by Ines Johnson
The fierceness in her voice stirred the beast. Pierce had never been one for dainty, delicate damsels. The woman in his arms was strong enough to have his back. It was what she was doing to his front that was the problem.
Viviane made to pull away from him. The only reason she got away was because man and beast waged an internal war to loosen his grip on her. In the midst of his inner growling, Viviane escaped unscathed.
“So, I guess this is goodbye.” She tugged again at that bottom lip.
“Yeah, I guess so.” His hand scratched at the right side of his chest.
The steps away from her were just as difficult as getting out of bed this morning. But he did so. He opened and then pulled her bedroom door closed behind him. He took the stairs as quietly as his large body could. He crossed the threshold of the ranch house and stepped out into the cool morning air.
By the time he made his way down the graveled lane, he marched over the earth on sure feet. The crunch of the gravel gave way to blades of grass softened by the morning dew. The ground called to him through his shoes.
Pierce walked until he was a good mile from the house. He set his pack down against a Saguaro. Then he stripped, shifted, and ran.
The wind beat at his face and the spongy earth caked between his paws. His neck creaked as he peered from left then to right at the vastness of the meadow that stretched out as far as his wolf could see. Nothing held him back. Nothing called him to return.
He ran until exhaustion had him collapsing into a happy heap in the lush greenery. Resting his nose on the warm, supple earth gave him a second wind. A heady scent filled his nostrils. It kicked his heart into a double-time pound. It did not stir his loins.
A white tuft of fur dashed out before him. Pierce’s wolf’s ears perked, and he took off after the rabbit. It was illegal to hunt in the city. But Pierce was no longer in the city.
The rabbit was no match for him. He closed in on its fluffy tail in seconds. But the thumping on the ground told him he wasn’t the only predator in the meadow.
Without slowing down, Pierce cast a glance over his shoulders. Two shaggy beasts gave chase. The dogs weren’t quite his size nor up to his speed, but they were relentless. It seemed their attention was on him more than the bouncing bunny’s tail. From his left flank, a tan and white cougar streaked by him.
No. Not a cougar.
The wolf quickly outpaced him, scooping up the rabbit and ringing its neck in one, smooth motion.
Pierce’s wolf pedaled to a halt. The two sheep dogs boxed him in; one on the left, the other on the right. Both growled, low and menacing. But neither moved in.
The wolf stood before him. The dead rabbit dropped from her lips. A bloody grin spread inhumanely across the beast’s muff.
Pierce turned his head when he heard the distinct sound of shifting. With his clothes being miles back in the opposite direction, he hesitated to shift himself. He chanced a peek when the sound of a human’s footprints approached.
“Running away so soon?” Gloria asked. “I gave you until dinner.”
Chapter Twelve
It took forever for Viviane to get out of the bed. The morning sickness, which had been assaulting her the past few weeks, did not touch her this morning. Perhaps because last night had been the best sleep she’d had in weeks. She’d opened her eyes to the glaring sun, expecting her belly to lurch. It hadn’t. There’d been a big, warm paw steadying her.
It had confused her at first. Daniel didn’t have paws. He had long, slender fingers. Thinking back on it, she noted how dainty the man’s hands were. She’d never met a man with such soft hands. She’d been enthralled by his gentle touch at first. But by the third time they’d had sex, she missed the calluses that came from a day’s hard work in the fields.
She’d begged Daniel to take her harder, to be a bit rougher, to give her hair a tug. He’d balked. So, Viviane did what she always did; she took matters into her own hands.
The next time they’d slept together, she’d mounted him like she’d wanted to do since their first time together. She’d come close to orgasming with him inside her that time, but he’d lost his erection just as she’d been close. Later, he’d told her that her move had emasculated him. That had been the beginning of the end.
Waking up this afternoon had been nothing like her time with Daniel. Soft, dainty hands aside, Daniel had never stayed the day. Humans were prone to rise with the sun, unlike the moonchildren. Would her baby have soft hands and be a morning person?
