Eclipse of the Heart

Eclipse of the Heart by Emily Veinglory

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Eclipse of the Heart by Emily Veinglory

CONTENTS Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter

One Two Three Four Five Six ****

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Warning This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers. This book is rated: Scorching For explicit sexual content, graphic language, and homoerotic sex. This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Loose Id LLC 1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-29 Carson City NV 89701-1215 www.loose-id.com Editor: Raven McKnight Cover Artist: Scott Carpenter

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Chapter One Mason stopped short in the street, patting his pockets in an exaggerated manner—the international sign for 'I've run out of cigarettes.' Lan scowled, disapproving of the habit in general and most unhappy that Mason was almost certainly about to desert him to go buy more. Mason smiled apologetically and laid one broad hand on Lan's shoulder. It was a gesture that outwardly looked just comradely, but Mason's thumb softly caressed Lan's skin just above his collarbone, sending a shiver down his back. Lan wished they could just go back to the hotel room, but Mason had been determined to mark their visit to Hameltown with a good old 'night on the town.' You'd think it was he who came from nocturnal stock. Lan's mind flitted between his job interview, scheduled for the following morning, and the hostile appearance of the crowds around him. Local dress leaned toward leather and torn denim, and none too clean, at that. His own dry-cleanedand-pressed khakis seemed as good as painting a target on his back. "Go ahead and rack up," Mason said, pushing Lan gently in the direction of the pool hall entrance. "I've just got to grab some ciggies." Mason vanished into the crowd with alacrity, eager to avoid another conversation on the evils of nicotine and its associated carcinogens. Lan didn't want to go in on his own, but he also didn't want to look like a coward. He took a deep 5

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breath and ducked down the stairs to the arcade. His instincts, such as they were, kicked in as he neared the bottom. A deep odour of musk hit his senses; the place was full of werefolk. It was completely unexpected. He had seen none of them on the streets or about town. Nor would he expect to; 'his' people were rare and inclined more toward country and wilderness than city streets. They were all masked within, standing like humans, but their postures told a different story. A subtle net of power and appeasement centred upon a few men and women: wolves. Without even thinking, Lan ducked his head a bit, arched his back, and looked for a way out. He had no wish to intrude upon another's territory, especially being what he was. By shifter standards, he was a freak. Canis lupus latrans, a hybrid of wolf and coyote, inheriting, in his case, the smaller stature of the coyote but not the support of pack that was any wolf's true strength. Whilst he was in human form, they knew nothing of this—even a small, sandy-haired specimen like himself might make an impressive wolf—and that was the way Lan wanted it to stay. He edged backwards to the door, his spine rigid with fear, only to hear the scuffing sound of boots behind him. A tall man with a pool cue blocked the entrance, sneering. This thug was not the alpha, was just following an order. He had the stilted confidence and sideways looks of one who is bold upon command, but Lan could not quite discern who was pulling his strings. Lan scanned the room, knowing with a deep certainty that appeasement wouldn't satisfy this group. They were not a 6

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country pack, bound by family ties and long custom, just a city gang of rogues bound together by a common purpose of brutality. What had brought them all to Hameltown, he could not guess, and didn't want to know. Like sharks around the raft, a congregation of werewolves was never good news. Casting all dignity aside, Lan made a break for the door, hoping to barge past the guard, but he'd obviously transmitted his intentions with a glance of his eyes. Others moved to block his escape, and he was hurled back, the small of his back colliding hard with the edge of the nearest pool table. He wasn't a fighting man and had little hope of victory, but all avenues of flight were closed. Slowly, he straightened his back and legs, standing as tall as he was able. Praying, not to any god, but to Mason, hoping some telepathy might bring him running to the rescue. Failing that, he could only bluff and resist the almost overwhelming urge to shift. He ignored the man who pushed him and looked for the alpha. Subordinates were moving out of the way, half-concealed by pinball machines and arcade games. Others stood almost neutral, and only a few continued to stare back at him with a keen interest. "Whose are you?" one man drawled, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the floor. "My kin are not your concern," Lan replied, having no kin to claim. His clipped tones proclaimed him more clearly as an outsider and betrayed his education—both things held in contempt by most of his kind. He could try to bluff them by 7

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claiming he was one of the Orclundt pack, but in a group this large, there might be someone who'd know it for a lie. As the silence lengthened, their expressions hardened—it was clear they had guessed that he was alone and unprotected. In other words: fair game. A man stepped forward, and from the way the others shrank back, Lan knew he was the leader. Lan's muscles tensed as he stifled his instinct to yield. The alpha was a small man, and beginning to go wiry with age. His long hair was loose and uncombed, a nest of black and stained grey. He stalked forward on straight legs, his shoulders hunched in aggression. Not the electric strength of challenge but the dangerous energy of a man already on the edge of attack. It was a reaction that was sensible only against a background of some larger conflict. Lan realised that he must have blundered into a situation fraught with disputes of dominance and territory. Had he known, he certainly wouldn't have ventured out, even with Mason at his side. Many in the room were beginning to shift. Lan stayed where he was, reluctantly turning his back on the door guards as the lesser threat. The expanse of the pool table was still between him and the leader, but rather than go around, the alpha leapt onto the table with surprising lightness. Startled, Lan took a step back, his eyes falling on the man's dirty feet contrasted against the bright green felt. He watched as those feet twisted from human to the partway state that was neither entirely wolf nor entirely man, and heard the door slam shut behind him. The alpha stepped out of his clothes, 8

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and a fluid movement in his muscles transmitted a splitsecond warning of his leap. There was no question now. By reflex, Lan entered his canid form. As he staggered backwards, his boots and jeans slipped awkwardly from his slim form, but the T-shirt remained draped ridiculously about his body. His form had less than half the alpha wolf's mass, and he experienced a lurch of hopelessness as he was driven, skidding, across the floor by the weight of his attacker's body, even before a single blow was landed. He knew they were free to murder him. Werefolk were born human, but they always died as beasts. And what policeman cares about another dead cur in the city streets—or another missing person with no family to keep his case open? Fear froze him. He cowered, awaiting further attack. The body over him encaged him with its legs, and then that dark weight was lifted. The alpha rose up again in his half-human form, and he was laughing. The pack obediently joined in the hilarity, laughing at Lan. Cowering on the floor, he knew he must be a pitiful sight. He was small as a coyote and as lightly boned, his skull shape and fur colour were wolf, and the combination was inelegant. He was a sport, a mongrel, and lacked the beauty or function of either race. His broad skull was intended to bring down large prey, but was too small for the purpose. His dainty limbs were covered in an incongruously coarse pelt. He was safe; they saw him not as a threat, but as a puny joke not even worthy of attack. He was safe, but deep in his heart, he would rather have died. He crawled out of the 9

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arcade with his shoes and trousers clutched in his hands, and dressed in the dark stairway. He hoped only to be alone with his misery, where no one would see the weakness of his tears. **** Lan lay on the chenille cover of the sagging double bed and stared at the ceiling, its dull white plaster marked with the evidence of water leaks, past and present. An hour passed in which, though perfectly awake, he thought nothing at all. The empty rented room provided little in the way of cues for thought, and his mind veered determinedly away from his recent experiences. His mind seized on some respite and he remembered the first time he met Mason. Lan had just moved hurriedly from the apartment he'd shared with an increasingly possessive and violent lover. His unit was one of six, the furthest one on the second floor, and Mason had lived next door. Each night as he came home, he would meet Mason heading out to work. Over the weeks, they became strangely familiar with each other, without ever having spoken more than a passing "hi." Finally, one lazy Saturday morning, there had come a knock at his door. Lan surprised himself by wondering whether it might be his darkly handsome neighbour, making a belated overture of friendship. He pulled on a robe and padded out to the door. Bright sun glared through the frosted glass panes. Lan's faint hope froze rapidly into sullen fear as he saw his ex, Larry, poised on the threshold. 10

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Larry's face was set in a chillingly blank expression that Lan knew bespoke deep anger. Without the slightest hesitation, Larry swung a vicious punch. Lan slammed back against the open door of the hot-water cupboard, then went down hard onto the kitchen linoleum, every thought swatted out of his head. After a few moments, he realised that nothing further had happened. He blinked and orientated himself. He was lying on his back in the small kitchen, with his head projecting into the lounge. He craned his neck, belatedly registering the sound of a struggle that, somehow, did not involve him. Mason held Larry against the wall and punched him hard in the stomach, then tossed him casually out the door. In a rather pleasing twist, Larry had more than met his match in Mason. He went down with an emphatic thud, then edged very carefully out of Mason's reach and all but ran away. "And don't come back..." Mason drawled laconically, à la John Wayne, to Larry's retreating back. He came to Lan's aid just as Lan was staggering back upright, resulting in a tangle of limbs and apologies. "Either you owe money or..." Mason said. "That would be the 'or'," Lan replied. "My heavy-handed ex. He's having a little trouble with 'No means no'." An uncomfortable silence followed. Lan surveyed Mason's sleep-tousled hair, a significant expanse of bare chest, and some worn plaid sleeping bottoms that weren't standing up well against the bright morning sunlight. Not that there was much to complain about there. 11

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"Well, it's not much compensation," Lan ventured, "but I can offer you a cup of coffee..." Appropriately enough, Lan's reminiscences were interrupted as Mason returned to the hotel. "There you are!" Mason exclaimed. "Best out of it, I'm sure. You know there's a full-scale turf war going on out there—who'd have thought a little town like this would have so many people wearing gang colours? Pool hall seemed a bit tense, so I don't blame you for not hanging around." He sat down on the side of the bed with a sigh. Lan grimaced. If gang affiliations were all that was going on—he'd still be out of his depth. Not for the first time, he wished he could tell his lover the whole truth of his heritage; yet how could he do it in a way any sane man would believe and understand? Lan realized he hadn't even given a thought to warning Mason about the mood of the locals, but it was with good reason—they wouldn't mess with him. While Lan was too pathetic to be considered threatening, Mason was six-eight and broad of shoulder; he carried an air of menace that was both natural and finely honed. He had worked off-and-on in security for years, most recently as a nightclub bouncer. They wouldn't have touched Mason, common man that he was; they wouldn't have dared. "Well," Mason said, finally noticing Lan's despondency. "Worried about your interview tomorrow?" He patted Lan's thigh. "You'll blow them away." He kicked off his shoes and lay back on the bed. "Not in hurry to get rid of me?" 12

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Mason froze, then turned to his side and rested his head in his hand, looking down at Lan. "I thought you understood that if you got this job, I would come down here with you?" "Why would you do that?" Mason looked bemused. "There are two ways I could take that, you know. One is that you don't want me to ... Lan?" "God, no," Lan broke out of his inertia. "I don't want to lose you." Mason smiled, putting his broad hand on Lan's chest. Lan, still under the shadow of the events of the evening, froze under the touch, uncomplaining. "I hate it when you do that," Mason said. "Do what?" Silence. Lan went back to staring at the ceiling, wondering how the day could possibly become any worse, and the answer was simple: he could finally drive Mason away—the one good thing he had. Mason sighed. "Well, the second possibility is that you don't understand why I want to." Lan recognized that that was true; he had no idea what Mason saw in him. "So why?" "I love you ... You mean, why do I love you?" These were rare words from Mason, and Lan knew he had never said them himself. He said nothing in reply but was desperate to hear the answer. "You're smart, sensitive, beautiful ... the guys I knew from the clubs look at an old bruiser like me and a pretty college 13

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professor like you, and they're not wondering what I see in you." "Yeah, I'm perfect," Lan said sarcastically, unable to bear the praise. "Not perfect—you have self-esteem so low it's subterranean, and unless I watch it, you're not having sex with me because you want to but just because you don't know how to say 'no'..." "So?" "So? So! Jeez, Lan." Silence. Mason went to the kitchenette and surveyed the dismal selection of instant beverages. Lan closed his eyes, concentrating on the soft sounds of Mason's stockinged feet on the threadbare carpet. The dim red light through his eyelids cut off suddenly as Mason switched off the light. He heard Mason undressing in the darkness and felt him lie back on the bed, close but not touching. "Lan, if you think you've made a mistake hooking up with me, you just have to say so," Mason said softly. "God, no, never that," Lan protested. Silence. He expected Mason to be reassured, to reach out and draw Lan into his reassuring embrace. But Mason stayed still and thoughtfully silent. Not touching Mason kept Lan awake; he was accustomed to the security of Mason's broad arms around him. After all his years of solitude, he had quickly become accustomed to companionship, filling a hunger he hardly knew he had. His mind came to dwell on that one 14

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insurmountable secret that always stood between them, and he could feel tears beading in the corners of his eyes. Finally, Mason broke the heavy silence. "Then how could you think I wouldn't follow you, Lan? I have flaws, but I believe you love me. I don't think you can say the same, and I don't know what I can do to change that." Lan reached out blindly, drawing himself up against the reassuring bulk of Mason's body. Mason opened his arms, folding them over Lan protectively. Lan was angry with himself when his tears ran gently down his cheek; pathetic, but his strongest act of will could not prevent it. Mason's hand stroked the back of his head reassuringly. "Shit, Lan," he said. "Most people would take me for the silent type." Yes, Lan thought. Some of the loudest silences in the world. **** As Lan came out of the great square university building, he looked out across the close-cropped lawn, scattered with lunching students, and shook his head. He could still smell the faint odour, sweet like cut grass. A were—he could hardly believe it ... what was it with this place? Not a wolf this time, but one merged with an herbivorous creature, a much rarer kind of kith. It had been the chair, Professor Acton. He wondered at seeing a prey were resident in the city and obviously a local of long-standing, when there were a bunch of wolves milling around downtown. It was trouble, no doubt about that. He 15

