Moon-Touched

MOON-T OUCHED

… At Pastor’s call, the young man glanced back, and all the air disappeared from Thomas’s lungs. Stranger or not, Andre was stunning. A long, angular jaw, just like the rest of him. Bee-stung lips women would kill for. And eyes such a pale blue, they felt electric, all the way across the yard. “This is Thomas, Amy’s son,” Pastor said as they approached. Andre straightened, and while he easily matched Thomas’s height, he held himself like a skittish animal, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. “Thomas, this is Andre Nezat.” Thomas held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” A moment of hesitation. Andre’s gaze dropped to Thomas’s offering. Long, almost girly, eyelashes became more visible as they fanned across his cheeks. But the shifted attention did the same to Thomas’s, driving it downward to catch on the young man’s exposed throat. Instead of a smooth column to match the rest of him, Andre’s neck was a map of scars, bone-white against his tanned skin, puckered with age. Thomas jerked his eyes away as soon as Andre lifted his again, but curiosity burned inside as they finally shook hands. “I don’t suppose you know sign language,” Pastor said. “No.” He couldn’t look away. Andre couldn’t be deaf. He’d turned around at the sound of Pastor’s voice. “You can’t speak?” With a shake of his head, Andre reached into his front pocket and pulled out a small notepad, its pages bent and crinkled from having been shoved into his jeans repeatedly. A stubby pencil appeared as if from nowhere, and he scribbled out a message to hold out in front of him. If you want me to go, I will…

ALSO BY B Y VIVIEN DEAN Blood Of Souls Born To Be Wild Bridge Over Troubled Water Catch/Caught Crave Interlude Ruby Red Rebels Still, Life What We May Be Wranglers (The Collection) Wranglers: Discovery Wranglers: Judgment Wranglers: Voir Dire Wranglers: The Defense Rests Boys Of The Zodiac Aries: Riddle Me Wicked Cancer: Penny Candles Capricorn: Forgotten Faces Libra: Outlined In Ink

MOON-TOUCHED BY VIVIEN DEAN

AMBER Q UILL PRESS, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com

MOON-TOUCHED AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2011 by Vivien Dean ISBN 978-1-61124-190-7 Cover Art © 2011 Trace Edward Zaber

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

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CHAPTER 1 Hide. Don’t run. If you do, he’ll find you. It’s not cowardice to stay alive. It’s called survival. Hide. Four letters. A single word command. So easy to consider, so hard to do when instincts argued every step of the way. Brambles cut at his fur, but he scrunched down more tightly to the ground, using the weeds’ natural coloring to help disguise his own. He couldn’t do much about his scent except pray the recently fertilized field adjacent to his cover was enough to put the others off. And the night… He could do even less about the full moon hanging low behind the trees. 1

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His ears twitched at every sound. When a distant baying echoed and rolled around the valley, his hackles rose involuntarily, and his lip curled. If he dared to believe the wolf was alone, he might risk venturing from his hiding spot to tear his throat out. But the first howl was met with a second, then a third, until the chorus of death resounded across the earth. He wanted to dig at the packed dirt and bury himself out of sight, but one wrong move, one wrong sound, and all was done. He couldn’t even risk closing his eyes because if they showed up, he would need every one of his senses to fend them off. Not that he thought he could. Not that a small part of him even thought he should. They were his brethren, damned souls or not. The beast in his heart believed it was their right to do with him as they wished. They’ll kill you. They had to find him first. *

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At the first line of pink along the horizon, the shift began. It started in his bones, in the very marrow, the core of who and what he was. When he’d been young, his father had terrified him with stories about how their kind was captured so scientists could harvest their marrow for their vicious experiments. It was better to be killed than to be caught. That was the lesson learned. He still lived by that creed, though these days, it was more out of certain terror of what Perry would do to him if he ever caught up. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he always wondered if there was truth in the old tales. Because when he changed, whether from wolf to human, or human to wolf, it always began in the same deep pits of his being. 2

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It hurt, too. Both ways. Whether bones had to shrink or muscles had to stretch, the eruptions beneath his skin burned away everything else until he thought he’d die from the transformation. The pain was the reason so many of his kind howled as soon as the change was done. Baying at the demonic moon responsible for the rhythms of their bodies released all the pent-up anguish to make the night manageable. The fact that Andre couldn’t had forced him to find other ways to cope with the pain. Not all of them were healthy. None of them banished the aches like howling did for the others. Reverting to his human form was easier, if only because he could turn to pharmaceuticals to help deal with the residual pains. It wasn’t swift. He often wished for the magic of Hollywood, where glittery dust would shower down upon the writhing beast and transform him into the naked hunk of the month within the blink of an eye. How much better would his life have been if he could have withstood the change with more grace, more efficiency? Instead, he was trapped in this endless game of hide and seek, waiting for the jaws to snap one final time. There were only two ways to end it, and he wasn’t strong enough to make the necessary kill. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. So he endured the transformation. The rising sun bled over the edges of the world, rousing both beast and beauty, and quelled the silent howls trapped inside his skin for another cycle. He lay curled into a tight ball beneath the bushes and focused on his breathing. In. Out. Another day to live. Another night survived. Whether he liked it or not. *

