind her, on the back seat, and in the rear foot wells.

  “Where’s Tadpole?”

  Jolie nodded to the back as she started the ignition. “He’s in the trunk.”

  “What? Oh no. Taddy always travels up front on my knee. He loves to look out the window.”

  Jolie was as appalled as Hope, but for a very different reason.

  Sullenly, she went to retrieve him. Now I gotta drive with him looking at me, she huffed to herself. She handed the dog over to Hope and glumly climbed back into the driver’s side. All packed and ready to go, they pulled out heading for Sellwood Bridge and the I-84.

  Every thirty miles or so it seemed they had to find a byroad or service station for Tadpole to toilette, sniff, and strut some. It was okay at first, as Jolie could buy Hope some bottled water or magazines. Try and act out the “little treat” tip that Godfrey had given her. She found she liked buying small things for Hope. But soon there was nothing else to do but sit and wait while Hope escorted the little piddle machine to the nearest bushes.

  They were going to be late arriving. Not that it mattered, but Jolie was excited now. She could barely wait to show Hope around after business was over and done with. The opening presentation speech still cast a shadow she couldn’t quite forgive Andre for.

  On one occasion Hope needed to go to the washroom herself, and left Jolie to oversee Tadpole’s exploration and watering of the service center greenery. Not amused at her babysitting duties, Jolie strolled behind as he zigged and zagged, and ducked and dived, following his nose through dirt and grass, until he finally surfaced practically under the wheels of a Mack truck. Luckily, Jolie had noted his blind meander into the path of danger and swooped to pluck him clear before he became a fur coat for a Michelin tire.

  “Oh my God!” Hope had exited the washroom to witness Jolie’s heroic rescue of her pup from under the wheels of an impossibly large truck. “Oh, thank you. Thank you.”

  She flung her arms around her. Jolie stood frozen, with the wriggling Tadpole in her hand and Hope’s arms wrapped around her waist. It had been nothing to her to extend her arms and stretch her compressed energy into a whiplash lunge. The truck had been reversing slowly; all she’d done was put on a spurt of speed and snatch the little runt out of the way. Now she found herself unexpectedly swamped by Hope in a warm, sweet-scented hug, which totally dismayed her.

  “I saw it all. You saved him,” Hope mumbled emotionally into Jolie’s shirt front. The softness, the enveloping comfort was astounding.

  Jolie didn’t expect to feel good things when people touched her. Usually she wanted to fight and flee, in that order. Now she held her breath and gently relaxed her back muscles as Hope’s arms encircled her. She became acutely aware of Hope’s ample breasts squeezed up against her ribs, and went a little light-headed. Her cheeks flushed, her ears burned, saliva flooded her mouth, and her teeth tingled in longing. She didn’t know what to do with this feeling, how to contain it, control it. Hope smelled delicious and scary all at the same time. Before, in the staff kitchen Jolie had walked away—no, run away, flustered and excitable.

  Now she was trapped by Hope’s embrace, swimming in her.

  Hope’s scent was home and sex and bloodcall all wrapped into one. Jolie had never experienced this sensation before. She knew what bloodcall was, an indescribable urge to select a mate for life. She had heard of it and seen her brother and cousins fall to its power one by one.

  Was this bloodcall? Was this it? Was it? Her anxiety levels soared.

  “He’s so silly sometimes. Thank you so much, Jolie.” The arms tightened in one last surge of gratitude before Jolie was released into the cold, cold world.

  “Mmm, here, have him.” She shoved Tadpole into Hope’s loving arms, begrudging him the hug, but pleased to have a buffer zone and a little breathing space. She realized she hadn’t been breathing at all. No wonder she felt light-headed.

  “I’m going to go to the shop,” she muttered and darted through the sliding doors into the service station. Inside it was cool, and ordered, and she felt immediately more centered. She stood looking around her. What was she in here for? To escape Hope, or herself? On the fresh produce counter she saw expensive, out-of-season strawberries and bought a carton on impulse. The smell reminded her of Hope’s shampoo, a welcome distraction from the scent of her skin, her body, her humanness.

  “Here.” She handed them over as she slid back into the Jeep. Hope was alre
ady strapped in the passenger seat. Tadpole sat upright on her lap like a sentry, glaring out the windows in all directions.