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was better off out of it. Certainly, as he'd sat in the interview, he'd thought that there was no way he was getting the job. Their parting exchange was fresh in his mind. "We only gave the others forty-five minutes," Acton said coolly. "So we shouldn't give Dr. Findlay an advantage from being seen last." He saw the social psychologist give the guy next to her a look that seemed to suggest that she didn't think Lan's lastplace position was the basis for his advantage. That was encouraging, but Lan knew the chair's opinion was bound to be far more important—it was the chair's job to lead and to shape the department and its research. "Well, good luck," the psychologist said to him as they stood to leave. "Hameltown would be a bit of a small place compared to Orclundt." "It's a nice town," Lan lied. "My partner likes it, too." "Well, I hope we get to meet her..." "Him," Lan interrupted, and that made some of them pause. "I know I don't have to say anything about my sexuality, but I prefer things out in the open." They made no comment at that, but he didn't see any disapproval, either. Acton stepped out with him and drew him discreetly aside. "I will be voting for one of the other candidates, but I believe you have the favour of the majority of the panel." Lan stepped back warily, a move that seemed to surprise the older man, as if he were expecting some sort of belligerence. 16

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"I believe the majority of the panel will vote in your favour; you are best qualified and quite ... personable." Acton sighed. "I daresay your last comment might cause a few people to think the worst of my motives—quite a clever move." "It was not calculated," Lan said truthfully. "Maybe not. Well, I'll do nothing to stop you getting the job, and do my best to work with you if you do." "I'll do the same. And Professor, I have no family; all you'll be getting is me and my partner, and no trouble of any kind. I swear it." The chair studied him a moment, his eyes marked with long experience and deep distrust. "One of the reasons I went into academia was that your kind aren't found much ... Well, best I get out of the habit of saying such things. Equal opportunity policy may not mention werefolk, but if it knew of us, it would. Let's just say we'll see, we'll see." But he did not seem entirely despondent at the possibility of working with Lan; was thoughtful, in fact, about what he had just said. They parted on the best terms that could be expected given the long history between their kinds. Lan turned away thoughtfully and went to find Mason. His studies in animal behaviour had been part of his long search for understanding: of himself, the human animal, and the non-human animal. Having been raised by normal humans, he only had books to turn to. They had taught him very little about himself, for all the apparent success of his academic career to date. He urged rats to run mazes and 17

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press levers, measured their learning and assessed their fears, and remained lost. His eyes searched through the cafeteria for Mason, whom he knew was his stopgap measure on the way to finding himself. Mason was easy to spot, his large frame standing out even in a distant booth. Their eyes met and Lan felt his whole body relax. While Mason was there, he felt absolutely safe— the security of the beta wolf. Had he only been all wolf, it would have been a workable solution. Mason slid easily through the crowd, partly because people moved instinctively out of his way. He grinned and held up two paper bags. Lunch al fresco, apparently. Lan slipped easily into Mason's wake and they drifted out along the lakeside path. "Did it go well?" Mason asked. "Well enough," Lan replied non-committally. Mason let that be. He chose a vacant stretch of lawn beside the water, and they stretched out on the grass in the late-blooming warmth of the day. They looked down together at a small wharf where children launched themselves into the stream that fed the lake, making the most of the first warm days of spring. "The water looks polluted," Lan noted with distaste. "It's a wonder what kids get away with." There was a wistful tone in Mason's voice, as if he was looking back to the idyllic haunts of his own childhood, and it was soon obvious why.

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"Huntleigh isn't far from here, so I though we might go visit my folks, maybe stay there tonight. I called them while you were in the interview and they'd love to see you." Lan felt grim but saw no way he could refuse that tentative-but-hopeful look on his lover's face. "I thought you said they were, you know, religious." "As my mum says, if it came down to God or her kids, she'd choose her kids, but it's not like that. I mean, they're not keen on the whole gay thing, but they're cool about it in their own way." "Have they met any of your other boyfriends?" "They didn't need to. But I want them to meet you." Lan leant back in the grass, watching the blurred green strands bob in the breeze. "Okay," he said after a conspicuous pause. "We can rent a car, head down there, then come back tomorrow for our flight." He said it with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man, which Mason couldn't fail to notice. "I don't want to push, Lan," he said. "But you don't talk about your own folks." Lan knew he'd have to have this conversation one of these days and steeled himself to have it now. "I don't have any," he said. "I was deserted at a hospital as an infant." "But you were adopted, right?" Lan shook his head. "I bounced around in foster homes. I was just starting high school when I got a break with some good folks. They'd adopted other kids and were just starting the paperwork on me when I hit puberty and my behaviour went all to hell." 19

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Mason was fixing him with an almost palpable gaze, but remained carefully silent. Lan sighed. "They weren't deterred. They got in a psychologist, worked with the school—I had good grades, credit to the system and all that, so they didn't want me going off the rails. One night, they caught me slipping back in my bedroom window. It got real tense, and I ... I..." Mason reached out and silently took Lan's hand. Lan tried to think of something to say, something other than 'I turned into a wolf.' "I had a psychotic break, delusional. I did some pretty strange things." "It must have been hard," Mason said, blessedly not asking for details. "For you, and for them." Lan stayed tense and not consoled, not acknowledging the comment. "The Wintons were too honest for their own good. They told the social worker the whole thing, but they wouldn't let her take me away. She thought I was a danger to their other kids, suspended their license. In the end, they were lucky to keep custody of their kids. I ended up back in care." "You were one of their kids," Mason said quietly. "Not after that. I was stuck in a boys' boarding school. I did all right. I didn't get a psychologist; I just had to manage my own problems as well as I could. I learnt that I just had to avoid stress or confrontation, which I did mainly by backing down or giving in at the slightest hint of trouble. I got interested in psychology, but not people ... I kind of lost interest in people. That's why I ended up in this line of work. 20

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The animals, their behaviour, was something I could study and puzzle over—something I could understand." Lan smiled bitterly and looked out over the water. He had tried, but somehow he had never found his balance after that day he'd ended up on all fours in front of the closest things to parents he ever had. They had been too honest; they'd told the social worker that they saw him turn, and that's what had almost destroyed them. Mason rubbed his hand. "So you really don't know who your folks are, you don't have anyone?" "I have you." Mason smiled at that reply like he'd just been given the greatest gift in the world. "Forever. And my folks'll love you, too, I promise." Lan had pieced together quite a lot about Mason's family over the months—religious and pacifist, almost recluses. They lived on a family farm with their daughter and her two kids. They featured in a hundred wry-but-loving tales that Mason had told to illustrate one point or another, even amicable in their differences. Those reminiscences were like a foreign country to Lan, enticing yet frightening in their way. He took a deep breath. "We'll see," he said. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Two Mason stopped the car on a hill overlooking three small wooden houses clustered in the gentle valley. He reached over and gripped Lan reassuringly on the shoulder. "It'll be fine; you'll see." Lan remained silent, but he smiled tightly and nodded in return. As they pulled up on a rough patch of graveled ground, two kids came running out from the front of the house. A young woman followed, using her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Within a few moments, she was followed by an older couple from the rear of the house, the older woman pulling off a pair of gardening gloves. Mason stepped forward to meet them, but Lan barely got out of the car, almost clinging to the side of the vehicle. The older woman took one look at him and ushered the children off to 'feed the chooks,' ignoring their half-hearted protests. She put her hand around Mason's waist and beckoned to Lan. "Come inside; I'll make tea." Lan followed them through the conservatory, heaped with gumboots and dusty raincoats. The living room was small and well worn, the brown furniture sagging and the small coffee table covered in magazines and newspapers. A new computer sat on a tiny desk in the corner, surrounded by piles of coloured floppy discs and dot-matrix printouts. Lan perched carefully on the far edge of the sofa and Mason sat next to him. 22

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Lan was acutely conscious of being scrutinized, though it was a discreet observation. Mason's sister, Maeve, bantered with Mason about his clothing, habitually black and incongruously stark in this setting. Lan knew that his own more plain and pale-colored clothing must set him in obvious contrast to Mason's bold, macho dress. The Pattersons were clearly a naturally cheerful and boisterous family, but they were toning it down for Lan's benefit. Mason's mother brought in a tray with tea things and balanced it on the piles of magazines, rather than moving them. "So, Lan says you're looking at a job at the university. I hope you get it; we'd love to have our boy closer to home." She looked to her husband, who smiled amicably in reply. Lan looked up from his inspection of the speckled beige carpet. "I hope it works out that way, too, Mrs. Patterson." The children burst back into the house with some confused tale about something the rooster had done. As if it were a post-modern play whose plot he could not entirely discern, Lan watched the family behaving according to their longaccustomed habits. Discreet frowns from Mason stopped them from asking Lan too many questions, and Lan contributed little to the discussion, though he was cautiously polite and co-operative. When it became dark, they watched the news, then turned off the television. Lan suddenly had trouble keeping his eyes open and actually almost nodded off. He brought his head up with a jerk. "Mercy, you look worn out," Mrs. Patterson exclaimed. 23

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"We should turn in," Mason said with well-disguised reluctance. "You stay and talk to your folks, Mason," Lan said, rising. "Just show me where I can put my head down." Mason led him upstairs. "The guest room," he said of the small room under the eaves. "My old room downstairs is full of boxes and things now; you couldn't get in with a crow bar." He pointed out the bathroom and folded down the blankets. "Are you sure?" he queried, clearly keen to get back to the conversation about the family's latest breeding lines in Jersey cows. "Go ahead," Lan urged. "I'll be fine." Once Mason left, Lan put on his old boxers and turned off the light, lying back on the crisply washed linen. By some freak of construction, he could hear every word that was said downstairs, and the family seemed quite unaware of the fact. "He's nice," Mrs. Patterson said. "I know you don't need our approval—" "But that doesn't mean I don't want it..." Mason broke in, a smile in his voice. "The boy's a bit, well, shy," Mr. Patterson said gruffly. "What're his folks like?" His tone clearly indicated he was expecting the worst. "He came up in foster care," Mason replied. "Hmmm," Mr. Patterson said, very much like his son. "Must've been hard." "He's a nice boy," Maeve said. "He's the same age as you sis, twenty-eight," Mason said with amusement. 24

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Lan could hear the surprise in the silence that followed; people always thought he was younger than that. With an exasperated sigh, Lan burrowed down under the covers and drifted to sleep. He woke as Mason slipped in beside him, surprised that Mason's parents were okay with them sharing a bed. Something about the smell of the clean sheets and the warm familiar body relaxed some deep part of him. "Move over, sleepyhead," Mason whispered. "Hmmm," Lan said drowsily, "make me." Mason chuckled as he slipped under the heavy blankets and crawled to straddle Lan. "Now, you are at my mercy." Lan smiled. Mason went to bed blithely naked even in his parents' house. He felt Mason's thighs on either side of his hips, and Mason's massive body crouched over him in the absolute darkness. He ran his hands along those corded thighs, feeling the definition of the muscles. The raw beauty of Mason's body always made his heart thump hard in his chest—it was like riding a tiger, a feeling of exhilaration and mastery. "Is that so?" he said as he reached his right hand forward to cup Mason's balls, massaging them gently with his palm. Still on his back, he wriggled down the bed to take Mason's cock between his lips, using the flat of his tongue to massage its uncircumcised hood. Mason moaned and leaned forward gently, balanced between desire and caution. Lan urged him on, resting his forearms over Mason's thighs and grasping Mason's taut buttocks. Mason's cock slid slowly into Lan's 25

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mouth. Mason's whole body quivered as Lan moved his head slowly back and forth, taking in a little more each time. He worked his lips firmly, intent on driving Mason wild. "Oh, God," Mason muttered. He pulled back and slid down so they were face-to-face again. "Slow down," he said, "or it'll all be over pretty quick." Lan strained upwards and Mason kissed him firmly, tongue probing. He could feel Mason's erection sliding against his thigh. "You know, there're only two problems here," Mason whispered. "And those would be?" Lan replied with his best impersonation of polite but mild interest. "Well, one is that we are both about to fall off the bottom of this bed ... and the other is that you're still wearing those damn boxers." Mason grabbed Lan by the waist and scooted him back up the bed. The blanket slid off onto the floor, but neither of them paid it any heed. Mason grabbed the elastic waist of Lan's shorts and pulled them all the way off. "Right," Mason said with satisfaction. "Where were we?" "How about here?" Lan reached out and pulled Mason forward. He reached up to grip the back of Mason's head, and spread his legs to clasp Mason's hips firmly. "There?" "Oh, yes," Lan said. "Right there." Mason's cock was slick and hard. Lan felt him reach down to guide it forward; then there was that familiar moment of 26