Viviane worried her hand over her belly. Those were minor traits. The child might take on an even more offensive trait from its father’s side. It might not be born moonkind. It might not shift.
It was a gamble when a human and a moonkind made a baby. If this child were human she’d have even more problems on her hand than an absentee wolf father. But she’d cross that bridge once she got there.
Watching Pierce sneak out of the door had brought back other bad memories. Daniel always crept out of her bed as the sun rose. He’d always been too afraid of being caught together. He was her professor and his job was at stake. He’d proclaim his devotion under the cover of night and then rip her papers in lecture hall during the morning classes. He couldn’t show favoritism, he’d said.
He hadn’t shown favoritism; not in class nor in the bedroom. When Viviane had gone to tell him she was pregnant with his child, he’d been with someone else. The next month until finals was tortuous as she battled her wounded pride, her broken heart, and her morning sickness.
This afternoon she’d awakened feeling steady in mind, body, and spirit. She was alone again. But it was better this way. Pierce had said she’d be fighting off wolves that would want her hand. That wouldn’t happen. She wouldn’t be extending her hand to any wolf or man.
In this respect, Viviane would take after her mother. She might take lovers, but no man would have any ounce of control over her life, her livelihood, or her child.
Pierce hadn’t tried to exert any control over her. He’d had no trouble following her lead. When the going got tough, he’d stood up for her. It was novel; a man standing his ground in front of her, in front of her mother. But it was a fairy’s tale and Viviane was a wolf.
She swung her feet out of the bed and her stomach lurched. She took a few deep breaths. Then she set to motion on her own two feet. It was time to get back into her old routine and see where she could implement the new things she’d learned while away.
It was shearing time. She’d learned new techniques from herders visiting the university from Iceland. These men had mechanized their whole operation and therefore needed less hands on deck. Each year, fewer and fewer of her cousins returned to the farm to help with the wool gathering. Mainly because Gloria insisted on sticking to the old ways and shearing sheep using the bruising hand shears instead of the modern electric ones.
But that was all about to change. The only language her mother understood was strength and force. After leaving college in the state she did, the success of the farm was all Viviane had now.
The sun was lower in the sky, which meant the workday was about to begin. Viviane had always been an early riser. She decided she would get up and make an early dinner for everyone.
She washed, dressed, and descended the stairs. To her surprise, she entered a kitchen full of women.
“How was your wedding night?” asked Stella as she turned over sliced potatoes in a cast iron pan.
“They were married before yesterday,” said Rhetta. Her biceps flexed as she squeezed a split orange in a press. “So it was just like any other night.”
“I always thought you’d mate Jesus.” Bianca lined up a fork and knife on a place mat until the tines and tip were in perfect alignment.
There was no job left for Viviane, except maybe to go out and hunt for some breakfast meats. But she knew better than to hunt game in her condition. “Before last night you thought I was a lesbian.”
“Even lesbians have to mate.” Bianca strai
ghtened Viviane’s place mat as she rounded her end of the table. “Two women can’t have a cub.”
“Mating isn’t all about cubs.” Stella turned her attention to the scrambled eggs on another burner. “There’s also love.”
Rhetta rolled her eyes. Bianca frowned. Unlike Viviane’s father, Tia Bianca’s mate hadn’t been a casualty of the turf wars. Bianca’s mate had succumbed to another of Viviane’s father’s vices.
“And there’s also great sex,” Stella amended.
Rhetta rolled her eyes. Bianca frowned. She and her mate often spent their days and nights apart. Then, when Viviane was still a young girl, Tio Franco ran off with a human woman.
“Vivi doesn’t want children.” Rhetta poured the orange liquid into a clear pitcher. “She’s an educated woman. Books have always been her passion.”
Viviane wanted to hug her sister. Though Rhetta was wrong on both counts, she still knew her best. Viviane had always wanted children. And though she loved books, industrial science was her passion. Books helped her understand the thing she loved. But still, Rhetta knew her best.