  “Strawberries. I love strawberries.” Hope beamed, rummaging for a plump one. Jolie smiled, pleased with her gift. She watched as Hope sank white teeth into the succulent scarlet, and started at the bolt of raw energy that shot through her. It ricocheted from her brain to her chest, to her belly, and finally settled her groin with an uncomfortable buzz. She swallowed hard and looked away, turning the ignition savagely.

  It was a strange day; the farther she drove from Portland and her usual life, the deeper Jolie slipped into unknown territory. This was becoming a dangerous journey for her. Blood rush thundered in her head and her hands were shaking. Her pelt felt too close to the surface.

  She had to cling hard to her self-control today, even if it took every inch of her claws to do it.

  “So, tell me about Little Dip.” They were halfway into the journey and Hope was cheerful and relaxed. Tadpole slept in a ball at her feet, and the weak November sun shone through the windshield.

  Hope felt warm and cozy and curiously excited about this unexpected Thanksgiving trip. “Godfrey says it’s a beautiful and secluded spot. ‘Mysteriously hidden away in the Wallowa Mountains.’” She quoted him. “He’s such a big Nancy Drew. How did an entire valley come to be in your family?”

  “Um, well, it’s been with the Garouls since pioneer times, really. Yvette Garoul came over from France and worked as a fur trader in the Northwest. She laid claim to Little Dip and it’s been in the family ever since.” Jolie shrugged. “I’ve heard the story a million times growing up. It’s no big deal.”

  “Wow, a fur trader, how unusual for a woman. But I suppose anything went in those days, it was all a matter of survival. Hundreds of years later and it’s still with the same family. Does anybody live there full time or is it just for holidays?”

  “Aunt Marie and her partner Connie have retired there, along with my mom and dad. Though they still keep a home in Portland. Every so often Mom has to get out of the backwoods, as she calls it, and go shopping.” Jolie grinned thinking of her mother’s jaunts back into her version of normality. When her mom and Andre would hit the boutiques and malls on a massive spending spree, that seemed to placate her mother for another several months.

  Jolie was more like her father in nature. She liked the outdoors, the solitude, and plain, old-fashioned hard work. They could spend an entire weekend clearing a fallen tree, or just fishing in companionable silence. It seemed right that each twin should complement a parent so perfectly.

  “So they actually live in the valley in their own cabins?”

  “Yes. Most of the cabins are for family vacation use, but a few are more robust and are long-term homes. My cousin Leone is building one right now for herself and her partner, Amy. Amy’s an artist and Leone’s a publisher. They can work from home a lot of the time, so they might as well live somewhere they love.” Jolie nodded at the logic of it and wished she could move into a similar arrangement. It must be bliss to live outside of the city in the quiet and safety of the valley, to be free to behave naturally. And with a loving partner who understood the truth about the Garoul family and accepted their wolven side. She knew it was an accomplishable dream; she had seen the reality of it time and time again in the people closest to her. Her parents were her template.

  But somehow, even as a very young child, Jolie had the suspicion it was not for her. She was too odd, too awkward around strangers.

  There was no other half out there. No one was distorted enough to dovetail with her.

  Growing up as twins, she and Andre had often been assured of their individuality. But when her parents told her she was one of a kind, Jolie suspected what they really meant was that she was a solitary animal.

  A deep and unexpected sigh slid out of her chest.

  “Are you tired of driving? Do you want to stop for dinner, and maybe I can drive a little afterward?”

  Jolie was touched that Hope should care. “No. I can drive. But I do need to stop soon for some food. There’s a restaurant another couple of miles ahead if I remember right.”

  She perked up at the thought of sharing dinner with Hope. Then she frowned almost immediately. There it was again, that stupid, fluttery feeling. It disconcerted her. Why was she feeling like this? Why Hope?

  Hope was not mate material. Hope was a work colleague, one who had no interest in Jolie that way, whatsoever. And as for bloodcall…Jolie wouldn’t know a bloodcall from a wakeup call. She was just being stupid and whimsical, and she didn’t know why.

  “I’m really looking forward to meeting your family. Even if we are here to work. The mountain air will do me a world of good.” Hope’s lilting voice filled the vehicle and Jolie found herself hanging on every word.

  Meeting your family. That was the hook! That was what she was doing—she was acting out a fantasy. Garouls always took their chosen to the valley to meet the clan. Jolie was unintentionally falling into the prescribed pattern for the younger Garouls with their wouldbe life mates. By taking Hope with her to Little Dip, her psyche was instinctively reacting to this part of the mating ritual. She was wallowing in a newly awakened desire for a mate. After all, she wasn’t getting any younger, and there’d never been anyone remotely suitable until now—

  No! Not even now.