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tension. He felt Mason pressing, seeking. A small almost-pain, a balance, and then ... ? Lan moaned as Mason slid in, just the head of his penis. Mason stopped, poised motionless. "Mason, if you don't nail me right now, I am going to kill you," Lan said. Mason laughed. He leaned down upon his elbows, burrowing his broad hands under Lan's shoulders. Then, with teasing slowness, he eased forward. Lan arched his back and pulled Mason forward impatiently. They came together, and Lan felt Mason's body covering his, a warm weight in the darkness, sealing them together with sweat. He could feel Mason's breath against his cheek as Mason spoke. "I will never get over how fucking amazing this feels." Lan crossed his shins across Mason's back. Mason drew back, then began to stroke deep and hard. He pushed back onto his hands, letting the cold air between them. Lan arched his back, nudging his hard cock against Mason's slick body. His hands fell down upon the mattress, clenching on the soft sheets, as waves of sensation washed up through his body. Mason leaned down again and brushed his lips along Lan's shoulder, teeth gripping him softly just where his shoulder and neck joined. Some wolfish instinct uncurled at that gesture, and Lan felt a wash of pleasure. His balls clenched as his climax built. He tried to hold back as Mason's breath became harsh, matching his shorter, forceful strokes. Lan pushed to meet them. As Lan curled his back slightly, Mason hit the sweet 27

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spot, and Lan gasped. His body shook as the pure sexual pleasure burned up his spine and coiled in his stomach. Something wild in him struggled for release, but he forced it down hard, resenting the way it took his mind from the moment. The sheets came untucked as his fist closed convulsively, and inarticulate moans escaped him but almost didn't seem to belong to him. Lan jerked and came with a long sigh, his body suddenly becoming still and cold. His demons left him with his cum, and he felt strangely empty in the wake. As Mason leaned in close, Lan felt him moving within as a strange, possessive sensation, purely physical in the wake of his ejaculation. With a peculiarly slight quiver, Mason came. For a long moment, they lay together in the darkness. The full weight of Mason's body covered Lan warmly and totally. Then Mason sighed and rolled aside towards the wall. "The things I have to do to get a bit of mattress space," Mason said. Lan reach down, pulled up the blanket, and drew it up over them. "Whether we move or not, I am going to get a new bed," Mason mused. "A great big, king-sized bed, and not because I need more space to sleep." Lan slipped into his accustomed place, on his side with Mason's shoulder pillowing his head, his right hand resting gently on Mason's chest. He could feel the soft thud of Mason's heartbeat, gradually slowing, beneath his fingertips. **** 28

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Lan slept deeply and dreamlessly. He awoke early the next morning, feeling strangely refreshed and restless. The muffled sounds of movement downstairs reached his ears. He slipped carefully out from under Mason's arm without waking him, then went through to the bathroom, where folded towels lay waiting on the counter. He showered and washed his hair, then put on his trousers. He was drying his hair when Mrs. Patterson walked in after only a token tap on the door, obviously expecting that no one would be up at such an early hour. "Oh, sorry." She blushed. "I thought it was Mason ... My, that's a nasty bruise." There was a strange tinge of suspicion in her voice. Mason appeared behind her, his foggy morning-smile fading when he saw Lan's back. Lan turned to hide it, not wanting Mason's concern nor the anger that would inevitably follow. Although Mason was not prone to Larry's jealousy or fits of rage, he was capable of his own moods and desire for retribution—whilst Lan yearned only for the whole matter to be swiftly forgotten. After the incident in town, he had felt a tender area across his back, but had never considered what Mason might think if there was a mark. "It's nothing." "It's nothing? How the hell did that happen, Lan? When did that happen?" Mason's voice was raised, and pretty soon the whole damn family was in the hallway. "I ran into a little trouble with a guy in the pool hall. I got out of there; it's all right." Mason looked quite shocked. "Why didn't you tell me?" 29

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The others were confused. Lan could hear Mrs. Patterson telling them about his bruise. "You'd think you could do something about it, Mason. And you can't." "I could go down there and rip his—" "Mason!" said Mrs. Patterson, dismayed at the violence in Mason's voice. Mason turned to her. "And you. I saw you; you thought I did that, that I could do that! I work security, Mom. I keep people safe; that's what I do. I am not some kind of monster just because I can't live up to your saintly, goddam—" "Don't talk to your mother like that," Mr. Patterson cut in. They were all talking in the close confines of the hallway and bathroom, and Lan was backed up against the shower cubicle. It was Maeve who broke in and, taking one look at his face, ushered everyone out. By the time Lan dressed and went downstairs, they were in the living room. The kids could just be heard, playing outside on the grass. "I didn't realize things were so bad in town," Maeve said, looking out the window at her children. "I walked into their place; that, and it seems to be tense times. It's not really surprising what happened." He looked at Mason sitting half hunched-over on the sofa, his eyes full of betrayal. Mason's hand rested over his mouth as if physically holding back a comment he wanted to make. Mrs. Patterson sighed, turning to her son. "What you said did cross my mind, but only for a moment, Mason. I know you better than that." 30

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Mason sighed dispiritedly and nodded. "And I wouldn't go assaulting someone, if for no other reason than that I can't be breaking the law in my line of work ... But Lan, I would want to talk to that guy. We're together; I can't just ... let him ... You think I should just let him do that?" "Yes. You wouldn't talk; if you went down there, it wouldn't be talking that occurred," Lan said, with no pride. Unlike the Pattersons, he was a pacifist not through active virtue but rather through cowardice, and he did not deny it. "Why didn't you tell me?" "You couldn't do that, Mason. I knew you couldn't do that." It was excruciating. Mason's folks were there, silent in the electric atmosphere, whilst Mason thought carefully about that statement. "You're probably right," he said at last. "You really need me to let it be?" "Yes." "Okay, then I will, but ... okay, I will." Lan could see how hard it was for Mason to make the concession, but it seemed to lift the spirits of his family, as if a lost sheep were returning, at last, to the fold. Their preparations to depart were carried out in an atmosphere perhaps a little quiet, but with no ill will. They pulled out whilst the morning was still young. Mason was quiet, watching the road with more attention than the straight and empty expanse required. Finally, he spoke. "In some ways, you would be a better son to them than I am." 31

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Lan shook his head. "And who was it that was recently lecturing me on knowing who loves you? You are fortunate in your family, and they are fortunate in having you." "Yeah, we're all bloody lucky," Mason replied. "Especially that bastard at the pool hall, who, if were up to me..." Lan couldn't help but a feel a slight satisfaction that Mason was so angry with someone who had hurt him. He caught Mason watching him and replaced his satisfied smile with an exaggerated scowl. "Which it isn't," he said. Mason sighed melodramatically, mercifully not speaking his caveat aloud: 'no more secrets.' It was not a condition that Lan was at all sure he could keep. **** Lan tapped down the box in the teetering pile and breathed in the vinegar smell of packing tape. The rest of the flat had become unaccountably quiet. He turned off the kettle, realizing they had already packed their mugs and cups. He unplugged and emptied the kettle and tossed it in one of the last boxes, left open for all those sundry items that had appeared in cupboards and crannies in the last few hours. The morning would see them leave this damp old place behind. "Mason?" No answer. Lan stretched his back with a relieved groan and ran his damp fingers through his hair. Getting long. Pity I packed the shampoo God-knows-where. He went down the short passageway and turned into the bedroom. Mason lay 32

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facedown upon the bare mattress, with the duvet draped negligently across the lower half of his body. Lan paused. The soft musk of his lover's scent drifted up his flared nostrils. He shivered as he felt a strange tickle through his body, like the first precursor of the change. He closed his eyes and clamped down on his instincts. The warm wildness, and the cool and simple purpose of the wild canine world, surged within him. It took a few moments to catch and tame those errant strands. He could glimpse other selves inside those innate drives. Nothing that Lan wanted to be—wild men and strangers, bullies and bravoes. The kind of boys that bullied him in school, that attacked him in the pool hall. The kind of men that Acton feared and reviled. When he opened his eyes, he was himself—cautious, soft-spoken, academic Lan, a domesticated man. Mason now sat on the edge of the bed, looking across at him, calm but quizzical. He met Lan's eyes and stood, closing the distance between them. Lan leaned into him, wrapping his arms around Mason and twining his fingers together. "Lan?" Mason stroked the back of Lan's head, and sighed. "Lan, I really need to talk, and this is gonna sound clichéd, but ... to talk about 'us'." Lan turned his cheek to the smooth skin of Mason's chest. This warmth, this smell—for him, this was 'us', and there were no words to put to it. "I'm going with you, and God knows I want to. The friends I have here, they're okay, but just to have a beer, watch a game ... nothing I can't find again somewhere else. But if I go 33

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with you and find out you weren't much more than that ... that would be hard for me. I need to know. I thought I didn't, but I do." Lan bumped his forehead against Mason's shoulder, took a deep breath, and stepped away. He needed Mason to be solid, to not need anything, to be the one thing he could count on, and now he could feel the ground shifting beneath his feet. "You want me to say I love you," he said in a strained voice. "I suppose I do. I don't know. I don't know what it's meant to feel like. You're meant to know when it's real, but I don't ... God, Mason, I can't have this conversation while you're naked!" Mason reached for his robe. "Maybe I'm not being fair," he said. "It's not something you just know. It's something you learn—loving people different ways for different reasons, family, friends, and lovers ... I have to think you haven't had a hell of a lot of practice." Lan paced the room, resisting the urge to flee. Recently quelled instincts still churned in his stomach, along with other sensations and emotions he could not name. He ran a hand through his lank hair. "Just come with me, Mason. Just don't do this, not now." "I didn't mean to," Mason said. "I know you're tense right now, with moving and all. But seeing you now ... Sometimes I see you and I get the feeling there are great big bits of you that I don't know. You get a look in your eyes, not like the man I know ... like someone harder, someone who maybe doesn't care for me as much as I think you do. Hell, Lan, 34

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we've been together a few months. Long enough to know each other real well, and not at all, really." That was quite a speech, and Lan knew that it must have been building for some time. "I need you, Mason," Lan said quietly. "I need you more than I can say." "Yeah, well." Mason tied the belt of his robe. He reached out and took Lan's hand and drew him over to the bed. They sat there, side-by-side. "This isn't gonna make much sense, but sometimes I also feel you need me too much, or not enough, or not for the right reasons. I don't want to be some macho gay cliché; I want us to be partners, Lan, properly." Lan sat in miserable silence. He knew what Mason was sensing. The wolf, too strong to be safe, and the man, too weak to even be himself. "I'm sorry," Mason said. "I don't even know what I am asking you, so what could you possibly tell me? Please forget I said anything." He turned aside, and Lan pulled away and went into the bathroom. He turned the latch in the door, then stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as he could bear and letting it stream over his face. Tears welled in his eyes, and he let the water hide them, even from himself. Such strong emotions were dangerous, he knew. They were as dangerous as fights, or confrontations—enough to bring out the beast. He remembered the second time he learned never to allow himself to lose control—the second and last before he learned to stifle his instincts. 35

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Trevor, whom he was so sure had led him on, looked at him in disgust. "Oh, I am going to tell everyone about this," he purred in spiteful satisfaction. Lan had felt desire, anger, and fear ball up within him. The next thing he had felt was the skin of Trevor's throat beneath his jaws, blood on his tongue. Surprise at his own action allowed him to stop just short of finishing the fatal bite. Trevor never got to spread his rumour. The dog attack, in the middle of a boy's locked dormitory, was never satisfactorily explained. Lan shivered; he could taste the warm salt of the blood in his mouth, as fresh as if it dwelt there now. As the hot water began to run out, he turned off the taps and tracked water across the floor. He rubbed at the mirror, hoping his eyes weren't red. There was no towel or comb or toothbrush to improve his appearance with—nor was Mason likely to be fooled. "Come out," Mason called through the door. "I've made tea." That must have taken some disruption to the neatly packed boxes, but Mason obviously felt the need to make a conciliatory gesture. Well, that's all right, then. In all fairness, I should leave Mason behind. I don't know what I feel for him exactly; I don't know if he's safe with me ... And yet, he knew he could not give him up. "Coming," he called. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Three Lan ended his first day of work tired but elated. The courier had delivered his books and papers to his new office, and he'd spent most of the day unpacking and organizing them. He had also taken a careful inventory of the animal laboratory, entirely empty apart from the dusty computers and electrical equipment. There was a budget to spend here, part of his start-up package. Soon, he'd be continuing his investigations into animal perception and intelligence. He would need some graduate students ... but there was time enough for that. He, himself, didn't drive, and they had no car for Mason, so he had intended to walk back from work. He was surprised when Professor Acton appeared at his door as evening fell. "Let me give you a lift home," Acton offered with strained civility. Lan would have preferred to stay another hour or so, but didn't want to rebuff Acton's offer, or walk home in the dark. He followed the professor out to his surprisingly beaten-up old utility vehicle. "I'm on a ten-acre block, myself," Acton said. "So I indulge in a rugged vehicle." He was silent inside the car except to ask for directions, but as they pulled into the driveway, he finally said what had obviously been on his mind. "You know, I thought a lot, and I voted for you for our position. I guess it came down to prejudice. Oh, I could justify 37

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my prejudice right enough, but it's still prejudice and nothing you've done. I asked around my kith and kin, and there is no trace of a suggestion that you have ever done anything." He sighed heavily. "So, I guess I'm giving you the chance to put a foot wrong, but I won't be forgiving if you do. There are also some things you should know, perhaps..." Lan was paying close attention, but his mind was diverted suddenly as he glanced toward the door of the cottage he and Mason were renting. It was open, swingy slightly, and as he watched, it slammed back against the wall with a sudden gust of wind. Acton followed his gaze. "Is something wrong?" "I don't know," Lan said vaguely. Any thought of Acton then slipped from his mind as a premonition of evil crowded it from its place. He stepped out of the truck and walked up the straight concrete path. He walked quite slowly, stilling the door with his hand, noting a box of books, dropped and spilled over. As he walked on through the house, not calling out, he checked each room along the central hallway that led into the kitchen. The back door hung open, showing a glimpse of the small, overgrown backyard with the old clothesline loose-strung and leaning to one side. Dried blood lay splashed upon the white-painted threshold. He paused, unwilling to find what he feared might await. His heart beat loudly against the strange calm of his mind as he stepped outside. The long grass lay in whirls and tufts as if it had been wildly disturbed. His eyes fastened on an 38