“So why did you mate him, Vivi?” Rhetta asked.
“I…”
Viviane thought of Pierce on the train when she’d handled those humans. He’d seemed more amused than put out. Unlike the dumb brutes in this town, Pierce had kept pace with her in their conversations. But he was a city wolf, so of course he was educated. Pierce hadn’t been threatened by her strength or intelligence. He’d only ever shone delight and… interest.
“She mated him because he’s her perfect match,” mused Stella. “Just like Diego is mine.”
“Diego bows to your every whim,” said Bianca.
“Exactly.” Stella twirled her finger in the air. “Perfect.”
“Pierce isn’t perfect,” said Viviane.
Pierce was thoughtful, open, kind. Too hard on himself and his failings. He was eager to help. He had great instincts. She would’ve loved for him to be the actual father of her baby. She wanted to tell her son or daughter about this man. But he was long gone now. They’d all know soon enough. She’d better start disparaging him now.
“I may not be perfect now, but I’ll strive to be.”
Viviane nearly choked at the sound of Pierce’s voice coming in through the back door. His tall, brown body swaggered in, but not like he owned the place. He swaggered because that was how his body moved.
“Dinner,” he said presenting her with a dead rabbit. “Your mother met me on my afternoon run. We went hunting.”
Her mother shrugged, throwing down two dead rabbits of her own. “He’s not a bad tracker.”
Viviane blinked. Her mother never gave compliments. Double negatives were the best you could expect from her. That statement was damn near praise.
“But he’s sloppy on the kill,” Gloria amended. “Men have a habit of playing with their food. Toying with the thing they claim sustains them. It’s the easiest way for a predator to lose his prey.”
Pierce smiled amiably. His thumb rubbed in slow circles at the small of Viviane’s back. That motion told her she didn’t need to stand up for him. “Well, I’m much more of an eat the same meal every day kind of guy.”
“Hmm,” nodded Stella with a huge grin. “That’s healthy.”
Gloria shot her sister a death glare, but Stella simply chuckled and scrambled the potatoes.
“I’m willing to learn,” said Pierce. “To hunt, that is. Perhaps you’ll teach me some tricks?”
It was hard to surprise or impress her mother. Viviane knew by the slight up tilt of Gloria’s left eye that Pierce had done one or the other. Viviane wasn’t sure which?
What was he doing? He was supposed to be leaving. He was supposed to be gone already. But here he was, with his hand at her back calming the queasiness. She still felt the warmth where his lips had touched her temple. Her instinct was to lean into his warmth. Instead, she pulled him into an alcove off the family room.
“Don’t worry,” he said before she could open her mouth.
His words weren’t a command, not exactly. His voice was soothing, reassuring. And she was. She was soothed. She was assured.
“I’ll stick to our agreement,” he said. “I’ll sneak away in the middle of the evening.”
“Right. Good.” She had to force the words past a lump in her throat. She moved away from the hand he still had at her back. When she did, her stomach trembled and her gut clenched.
Chapter Thirteen
Pierce cringed as the lamb slid onto the dry hay with a wet plop. The birth of life looked less like a miracle to him and more like taking a dump. His stomach turned as the creature’s mother leaned in and licked at the newborn’s slimy skin.
Pierce turned away from the pen to find a different miracle standing beside him. Viviane watched the process impassively. Her face appeared unaffected. But her right hand cradled her lower abdomen. Her thumb ran slow strokes left and right where he imagined her belly button might be.
Bianca held the lamb still while Stella tagged the babe with a marker. The aunts left that stall and went to the next to repeat the process with another ewe. It would be the third birth of the evening; a slow day, apparently. Viviane had explained that this was the end of lambing season.
Lambing stretched the length of late winter to early spring. After the births, the ewes’ wool was shaved and harvested. After the harvest of the wool, the herders would take the sheep on a long trek down through Mexico to graze and allow the land to regrow. The older bucks were sold for their meat. By the time the herders and sheep returned from the trek, there was grass in the field, the ewes were pregnant, and the whole process began again.