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His rusted-out pickup rumbled off the dirt road where he’d kept it parked overnight and onto the strip that would lead him to M-20 and back to Remus. Residents would be slow to get up on this sleepy Saturday. The town didn’t really bustle except during the school runs and Sunday mornings. The needle on the gas tank was dangerously low, too, so the smart choice would be to return and fill up at the Mobil Station. He’d have a job waiting for him as well. All it would take was turning right at the T-junction and heading back. He turned left. Remus was a known identity, safe in its predictability and size. But he’d spent the last two months in the tiny Michigan town. The wolves he’d heard in the night indicated he’d become just as known and predictable. The gas got him to Mecosta, though barely. From the food mart, he picked up a case of bottled water and enough snacks to last him a couple days. Nothing perishable. The pain from the shift was a hurricane buffeting against his joints and muscles, but he had enough drugs stashed away to forgo wasting money he might need later on. He’d be sleeping in the bed of his truck for the foreseeable future. The teenaged clerk barely looked at Andre when he rung him up, and Andre made sure to keep his head ducked so his shoulderlength hair hid most of his face from the security camera mounted on the wall. If Perry stopped in looking for him, he’d get nothing of use for his hunt. In this neck of the woods, even Andre’s 1981 Ford didn’t stand out enough for anyone to remember. He swallowed half a dozen ibuprofen with one of the waters before hitting the road again. The truck’s radio had busted before he ever took ownership, but he had an old cassette deck he’d picked up at a Goodwill in Ypsilanti that broke up the monotony of 4

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driving. He was stuck with music more than two decades old, but at least he never worried about someone stealing any of it. Billy Joel was just begging not to shut him out when he rolled into the dusty Amoco station at the outskirts of Mellowbush. The pumps were mix-and-match. One had been upgraded to an ATM model, but the other still had the old rotary numbers flipping down as the cost went up. A large sign mounted from the overhang directed customers to pay inside before pumping, though some creative individual had scratched out a couple doing it doggy-style along the bottom of the chipped white metal, and the smell of pizza wafted from the Little Caesar’s across the street. So far, Mellowbush was a lot like any of the half-dozen towns he’d stopped at over the last year. As he jogged across the lot to the station’s entrance, he had an odd sense of coming home. Frigid air-conditioning blasted into his face when he stepped inside, stealing his breath away. Northern Michigan in June wasn’t nearly hot enough to warrant such arctic temperatures, but from the way the rotund cashier fanned himself with a tattered copy of Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit edition, they might as well have been in the tropics. “Hot enough for you?” When the man laughed at his own joke, Andre shrugged and smiled. He pulled a sweaty ten out of his wallet and laid it on the counter, then pointed at the truck outside the window. The cashier followed the line of his finger. “That yours? Looks like the rust’s the only thing holding it together.” Another robust laugh. It was probably a very good thing he could amuse himself because nobody else was likely to be entertained by his stale commentary. Andre pushed the money closer. 5

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“If you want gas, that’s only goin’ to get you ’bout two and a half gallons. Depending how low you are, you might not even make it out of town on that.” Smiling and nodding, Andre retreated to go back out to the pump. Next to the front door, an explosion of colored flyers fluttered under the force of the overhead vents. The uppermost one was canary yellow with an ornate cross in the upper left corner. The headline, “The Light’s Always on in God’s House,” stopped Andre from stepping outside. He smoothed down the lower half, scanning over the text. It read like any other promotional material he’d ever seen for a church, reminding people of Sunday service, listing the contact information and address in case somebody needed to be reminded of where it was, but finding it now when he was on the move felt like more than circumstance. It felt like fate, like leaving Remus behind had been the exact right thing he could do. In a world where right and wrong were as elusive as trapping wind, any sort of sign was welcome. “You lookin’ for the Lighthouse?” the cashier asked behind him. Keeping his finger on the flyer, Andre looked back and nodded. He made a sweeping gesture toward the road, hoping the man understood he was asking for directions. Most likely, the only formal sign language the man knew would be the kind that got his ass kicked on a drunk Saturday night. “Anything worth finding’s on this drag. Just go down to the flashing red, go through, and it’ll be right there on the left.” Another good sign. Most people went through the rigmarole of assuming Andre was deaf instead of mute before catching on to 6

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what his various gestures might mean. His step was lighter when he returned to the truck. The aches from his shift were gone, he was far enough away from Remus to make him difficult to track, and there was a church in this tiny spot on the map that seemed to embrace strangers. Mellowbush just might be home. For now.

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CHAPTER 2 It might have been a decade since Thomas Durling had last driven the road into Mellowbush, but time had chosen to ignore the town, leaving it so similar to his last visit, his stomach churned in rebellion. The Amoco upgrades still hadn’t been finished, which meant Rudy was probably still driving down to Mt. Pleasant to hit the reservation for gambling every weekend, and the pothole that had ripped out his transmission the last time he’d visited had been filled in and then broken down again, the darker concrete at its jagged edges defying anybody to object. He avoided it easily, but the urge to keep on going when he hit the four-way stop had him clutching at the steering wheel until his knuckles hurt. It wouldn’t be hard. Turn around, head back to Philadelphia, forget the phone call that had turned his world upside down. 8

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Live the rest of his life haunted by the fact that he’d been a selfish bastard all the way to the end. He made the turn onto Oak automatically, blind to the few properties he passed for the first mile. The road narrowed and stretched, refusing him the room to turn around safely even if he tried. When he finally spotted the house, his heart lurched. Weeds had overgrown the ditch that channeled the front yard, nearly obstructing the drive from view. The delicate yellow flowers rustled in the summer breeze, offering an illusion of welcome that tightened the vise around his chest even more. He was ten years older, but he felt like he’d just stepped into one of the family photo albums he’d permanently borrowed when he’d moved away. Two cars sat on the dirt drive. He didn’t recognize either the rusty pickup or the tan Corolla, but the latter made him smile. Its rear bumper was masked beneath an array of stickers—Tolerance: Believe in it, Practicing Rampant Non-Judgmentalism, and his personal favorite, God is an equal opportunity lover. Only one man in Mellowbush decorated his car like that. He parked behind it and got out, still wearing the smile. The humidity choked his breath way, but not even that was enough to wipe away his relief at the sight of the portly man sitting on the front porch. “You’re early,” Pastor Schmader called out. He lumbered to his feet when Thomas came up the two steps, reaching for his hand in greeting. “Good to see you, Thomas.” “Same here, Pastor.” He said that with honesty. While he wasn’t thrilled about being in Mellowbush, Pete Schmader was one of his better memories of the place, a bulwark from his teenage years and every visit since. 9