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ambiguous form slumped in the far corner immediately beneath the main post of the clothesline. Lan fell to his knees and crawled forward. Mason lay still, one arm outflung. His clothes were stiff and brown with dried blood. Blessedly, Lan saw movement, faint and regular with breath. His hand hovered; he didn't know what he could do and could not judge how delicate that life was, how easily disturbed. "Oh, God, that isn't...?" Acton stood behind him, balanced on the edge of the small, broken concrete slab beneath the door. "This is Mason," Lan confirmed faintly. "Mason?" Mason made no response. Lan felt the dampness of the grass seeping through the knees of his khakis, heard the harsh sound of his own breathing. He reached forward tremulously to put his hand over Mason's curled fingers. The wounds, he noted distantly, were made by some kind of animal attack. Almost the whole of Mason's body was marked by the indentations of teeth and the abrasions of blunt claws. His clothes were torn and gaping. A single fly crawled along the waistband of his soiled jeans. Acton pulled out a cell phone and tapped in three digits. "What's the address here?" he asked in the still, even voice of a person being carefully calm. "Thirty-nine Argyle." Lan listened dimly, catching parts of Acton's call. "...some kind of dog attack ... unconscious ... severe injuries." Acton made some comments that Lan heard but didn't comprehend, then went back inside the house. Time passed 39

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with a dull, eternal tick and creak as Lan stared at Mason's face, palely inexpressive in the greying dusk. He put his hand tentatively on Mason's cheek, feeling faint breath and the warmth of life. Although most certainly an atheist, Lan prayed. In the back of his head, he could hear a wolf baying in a desperate and broken voice. When the ambulance arrived, Acton led them through, and they took over with impersonal efficiency. A square-built woman pulled Lan firmly away. "Let them work," she said in a calming voice. Lan hugged his arms around himself, watching the yellowclad backs bend to their task. Acton was on the cell phone again. "So I'll be a bit late, love," he was saying. "Yes, yes, of course I will..." The procession went through the trampled house again, with Mason on a gurney. The ambulance woman had a strong grip. "You won't be able to come in the ambulance," she was explaining. Apparently unsure that Lan was listening at all, she shifted her gaze to Acton. "Can you take him?" "Of course." "Go to main reception. They will direct you from there. Don't drive too fast, and try not to worry; nothing looked immediately life-threatening. We've been on the radio to the police, and they'll be looking to speak with you at the hospital." The hush in the wake of her departure was broken by the shrill scream of the siren as the ambulance accelerated away. 40

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Acton picked up Lan's house keys from where he'd dropped them on the back patio, and ushered Lan silently to the truck. He went back and locked up the house before returning to the driver's seat. They drove swiftly but safely through a maze of suburban streets. "I meant to talk to you," Acton said distantly. "You and Mason both about the situation here in town, about how the deer are taking a stand here. Well enough to hide from the common folk; we're sick of hiding from predator were, as well, always moving on. I thought you needed to know that things are getting dangerous here ... The wolves don't like uppity prey." Lan leaned his elbow against the car door and sagged back against the passenger seat. "Mason doesn't know." "He what?" "He doesn't know I'm were; he doesn't know there are were." Acton was silent and disapproving. Lan understood. He had walked Mason blindfolded into danger; Mason needed to know. "I thought he could look after himself; that was stupid of me. Thinking like a coyote, I guess, one-on-one. But he was facing a pack, and that's another thing again, especially if you don't know they have human intelligence. What I don't understand is why they went after him, not me." Acton turned into the car park. "Perhaps they were after you. Wolves running on a hunt wouldn't pull back just because they had the wrong man. Perhaps they intended it as 41

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a message to you, or even to me. I am leader of my herd; my wife is the Bellwether doe. It's us they hate the most, and to have one of their own kind even seem to be with me..." The SUV purred to a smooth halt. Lan looked up, meeting Acton's eyes with grim resolve. "I am with you," he said. "Once Mason's okay and the cops are out of the way, we're going to have to have a talk about that." **** The doctors were hopeful. Mason had regained consciousness, and although there were dozens of stitches all over his body, and a concussion to deal with, it seemed he would probably be okay. The police had come and gone, having taken his details down with careful thoroughness. They were quietly determined, frustrated but unsurprised to hear about another dog attack; it seemed there had been a spate of maulings across the city in recent months. It was past one in the morning and Mason was dozing in his hospital bed. The wards were dark; the patients needed their sleep. The nurse escorted Lan back to the waiting room, which was brightly lit but almost empty at this hour. Acton rose from his uncomplaining vigil on the uncomfortable plastic seats, and drove Lan back to his house. "This isn't wise," Acton said. "It's my house, and I'm staying in it," Lan replied tersely. "So you are some kind of dog, after all. I was beginning to wonder. But you're alone here—I should stay with you; they might come back." 42

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"You should get back to your wife," Lan said coolly. "I'll see you at work tomorrow." Lan stepped out and shut the door of the truck. Its windows were wound down to let in the warm spring air. Lan looked over to Acton, dimly amused that the first were he had ever got to know in person was a deer. "I'm sorry," Lan said. "I appreciate your help and support more than I can say, but I will not be driven from my house. Unlike Mason, I know what I'm facing. I'll be fine. Thanks again." Acton leaned over the passenger seat. "It's your choice," he said. "But when Mason comes out of hospital, you need to think about him, too. You really would be safer coming back to my place until he's better. We've had a lot of practice defending against this pack, and we can make sure he's safe while you decide just what you want to do." Lan backed away. "Yeah, I'll think about it." He waved and turned toward the darkened cottage. His hand shook as he tried to fit the key in the lock, belying his bold words. He noted how Acton waited in the truck, making sure he got safely inside, at least. Lan turned on the lights in each part of the house as he walked down the hall, checked the back door was locked, and walked through the kitchen to the lounge. He checked each window and pulled the heavy velvet curtains closed, then turned on the television and walked back through the hall to the single bedroom. Music played quietly on the TV; he flipped through the channels, then turned it off, He didn't like 43

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the ways its sound would mask the noises any intruders on the property might make, anyway. If only the house had an Internet connection, Lan could get online; he might be able to get some information about what was happening with the were. Having little direct knowledge of the kith's ways, he depended on chat rooms and mailing lists. It wasn't too hard to tell the posers from the few real pelt-turners, based on his own direct knowledge of the process. But the house was old and the company wasn't coming to install the cables and ports until next week. He paced the house restlessly, checking each blank and empty room time and time again. Rage built slowly within him—at the wolves, at Mason, at himself. He toyed with the idea of going down to the pool hall and taking it out on whomever he found there, but knew better than to get himself killed to no effect. He needed to do something, anything. He swung his foot, kicking the wall, and was surprised to find his foot embedded in the neat hole punched in the wallpapered chipboard. His rage deflated as he surveyed the damage. How was he going to explain that to the landlord? He knew what he was trying to avoid thinking about—he had to tell Mason. He had to risk losing him like he lost his foster parents. He had to. A second impulse arose, to take a few suitcases full of stuff, catch a taxi to the bus depot, and go wherever the next bus was going. He shook that off, also. Ten years invested in a university education—he wasn't going to blow off his best, and possibly only, chance at a tenured position. Not to mention, possibly his only chance at love. 44

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Love. He tested the word in his mind. It rolled like a heavy glass marble, solid yet meaningless. If he didn't know now, would he ever? Perhaps were were not capable of love of anything but the pack—and those without pack, of nothing at all. There was so much he didn't know and had no way of learning. The old wood cottage creaked and settled in the night as Lan searched through the boxes until he found the duvet. In the process, he found a few of Mason's bottles of bourbon and brought one with him back to the lounge. Most of the boxes, and the mattress, were there, leaning against the walls. He struggled to clear enough floor space to push the mattress over and have it lie flat. He contemplated the near-full bottle; the notion of drinking his troubles away appealed to him in a symbolic kind of way. He pulled the cork stopper and took an experimental sip. The liquor sat on his tongue, tasting like acid, puddle water, and burnt wood. Setting the bourbon aside, he reached for the remote again. Let the wolves come; it wasn't like he knew how to fight them anyway. It might be better to be caught unawares and go quickly. He listened dully as the newsman read stories about wars all around the world. He watched some historical movie without really getting any sense of what it was about. At some point, he drifted off to sleep. Dreams crept up stealthily, even before he was fully lost to the waking world. He could feel his breath, strong and fast, as he ran. The world flowed by swiftly—flashes of snow and straight black trees, bright eyes beneath a dim moon. He led, 45

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with the others streaming behind; sometimes the youngest bayed their joy at the chase. He was the swiftest, leading the hunt and staying on the heels of the prey. Others might be stronger, or more skilled, but now ... now, as they ran, the pack all followed him. **** He rose early and walked to work, a half-hour's journey at a fast pace. He still arrived well before any of the other staff and stood outside his locked office, realising that he had not yet been issued his own key. Only the staff room, as a public area, had been unlocked by the janitor at the same time the outer doors of the building were opened. Lan wandered in, surveying the institutional, cloth-covered furniture and the humanizing touches of plants and posters. A clutter of dirty coffee cups lay in the sink. A telephone sat on a low table beneath a pin-board cluttered with reprints of recent faculty publications. He pulled out the hospital number, a photocopy on an unevenly cut sliver of paper. He sat on the floor, leaning his back against the wall, and dialed the number. A bored receptionist let him know that Mason would be released to go home any time from one-thirty that afternoon, but with strict instructions that he was to rest for several weeks and return for regular check-ups until he found a local GP to take over his care. Lan listened disinterestedly as the she let him know a few opinions, such as how, if they weren't in the middle of cutbacks and shortages, they'd have kept 'Mr. Patterson' in for a few more days' observation. 46

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Lan put the phone down softly and looked up to see Acton standing in the doorway. "You weren't at home," Acton said. "I was worried ... funny thing, that." Lan knew what he meant—a deer fretting over a wolf. Acton shut the staff-room door behind him, then dragged a faded turquoise chair over and sat facing Lan. "I talked to my wife last night." He sighed and ran a hand over his receding white hair. "She said exactly what I was thinking, but rather more eloquently. Eloise wants you to stay with us. It's her opinion, to paraphrase Bush, that anyone that isn't against us is for us. More than that ... we'd been thinking that we were making a stand for deer here, a stand against the persecution of our kind. But Eloise said we've got to think bigger than that. We've got to accept, and welcome, anyone who wants to put species-based animosities aside." Acton looked over Lan's head, out the window to an uninteresting view of blocky concrete buildings and pathstrewn squares of lawn. "I think she might be right," Acton said quietly. "This isn't about winning; it's about peace." Lan looked up at Acton blankly; he felt exhausted, wrung out, and hardly ready to think about these things. In the grey morning light, Acton's face expressed quiet inspiration. Lan did not feel at all ready to be the source of such thoughts. "Look," Lan said grimly, "don't read too much into me. I'm not much of a wolf. I got left in a mall as a baby; I grew up without a pack and learned how to make do. If I'd had kin, I don't doubt I'd be a different man. And then there's my 47

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blood—it's half-coyote, as best as I can figure. And coyotes have never been much for the hunt when there was a McDonald's to be found nearby." Acton looked at him sharply. "We've never had much trouble with the coyotes," he mused. "Eloise mentioned that last night, wondered whether they might be a good group to start with if we're going to make this work for all species." Lan clambered to his feet awkwardly. "If you can find them, you're doing better than me," he said. "I've looked, and all I've found are wolves ... and I can tell you, seeing them from a distance was enough. I've never seen one I'd want to get to know better." Lan walked over to the window, for the lack of anything better to do. "Yeah, well ... it begins to make some sense," Acton said. "If you were raised human and didn't have the full blood. If you think not being a bloodthirsty thug is some kind of flaw, you're seeing things from a damned peculiar perspective, is all I can say." Lan tried hard to concentrate on the conversation. He was giving away a lot, and his future seemed likely to depend upon what he and Acton decided here. And perhaps it was time to stop thinking of himself as some kind of deformed predator, and start thinking of himself as something else, start inventing himself as whatever the hell he wanted to be. It was funny how he'd been desperate to be a real wolf, even as he was striving to stifle those parts of himself. He hadn't given more than a moment's thought to his coyote heritage other than as a factor diluting his wolf nature. He 48

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had picked up and accepted the wolfish disdain for the small, solitary race. Coyotes were like gypsies, never a part of were interactions—hardly apparent at all except when others spoke of them and their shifty ways. Lan's mind drifted awhile, wondering which of his parents had been the coyote. Some sexist part of him found it easier to visualise the slight-formed transient as his mother. He could almost picture her delicate features and the way her looks had allowed his father to overcome his prejudice against her kind. A less optimistic part of his mind suggested more brutal methods of conception. Lan pushed all thoughts aside. Mason was all the pack he had. That Mason needed protection from the wolves was blatantly obvious, and Lan had no delusion that he could do as much on his own. "It's a generous offer that you and your wife are making. I'll do my best to see that you don't regret it." Acton smiled. "I suspect we won't." At that moment, Ngaire, the departmental secretary, poked her head in the door. "I see I'm not the first one here for once," she said dryly. "Term starts in four weeks," Acton replied. "We all have a lot of work to do." He rose and patted Lan heartily on the back and left the room. Lan hated to think how much ordinary work he had ahead of him, getting his course up and running in that time, let alone equipping the research laboratory. First things first, he reminded himself. "Ngaire, about getting keys..." 49

