by Noir, Roxie
That’s why it’s so thrilling, though, thought Isaac.
“Don’t you remember it?” Isaac asked. “The way it feels to be in the ring, just your own teeth and claws and nothing else? We met fighting. I know you used to love it as much as I did.”
Dane just shook his head.
“I was a shitty fighter,” he said. “You won. I lost. It was easy for me to leave. But you were good at it, you had that knack. That spark.”
Isaac couldn’t argue.
“You’re afraid that I don’t anymore,” he said.
“That’s not it,” Dane said, softly. “I know you do. Hell, you mow the lawn like you’re fighting it and winning.”
“But I’m not eighteen.”
“You’re not eighteen, and how long do you think you’ll be lucky for, Dane? It’s not forever. How many fighters over thirty are there in the ring?”
Isaac thought for a minute.
“Exactly,” said Dane. “They retire, they get hurt, or they die.”
“Just one,” Isaac said. “I swear it’s the last one.”
Please let me stop missing this, he thought. Let me stop wanting it.
“Okay,” said Dane. Isaac could tell that his mate didn’t believe him just then, but that didn’t matter.
He’ll believe me when it’s true, he thought.
“Want to come see the match?” Isaac offered. “I know a guy.”
Dane wasn’t amused.
“I can’t watch you fight,” he said, sadly. “I’m not sure you know how it feels, watching your heart face off with a wolf.”
For a moment, Isaac imagined the situation reversed: Dane in the ring, Isaac watching. Some other wolf tearing into his mate. The thought alone made him break out into a sweat.
“That’s fair,” he said, quietly.
Dane stepped forward and took Isaac’s face in his hands so that the two of them were eye to eye.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he said. “Is it really the last time?”
“I love you more than I love fighting,” Isaac said. “I swear.”
Dane looked into his eyes for a few more moments, and then kissed Isaac hard on the lips, pressing himself against the other man like his life depended on it. Isaac kissed him back, grabbing Dane around the waist.
When they broke the kiss, they were both breathing hard, and Isaac leaned his forehead against Dane’s.
“Would you really change my diapers?” he asked, half-teasing.
Dane’s face broke into a smile, despite himself.
“I’d rather you not be in diapers,” he said. “But I would.”
Isaac kissed him again, fiercely.
Chapter Seven
Grey
When Grey’s alarm clock went off at five-thirty the next morning, she felt like she’d barely slept at all. In a sense, that was almost true. After all, she’d been at the police station until midnight, and then she’d stayed awake long past then in her apartment, tidying up the mess the police had left, especially in the kitchen.
She could tell that they’d tried to put things back where they belonged, but she could also tell that if Rustvale had female police officers, they hadn’t been the ones to search her apartment. Nothing was put back quite right: photos hung a little crooked on the wall, towels were messy in her linen closet, throw pillows were tossed onto her couch haphazardly.
There was nothing missing, not even anything ruined, but her whole place had a pervading sense of wrong about it. Someone had touched almost everything in her home, had invaded her space. Violated her in this small, non-bodily way, and she didn’t like it.
Before she went to bed, she changed her sheets, then lay on top of them for hours, thinking.
One, about Nicky. She’d found a dead body and done the right thing, and someone was trying to pin a murder on her for it. She didn’t think she could blame the Rustvale Police for being careful, but keeping her in that cell? Going through all of her things? That seemed like overkill.
Two, Isaac.
Three, Dane.
Really, they fell under the same number, being mates and all. Grey wasn’t really sure about the whole triad thing. Her parents were human, she’d grown up around humans, and having two husbands or boyfriends just seemed... well, it seemed strange. What if she liked one more than the other? What if they liked each other more than they liked her? After all, they’d already been together for years, and there was no substitute for that kind of thing.
But on the other hand, they made her feel funny in a way that no one ever had before. Not her first real boyfriend in high school, not the poet she’d dated for most of college who’d written sonnets for her, not the guitar-playing guy with long hair whose shows she’d gone to in the years after college.
It was weird, the way the mated pair made her feel: buzzy on the inside, but also safe, totally protected. She had no idea what to make of it.
And then, her alarm woke her up so suddenly that for a moment, she couldn’t even remember where she was.
Right, she thought, looking at the still-dark sky through her windows. On top of all that, I get to wrangle a bunch of five-year-olds.
She took one more moment in her comfy, cozy bed, and then got up for the day ahead.
For once, the kids seemed to sense that she’d had a rough day and went easy on her. During storytime, no one wriggled around or talked over her or hit anyone else. During recess, no one pulled anyone else’s hair. During naptime, all twenty of them laid down and were totally quiet.
Maybe I should get arrested more often, she thought, sitting at her desk and watching them. Even Evan and Lily are either asleep or, at the very least, quiet.
Evan and Lily are never asleep or quiet.
Maybe they’re sick or something.
Grey nearly fell asleep herself.