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At sixty-one, he liked his food too much to give it up for his health, but the grip of his short, stubby fingers was as strong as ever. The ready smile was the same, too, friendly to one and all. Seeing Pastor Schmader was like getting a hug when least expected. Warm. Accepting. He was very glad Pastor was the first person he met today. It made the inevitable easier to face. “How is she?” No reason to beat around the bush. “Today’s a good day.” He clapped Thomas on the shoulder, a reassuring gesture that also proved to steer him toward the front door. “Let’s let her know you’re here.” The screen door creaked when he pulled it open, but the netting he always remembered being torn at the corner was intact, blocking egress for the flies and mosquitoes so common this time of year. The inner door was already flung wide, but that hadn’t seen the same sort of repair as its counterpart. Scuff marks from heavy boots marred the bottom. It even had the gouge in the wood from when Thomas had slipped on the icy porch his senior year of high school and his keys had scored a path downward as he tried to catch himself from falling. So many memories he’d conveniently stored away. Would these be the thoughts he lived with when he was in her shoes? The small living room was empty, but the sound of movement came from the kitchen. He followed the clink of dishes and the soft thud of cupboards shutting to the rear of the house, with the scent of baking sugar wafting out to greet him. Pastor Schmader came behind. She sat at the kitchen table, using dental floss to cut even slices off a roll of cookie dough. It wasn’t the refrigerated kind that now prevailed upon the market. Oh, no, not in the Durling household, 10

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regardless of how Amy Durling was feeling. The cookies she placed on the waiting baking sheet were pinwheels of chocolate and mint, rolled out thin before combined into a single log. He couldn’t count how many batches he’d helped her with growing up, or how many variations. Vanilla and strawberry. Chocolate and peanut butter. Lemon and lime. The mint/chocolate combination had always been his favorite, though. How had she known to make them today of all days? Nobody but Pastor Schmader knew he was coming. Had he told her about his arrival? He almost hoped not. He didn’t want to face the disappointment of her not remembering in case he had. Her gray hair had more white threaded through it, but the thick braid she wore it in was exactly the same. His hair would probably do that, too. He’d started going gray at thirty, just like she had. Upon his entrance, she glanced up, but when her gaze caught on him hovering in the doorway, her blue eyes widened with delight and recognition. His throat closed, and tears pricked the back of his eyes. She knew him. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how afraid he was that she wouldn’t. “Thomas!” Grabbing a kitchen towel, she hurriedly wiped her hands as she rose from the chair and came toward him. She tossed it aside at the last moment and threw her arms around him in an all-encompassing hug. “What’re you doing here?” He wasn’t known for being an affectionate person. More than one previous boyfriend had complained that he shut down in public. But with the familiar smell of his mother’s White Diamonds filling his nose, and her embrace swallowing his reservations about coming back to Michigan, he returned the hug without a second thought. 11

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“I came to see you, of course.” He pulled back to hold her at arm’s length, the better to get a good look at her. “How are you, Mom?” “Can’t complain.” Said with a smile. The refrain of her life in more ways than one. “Are you staying long enough to have some cookies?” He ignored the tug at his heart her innocent question provoked. “Now would I skip out when you’re making my favorite kind?” “Then I guess it’s a good thing I asked Andre to pick me up some mint at IGA this morning.” “Andre?” Pastor Schmader cleared his throat. “That’s who I’ve had helping Amy out here.” “He’s been more than helping. He’s staying in your old room, Thomas.” The announcement shocked him into letting her go, stepping away to cast a sweeping assessment over the kitchen. When he’d received the call, he hadn’t pressed when Pastor Schmader said, “We’re keeping a good eye on your mother, Thomas. She’s being taken care of for now.” He hadn’t even considered it. Pastor had been an authoritative figure his entire life, one Thomas was actually proud to look up to. Maybe this time, however, he should’ve asked questions. “Such a good boy,” she was saying. “You’ll like him. He reminds me of you at that age.” Something about the grim set of Pastor’s mouth stopped Thomas from posing the question that initially sprang to mind. Instead, he said, “So where is he? I’ve got to meet this paragon.” She turned around as if the boy in question was right behind her, then frowned when she was met with an empty room. “He was 12