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Chapter Four "The guest bedroom is still made up from Suzy's visit," Mrs. Acton explained. With much effort and care, they got Mason settled into an upstairs room with an incongruous wallpaper pattern of overblown pink roses. "Our daughter usually stays here when she's in town," Acton explained somewhat bashfully. The Actons went back downstairs, discreetly giving Lan and Mason some time alone. Lan sat down on the chintzupholstered chair beside the bed and rested his head in his hands. "No worries," Mason said, reaching his hand over from the bed to rest on Lan's thigh. "This set-up will be great for getting me on my feet and letting you get set up for the term. Twenty-eight days to D-day..." Lan shook his head; Mason was held together mainly by sutures and painkillers, but still worried about reassuring him. Lan knelt on the floor and leaned forward. Mason weakly reached out his arm and rested his broad palm across the back of Lan's neck. Lan leaned forward and they kissed softly. "Don't worry about me, Mason." "Oh, I worry about everyone. It's a bouncer's job to be watching everything and worrying about everyone. But I remember that first time you walked into the club. You slipped in looking like some kind of under-dressed, fairy-tale 51

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prince. I knew that I mostly had to be worried about me from then on." "Hey," Lan chided. "Lying in a hospital bed has made you introspective." "It's made me count my blessings," Mason replied, winding his fingers idly in Lan's hair, which had grown long enough to start showing its natural curls. "So far, I've got to 'one', and I don't have any complaints." Lan smiled, but it was an uncomfortable expression, given that he knew he was more of a curse than a blessing, really. "Just try and get some rest," he urged. "Holler if you need anything." Mason smiled in agreement and apology, his eyes drifting shut almost immediately. Lan went reluctantly down the stairs. As he had expected, the Actons awaited him in the lounge. Mrs. Acton poured tea from a pot into traditional china cups. "There has been some trouble in the herd," Acton said without preamble. "Some of the younger folk have a problem with you being here, and with me and Elly for inviting you in." "Perhaps it would be best..." Lan began. "It would be best for them to overcome their prejudices now," Mrs. Acton interrupted. "'Later' will almost certainly be too late." Acton smiled and put his arm around his wife. "She is quite right, of course. We shall give them time, and I think reason will get through to them eventually, when their tempers cool."

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Lan leaned back on the sofa. Now he had dangerous angry were on the inside of the fence with him, as well as on the outside. "But you must tell Mason soon," Acton said sombrely, and his wife nodded her agreement. "There will be a council of the herd in three weeks," Mrs. Acton said. "He must know by then; it is only fair. If they overturn my decision, your position will become very tenuous then, both of you. Our people are coming from all around for the council; I only hope they'll make the right choice..." "Acton, really, we shouldn't be staying here." "You must," Acton said. "Until the council, my word is law. If you leave now, you undermine my word, my position, and our whole strategy." Lan shook his head. "I don't know that your strategy really makes sense. Whether any normal canid could really be trusted ... even whether I can, I don't know." Acton seemed quite unperturbed. "I know," he said. "At the council, I want you to come with me and stand in front of them. I want them to see you as a person, and I think Mason should be there, too." "Oh, I don't know," Mrs. Acton said. "One hurdle at a time, perhaps. The youngsters are the worst for hating canids, but the elders in the herd are just as bad with their attitudes to mixed partnerships, or, dare I say it, homosexuality." "It's a matter of taking people as they are," Acton growled. "For themselves, not members of some arbitrary group."

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"Well, don't say that, my dear," she replied sardonically. "They will think you mean the herd itself is some arbitrary group." Acton frowned. "Perhaps it is," he muttered. "If they vote against, I'll have no more heart to lead them." Mrs. Acton looked grim, but she did not contradict him. Lan went up to his room with a heavy heart. Mason was still awake. "Come over here," he called. "Leave the light off." "Mason, I'm sure we shouldn't..." Mason caught Lan's arm and grinned. "I'm not dead yet. Though I may not be up to ripping your clothes off. So you'll have to give me a hand there." Lan slipped his clothes off in the dark, feeling Mason's eyes on him. He slid into the narrow bed beside Mason, moving very cautiously. Mason reached out, looping his arm around Lan's waist. "They say a brush with death can make a man horny, and it's true enough, I think." Lan ran his hand carefully down Mason's chest. "I am sure we shouldn't..." "I actually asked the nurse," Mason whispered. "She said it was okay so long as we stopped if there was pain." "You asked her!" "Enquiring minds..." Lan's hand stole down to Mason's thick cock, which was already half-alert. Mason tried to turn toward him, but Lan leaned on him. "You'll pop a stitch," he said. 54

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Lan wet his hand with spit and stroked slowly. He felt Mason relax, his breath quickening. "Lan..." "Shhh." Lan closed his eyes and moulded his hand around Mason's penis. He stroked gently down to the base, then pulled up with a firm grip, pressing the crease of his palm to the sensitive underside. He built the rhythm slowly, feeling Mason writhe under his deft touch. Mason stroked Lan's hair gently and relaxed backwards onto the pillow. Lan had a peculiar feeling of mastery as Mason lay still beneath his ministrations. Lan moved quicker, sliding his fingers over the cock's sensitive head. The sheets rustled as Mason edged carefully over to draw Lan into the warm centre of the bed. Lan felt the strangeness of the room and the care of their embrace, but somehow it made him feel safer, more in control. He felt his own cock swelling hard. Mason tried to turn toward Lan. "Ouch. God," he gasped. "Stay still," Lan whispered. He caressed Mason's glans in the moist crease of his palm, easing himself along Mason's side. He looked down at Mason's bruised face. Mason looked up at him, his lips parted and his eyes half closed. "As soon as I'm able to get my hands on you properly..." Mason moaned. Lan merely smiled, quickened his pace, and watched almost dispassionately as Mason panted, clutching at Lan's waist with his stronger right hand. It was strangely 55

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pleasurable to have his lover so entirely under his control. He felt Mason's cock twitch as climax approached, and he matched its movements mercilessly. Mason tried to stifle his cry as he came, and Lan leaned down to silence him with a firm kiss. Lan's tongue probed Mason's mouth, running over his slick teeth and warm tongue. He pulled back reluctantly, seeing Mason was tired and weak. "How did I get this lucky?" Mason asked. "What, beaten to hell and lodging in a girl's bedroom?" "You know what I mean." "Just lucky, I guess." Mason chuckled in the darkness, and then winced. "Too right," he said. **** The days settled into a routine over the following weeks. Mason was recovering well, but was prevented by his injuries from getting out and about very much. They stayed on with the Actons while the professor attempted to rally his people around the idea of a multi-species peace initiative. It was clear that he was widely respected by his own kin, and that he took a great risk in protecting Lan. His people had good reason to be displeased; the town pack was an enduring threat to them all—and Lan seemed only to have made the situation more precarious. Yet Mrs. Acton ('called me Elly', though Lan never could) was even more firm in refusing to 56

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consider letting them leave. Lan rather thought that she enjoyed Mason's company during the day. Lan occupied himself with work. With only a few weeks until the term began, he had a great deal to do. It was only at night that his other cares bedevilled him. Finally, late one night, he found himself once again lying sleeplessly in his own demure twin bed. Pushing the covers aside, he slipped quietly out of the room, then down the stairs and out into the cold air. He stood on the porch, breathing the fresh country air deep into his lungs, and then stepped out into the darkness. He shucked off his shorts at the small fence that marked the edge of the garden, the pasture beyond growing high for hay and silage. The dry grass rustled around him as he slipped smoothly into his four-legged form. The scents of the night sharpened and deepened, the night gloom parted, and the near-silence was revealed as a tapestry of subtle sounds. Instinctively, he headed for the crescent of dark bush that marked a wooded ravine over to the north. He paused, catching stale scents of deer, yet a few moments' attention assured him that the tracks were old. The fences that separated the pastures were tall, but old and poorly kept. Their wire strands were loose and Lan slipped between them easily. He loped effortlessly through grass, across mud tracks, and into the welcome darkness of the bush. The ground sloped sharply down, broken by boulders, canting tree trunks, and fallen logs, causing him to slow as he wove his way 57

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through these obstacles. He heard water running at the bottom, and came at last to a sizable creek. He bent his head briefly to taste the cool sweetness of wild water, hoping it was free of the many contaminants that might come from the surrounding towns and farms. A swatch of unnatural colour caught his attention—clothing lay across a sawn-off tree trunk. It smelled of a woman, and faintly of the cut-grass scent of deer. He circled around and found the path she had followed in human form, and the place she had left, small half-moon hoofprints evident in the damp clay, heading upstream. Lan growled slightly; deep instincts for the hunt stirred within him, but he suppressed them firmly and turned to trot downstream. He wended easily through the broader paths cut by the larger deer. He was out of condition enough that he quickly felt himself growing tired; a chance to run on undeveloped land was rare. He continued on in the hope that exhaustion, at least, might make him sleep. He enjoyed it enough that his mind centred on little more than his limbs moving and the air rushing in and out of his labouring lungs. Which might be why he did not immediately notice the movements in the bush around him, the percussive sounds of hooves falling on the firm clay. As he belatedly detected his company, his hind legs pushed him forward in a great bound. He sped forward; a young stag leapt onto the path in front of him. Lan shot beneath its belly and charged on. He surged up the steep bank; another stag was running across the spine of the hill. Lan wove desperately, running alongside and looking for a 58

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way past. Finally, he stopped, spun, and crossed behind the stag. It kicked out its hind legs and caught Lan's hindquarters. He fell heavily and feared he was doomed, but blessed his luck when he managed to stagger to his feet and found all his limbs still obeyed him, if not without pain. He forced his way through a spiny thicket and broke out into pasture. Here, at least, he would be able to see what he faced. Lan darted, jerking with the pain he felt each time he put down his hind leg. Swiftly crossing the tilled field, he dodged behind the ragged wild strip at its edge. He whirled around and saw three stags in pursuit, all with the gangly look of sub-adults, but with all the stature and power they would need to wound a wolf—or kill one. Lan took off again, running along behind an ill-tended hedgerow. The young stags acted as he hoped, leaping over the hedge dramatically and overshooting him entirely. He heard them landing, thundering to a halt, pausing to locate him, and then galloping in pursuit. Their eyes were not so perfectly suited to the dim moonlight as his. His low, lean form was a distinct advantage; in the hay paddock, the ragged grass and seed heads all but hid him entirely. He changed his course again and heard his pursuers split apart, searching for him. He dove down into an old plough channel and the weeds closed over him. For several minutes, he heard his pursuers trotting back and forth, scenting the air, but they couldn't find him. Then it went still. Lan was tempted to move, but a faint 59

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musk on the wind told him the stags were also still around, hoping he would make that mistake and reveal himself. Finally, they moved off. He listened very carefully to be sure all three were gone, and then he slunk back toward the house. By the time he reached the backyard, he realised how truly foolish he had been to venture out alone in canid form. It was an action so unwise that Acton had not even thought to warn him against it. His injuries did not seem too bad; his legs moved almost freely, but he knew the damage would be exacerbated when he returned to his human form. He trotted around to the back of the house, paused to gather his courage, and changed. He looked up to the back porch, straight into Mason's wide eyes as he stood holding a cigarette cupped in his hands. Mason reached down to the banister and picked up Lan's shorts, which he must have collected from the back fence. "I had wondered," he said in a wavering voice. **** "Wait here," Lan said. He limped upstairs to get his robe, stopping for a moment in the bright bathroom and looking at his own scared face in the cabinet mirror. "It'll be all right," he told himself, then went back down. Mason, as was typical, had put the kettle on. A smouldering cigarette still hung from his hand. In the unlit kitchen, its smoke drifted lazily toward the open door, limned with moonlight. Lan sat at the scarred Formica table, and 60

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Mason brought over two mugs of herb tea, as if he still expected either of them to sleep that night. "That psychotic episode I mentioned," Lan said. "When I was a teen ... it was a pretty convincing one." "You thought you were a werewolf," Mason said weakly, and took another pull from his cigarette before stubbing it out on a saucer. "Perhaps it's catching." Lan looked across at him. "You can think it's some kind of hallucination you just saw, that you can see as many times as it takes ... just tell me. But if that's what you want to think, then it's over with us, because this is the truth. I need to know whether you can believe that there are were, that I am were, and I need to know it now." Mason leaned back in his chair. "That's a big ask." "It's a big ask," Lan agreed. "And for myself, it doesn't matter; but there's a lot going on here. This is something that I should have covered a long time ago, but in a matter of days, you have to be okay with this, or you have to be gone." Mason frowned, bemused. Lan knew how strange and harsh his words sounded, as necessary as they were. If Mason was going to leave, he didn't want it to take agonising days; he wanted it to happen right now. He stood and walked over to where Mason sat, his elbows leaning on the table. "How did it ... I mean, how did you end up like that? Is it some kind of ... curse?" Awkwardly, Lan leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Mason's shoulders. "It's just how I am, just the nature I was born with. Were like me and the Actons are just people, just as good, bad, or indifferent as any. I know it must seem 61

