Silver Collar

by Gill McKnight

  There was a slight hesitation on Emily’s part and Luc saw it. She pulled her to her and kissed her with open-mouthed, smoldering passion.

  “I want you,” she murmured, lest there be any misunderstanding. She tugged harder at Emily’s clothes. “I want you right here on this floor.” A stitch burst and elastic snapped, and then Emily was helping by shrugging off her top and kicking her legs out of her jeans. Luc clawed the underwear from Emily’s hips. She wore no bra. Luc would have bitten it off anyway.

  The touch of their skin on each other was electric. They sparked and twitched and moaned, gliding over each other like silk, like static. The RV floor was too small and knees and elbows slammed into cabinets and table legs as they wrestled for space. Luc smoothed her hands down Emily’s back to cup her rump and squeezed. Her mouth found a raspberry red nipple and she drew on it with relish feeling it harden under her tongue, straining for her attentions. Emily moaned and Luc bit gently until she heard a hiss of pleasure. Her forefinger traced the groove of Emily’s bottom and she brought her other hand around to play with the soft crease between Emily’s belly and groin and down to where the warm swell of her pubis pushed into the palm of her hand. Her fingertips found wetness and heat and a low growl rumbled in Luc’s chest. Her skin was burning and her head was heavy with heat. The wolfskin was close to the surface. Her feet were cramped and hot, and the tightness in her face warned her how close she was to changing.

  “Question.” Emily’s cool hands cupped her face and brought her up to meet her gaze, now darker than a winter night. “What happened to your ear?” Now that her hair was pulled back, the crooked ear was exposed.

  “My sister bit it,” Luc said.

  Emily digested this without comment, her gaze flicking over Luc’s still face.

  “Your eyes are flecked with gold,” she murmured, and lowered her mouth to kiss the corner of Luc’s lips. “I’ve never noticed that before.” Then her mouth found the softness of Luc’s throat. She bared her teeth and grazed the flesh; Luc arched her head and pushed up into Emily’s claim. She knew what it was even if Emily was clueless as to her act. The fact that either of them was doing it, was laying claim where there was no history to bind them, no love to hold them, did not make Luc hesitate. Luc offered herself with no thought, just the pure, blind instinct that always drove her. She closed her eyes, and somewhere deep inside, she made her dedication…and heard a joyful, whooping woof.

  Oh no. Not him again.

  Luc opened her eyes and slid out from under Emily to peep out the back window with its lopsided blind in time to see the stupid ginger mutt scramble up the street hard on the heels of a ramshackle child and hobo woman. Was he chasing them off or following them? Then Emily’s crazy old uncle spilled out onto the sidewalk.

  “Hey. That’s my dog.” His shout answered her question. The dog was making a run for it, and who could blame it. The old man turned away from the escapees and began to trundle toward the RV. Luc heaved to her feet, whacking her head on the low ceiling and muttering curses.

  “What is it?” Emily was upright, dragging on her clothes.

  “Your uncle is on his way over.”

  “Get the hell out of here before he sees you.”

  “But I’m human.” Luc felt hurt, not that she wanted to meet Emily’s uncle anyway, grizzled old geezer that he was.

  “He doesn’t know I’m gay. Get out!” Emily was shoving her out the sliding door. Luckily, it faced the forest and Luc could easily run for cover before the old boy got close enough to see his niece’s naked lover making a run for it.

  A few yards into the thicket, she paused and looked back to see Emily’s anxious face scouring the wood line for her. She was clawing her clothes into place even as her uncle reached the rear of the RV and began slamming on the side for her attention. Emily couldn’t see her. She was too far back in the shadows. For a second, Luc relaxed and watched. Her throat was still damp from the touch of Emily’s tongue. She placed her fingers on her pulse point where Emily’s teeth had been. There would be no mark. Emily didn’t know how to bite, but Luc would teach her that. Luc watched the sunlight shine on Emily’s auburn hair as she slouched on the step of the side door and waited for her uncle to find her. That was Emily sitting there. Her Emily. Her mate.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “And then they stole Wilbur and my overalls.”

  “Your overalls?” Emily said. She was perched on the side step of her RV feeling hot and very, very bothered. Norm was giving her a hell of headache with all his nonsense.