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just here. He took that last batch of cookies out for me.” The potholder was still caught beneath the fully laden tray on the Formica countertop, the spatula underneath a cookie in its corner. The tableau was a moment frozen in time. Perfect for Mellowbush. Ironic for Mom. “He probably didn’t want to interrupt your reunion,” Pastor said. “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.” “Maybe my room,” Thomas replied dryly. She hadn’t moved. She remained fixed on the cookies, her hand fidgeting at her side, twisting in and out of the edge of her apron. “Mom?” At the sound of his voice, she glanced back at him. Her features were blank for several seconds, then her eyes widened. “Thomas? What are you doing here?” His earlier hopes died, but his practiced bedside manner kept it from showing on his face. “I’m here for a visit, Mom.” All the research said to use a person’s name whenever they were addressed. It helped ground them in the present, reminding them of their identity. The doctors he’d spoken to at the hospital where he worked as a surgical nurse had said it was common practice anyway, especially with older or terminal patients, but right now it only served to remind him that things weren’t normal. “I’m going to get my stuff out of the car. Why don’t you sit down and finish cutting the cookies? I’ll be right back.” She followed his gesture when he waved at the dough log on the table, brightening when she spotted it. “Oh, this’ll be a nice treat for this afternoon. What a wonderful idea.” He retreated to the doorway, reluctant to leave until she was back at work. A good day, Pastor had said. He did not look forward to seeing a bad one. 13

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On the front porch, Pastor caught his arm. “You don’t have to worry about Andre. He’s a good young man.” “Who is he?” “One of my parishioners. You wouldn’t remember him. He’s not local. But he’s been doing odd jobs for me at the church, and when your mother met him, they got along so well he started coming out here on his own to check on her.” So he wasn’t related to anybody Thomas might know, which only ratcheted his anxiety about the stranger in his mother’s house higher. “I want to meet him.” Pastor nodded. “He’s probably out back. But honestly, he isn’t a threat. I think having him around has been very good for Amy.” The weeds had overgrown the side of the house, too, catching on Thomas’s jeans as they made their way around the building. He made a mental note to do some yard work over the next few days. For Mom, not for any practical purpose. Living outside of Mellowbush, they’d never bothered with fences. The backyard butted up onto the fields owned by Mr. Parker—or at least, Mr. Parker had owned them when Thomas had moved away—leaving it wide and open for anything the Durling family might want. A clothesline was strung between the two maples, and the old-fashioned tubular swing set sat crookedly on a knoll. Nothing anchored it down. When he’d gotten old enough to pump himself high on it, it had a tendency to tip over. That sensation of falling had been the most exhilarating thing in the world to him until he turned fifteen and touched his first cock that wasn’t his own. It still created a swirl of whimsy in his gut when he looked at it. Now, someone leaned against the metal A-frame on the nearest end, staring out over the fields toward the trees that formed the 14

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forest in the distance. The male body was long and lean, with faded jeans molding over his legs and small, tight ass. A threadbare white T-shirt stretched over his back, the butterfly wings of his shoulder blades jutting out as if he was about to take flight. He bordered on the right side of skinny, with hands and arms as long as the rest of him. Hair the shade of wheat about to be harvested hung in loose waves down to his shoulders, and the bit of profile Thomas could make out showed a strong chin and a slightly aquiline nose. From the way Mom and Pastor had been talking, he’d expected a teenager. This so-called boy was easily into his twenties. “Andre.” At Pastor’s call, the young man glanced back, and all the air disappeared from Thomas’s lungs. Stranger or not, Andre was stunning. A long, angular jaw, just like the rest of him. Bee-stung lips women would kill for. And eyes such a pale blue, they felt electric, all the way across the yard. “This is Thomas, Amy’s son,” Pastor said as they approached. Andre straightened, and while he easily matched Thomas’s height, he held himself like a skittish animal, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. “Thomas, this is Andre Nezat.” Thomas held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” A moment of hesitation. Andre’s gaze dropped to Thomas’s offering. Long, almost girly, eyelashes became more visible as they fanned across his cheeks. But the shifted attention did the same to Thomas’s, driving it downward to catch on the young man’s exposed throat. Instead of a smooth column to match the rest of him, Andre’s neck was a map of scars, bone-white against his tanned skin, puckered with age. Thomas jerked his eyes away as soon as Andre lifted his again, but 15

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curiosity burned inside as they finally shook hands. “I don’t suppose you know sign language,” Pastor said. “No.” He couldn’t look away. Andre couldn’t be deaf. He’d turned around at the sound of Pastor’s voice. “You can’t speak?” With a shake of his head, Andre reached into his front pocket and pulled out a small notepad, its pages bent and crinkled from having been shoved into his jeans repeatedly. A stubby pencil appeared as if from nowhere, and he scribbled out a message to hold out in front of him. If you want me to go, I will. Thomas frowned. That wasn’t what he’d asked, and he was a little ashamed that his distrust of a stranger in his impaired mother’s home shone so clearly. “Where would you go?” Andre shrugged. “Your mother’s the one who invited him to stay.” Pastor came up to stand between them, and again, Thomas wondered how belligerent he must be coming across if Pastor felt the need to referee or protect the young man. “I think having him around is a good idea.” “She certainly likes him. You,” he added directly to Andre. More scribbling. Mrs. Durling has been nice to me. I like to help her. Suggesting others hadn’t necessarily been as nice. Those responsible for his scars, maybe? “Where’s your family?” Gone. “But you’re not from around here.” A shake of his head. “Andre’s the one who told me what happened at the doctor,” Pastor explained. “He drove her to her last appointment.” 16