  Relieved she had finally analyzed what was going on in her subconscious, Jolie stole a quick sideways glance at Hope. She felt drawn to Hope because she was a very attractive woman, because Jolie respected her, and because they were traveling together to a place Jolie loved, to meet people Jolie adored. It was all just nonsense playing out in her head that she could rationalize away.

  Except she couldn’t quite as easily rationalize away her body and its strange, traitorous behavior. In the confines of the vehicle, Hope saturated all her senses. Jolie was bathing in her, consumed by her. Her hands began to shake again, and her throat dried up until swallowing was painful. The diner sign appeared, indicating they needed to turn left a half mile up ahead. Gratefully, Jolie followed the instructions.

  She had to hang on until they reached Little Dip. Then she could shed her human skin and run free, burn off this unwanted sexual energy and be calm again. She would shake out these knotted and cramped muscles, free the wolven, and find new resolve for her human side.

  Then she would throw herself into work, as usual, and everything would be all right.

  “We’ve given you your own cabin,” Patrice Garoul said on her third round of a series of ever-tightening hugs. She had begun with Jolie the moment she’d stepped out of the Jeep. Then she’d hurried around to hug Hope as soon as she slid out from her side.

  “It’s wonderful to meet you, Hope.”

  “It’s wonderful to be here, Mrs. Garoul.”

  “Call me Patrice, and this is Claude, Jolie’s father.” Claude gave Hope such a warm bear hug she felt sure a rib would crack.

  “We’ve missed you so much. You look tired, sweetie.” Patrice fussed over Jolie.

  “I’m fine, Mom.”

  Wow, how welcoming. Hope was overwhelmed at the friendliness and warmth of Jolie’s parents, given their taciturn daughter.

  “Did you have a good journey? Were the roads clear? You can never tell this close to the holidays. Any more news on Mrs. Meyers?”

  This barrage of questions all came from Patrice, and all within three minutes of their arrival, followed by, “Have you had dinner? Would you like some coffee before unpacking?”

  “Yes. Yes. No. She’s fine. We had dinner about an hour ago, but coffee would be great.” Jolie humorously answered her mother’s string of questions.

  “Mrs. Meyers is recovering well. Godfrey says the doctors are very pleased with her, and she may be out of hospital before the weekend.”

  Hope politely filled in the relevant details. Patrice squeezed her forearm and beamed at her.

  “You go and get settled and I’ll put the kettle on the stov
e and cut some cake. Don’t be too long now.” She spoke directly to Hope, leaving Jolie and Claude to unpack the Jeep.

  “So, what’s been happening, Dad?” Jolie passed him a bag to carry.

  “Need to dig out the drainage ditches on the old logging road. Big cedar crashed in the north end. Should give more than enough firewood for next winter.”

  “I’ll have free time after Andre arrives. I’ll help you cut it up.”

  Claude smiled under his whiskers. “I’ve been saving it for your visit.”

  Jolie smiled back at him. The tree felling would be the time they shared together, father and daughter, when they could talk; really talk, away from the snooping of her mother, Marie, Andre, and all the others.

  And maybe she could ask him about bloodcall, and life bonds, and how did you know when it was time to take a mate? And all the other things that made her head and stomach spin like a tornado.

  “Where’s Tadpole?” Hope came over to join them, lifting the bag full of his stuff.

  “Dunno. Here, give me that.” Jolie took the bag from her. “Did he even get out of the car?”

  “Taddy?” Hope found him stuck under the passenger seat. “What are you hiding under there for? Come out, you silly goose. We’re here… in the forest, and it’s beautiful. Come and see.” She trailed him out and nursed his trembling body in her arms.

  Tadpole was going into anxiety overload. The minute the car doors opened and the scent of a hundred werewolves filled his quivering nostrils, Jolie reckoned he had decided to live under the car seat forever.

  Much to her annoyance, he burrowed deeper into Hope’s cleavage and refused to be set down.

  “He must be tired from the journey.” Hope fell in behind Claude and Jolie as they set off on the quick jaunt to their cabin.

  “What sort of animal is that?” her father asked Jolie discreetly.

  “A dog?”