Pierce marveled that the farm ran on a factory’s schedule. Once again, nature had bowed to the will of man. He stepped out of the barn and into the setting sun.
Two shaggy dogs bounded up to him in a blur of fur. There was no menace in their lolling muffs. They panted and wagged their tails instead of growling as they neared him. Pierce leaned down to receive their enthusiastic greeting.
“Heel.”
Both of the dogs and Pierce skidded to a halt in their motions. Pierce’s gaze caught on a long, unflattering skirt that led up to a loose-fitting shirt that, if she was anything like her sister, hid lush curves. When he met Rhetta’s gaze it held none of the warmth or inquisitiveness or sensuality that Viviane’s face held.
“It’s fine,” Pierce said straightening his spine. “I wasn’t afraid. I love dogs.” To illustrate, Pierce reached out his hand to scruff the neck of the closest one.
“Sit.” Rhetta’s command had the dog placing her wagging butt back on the ground.
Pierce felt Viviane’s hand under his armpit. He looked down at his body and realized he was halfway to folding himself to the ground. Viviane failed to hide her smirk as she gave him a tug upwards and brought him to stand at his full height.
“I don’t like the dogs being familiar with strangers,” Rhetta said.
“I’m not a stranger. I’m family.” The word was fuzzy on his tongue. But not wrong.
He looked over at Viviane’s hand as it snaked its way from under his arm. Her hand made its way around his back. He tracked its progress as it traveled down to rest on his hip. She leaned into him. It was a show of solidarity. Pierce liked the solid feel of it all.
“Bo, Peep, come.”
Pierce’s attention shifted to the dogs as they followed Rhetta out of the gate and into the meadow. He looked out at the land. He itched to follow, to explore the rolling hills. He wanted to race through the fields and catch a whiff of the smell of freedom in the grass. The scent blew to him on the breeze. It came closer and closer until it crawled up the back of his neck.
“You could make a run for it right now while the Moon is rising,” Viviane said.
A ray of moonlight illuminated her honey-golden skin. Her light eyes shone bright in the dusk. The breeze that pushed him towards the gate blew a few strands of her wavy hair into his fac
e as she came nearer to him. The ends of the tendrils tickled his nose. He caught that earthy mix of the fields on her locks.
He’d been prepared to pass through the gate and take off with the dogs, but his feet were suddenly heavy. “I told your mother I’d help take out the sheep for herding later in the evening.”
It was the truth. Another truth; he was looking forward to the run. Only a small herd had gone out this morning when Pierce had taken off. He’d herded those back alongside Gloria. This morning had been the best run he’d had in a long time. And, if he was to admit yet another truth, he wouldn’t mind another night curled around Viviane in that small bed.
“The land has grown more barren,” Viviane said.
Pierce looked out at the vast, lush green. Sure, there were patches of brown earth here and there. But the farm was an oasis compared to the concrete of the city.
“For generations my family has practiced rotating the pastures,” Viviane continued. “We allow the sheep to graze on one pasture while we seed and grow the other. Then we swap out the pastures in the next season.”
Pierce looked at the two fields. He could see the differences between the sparse south field and the sprouts of the north field now that she pointed it out. “It looks like it’s growing,” he said.
Viviane shook her head. “It’s just grass. Sheep prefer brush to grass. Rotations are highly inefficient. There was a drought last year and the south field barely made it in time. Another close call and we could lose everything.”
“What can be done?” Pierce asked.
“Modern wisdom says to switch to bag feeding.”
“Do you mean packaged foods? Like the pet food you’d buy in the city for domesticated dogs and cats?”
Viviane grimaced. “My mother believes no animal should eat from a bag. She’s so stubborn.” She kicked at the dirt, dislodging a tuft of grass. “I micro-targeted a blend of feed with all natural ingredients and enhancers. It’s a special blend for our sheep with herbs to make their wool shinier and healthier. I brought some home the last time I was here. But do you think she’s used it? No.”