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“If you know what’s wrong, then you know why I’m here.” Someone needs to take care of her. “Right.” I can help. The direct statement jerked Thomas’s gaze back up to Andre’s expectant eyes, though after holding them for several seconds, Andre ducked his lashes. His fingers curled protectively around his notepad, and his arm fell to his side, ready to retreat at the slightest provocation. Skittish. That really was the best word to describe him. He claimed to have no family, so maybe he was the product of the foster care system. Abuse would certainly explain the scarring and attitude. He could kick Andre out without remorse. The guy was a stranger, and Thomas was the actual son in this equation. But he’d befriended Mom when she likely needed him most, and from the looks of it, he could use the sense of accomplishment helping out provided. Plus, both of them were right. Thomas couldn’t do this alone. He’d almost lost it just driving into town. It killed him to realize he was on the verge of losing his mother to Alzheimer’s. She was too young for such a debilitating disease. “I don’t want to disrupt her routine more than I already am,” Thomas said. “You can stay.” “Good call.” Pastor clapped each of them on the shoulder, his arms a bridge though Andre flinched at the firm contact. “You won’t regret it, Thomas. Andre’s a fine young man.” Color crept into Andre’s cheeks at the compliment. If Thomas had met him under different circumstances, he would’ve been charmed enough to consider buying Andre a drink or asking for a dance. These were not the right circumstances, though, and any 17

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attention he paid to Andre had to be on a strictly fraternal basis, regardless of how attractive he was. Mom saw him as a surrogate son, so Thomas would treat him like the kid brother he never had. Help him out. Protect him. Those wide pale eyes locked on his for a long moment. Almost like he could read Thomas’s thoughts. Thomas suppressed the shiver that wanted to erupt. He smiled at the guy instead. “Why don’t you go help her with the cookies while I unload my car? I’ll be there as soon as I can.” With a brisk nod, Andre slipped out of Pastor’s grip and skirted around them to the back door. He hesitated on the small porch, but as soon as Thomas met his eye again, he darted inside. “I know he seems a little nervous.” Pastor’s observation snapped Thomas out of his reverie. “But he’ll relax soon enough. He’s just worried about getting on with you.” “You did tell him I was coming, right?” “Oh, sure. He knew about that. It was tough keeping it from Amy, though. He might not be able to talk, but he’s a hundred percent transparent. You can see everything he’s thinking on his face.” Though Thomas silently agreed, Pastor was mistaken about one thing. Andre Nezat might wear his heart on his sleeve, but he still harbored secrets, details of a life he’d had before setting foot in Mellowbush. It was up to Thomas to decide whether or not that was going to be a problem. For Mom, or for himself.

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CHAPTER 3 When Pastor Schmader told him the son was coming, only two reasons kept Andre from running. One. Mellowbush was still safe. He’d made it through one full moon without another howl to be heard. As far as he could tell, Perry had no inkling he was anywhere close. Two. Amy Durling needed him. With no blood family around to care for her, Andre couldn’t abandon her until he had no other choice. Thomas Durling’s arrival made him wonder if his last option had just been taken away from him. He’d seen pictures but they were all a decade old, evidence of more youthful times. The image he’d learned was a tall, rangy young man, dark hair a little too long, blue eyes laughing as much 19

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as his ready smile. Not a single picture where Thomas wasn’t smiling. Even the candids had dancing eyes or a small quirk of lips, like he responded to some inner joy when the outside world was less bleak. That wasn’t the man who confronted him in the backyard. Thomas Durling in the flesh was bulkier than his photos suggested, arms finely muscled in the stiffly ironed T-shirt, thighs straining against the new denim of his jeans. Beneath the sultry aroma of sun and earth clinging to his skin, he carried the scent of old blood and antiseptic, lingering evidence of his job. The hair was shot through with gray, shorn almost militaristically short. The same gray stippled the trimmed moustache and goatee he wore, but none of the facial hair hid the laugh lines bracketing his wide mouth, or the tiny lines at the edge of his cheekbones where endless smiles had forever marked his skin. But something had happened in the years since he’d left Mellowbush to steal away his joy. Or perhaps, leaving had done it. Because the distrustful, angry man who questioned his motives was not the one he’d expected to arrive. The smile at the end had startled him. He’d gone off as Thomas had suggested, but the memory of the deep dimple, an echo from the fading photographs Amy pulled out almost every day, had slowed his exit. He couldn’t decide which was the real Thomas. Both? Neither? Sometimes the mask a person chose became permanent. He certainly understood about that. Whenever Thomas joined Andre and Amy, his regard became an invisible fourth person. He’d brought in his suitcase, and then he’d paused on the threshold of Andre’s bedroom, simply staring inside at the neatly made bed. Andre hadn’t touched anything since 20

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moving in—it was easier to leave when he left nothing behind— but the way Thomas assessed the small space made him want to rush back and defend it. The emotion was a new one, or rather, an old one found fresh form, and he stifled it by leaving the house entirely, using the trash as an excuse to flee Thomas’s presence. When he returned, the entry to the bedroom was empty. Thomas emerged from the tiny guest room off the kitchen and nodded at Andre before finding a seat next to Amy on the couch. This was the way they spent their afternoon—mother and son talking about how things used to be, the interloper running between kitchen and couch to bring things as Amy requested. In truth, it wasn’t all that different from the way he usually spent time with Amy. Pastor Schmader called him her captive audience. But each moment was fraught by his self-consciousness, made worse by Thomas’s constant assessment. I’ve been taking care of her, he wanted to sign at the man. But Thomas wouldn’t know what he was saying, and then Amy would ask questions about why he felt he had to justify his presence, and Andre didn’t want to worsen an already tenuous situation. “How about I run into town and get a pizza for dinner?” Thomas said when the clock rolled past four. “Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Amy waved a hand toward the kitchen. “I’ve got hamburger for a meatloaf in the fridge.” Thomas rose to his feet. He seemed to fill the room when he stood. “Save that for tomorrow. We shouldn’t lose time my first night back by you cooking.” Andre cocked a brow. They were losing time just by Thomas making the trip. When Thomas caught the reaction, Andre took a deep breath and braved meeting his gaze. It was a risk he was willing to take. 21