  “I’m sure they were my overalls. They had a paint splotch on the bib, right here.” Uncle Norm tapped his chest.

  “Okay.” Emily had no idea why she said okay when nothing was okay. The dog was gone. The damned dog had run away. She had assumed he would be here forever. Norm had bonded with him, for God’s sake! She heaved herself to her feet and walked away from the RV a little unsteadily.

  “You sure you’re feeling all right, Em?” Norm asked.

  “Sure. Sure,” she said. He had nearly given her a heart attack banging on the RV like the hordes of Armageddon seconds after Luc had streaked away from it. “It was hot in there.” She waved at the RV and kept on walking to the house. She needed to stand under a cold shower, or a fire hose, or something. She had to think.

  “It’s too hot for cleaning out cars,” he said, and fell into step beside her. “What are we gonna do about Wilbur?”

  “Did they grab him or did he just follow them?” Emily had a good idea what had happened. Wilbur had found his rightful family.

  “Them Garouls grab anything they want.” Norm sounded defeated, as if he too knew the answer. The dog belonged in Little Dip not Lost Creek.

  “Can’t argue with that.” Under her shirt, Emily’s skin itched all over. Luc’s nips and scratches stung, but in a good, secret lover sort of way. Emily felt overheated and depleted, and also irritable. She wanted Luc, here, now. They needed to talk.

  “It’s so hot, why don’t we light up the barbeque tonight and eat on the porch?” She decided to change tack with Norm. He needed to calm down. She had brought total chaos into his life, if he but knew it. “I’ll make that potato salad you like.”

  His eyes lit up. “The one with the onion bits in?”

  With one last look at the tree line, Emily gently ushered him toward the house. There was nothing out there. No shadow that looked deeper and more menacing than the rest. No wraith-like sliver of pale flesh vanishing through the tangle of trees. Luc had gone and left a lit keg of explosive emotion and a million questions behind her.

  *

  “Look at all these rib bones.” Norm cast a sorrowful eye over his plate. It was piled high with his leftovers. Emily knew what was coming next. “If Wilbur were here, he would have loved these,” he said mournfully.

  “I think we need to go down to the pound and adopt a dog,” she said. It was clear to her that Norm was lonely. Despite all the hangers-on at his coffee counter during the day, it must be depressing once the shop shutters came down and he went home to an empty house. “It’s a sin for all those animals to be lined up on death row when all they need is a decent owner to save them. There are some wonderful dogs there. Good guard dogs, too.”

  Norm looked over. “Guards dogs?”

  “Well, you have to admit Wilbur never guarded a damn thing.” She felt sorry for blaming the dog for the disappearances, but better that than tell her uncle they’d had an intruder. A hairy one. “Look at the stuff that went missing. Bet it’s all buried out there somewhere.” She nodded over the fence to the forest. It was only half a lie.

  “A guard dog would keep an eye on the clothesline,” Norm said. He was warming to the idea.

  “You only think that woman was wearing your overalls,” Emily said. “You didn’t even have your glasses on. I bet the dog pulled the overalls off the line and hid them somewhere.” She warmed to her theme, false as it was. “I mean, why would a grown woman steal your messy old
paint pants and then wear them into your shop? You must have scared the wits out of her yelling like that.”

  Norm looked a little shamefaced. “She had my wallet.”

  “No, you said she threw some dollars on the counter and then you found your wallet, exactly where I told you to look earlier.” Emily was pleased at her problem solving. Norm was easy to manage with logic, even if the logic flew in the face of reality. But the less inclined he was to march down to Little Dip with his Winchester to reclaim his dog, pants, wallet, and whatever the hell else Luc had pilfered, then the better it was for all of them. As far as Emily was concerned, she was in the middle of a disaster recovery exercise and doing rather well at it.

  “Another beer?” Norm asked, indicating his own empty bottle. It was a peace offering that Emily was glad to accept.

  “Please,” she said and watched him go fetch a few more. She sighed and relaxed back into her rocker, lifting her face to the last rays of the sun. She rocked back and forth enjoying the pearly pink play behind her eyelids and the gentle heat caressing her face. The motion of the chair was soothing, like the sway of a cradle, and she allowed her fatigue to seep through her bones and melt her muscles to honey—

  Her chair jarred to a shuddering halt. A shadow blocked out the mellow sunglow as her rocker was roughly tipped backward, so far back her feet dangled doll-like off the floor. Emily’s eyes flew open. A huge werewolf loomed over her, its menacing frown leered only inches from her face. This was not Luc. She could see the dark brown flecks in its amber eyes, each individual hair bristling from its leathery maw.