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surreal, but I am begging you to believe me, not to leave me, Mason. If anything could really drive me mad, it would be that." Mason reached out one arm and put it around Lan's waist. "Come outside with me," he said. "Let me see this one more time." They walked out arm in arm. Mason turned on the small porch light. Lan dropped his robe on the damp lawn. Another change was going to mean he'd have one hell of a bruise on his rear end where the stag had kicked him, but there was no way he could refuse to make this demonstration. In the faint clear light of a single seven-watt bulb, he let the wolf take over again, and fell into its slight, four-footed form. Mason shook his head in amazement. He went down carefully on one knee and beckoned to Lan, who stepped forward cautiously. He felt Mason's hand settle lightly on his ruff, stroking the coarse fur there. He looked up into Mason's eyes. He saw something there that he had never seen before: fear. "They were like you, weren't they?" Mason said. "The ones that attacked me." In this form, Lan had no words to reply. He leaned into Mason, resting his chin on his lover's shoulder. Mason put his arms around Lan awkwardly, as if forcing himself to make the gesture. "Well, I'll rather be crazy and with you, than sane alone. God help me, I would," he said. Lan felt immense relief, joy, and ... suspicion. 62

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He pushed down his doubts. He knew Mason was still unsure, but he had this opportunity to convince him, and that's what he had to do. Lan stepped back and returned to his human form. Mason watched him intently, quizzically. "There is a lot I should explain," Lan said. "Whenever you're ready," Mason replied, helping him back into his robe and guiding him back into the house. The way he said it suggested that Mason himself was less than ready to deal with all the implications of the night's events. As he went, Lan glanced up. He saw Mrs. Acton standing in the darkened window of her bedroom. She smiled and blew a kiss to him, and drew the curtain closed. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Five "Come to bed," Mason said, silencing any reply from Lan with a perfunctory kiss. He clasped Lan on the shoulder in a familiar rough gesture. They left the lights off and slipped into the narrow single bed, naked together. Lan lay spooned within Mason's embrace, Mason's hand stroking up and down along his side. "Tell me," Mason said reluctantly. "Everything." Lan looked out into the darkness, and the words leaked out, from his first change to his most recent conversations with Acton. It was the deep, dead part of the night before he had finished. "I knew I had to tell you," Lan said at last. "And yet, I was so afraid I would lose you if I did." He could feel Mason's body against his back, Mason's right arm over his side, and Mason's hand lying flat upon his chest. But he was much more aware of the silence between them. He lay still and quiet, awaiting and dreading what was to follow. "I keep thinking that the moment I act like this is real, it will all vanish," Mason finally said. "You'll be asking if I've gone mad and denying you were out there tonight, acting like I'm some kind of nutter." Mason's dry lips pressed against Lan's neck. Lan closed his eyes and put his own hand over Mason's. "I'm just the same now as I was yesterday," he said. "And you don't have to believe it all at once. Just give it a chance." 64

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He felt Mason's warm breath caress his shoulder. Mason looked down at him, then kissed his neck and pulled him close. Deep down, Lan knew that something was wrong, that Mason's outward calm hid an inner panic. For all Mason's obvious strength and calm mien, there were some matters that could still rattle him—and it appeared that a brush with the supernatural was one of them. If he still wants me, then it will be all right. He leaned back into Mason's embrace, stretching out so their bodies slid together from neck to thigh. Mason's growing erection pressed against him. Some part of him knew he should stop, that they needed words now more than caresses, but he pushed it aside. "Lan," Mason whispered. Mason leaned up on his elbow, moving his hand along the contour of Lan's body, slowly describing the terrain of ribcage, hip, and waist—firm, like a sculptor's hand. He moved forward over the front of Lan's thigh, raising it slightly so that even as they lay side-by-side, his cock slid between Lan's thighs. Sexual arousal was pushing aside Lan's other concerns, and he sought that oblivion eagerly. He rocked slowly, feeling Mason's cock swell and nudge against his body. Mason groaned and fumbled with one hand to position himself, spitting upon his palm to wet his rigid cock. Normally, he restrained himself, immersing himself in slow foreplay and teasing advances. But this night, he pushed forward suddenly and firmly, without preparation. Lan arched his back and trembled as he felt his lover enter him in one slow, grinding stroke. Mason's hand curled around 65

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Lan's inner thigh, keeping it raised, nestling just next to the point where they joined. Lan bit his lip, unaccustomed to the pain of unprepared-for penetration. Mason pulled back again, then eased forward more deeply. He moved slowly, but Lan could sense the pitch of tension in his body, like storm clouds rolling lazily over a distant horizon. Lan's whole body was tight and tense, small protests at each new incursion diminishing slowly as Mason moved into a leisurely rhythm. Now they hardly touched except for Mason's cock inside him, his steadying hand. Lan braced himself with his arms out before him, grasping the mattress. Mason moaned again, a strange sound unmistakably of passion, but also of something else. He moved his hand, sliding it over to encircle Lan's cock, holding it in the valley of his damp palm. His hand's rough skin draw back Lan's foreskin and teased the exposed head, and Lan shuddered as an abrupt climax surged through him. Mason gripped him firmly at the hip and thrust hard and short, burying himself deep within Lan's body before coming with a shudder. He reached forward to pull Lan tight against his chest. They lay pressed together in the darkness. Lan struggled to stay awake, but the changes he'd made during the night had driven him into exhaustion, and he slipped, unknowing, into sleep. When he awoke with a start in the morning, he couldn't convince himself that he was really surprised to find the bed empty. Mason had been too calm, their coupling quietly 66

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desperate. He hadn't coped with what he'd learned. Who could? It was as Mason had said—madness. Lan swung his legs over the side of the bed and curled upright, with a grimace. His muscles had stiffened and his flesh felt raw and bruised—a legacy, no doubt, of a solid kick from a stag and several changes in one night. As he pulled a sweatshirt over his head, his gaze caught on a piece of yellow paper resting on the bedside table. Mason must have stood there, looking down at him, as he left a single scribbled word: Sorry. It was a deeply inadequate missive. Lan stared at it with mixed feelings. He knew Mason was a believer ... Mason's words—'some kind of curse'—echoed in Lan's mind. Perhaps that was how Mason saw it, after all this time—that Lan was just some kind of evil creature sent to lead him astray. Lan struggled to feel anger at Mason, whose strength had been Lan's foundation, deserting him. All he actually felt was a sort of emptiness, as if this were really no more, no less, than he had expected. He had nothing but resentment and fear for the beast inside him, so how could he expect anything different from his lover? The Actons were not up yet, and Lan had no interest in speaking to them. He took his keys and wallet and made the half-hour walk to the nearest bus stop, where he waited almost an hour for the bus to town to come. Work offered the distraction of a simple series of actions to perform. Pain would engulf him as soon as he looked it in the eye, and he was delaying that moment for as long as he could. Tomorrow was enrolment day, and he would spend 67

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most of it stuck behind a desk, trying to discuss students' aspirations and study choices with some semblance of enthusiasm ... but not today. He skipped work for the morning and headed to the house on Argyll Street. The place was empty and stale; nobody had been there. The lawn was becoming overgrown. Lan began to carry out senseless tasks. He lined the cupboards and unpacked the crockery and cutlery. He pushed back the curtains and Hoovered the dusty old carpets. It was as if making the house liveable might cause Mason to miraculously reappear to live in it. In the afternoon, he went in to the office in the vain hope that Mason might have looked for him there. A Post-It note on his computer monitor was marked only with a question mark and signed with Acton's name. Lan checked the shifts he was scheduled to work the next day. Staring out the window onto the landscaped campus, he contemplated, for the first time, a life without Mason. He would hardly blame Mason for choosing sanity over a man who wouldn't even say the word 'love'. If he could leave the were world behind himself; if only ... He wavered between half-heartedly resenting Mason and whole-heartedly loathing his own dual nature. Students, newly moved into the hostels, ran and laughed, or sprawled at ease upon the newly trimmed lawns. A pigeon hopped along the wind, and the trees swayed, full of proud, new budding leaves. The future looked very bleak indeed. He fixed his mind instead on the council of deer that would be held tomorrow night. 68

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Regardless of his own problems, he owed a debt to the Actons. He wasn't sure, however, whether it was a debt best paid by his efforts or his absence. In the end, commonsense prevailed. Even if he left now, Acton had made his position clear and must answer for it. It might even be worse if his faith in Lan was proved to be misplaced or if he were to in any way recant. No, Lan must simply explain what had happened, stand by Acton as best he could ... and look for Mason afterwards. He went to find Acton and explain. He did his best to ignore the dull ache in his chest—the grim sensation that said, 'You always knew this would happen. You always knew that nobody could love a monster. You always knew it couldn't last.' **** It had been a long and exhausting day. The new intake of students thrummed with youth, fear, and excitement on their first day. They were desperate to make friends, to look cool, to make the right choices, to start well ... Just looking at them was exhausting, let alone dealing with their naïve questions (the same ones over and over again) and the intricacies of their schedules. Then there was the weight of Acton's worried gaze. "He'll come back," Eloise had assured Lan. Acton stayed quiet, no doubt unsure that were and normals should be so close, and worrying about the security of the great secret in Mason's hands. 69

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The meet was set for dusk, out behind the Actons' house. There would be almost fifty coming, and Mrs. Acton had been left fretting with a small pavilion, caterers, and all the mundane tasks—as if they were planning a wedding or a convention. Lan never spoke of his confrontation with the young stags; it hardly seemed important, all things considered. Acton came over to the desk Lan was staffing. "Best we're off," Acton said tersely. "Jude can cover this now." Lan did his best to smile at his new colleague. "If you don't mind?" "Not at all..." Jude wasn't stupid and could sense the tension in the air, but she had more sense than to pry. Lan and Acton headed for the car park. "I told them all to come on the dot and not before," Acton muttered. "But times being what they are, I don't trust them." Lan nodded and tried to bring himself to care. "Snap out of it," Acton said harshly but with concern in his eyes. "Come the weekend, we'll both look for him. Comb the whole damn country if we must. Tonight, I need you to be focused." Lan nodded and frowned, tried to force himself to pay attention. They got into Acton's SUV and drove out to the house in silence. The gold-tinged landscape slipped by to the hum of the tires on the well-surfaced road.

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They had almost arrived when Lan finally spoke. "If it comes down to an ultimatum, I'll go. There's more important things." Acton didn't even grace that with a reply. He parked up behind the house and strode over to his wife, who stood by the pavilion next to an old man with close-cropped hair and thick glasses. Lan followed behind. "This'll be him, then," the stranger said. "It's not about him," Acton snapped. "You might not think so." Mrs. Acton sighed. "Lan, this is Hank Bell, an elder of the herd. Hank, Lan's a friend of ours." Lan did his best to look harmless, hanging back. Another younger man came around the end of the tent. "...Nah, it'll hold," he said, casting an eye on the flapping canvas. He saw Lan and froze. "What's he doing here?" Lan recognised the smell of him—one of the young stags, and by the look of him, close kin to the elder, Hank. Lan felt irritated just at the sight of him, an irritation that was swiftly growing into something more intense and undeserved. "He's where I tell him to be," Acton said with quiet authority. The young man went and stood beside Hank. "I'm going to propose Rick here for the post," Hank said, just a little abashed. "I'm not hiding anything, and you know I always meant to do it." "He'll do well enough one of these days," Acton replied. "But this isn't that day." 71

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"No, he's young yet; I'll give you. But it's you that's fallen to rash ideas and foolish notions, and him who's speaking the sense." Mrs. Acton interrupted. "We'll talk when the time's come and the quorum has been made. And not before. Hank, you go out front and show people through. Lan, dear, would you go and get the urn from the kitchen?" Lan heard Rick muttering, "That's what he's not," before he turned away. The mere sound of the man's voice grated on him, especially with bruises running from thigh to waist and the better part of his world falling to pieces around him. Lan paused and glared a moment, but for Mrs. Acton's sake, he did as she asked. He carried the urn out and arranged the coffee cups on the foldable table. He was heading back for the teabags and sugar when he felt a hand grasp his shoulder. His temper already on the brittle edge, he instinctively spun and struck out, pushing Rick away. Rick, in turn, leapt forward in attack. It was the excuse Lan needed to put sense aside and be as foolish as he damn well wanted to be, as angry and as pointlessly enraged as he felt. As Rick's fist thudded past his cheek and Lan's hands leapt to Rick's throat, he felt the young deer fall into the change, thickening and growing into his animal form. Without hesitation, Lan followed. If he'd been thinking, he'd have realised one wolf could never take on a stag; even in the wild, a pack was rarely successful against large, healthy deer. But thinking was not at the top of his list right then. He could hear the sound of 72