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Thomas might be alpha, but he wasn’t a wolf. Andre had to trust in himself. Else, he might as well pack up and leave now. “You need anything as long as I’m going?” Thomas asked out of courtesy, but the gesture still got him in the solar plexus. He shook his head, glad he couldn’t speak. “Ham and pineapple, Mom?” “No pineapple. The acid gives me heartburn.” Andre had known that. The look on Thomas’s face said he should’ve known that, too. “I’ll be back by five.” He brushed a kiss across the top of her head. “Hold the fort for me.” Peace returned in the hour he was gone, the rhythms Andre and Amy had set long before his return ebbing back into their gentle flow. They finished with the cookies, putting a plate together for dessert, and Andre put the kettle on the stove for Amy’s dinnertime tea. He could almost pretend Thomas had never been here at all if he didn’t smell him everywhere he turned. When the car pulled into the driveway, all the hair stood up on Andre’s neck. He spent too long drying his hands, trying to control the shaking that had settled in his bones at the prospect of facing him again. Compared to their afternoon visit, dinner was subdued. Amy started out the meal asking where George, her husband, was, and when Thomas gently reminded her he’d been dead for over ten years, she fell silent, picking her pizza apart into crumbs rather than eating it. Thomas surprised him by not arguing with her to eat. When she’d demolished the first slice, he simply took her paper plate away and gave her a second to tear to bits. “You know what sounds good?” Amy said after Thomas announced he was full. “Chocolate. Let’s go get ice cream.” 22

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Andre touched her arm to get her attention, then pushed the plate of cookies forward. Amy frowned. “Oh, we can’t eat store-bought. Those are awful.” “Those are yours, Mom. You made them today.” “No, we made pizza today.” She sounded almost defiant in her confidence, her chin lifting as she stared them both down. “Though we need to talk to your father about forgetting the pineapple again. It’s not the same without the pineapple.” He’d been down this road with her before. Pulling his notepad out of his pocket, he flipped to a clean page and scribbled out a message, then touched her arm again to get her to look at it. Pineapple was my fault. I’ll clean up. Raymond’s about to start. The reminder distracted her from her argument. She bounded up from the table and made a dash for the living room. “Raymond?” Thomas asked with a frown. Everybody Loves Raymond. She watches it every night at this time. “Ah.” He reached for one of the cookies, but rather than eat it, turned it over and over in his hand. “Have you dealt with Alzheimer’s before? You don’t seem fazed by this at all.” Andre shrugged. No Alzheimer’s. Guess I’m just patient. “More patient than I am.” He shook his head. You’re doing great. Thomas didn’t seem to know what to do with the show of support, and, honestly, Andre wasn’t sure why he’d felt the need to bolster the other man’s confidence. He had more than enough to spare, if the way he exuded it was any indication. But this was still Thomas’s mother, and Andre understood it was never easy when 23

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the child became the parent. Go on, I’ll clean. The sound of laughter emanated from the living room, along with Amy’s chuckles. Thomas glanced at the doorway, the cookie still in his hand. His reluctance hunched him over like a little old man, stealing some of the dynamic energy that had thrummed through him since his arrival. “It’ll go faster if we both do it.” Thomas popped the whole cookie into his mouth and chewed awkwardly as he grabbed the pizza box to carry over to the counter. With his hands in the sink, Andre couldn’t communicate while they worked, though Thomas didn’t initiate any conversation, either. He dried as Andre washed, knowing without being told where everything went. Somewhere in the middle of the baking sheets from that afternoon, Thomas began humming under his breath, evoking the sense that they did this all the time. It felt so out of place, Andre dropped a Pyrex bowl as he pulled it out of the rinse water. They both snapped to catch it at the same time. The wet glass slithered past Andre’s grasp and bounced against Thomas’s wrist. Hissing in pain, Thomas jerked his arm away in reflex. When the bowl hit the floor, it broke into chunky pieces. Andre was on his hands and knees first, picking up the larger shards. All the faith Pastor Schmader had in him was worthless if he acted like an incompetent idiot in front of the son. He might as well pack his things and go now. His heart leapt when a firm hand came to rest on his shoulder, his entire body quivering as he tried to get away from it. Some of the glass in his palm fell out, slicing across his skin as it hit the floor again, and he scrambled to pick it up without coming into 24

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contact with Thomas again. “Shit,” Thomas muttered. A cupboard opened and closed as Andre finished. When he finally straightened, Thomas was right there with a paper bag. “Dump the glass in here,” he instructed. “I’ll take it out while you wash yourself up.” The cut wasn’t deep, but blood dripped from it onto the linoleum floor. As Andre did as he was told and thrust his hand under cold water, Amy appeared in the doorway. Her face was bone-white, her eyes wide with fear. “What happened?” “Just a little accident, Mom.” Thomas folded the bag shut. “It’s nothing. Just go back to your show.” “But there’s blood—” “He’s fine.” Long strides took him to her side, where he cupped her elbow and guided her out of the kitchen. “I haven’t swept up yet. The glass will go right through your slippers.” Andre rolled his eyes at the stupid excuse to get her out of the room, but Amy bought into it without argument. The low murmur of Thomas’s voice seemed to soothe her protestations, then the front screen door creaked open when he went outside. What a mess. Staying was a mistake. Amy had Thomas now, and Perry would probably find him soon enough anyway. The best thing for all was for him to move on, in spite of what he’d told Thomas. The cut was long but not deep. With his healing abilities, it would be gone before morning. Another reason to leave. He’d never be able to explain its absence to Thomas. At least with Amy, he could use her forgetfulness to divert questions about why he never stayed hurt for very long, but a strong, intelligent man in full 25