  This was the Were she had spotted lurking in the dawn mist. Its nostrils quivered as it delicately inhaled her. Her ear, her hairline, and down her neck to her breastbone. The moisture of its breath brushed along her skin. Then it growled, low and cunning, as if it had learned something, and Emily’s guts jellified. It released the back of her chair abruptly, and she was flung forward, the runners crashing down on the wood planking, the soles of her feet slapping on the floor. Emily looked over her shoulder, but the beast was gone. She was alone, shaking with dread. What the hell was happening? Werewolves were everywhere. Lost Creek was crawling with the things.

  “Here ya go.” Norm waved a sweating bottle of beer under her nose. She hadn’t even heard him return. She took the bottle, thankful for the coolness and solidity of it in her hand. It grounded her a little.

  “Maybe we can go have a look in the pound tomorrow?” he said, and sat in the rocker beside her and took a sip of beer. She copied him, letting the cold liquid trickle down her tight, dried out throat.

  “Yeah, let’s do that,” she said, her voice rasping as she struggled with her panic. All the time, her gaze flickered from the porch to the yard to the forest and back, never once finding a trace of her visitor.

  *

  “It was like a great garage sale in the sky,” Jolie said, waving her hands at the surrounding trees for emphasis.

  “With lots of neat stuff,” Mouse added. “I got this T-shirt and some glasses.” She was wearing the glasses, which made her eyes huge and owl-like. Jolie swiped them from her nose.

  “I told you not to wear those. You’ll damage your eyes.”

  “A nest?” Marie frowned. Beside her, Connie looked bemused. Jolie had found them in the central compound and made a beeline for them. She had to spill her news before she burst with it. As usual, Mouse was at her heels butting in all over. The cub had no respect.

  “It’s been years since I saw a nest. We don’t bother with them here.” Marie smiled at some private memory then shook it away to fix her errant pack members with a stern gaze. “Hope has been looking for you two.”

  Jolie shifted under her scrutiny, and Mouse edged in behind her, far more sensitive to Marie’s mood than she’d ever been to Jolie’s.

  “We were going there next,” Jolie said glumly. She did not expect a warm welcome. Marie looked satisfied with this.

  “So Luc has styled an initiation tree and is sleeping in it?” she said.

  Mouse nodded mutely, her gaze prodding Jolie into being spokesperson. Jolie was highly suspicious of this. It was not like Mouse to voluntarily step out of the limelight, and Jolie had the distinct feeling she was skating toward thin ice, with a helpful push.

  “Well, yes.” Jolie cleared her throat. “It was dripping with clothes and jewelry and stuff.”

  “And these things were hanging from it.” It was a statement not a question. Marie indicated their patched up, barefoot ensemble. “So you removed items from the tree.” Again, it was not a question, but Jolie felt obliged to answer.

  “The cub was tuckered out so we went back to human form. It was freezing. I thought it was the best to get dressed,” she said. Every word she said made sense, yet an unshakeable feeling of foreboding descended on her. Marie looked troubled.

  “The tree is an ancient courtship ritual. To remove an item from it is to contest the declared union,” Marie said, frowning.

  Jolie looked at Mouse, aghast. Why had she not warned her? Mouse just shrugged. It was obviously news to her, too.

  “I didn’t want to, Aunt Marie. She made me dress like this,” Mouse declared. Jolie was outraged.

  “Well, I never told you to take those glasses. You stole those all on your own!” she said.

  “But I need glasses for reading.” Mouse put on her best wheedling voice.

  “You only read comics.” Jolie was furious. Once again, she was in trouble and Mouse was at the epicenter of it. “And even then you move your lips.”

  “I do not!”

  “If it isn’t Huckleberry Finn and the littlest hobo!” Hope’s voice cut through their bickering.

  “Hope.” Jolie was delighted to see her mate, and at the same time full of trepidation.