At one-thirty, she walked her class in a line to P.E., and then headed back to her classroom for a rare half-hour of blissful, sweet silence. Normally, she’d use that time to catch up on looking over their work or writing reports home for the kids, but today she was seriously considering a nap.
As Grey passed the principal’s office, a familiar head popped out: Principal Keen.
“Miss Macauley,” she said. “Got a minute?”
It wasn’t as if Grey had a choice, so she followed her boss past a hallway filled with kids’ posters and into the office, where Principal Keen closed the door behind them.
Grey felt her nerves jangle with adrenaline. She’d had about five cups of coffee that day, which wasn’t currently helping her stay calm.
The principal sat behind her desk and gestured at the chair opposite it. Grey gathered her skirt and sat, folding her hands neatly in front of herself.
Just don’t look like a degenerate, she thought.
“How is everything going?” the principal asked. It was obviously a loaded question, and Grey knew that it really meant, I know some shit is going down, so please tell me about it.
Grey closed her eyes briefly and tried to think of a response, since it was both going great and not great.
“Well, I found that dead body,” she said.
“Yes, of course,” Principal Keen said, the exact right amount of sympathy in her voice. “How are you doing?”
“I think I’m handling it okay. I made an appointment with the school therapist to talk about it next week.”
The principal nodded. She had light hair and the greenest eyes that Grey had ever seen. Sometimes, watching her prowl the hallways, Grey was almost certain that the woman was a lion shifter, but she thought it might be rude to ask.
“That’s good,” Principal Keen said. “I also heard that you were arrested last night?”
Grey sighed. She’d hoped to keep that part of her life separate from her school life, but she should have known that in a small town like Rustvale, that wasn’t going to happen.
“Yes, but I wasn’t charged with anything,” Grey said. “There was some sort of misunderstanding, I think.”
She almost said someone said they saw me murder him, but managed to bite her tongue at the last minute. It wasn’t the sort of thing that she needed to say out loud to her boss. If it was that important, her boss would find out some way.
“I was there until pretty late last night,” Grey said. “It’s been a little rough.”
Also, I met two super-hot wolves and I think they’re into me, but I’m not exactly sure what to do about that, she thought.
More details that her boss didn’t really need to know.
Principal Keen nodded.
“We had a parent reach out to us,” she said. “Apparently, they saw you in the back of a police car and had some concerns.”
Grey closed her eyes and tried very, very hard not to be too annoyed. If you had a kid and you saw their teacher in the back of a police car, you would also have concerns, she thought.
Yeah, but would you call the principal right away? Wouldn’t you at least give them the benefit of the doubt?
Her lack of sleep was making Grey crankier than usual, and she tried to keep a lid on it while talking to her boss.
“The person who finds the body is usually a suspect,” Grey said. “At least, if crime shows can be believed, you know? Someone said they saw me acting strangely, and apparently that was enough to arrest me and search my apartment. They held me while they tested all my kitchen knives for human blood.”
“My goodness,” said Principal Keen.
“They didn’t find any, of course,” said Grey. “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
And she doesn’t need to know what that wrong place was, exactly, she thought.
“I understand,” said the principal, nodding. “But please keep me updated on any further developments, will you? I hate to hear it from a parent who’s convinced that their child is being taught by a murderess.”
Murderess; that’s a word you don’t hear much, thought Grey.
She just nodded.
“Will do,” she said. “Hopefully, that’s all over, and the next thing will be when I testify at someone’s trial.”
Principal Keen smiled, and even though Grey knew that she was trying to be kindly, the girl still felt a little bit like prey. She always did around her principal.
“Of course,” the principal said.
Chapter Eight
Dane
Dane got up early that morning. He hadn’t gotten much sleep; even if he and Isaac had technically patched things over, he didn’t feel quite right about it.
The fact was that Isaac was still going to a wolf fight that night — he was in the wolf fight — and Dane hated it. He could forgive a lot from his mate; he could forgive Isaac’s desire to be in the ring, and he could even forgive him for not telling Dane about it right away, but what if something went wrong?
Could he forgive Dane for something so preventable like that?
He sneaked around their bedroom, putting on his a button-down shirt and tie, trying to look presentable for his day ahead of knocking on doors and questioning the citizens of Rustvale. Being dressed nicely always made that go better. People who wouldn’t talk to a man in a uniform would talk to a man in a tie.
Just as he was about to leave, the pile of blankets on the bed moved.
“Hey,” said Isaac.
Dane froze. He didn’t really want to talk to his mate just then. He was too confused, too upset.
“Dane,” came Isaac’s voice again, in the half-light just before dawn.
Reluctantly, Dane walked toward the bed.
“Yeah?” he asked.
Isaac sat up, his hair sticking out from his head in every direction, pillow lines on the right side of his face. He always slept on that side, and most mornings, Dane woke up with his arms around him, spooning in the early hours.
A pang of anxiety and sadness shot through him.
I don’t want to lose that, he thought.
“Would you really change my diapers?” Isaac asked.
Dane sighed.