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control of his mental faculties was another matter altogether. His head dropped. Just when things were looking good, too. If Thomas hadn’t decided on this visit, he might have avoided this decision for weeks yet. By the time Thomas returned, Andre had the cut covered and the floor swept, ready to retreat at the first hint of anger. He toyed with the dish towel, glancing from Thomas to the full sink and back to Thomas again. “Mom’s convinced you need stitches.” He regarded the bandage curiously. “But it looks like you’re going to live.” Andre nodded. “Do you even have insurance?” A shake of his head. Thomas sighed. “Yeah, I figured not. Well, if something comes up and we do have to take you in, I’ll cover it, okay? Consider it hazard pay for watching Mom.” At that, he took Andre’s place at the sink, as if everything was now settled. Why wasn’t he upset? He had every right to be after the day he’d had. He’d found a stranger in the home he’d grown up in, usurping the role that should have been his. That same stranger acted like a kicked puppy at the slightest provocation, breaking dishes, freaking out over a simple helpful touch. So why was he washing dishes like nothing was wrong? Pulling out his pad, Andre scrawled a quick message and shoved it in front of Thomas’s face. Thomas frowned. “A few hours ago, you were arguing with me about staying. I know I can be an asshole, but I couldn’t have scared you off already.” I’m not good here. “Because you broke a stupid bowl? Accidents happen.” 26

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I upset Amy. “The pizza upset Mom, too.” He resumed scrubbing at one of the baking sheets. “If we got rid of everything that rattled her cage, she’d be the girl in the plastic bubble.” The small joke made his lips twitch, but a full-blown smile was beyond him at the moment. He accepted the clean tray and dried it slowly, taking care to get every drop of moisture out of the corners. “The fact is… ” Thomas’s attention was on the soapy water and whatever dish he was washing beneath its surface, but there was a sadness to his voice that called out to Andre. He edged closer, tilting his head at a slightly different angle to better watch Thomas’s face. So many contradictions. Which one was the truth he needed to believe? “You’re probably better for Mom than I am right now. I can help with the more practical stuff, but every time I see her forget something… ” His mouth went tight. Holding back the words? The emotions? Perhaps both, considering the stern façade he seemed to prefer. He took a deep breath. “I need someone here who doesn’t know what she was like before. It won’t shake you up the way it’s doing to me.” Flickers of the more vulnerable younger man cracked through the hard shell. Not in his face as Andre had thought, but in his voice, an instrument always much harder to control. Andre didn’t often think about the attacks that had nearly killed him and stolen his speech, but at times like this, he wondered if some part of him was lucky to have that potential weakness stripped away. His fingers were damp when he picked up his pad again, the words coming of their own volition. I’ll stay as long as you need me. Thomas nodded. Just once. No thank you, no other acknowledgement, but none were needed. 27

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They resumed the cleaning up in companionable silence. For a change, the silence didn’t feel oppressive.

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CHAPTER 4 Thomas stared at the wall, imagining he could see the pitted swells in the paint even though it was barely four in the morning. The mind was such a powerful tool that way. Filling in the blanks from memory when the eye failed to perceive them. He could almost swear he saw the smudges made from the shoes his father had thrown at his head when he’d run into the room to escape his anger. It hadn’t been a guest bedroom then. George Durling had claimed it as his thinking space, which meant his sanctuary to drink when he didn’t want the world peeking into his business. He’d fooled himself into believing nobody knew the truth, when really, they were too afraid of his reaction in case they said the wrong thing. Ah, the mind. A most potent weapon, indeed. 29

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As much as he would’ve liked to, Thomas couldn’t blame his wakefulness on a time change. Michigan was on EST, too. Four A.M. here was four A.M. back home. The only difference was the bed in which he awakened. But sleep was a hostile witness right now, refusing to comply to his needs and desires. He couldn’t stop replaying the hours spent with Mom, dissecting her every word, wondering what it took to differentiate a good day from a bad. Andre had praised his patience. He didn’t feel patient. He felt stunned, still trying to absorb why this woman was wearing his mother’s skin. She’d been the family’s saving grace. She shielded Thomas from the worst of his father’s moods and taught him how best to behave to keep the darker devils at bay. She’d soothed his father in the worse of his tirades, always knowing what to say, always bringing him back from the brink of his disasters. But then George Durling had died, and Thomas had fled, and the world as she’d known it had crumbled in the space of a single breath. Was all of this his fault? Because he’d taken away her last piece of order just because he was too much of a coward to be a gay man in a tiny northern Michigan town? That’s what it felt like. His mind had a few of its own tricks after all. Like robbing him of sleep when he needed it most. Let the punishment fit the crime. When the pipes groaned behind the wall, he stared at it like he had X-ray vision and could see them through the plaster. Someone was running water. The sound didn’t go away, either, which meant the tap was still running. He pushed the sweaty sheet out of the way and stood. Mom didn’t have a lock on her door, but if she was getting up in the 30