  “Hello, Auntie Hope,” Mouse trilled happily, totally unconcerned.

  Oh, so it’s Auntie Hope is it? And I’m just plain old Jolie? I see how it is. Jolie’s mood darkened. “I can explain,” she said and pointed at Mouse. “She—”

  “Oh, you’ll explain all right,” Hope interrupted her. “Explain, repent, and compensate. And the first thing I want to know is exactly who is this woman you want to fight Luc for. I don’t see you as the harem type.” She folded her arms and tapped her foot.

  Jolie vaguely noted the parody in Hope’s show of annoyance, but she was in hyper-defensive mode and determined to redeem herself, so once again pointed at Mouse.

  “She didn’t tell me how the damned tree worked,” she said.

  “She dragged me miles in the cold and rain until I was starving.” Mouse fought back.

  “She ran away,” Jolie almost squeaked in indignation.

  “She lost Tadpole,” Mouse almost shouted.

  “Oh, you little—” Jolie flushed scarlet with mortification.

  “Tadpole?” Hope’s voice filled with alarm. On hearing his name, Tadpole wandered over from a bush he had been exploring and pressed his fore paws on her knees begging for a head scratch. His tartan coat stretched along his body and the little bell on his new tartan collar jingled. “He’s in tartan?” Hope blinked in confusion.

  “We’ve had to listen to that bell for the last ten miles,” Jolie grumbled.

  “What have you done to him?” Hope demanded.

  “Jolie lost him,” Mouse piped up, “and she made me eat possum butt.”

  “I did not!” Jolie protested. “The damned dog followed me following her and he got lost, as usual. And the possum was a lesson about anal glands and—”

  “We get the idea.” Marie had a little smile on her face. A few Garouls had gathered around her and were being entertained by the series of denouements.

  “It was ick,” Mouse continued to complain. “I was poisoned.”

  “I bought you sandwiches and a Coke didn’t I, you little weasel.” Jolie was not letting her get away with it.

  “With money you took from the tree!”

  “You never told me not to take from the
tree!” Jolie shouted.

  “Did the tartan jacket come from the tree?” Hope demanded. “Did you do this to him, Jolie?”

  “No.” Jolie felt ashamed. “Norman Johnston from the general store dressed him like that.”

  “What!” Hope was aghast. “That horrible old man tortured my dog?”

  “And he called me a brat,” Mouse heaped on the drama. “And he said we were witches and he chased us and we had to run away and Tadpole followed us and Jolie told me Luc was my mom.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Luc raced to her tree and stopped to draw breath. She slumped to the ground and rested against the gnarled trunk, ignoring the prickling discomfort on her skin. She hated running through the woods in human form. It always made her feel so vulnerable and so…hunted?

  It was blissfully cool under the leafy branches of the maple and she sat for a moment watching the knickknacks she had pilfered dance in the breeze. Sunlight glinted off buttons and buckles, insects droned, and the forest floor smelled sharp and resinous where her feet had churned up the dust and debris. Her skin was still flushed from her sprint through the forest, and the silver collar lay cold and lumpish around her neck and shoulders.

  The rest allowed her time to think. Had she made a mess of things? Probably. She usually did. But then she remembered Emily was the one who had initiated intimacy, and in her own way was as clumsy as Luc in that area. She let her stronger emotions lead her, heart over head, instinct over logic. It was comforting to Luc that Emily could lose control. And Emily had bit her! Okay, so she had no idea what she was doing, but a bite was big news in Were world. Luc felt rather smug about that. It was nice for someone to try to make a claim, especially when she was feeling so confused and low herself.

  Emily would make a great mate, and that was the trouble. Luc chewed her lip. She had not planned on finding a mate, was not even looking for one, and especially not this close to Little Dip. She needed to get away from here as fast as possible, and instead she was building nests and decorating trees. Why was that? Was it because Ren had made an initiation tree for Isabelle? Luc hoped their petty jealousies weren’t that trite. She liked to think of herself as above Ren and her petty pack politics, but had to admit sometimes she did feel lonely and left out. As twins, Ren and Luc had their share of rivalries. In Luc’s opinion, she was the self-styled adventurer, the independent, lone wolf type, while Ren was the nerdy party pooper, always worrying about this and micromanaging that while Luc just got on with it.