“Of course I would,” he said. “You know that.”
Isaac took his hand and laced his fingers through it.
“Do you remember when you went into the police academy?” he asked.
“I guess.”
“I had to decide, then and there, whether I was willing to change your diapers someday. Police officers get hurt all the time, Dane.”
Now Dane felt guilty. He hadn’t even considered that aspect of it.
“You never said anything,” he said.
“Because it wasn’t a hard decision,” said Isaac. “I knew already. Dane, I think I knew the moment our lips touched in that jail cell that I would change all your diapers or push you around in a wheelchair or do whatever it takes, no matter what happens to you. Because you’re mine.”
Dane sighed, then swallowed. A lump was just beginning to form in his throat, and he looked at Isaac in the dim morning light, the outlines of his mate’s face deadly serious.
“Being a police officer isn’t exactly the same as the fighting pit,” Dane said, softly, even though he knew he was fighting a losing battle.
“But you’re doing it because you love it,” said Isaac, matching Dane’s tone.
Isaac had a point, and Dane knew it.
“I’d push you around in a wheelchair too,” he said. He lifted Isaac’s hand to his lips and kissed it.
“I know,” said Isaac.
“I just wish it wouldn’t come to that,” Dane said. “Maybe I’m going soft, but I couldn’t stand to see you hurt.”
Isaac pulled on Dane’s arm, and Dane acquiesced, crawling onto his mate, letting Isaac wrap his big arms around him. He closed his eyes, letting himself feel at home.
“One more, I swear,” Isaac said. “Then I’ll be done, you’ll find the killer, and we can work on Grey.”
“You make it sound so simple,” Dane said, half-teasing. “And sexy. ‘Work on’?”
“Okay, my phrasing could use some work,” Isaac admitted. “You know what I mean. Complete the triad. Move into a bigger house, have a bunch of kids running around—”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Dane said.
“Hush,” said Isaac, kissing the back of his head.
They stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, for a long time as the sun came up and shone through the bedroom window.
Later that day, when he wanted to find Pete, Dane didn’t bother going to the other man’s house. It was a fight day, and Dane knew where he’d be.
The clerk looked up, briefly, as Dane entered the liquor store, then did a double take, spazzing just a little, reaching for the phone.
“Don’t,” Dane told him. “It’s not a bust, I just want to talk to somebody.”
The clerk stared and didn’t move.
“Seriously,” Dane said.
Very slowly, the clerk moved his hand back to his phone, where he’d been playing a game.
“Thanks,” Dane said.
The clerk said nothing, and Dane walked to the door with the buxom beer babe on it, opened it, and headed down.
When Tobias saw him, he looked nervous for a second, glancing up at the door.
“What’s going on?” the huge bear shifter asked Dane as he came down the stairs.
“Not a bust,” Dane said. “I just want to talk to Pete, promise.”
Tobias said nothing, and Dane descended the last few steps, peeking around into the dingy basement. There was no one around, though he was hardly surprised. It was the middle of the day — not really the time for poker.
Dane tilted his head toward the door in the back of the room.
“He down there?” he asked.
Tobias still didn’t say anything, but he did frown slightly. Dane clapped him on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he told the bear. “You did your job.”
Tobias just shook his head, half rolling his eyes.
“I don’t know why they bother telling me to keep my mouth shut wi
th cops,” he said to Dane. “I think everyone in this town knows everything.”
“Sorry,” said Dane. “Have a good day, though.”
“You too,” said Tobias.
Dane walked to the other end of the room and opened the door.
This one led to a much older staircase, made of rock, leading down into a dimly lit sub-basement. He went around a bend in the staircase, and then everything opened up. He’d once heard someone say that when Rustvale had been built, this had been for running whiskey to San Francisco — but he’d also heard that it was just a storeroom for grain, a place where the summer heat and the winter cold couldn’t get to it.
He preferred the alcohol explanation. It made more sense, for some reason.
The smell hit him first: sweat and money, sure, but the strongest scents were fur and blood. As his eyes adjusted, he could finally see the rest of the room, and in the bottom, the pit.
The whole place, about the size of a high school gymnasium, was rock-lined and dirt-floored, lit only by cage lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling at intervals — everything but the pit, at least. Two floodlights were trained on the pit, though they were off at the moment.
For a second, Dane remembered how bright they’d been the first time he had gone into the pit: right in his eyes, blinding him, so that he could hear and smell the other wolf, but couldn’t see him. Then at the last moment, there had been a flash of teeth, and not much later, the fight had been over. He couldn’t even remember the name of the first wolf he’d fought in the pit, but he did remember the high that came with fighting there, the way he’d felt utterly invincible with all that adrenaline pumping through his veins.
The floor sloped upward from the pit, metal fences every five or so feet to give the crowd something to lean on, fencing around the pit itself just in case someone wanted to escape — or, worse, turned against the audience. Before the fight the wolves themselves stayed in dugouts, two hollows carved out of the dirt.