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running feet as he slipped out of his constricting clothes and dodged a hoof strike. Lan felt his paws grinding into the gravel as he crouched to leap. He could all but feel Rick's throat locked between his jaws. Instead, broad human hands grabbed his scruff and hurled him backwards. Lan righted in time to see Acton knocked down by the broad shoulder of the stag that was Rick. He was ready to leap forward again when Acton shouted. "Lan, get in the house!" He hesitated, took back his paw, one step. Everyone watched. Finally, he relaxed from his slunk-down posture, turned, and walked back to the house. He could hardly see for the desire that swam through his veins. 'Kill him, take him down.' He had not felt the wolf so strongly for years, since before he learnt to tamp those instincts down. Before he reached the door, he heard hoofbeats approaching, but he did not turn. "Rick!" Hank called out in an angry voice. The last hoof fell within an inch of his retreating tail, but Lan refused to give Rick the satisfaction of seeing him turn or hurry his pace. He walked in through the open door and trotted up the stairs to his borrowed room. Only then did he fully realise how foolish he had been, playing right into Rick's hands. Too much of a wolf to back down, too little of one to win the fight. **** Lan waited, watching from the kitchen window. Only when Acton came for him did Lan follow him into the hushed 73

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pavilion. Lan knew what to expect; Acton would speak first, and then any who wished would reply. Acton would have the last word before the vote. Lan sat in the front row, feeling dozens of hostile gazes aimed at his head. He hardly heard Acton expressing the sentiments that were already so familiar to him: peace, inclusion, solidarity. The audience sat in hostile silence, and Lan could smell doom in the air. There was a murmur, and Lan turned to see a group of figures outlined in the entranceway. The wolves. The alpha sauntered in with a swagger, and Acton's words stumbled to a halt. "Oh," the wolf said. "The deer are getting all organized. I'm so scared..." His dozen or so followers sniggered as they loped in after him. The alpha was almost in front of Acton when Lan felt himself move, though he had hardly intended to. He stepped between them, his hand on the wolf's shoulder. The alpha sneered. "Well, if it isn't the little mutt." The wolf hardly pulled back his hand at all, and Lan didn't have time to even think about getting out of the way. He reeled back, falling against Acton, who steadied him but also held him. "Lan," Acton warned. "It's all right," Lan said as he steadied himself. "Have you got a cell phone on you?" Lan reached out his hand. Acton paused, bemused, but handed over his Nokia. 74

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"You see," Lan said with a confidence he did not feel, "we have more advantages than these idiots realise. This here is a tent full of very respectable individuals, and there's nothing a wolf hates more than being locked up. They just can't tolerate it." "You make that call, and I'll smack you into the ground. I'll bury you." Lan felt strangely calm. "Then it'll be me that makes the call," Acton said. "Lan's right; I don't know why we didn't see it. If any of us are hurt, or vanish, I'll say it was you, and I'll be believed." "Think you're smart, do you? I have you," the alpha shouted. But there was an edge of uncertainty creeping into his bluster. 'There's not actually very many of you," Acton said. "If you want, we'll fight you," Hank said quietly. "We're stronger than you. It's just not our way to fight." "But for you," Lan said, "for you, they might make an exception." The alpha looked slightly bewildered. "Deer don't fight," he snarled. "And you can't teach 'em to, no matter how much you try." He stepped forward, and though Lan did his very best dodge, he was soon laid out on the ground. He curled his body, hearing hoofbeats on either side. "Rick, for God's sake," Hank shouted. "Be careful." Lan struggled to his feet. He rippled into canid form and flew to help Rick. The other deer hung back a long moment, looking to each other nervously. It was a pivotal moment and one they would all look back on with pride. They surged 75

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toward the wolves in a wave. Lan's teeth were sunk in the alpha's hand as Lan started to shift himself back to human. He heard the hoofbeats surging up behind them, and it seemed that the very air before them pushed the wolves back. They stumbled away from the charge and fled in disarray, leaving their leader behind. The fear changed them as they ran, and they limped and staggered, half in wolf form, to their cars. The alpha screamed his anger, but after a moment, he pulled free and followed them. "Ha," Hank said. "What an anticlimax. This is like the cliché out of every movie about some group of oppressed people ... and it took the wolf to tell us." Rick reverted to human form, his clothes in shreds about him for a second time that evening. Apart from a few brash youngsters who continued to chase the cars, the others started to return to the tent, clutching their rent clothes bashfully about them. Hank pulled Rick to his feet. "I suppose you're right, Acton; the boy's not ready yet. And you might know more about what you're doing than I realised." "There will be repercussions," Lan muttered. "While we are all here," Acton said in a louder voice, "we best make plans. We have already made our stand, now we just have to hold the line..." **** Lan walked down the main street of Hameltown, and it looked just as it had that first night. While Lan felt entirely different. There was no fear now, no self-consciousness. He 76

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didn't dress any differently, and with a bruised cheek and a black eye, he was hardly blending in. If anything, the wolves hated him even more now, but he just didn't care. There was freedom in that indifference, but not as such that he could enjoy it. It was the freedom of just not caring what happened. He rode the knife-edge of his feckless mood, feeling capable of doing any fool thing and never regretting it. "What up?" called out a cheerful voice. "Bog off, Rick." Rick was becoming something of a problem. His family still had a very traditional outlook, and that meant they had gone from enemies to loyal fellow henchmen in one night. Lan was working his way through the downtown nightclubs. It said little for his attentiveness that he didn't know the name of the place where Mason was meant to be starting work. Nor could he be sure that job was still on, but it gave him a place to start. He had started out the evening wanting to beg Mason to come back, but a few drinks down the line, he was far more interested in punching the selfish bastard right in the face. He'd been gone for days, so it rather looked like 'sorry' was the best explanation he was intending to give. Lan felt entirely capable of knocking him right off his feet, turning, and walking away for good. He turned toward Casper's, then stopped at the door and cast a considering eye over the doorman. "There a guy called Mason who works here?" It was early in the evening, and all he got in return was a bored shrug. 77

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"Could you do me a favour, mate?" Lan pressed. He was getting the guy's attention now. He was a big man with a scowl on his face, so that might be a mixed blessing. "What?" "Don't let this guy in." Lan nodded to Rick, who smiled at what he imagined was a joke. "Oh, yeah," the doorman said. "It's a gay bar, right?" "Right." "I'm queer enough, right?" The doorman's scowl was slipping away as he began to buy into the banter. "What about him?" Lan nodded to Rick again, he was still smiling but more uncertainly. "Well, you can't tell these days, can you?" the doorman quipped. Lan spun around and grabbed Rick's collar and planted a kiss on him before he had time to resist. Rick stepped back and fell off the curb. Lan went on in to the club. He heard the doorman behind him joking, "Sorry, mate. He's got a point." The doorman was just taking the piss, but the delay should give him enough time to slip away. Rick's sudden decision that they should be friends probably had something to with Acton, re-ensconced as the head of the herd, wanting an eye kept on him. Lan knew his mood had been black; he had done little to hide it, and Acton was worried. Rick had apparently drawn the job of 'minder'. Lan finally had the family he 78

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wanted, and he wasn't sure it was what he wanted, after all. Or at least, it wasn't what he wanted the most ... ? Lan drifted through the room. He didn't need to look too hard; the merest glimpse of Mason would stand out like fireworks. He knew Mason's form, his way of moving, the sound of his voice, the shape of his shadow—indeed, he was sure he would know if Mason was in the room even without seeing him at all. It was just gone seven and he was already drunk; one or two more and he would be totally out of it. The idea was dangerously appealing. Lan went to the deserted bar and ordered a double vodka from the gel-haired youth lounging against the neon-clad shelves of liquor bottles. Someone came up beside him. "Same for me..." the newcomer added. Lan glanced over. The man who stood there was like so many out on the streets—black jeans and T-shirt with some emblem upon it, his greying hair pulled back into a plain black band. He wasn't wildly attractive, but there was an air to the man, an energy. Perhaps it was just because he was a were— as he certainly was, and a canid at that. "Why don't you let me get this?" the stranger asked. Lan met his eyes with an unwelcoming, blank expression. "Oh, big bad wolf," the man said, but he paid anyway. In fact, Lan wasn't entirely sure whether the remark had been made ironically or in earnest. Rick stormed across the dance floor. "Dammit, Lan," he said. "The boss told me to keep an eye on you, and so that's what I'm bloody doing. Cut me a break, will you?" 79

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The coyote looked on with amused interest. "Take the night off," Lan half-threatened and half-pleaded. "This is my old mate, Bob. Bob'll keep an eye on me tonight, won't you, mate?" 'Bob' leaned on the bar and sipped from his drink. Rick looked him up and down and took a step backwards. "Bloody wolf," Rick said—old prejudices apparently dying hard. "He's a bloody coyote," Lan said curtly. "Mum's side of the family. So I'll be all right and you can go home to ... whatever it is you go home to. Please, Rick, I'm sure you've got better things to do." Rick's squared face wrinkled into an expression of bemusement. The lights dimmed suddenly and the music started for the evening. Bonnie Tyler's voice cut through the air, slicing through the darkness like a siren, in both senses of the word. That was enough to decide Rick. He threw his hands up and turned to flee just as the coloured lights of the dance floor began to spin. Lan felt a bit bad about how he was treating Rick, but only in an abstract way—Rick was a very hard man to like. "So, what is your name?" Lan half-shouted over the music. "Bob," the coyote replied with a sly grin. Lan had no doubt that was a lie, but he didn't much care. Just for once, he wanted to be a devil-may-care wolf, the kind of man nobody could knock back, nobody could hurt. He felt his own body sending out the scent and heat of attraction, and for once, his mind made no effort to bridle it. 80

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"Let's get out of here," the newly christened Bob suggested. Lan threw back his drink in one fiery gulp. His heart said 'no', but it said it very quietly. The greater part of him knew that Mason was gone, and this was all that was left for him. He had no doubt he was making a mistake, and he wanted to make it without so much as a backwards glance. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Six Bob had a shabby room in the Lodge, a pay-by-the-night downtown hostel. "Mum's side?" Bob said as he unbuttoned Lan's shirt with matter-of-fact presumption. "Or Dad's. How would I know?" Lan heard an unfamiliar but satisfying hard edge to his voice. "Nothing specific, then. I wouldn't like to think this was incest." Bob didn't seem to be entirely joking. "No bloody idea," Lan said. "Now stop talking, will you?" The room was small, its once-white paint on a long slide toward brown and the window smeared with soot and dust. The sheets, at least, seemed clean. He wasn't entirely sure why he was doing this except that it was there to do. It was warm; he slid off his clothes. He disregarded the curtainless window, appeased by its fifth-floor aspect. He sat on the narrow bed and watched as Bob stripped off. The coyote had a long, unpadded body marked with streaks of russet hair. He had a large, thick penis, as thin men often do. Its circumcised length was already half-alert amidst its thatch of hair. As Lan sat and watched, Bob knelt on the floor, putting his hands around Lan's back. He leant to lick Lan's chest in a rough and unrestrained gesture. His blunt teeth gripped Lan's left nipple, teasing with a bite. It struck Lan that this was it, his first time with one of 'his own kind'. Bob's fingers drifted down, as did his mouth. His deft tongue stroked the top of Lan's stiffening cock. Lan 82

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leaned back, feeling a strangely detached sexual response rising up. Warm, firm lips slid over the head of his cock. Lan felt himself slide into Bob's tight throat. That timeless sensation aroused his body even as his jaded eyes surveyed the room blankly. The window was nothing but a rectangle of black, its lowest margin slightly tinged with the orange of the streetlamps. Lan closed his eyes and entered into the more promising world of touch and deserted the tawdry trappings of sight. He leaned back, his thighs parting further. Bob's strokes became firmer and strong, his clever tongue flickering along the shaft and pushing back the foreskin. Lan relaxed as his focus narrowed. Bob pushed him back further so that he lay across the width of the bed, the top of his head just brushing the wall on its other side. Bob's warm mouth withdrew, and Lan felt his cock, cool and moist in the warm room. Bob's tongue was rough and firm as it traversed Lan's taut balls and along the sensitive cleft. He raised Lan's thighs as his tongue-tip traversed the ring of his rear passage. Lan shivered as he felt Bob's tongue probe tentatively. This was something Mason never did; it seemed somehow fittingly sordid, even as the feeling of Bob's tongue flickering and pushing made his breath catch. "Turn over," Bob said. Lan rolled over slowly. Bob pulled him down so that he was bent over the low bed with his knees on the ground and his rear proffered. Bob leaned over him, using his height to advantage. He felt the way first with his thumb, stroking and massaging Lan's resistant flesh. Lan felt himself relaxing at 83

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that almost hypnotic touch. Then Bob positioned his cock, its blunt head intruding slickly, pushing, withdrawing, teasing. Lan could feel its exact shape within the entrance of his body as it finally slid within. Bob's body covered Lan's as he pushed forward his whole length. His warm hands gripped Lan's torso, his fingers aligning along Lan's ribcage as he thrust more firmly now, growling slightly between his teeth. Lan bowed his head, listening to the thwap, thwap, thwap, feeling another man inside him. A man whose real name he did not even know. His body responded strongly; slight pain and rough handling sparked something strange within him. His own cock was pushed against the rough cotton sheet, rubbing as he was pushed forward onto the mattress. He felt a tingling along his spine, felt Bob lean down, his rough tongue sliding up along Lan's shoulder-blade; then his teeth gripped Lan's shoulder. Lan shuddered, feeling for a moment truly like a wolf in a man's body. Bob held him tightly, moving in short, hard strokes and striking sparks of raw sexual pleasure like sparks in the darkness behind his eyes. This was Lan's old, uneasy instinct finding its place ... sex as surrender. Surrender made to an anonymous conqueror, an empty prize. **** Lan had not intended to stay the night. Bob had climaxed with an unrestrained shout that had drawn a disapproving thump on the wall from both neighbours. He then used his 84

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clever tongue until Lan came with a shudder, spread-eagled upon the narrow bed. Only then did he go to the light switch near the door. He turned and looked down at Lan for a moment, then brought down darkness with a blithe flick of his finger. Lan lay uneasily in the dark, still meaning to leave. The mattress was hard and cold, and Lan was pressed up against the wall as Bob climbed in beside him. But the touch of a body next to him was too beguiling. Lan resisted for a moment, but then he let himself slide against Bob so that their bodies overlapped and pressed together where the tired springs dipped in the centre. Their limbs fitted together easily; soft skin and warm, hard-washed blankets embraced him. As his awareness softened toward sleep, he almost felt happy, as long as matters of who and where were somehow forgotten. "Feel like telling me what you're so angry about?" Bob said softly. Lan clawed his way back toward consciousness. "What?" "Come on, kid. You were wound up like a spring. Why don't you tell Uncle Bob what the problem is?" Lan was alarmed to feel tears welling up inside his sealed eyelids. For a long moment, he said nothing, then ... ? "I got dumped, that's all." "Ah." Lan had hardly noticed the tension had returned to his body, until he felt it leeching out again. 85

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"T'aint the coyote way, getting hitched up," Bob said. "You'll learn that, in time." "Taint, indeed," Lan replied bitterly. He could feel Bob chuckling silently to himself. "Coyote blood's a trump card, kid; don't fool yourself. We're all rolling stones, one way or another. So long as no one expects different, no one gets hurt. Give in to it. We'll accept you the way the wolves never will. In the end, you're one of us, and we'll understand you." Lan drew the obvious conclusion from this little monologue. "You know exactly who I am, don't you?" "I heard about things going on in these parts. Coyotes see a lot, and aren't always seen themselves. I heard about you. We don't normally lose track of our kids, not for so long, and you have definitely grown up. But you're one of ours; all you have to do is come with me in the morning. I'll show you around a bit, show you how we keep in touch. We don't stay in each other's pockets, but we have our ways. You just gotta leave this mess behind, and we'll show you how to be your real self. I swear it'll make you a whole lot happier that the shit that's going on here." Lan's mind raced. This was the closed world he had always wondered about. "But I have to go with you tomorrow." "That's the deal, kid. You have to enter our world." And it was clearly implied that he had to leave his current situation behind. "Get some sleep, kid," Bob said. "Let tomorrow look after tomorrow. That's our way." 86

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Lan lay in an embrace whose meaning had greatly changed. His early training in psychology filtered to the forefront of his mind. It seemed the coyotes were every bit as regimented as the wolves, in their own way. They had taken a habit of independence and free spirit and turned it into some kind of exclusive secret society and, ironically, a set of rules. And yet, Lan had to admit, having been shut out of everything he had wanted in his life, it was so tempting to take the offer to be let in. He couldn't have his parents, a family, or even the simplicity of straight sexuality. He couldn't be human, for God's sake. But he could have this, so ... so long as he left everything else behind. And everything else included very little that mattered ... except Mason. The song that had been playing at Casper's ran though his head. It had been a favourite of his during his teenage years, but the words hadn't made so much sense then as they did now. "Once upon a time, there was light in my life. Now there's only love in the dark. Nothing I can do—total eclipse of the heart." Lan knew he was standing on a threshold, just at a time when he felt most unable to see clearly or choose well. His mind was a tangle, his body was happy enough, but his heart was whispering a sullen little refrain. Finally, he sat up and climbed awkwardly over Bob's body. Bob caught him in his arms. "Hey, where are you heading in such a hurry?" Lan pulled free and groped around on the floor for his clothes. 87

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"I'm going home," Lan said tersely. "I guess you know where to find me if you've a mind to." "You sure about that, kid?" For the first time, Bob's voice was tinged with some genuine concern, rather than his previous easy confidence. "What, you not used to being turned down?" Lan said tersely as he dragged his shirt on over his head. He could just see Bob, gilded faintly by the dirty orange of the tungsten streetlamps. He was lying lax upon his back and watching Lan. "No," he replied. "I suppose I'm not. Are you sure you know what you're doing?" "Hell, no. But I'll be doing it here. This is where I have some people that took an interest in me, not because I was the same as them, but despite the fact that I wasn't. I guess I'll be sticking with them." "It doesn't look like they were making you all that happy. And then there's this boy, girl, or whatever..." "Yeah, then there's that." Lan fumbled with the door and let himself out. **** "We've had approaches from the horses and the foxes," Mrs. Acton said. "Three of the seventeen kinds of kith, and one of them a predator, no less." "I never intended to start a bloody United Nations," Acton said gruffly. Lan came down the stairs, dragging a heavy case. He was taking Mason's stuff with him, too. What else could he do? 88

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"I don't think you should go, dear. You shouldn't be on your own," Mrs. Acton said kindly. Lan stopped. He didn't say anything, sure that he would only break down "Mason will come back," Mrs. Acton pressed. "He'll just be off at his mother's for a few weeks to get used to the idea." Lan stopped and looked at her, startled. "His mother." "Yes, dear." "I'm such an idiot. God, I'm such an idiot." He dropped the cases. "I need a few days of sick leave." Acton's harassed expression deepened as he mentally reviewed the lecture schedule, but cleared somewhat as he realised Lan didn't have a lecture for several days. "Back by Thursday if you want to look good for the tenure board." "Don't!" Mrs. Acton exclaimed. "Just a joke!" "A bad one." Lan's mind was whirling; he had to get to Huntleigh. Now. And not only did he not have a car, he didn't drive. It was only a half-hour trip, and he really didn't want to drag the Actons into it. "If you can give me a lift home, I reckon I've got a good idea what to do now." Mrs. Acton was still concerned. "Don't get your hopes up too high." Lan smiled uncertainly. "I know," he said. "I'll be all right." Acton grabbed his keys. Lan was mentally calculating what little money he had in his account. But he did have a credit 89

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card, hardly used except for buying old books off eBay. It would do for a taxi. He curbed his haste, so as not too give himself away to Acton, who would otherwise insist on doing the driving himself. Lan was more comfortable with a long, expensive ride with an unknown taxi driver who wouldn't feel obliged to hang around and see if everything was 'okay'. Acton drew up outside the little house on Argyll Street. He waited in the car as Lan fumbled with the key and plunged into the stale hallway. Lan threw the case down and kicked it out of the way. He peeked through the living room curtain and watched as Acton drove away. The phone had been connected some time during his absence. He had to call directory for a number and then the cab, and paced the darkened room for forty-seven minutes exactly—seventeen more than promised. "You actually going to Huntleigh, at this time of night?" "Yes," Lan said in the bitten-off way that implied conversation would be unwelcome. Now that he was actually on his way, his absolute certainty began to wane slightly. Mason would go to his folks, wouldn't he? Well, wouldn't he? Maybe. Probably. Possibly. He cursed himself for not having thought of it earlier. Mason might have gone there and moved on by now. Lan stared out the window at the black-onblack rushing by. The occasional window or streetlamp flickered through the condensation. As they drove, the heat built up and damp beads of water began to slide down the inside of the glass. 90

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His mother, right? That's where he'd go ... and then what would he tell her? Even a highly edited version meant she wouldn't exactly be welcoming Lan in. "This the place?" the taxi driver asked. Lan wiped the window and peered into the darkness. The number on the letterbox was right, but it was hard to tell. "Yeah, I suppose." Lan read the numbers on the meter and handed over his shiny, barely used Visa card. The driver was still using one of those sliding devices over a paper carbon. He fumbled with it for ages as Lan peered out at the driveway with its vaguely familiar curve. There were lights on at the house; it was just past ten, and only the kids would be in bed. He had a cowardly impulse to wait outside in the darkness until they had all gone to bed, perhaps to throw stones at Mason's window like in some romantic movie. But when he finally got the card back and stepped out, it was cold. "I could drive you up while I'm here already," the driver offered. "It's all right," Lan said with a wan smile. He walked down the dark drive, stumbling on the stones and going as slowly as he could. He stood at the wooden door, frozen in more ways than one. What would he say? Finally, he knocked on the door, and it was Mason who opened it. He stood there, every bit as large as life, in a scuffed-up pair of jeans and a tight grey T-shirt. "Hi," Lan said, and then he ran out of words. 'You bastard,' sprang to mind, but that would hardly be a promising way to start. 91

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Mason stood back in mute permission. Lan hesitated, then went inside. Mason's parents were in the living room, silent and getting to their feet. "I..." Lan began. Courtesy suggested that he should say they didn't need to go, but obviously, they did. "It's all right," Mrs. Patterson said. She shut the door quietly behind her, leaving Lan alone with Mason in the incongruously brightly lit room with its piles of magazines, torn sofa, and stained carpet. "What am I supposed to do?" Lan said quietly. "I don't know," Mason replied. "I need you," Lan said. "I don't know that I need you." Lan stood in stunned silence. He'd been thinking so fixedly about getting Mason back in his life. "Maybe you don't," he said. "I'm uptight, noncommittal, and a werewolf, to boot. But I ... loved you. So, if this is it, over, you can damn well say it to my face. Not that that's been a strong point of yours, so far." "What happened at the meeting?" Mason asked without looking Lan in the eye. "Acton held the line. The wolves turned up and backed down. Things are tense, but the deer have the upper hand, and some of the other kith are starting to join up with them. I'm back in the house at Argyll. And you are sulking around here." Lan felt his voice waver. As much as he tried to hold on to his anger, it was slipping away from him. He did need Mason. He needed him. 92

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"Loved me?" Mason asked with an ambiguous tone. "Mason, for God's sake, make some sense," Lan snapped. "You're not interested in me, but you want to know what's happening with the bloody deer. You don't need me, but you're all het up because I used the past tense?" Mason nodded slowly and raised his hands in mute surrender. "Sit down," he said. "Please." Lan took a deep breath. The wolf inside him snarled, but he mastered it. He sat down on one of the slumped sofas and waited to see what Mason had to say for himself. Mason sat down, surprisingly, next to him. He patted Lan awkwardly on the knee and his hand lingered there. In that moment, Lan knew Mason regretted what he had done, that there was still a future for them if only he could grab it. "I ran out on you," Mason said. "That's one thing I swore I'd never do, precisely because it was exactly what you seemed to expect. I knew that was the worst thing I could do, even as I did it." He was looking down at the carpet. "You did need me ... I was never sure that you loved me, but you did need me, and I wasn't there for you. But I was never so keen on just being some kind of dull necessity, some kind of fixture in your life." "Okay, maybe I don't need you, either." Lan put his hand over Mason's where it rested on his knee. "But where are we on love?" "It's real, isn't it? It's true. All this shape-changing stuff." "That I'm some kind of monster—yes, it is." Mason looked up at him then. His eyes flicked over Lan's body as if expecting to see it somehow changed. "I suppose 93

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that was what I was thinking. I was brought up according to simple sorts of rules. There was right and wrong, doing what the pastor said, and the devil and all his works. You'd think I'd have worked that through when I left home, working in pubs and bars, coming out ... But if I don't see a thing coming, it's still in there—that fear of anything out of the normal way." Lan let Mason speak, meeting his gaze easily, letting him find his own way to what he needed to say. Suddenly, he felt in control. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how he was going to get it. "No," Mason said at last. "You're some kind of magic, and I suppose I already knew that." He reached out and put his arm around Lan's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Lan. I'm sorry for 'sorry', and I made such a mess of things, I couldn't even face you. Just hide here with my folks and stew." Lan had his chance now to be righteous, but he didn't need it. Mason had made a mess of things, but Mason didn't have to be perfect ... not now. Lan didn't need Mason to be a white knight or a tower of strength—he wanted a man who loved him enough to admit his mistakes and go on. "I should have told you, a long time ago," Lan said. "You might not have got hurt, but that's not the point, is it?" Lan began to glimpse the future he had been looking for, and he reached for it. He put his arm around Mason's back, and they sat for a while in silence. "So," Lan said. "We fucked things up a bit. I'm royally pissed off with you, but in the end, I want to sort this out. I love you, and I want you to come back with me." 94

Eclipse of the Heart by Emily Veinglory

"I do, too." "What did you tell your folks?" "I, um ... Not much, really. I think they suppose one of us slept with someone they shouldn't have..." Lan's thoughts inevitably went to his night with Bob, but he certainly wasn't going to bring that up now, if ever. Perhaps a more virtuous person would have taken the lesson about being truthful at all times, but he just wasn't willing to take the risk right at that moment. He had what he wanted, and he was damned well keeping it. Mason took a deep breath. "I think I should borrow my sister's car, and we can head back to ... our place." "She won't mind?" "She'll understand." "Well," Lan said as he stood. "There's a lot to be said for understanding." Mason paused a little at Lan's new, confident demeanour, but then he smiled. "Sure as hell," he said. **** They came in through the front door of the house. It seemed so empty and cold, and Mason was still walking on eggshells. They had talked all the way home but fell silent as the door shut behind them. The bed was still nothing more than a mattress on the floor, and Lan felt exhausted from the weight of the events of the last few days, and because it was well past midnight. "Kith don't hold with hooking up with normal humans," Lan said abstractly. 95

Eclipse of the Heart by Emily Veinglory

"Oh, good, another prejudice. Just what I need," Mason came up behind him and rested his hand casually on Lan's shoulder as they looked out the window. Lan reached out and closed the chink in the curtains, shutting out the rest of the world. "Bugger them," he said as he turned around. "That's not exactly what I had in mind," Mason said with a sly smile. THE END

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