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middle of the night and wandering around, they would have to change that. Her safety was the top priority. He crept toward the door, unwilling to rouse Andre, too. At least one of them had to be well rested for tomorrow. The hallway was dark, the sound clearer, but it came from the bathroom, not the kitchen. To confirm someone was in there, light sliced the edge of the carpet from the linoleum on the other side. His mother’s door stood ajar, but when he peered inside, she was in her bed, fast asleep. That left only one option. And there was no way he was getting any sleep now with the mental image of a wet Andre in the shower imprinted forever on his mind. He tried to shake it away to no avail. Of course he was going to find Andre attractive. Even with the scars. Thomas was a healthy gay man with an active sex drive, and Andre had a feral Adonis quality that would make straight boys look twice. But lusting after his mother’s caretaker was a complication he didn’t need. While he’d been in town, he’d called a friend back in Philly to see if he could find any dirt on Andre, but the lack of information wasn’t necessarily permission to accept him at full throttle. Andre was a nice enough guy, but he was clearly a loner—like you—with a tendency to skirt confrontation—like you. Thomas made him nervous, too. Lots of reasons to let it go. But his dick was hard when he turned back to the guest room, and a little demon in the back of his head was already running through the best scenarios to use as wanking material once he got back in bed. He made it two steps when the shower clicked off. A moment later, the door opened and the lust object in question stepped out, 31

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drying himself off. They both froze. Andre hadn’t even bothered to wrap a towel around his waist. Water dripped down his wet skin, beading along his shoulders where it collected from the ends of his hair. In his left hand was the towel he’d been using to pat down his arms, but otherwise, the rest of him was as bare as the day he’d been born. His upper body was tanned all over, taut skin stretching over finely hewn muscles, light hair covering his pecs. It narrowed to a slender trail, straight to a limp but still impressively thick cock. Heavy balls hung beneath, brushing against hard thighs that slimmed to shapely calves. Thomas’s mouth suddenly watered to sink his teeth into the firm flesh, test the muscle’s resilience, its strength. The scars at his throat, made more vivid by the contrast of his otherwise healthy skin, didn’t mar the overall effect. They enhanced it, hinting at a barely controlled ferocity. Disgust at his reaction rolled through him. He’d bet anything Andre wouldn’t view the scars as anything remotely sexy or sensual. Thomas was a perv for thinking it even for a second. But when his gaze snapped back up to try and save the chance encounter, they got caught on the long fingers hanging at Andre’s side. More specifically, the clean palm, wrinkled slightly from being in the shower. It wasn’t just the Band-Aid that was gone. So was the cut. Andre took a step away in a clear attempt to run. Thomas’s hand shot out and captured his wrist, dragging him back through the open bathroom doorway. He kicked the door shut behind him, wincing when it banged louder than he intended, but he didn’t let go, frowning as he forced Andre to turn his now fisted hand over. Andre fought the action. His pulse didn’t so much flutter as it 32

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did pound, reverberating through Thomas’s fingertips and deeper into his flesh. He yanked his arm with surprising strength, and Thomas stumbled forward, pinning him to the edge of the narrow sink. His hard-on slammed into Andre’s hip. His sweats were old and worn, and in the dim lighting of the hall, it might’ve been possible to hide his arousal. Here, however, pressed together with only the thinnest cottons separating them, it was undeniable. Andre froze, though his heart continued to race. His eyes fixed on Thomas, and as Thomas watched, his pupils visibly dilated to consume the pale irises. His cock was thickening, too, the awareness of their mutual desire a living entity between them. No more fighting, but he wasn’t encouraging the contact, either. He seemed to be waiting, and the more seconds that passed in silence, the tighter his features became. The urges Thomas had managed to quell in the hallway roared back. He swallowed in a vain attempt to get control, but his head was filled with the sensations of hot, velvety skin, acres and acres of it, just waiting for him to explore. All the reasons why this was a bad idea disappeared. The one thing he knew, the only thing he wanted, was to taste it for himself. He bent his head. If Andre had given any indication of not wanting it, too, any at all, he wouldn’t have done it. He would’ve taken the splash of cold water and let the guy go. He didn’t force himself on anybody, no matter how hot they were or how lonely he was, but Andre just stood there, quivering like a reed caught in the wind, not even breathing when Thomas dragged his tongue along the stubble on his jaw. His taste buds exploded with salt and the faint tang of freshly scrubbed skin. He groaned. Nobody should taste this good, 33

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especially a too-pretty, mostly unemployed, kind-of vagabond like Andre. He licked again, and this time a shudder wracked through Andre’s wiry frame. Andre dropped the towel he’d been clasping, choosing instead to grip Thomas’s hip, and tilted his head a fraction of an inch. Offering himself. Offering more. He didn’t need a voice to make it clearer. Thomas raked his teeth down the side of Andre’s neck to suck hard at the sinewy shoulder. He avoided scars, or tried to anyway, relishing how the muscles twitched and grew harder with the added pressure of his mouth. Twisting Andre’s arm behind his back effectively caged him, but Andre didn’t protest. Though he still trembled, the slow, seductive roll of his hips belied any anxiety he might have been feeling. “Jesus,” Thomas muttered. He squeezed his eyes shut, his tongue snaking back up to Andre’s ear. It dipped inside, and Andre inhaled sharply. With their bodies so intimately pressed, the breath might as well have been a boom, the loudest thing he’d ever heard come from Andre. It jolted him back to the present, to the fact that he was in his mother’s bathroom with a near-stranger who preferred to take showers in the dead of night. To the reason he’d pushed Andre into the room in the first place. When he stiffened, so did Andre. The hand clutching Thomas’s hip eased, then fell away to press flat to his chest. He pushed, not hard but without denial. Thomas let him. Though he didn’t let go of the hold he had on Andre’s wrist. Ignoring the erection aimed in his direction wasn’t easy. “Sorry.” His voice was as ragged as the rest of him. “It’s… been 34

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awhile.” Andre shrugged like it was no big deal. Thomas reminded himself it couldn’t be, no matter how good Andre had felt. “And you’re not exactly hard to look at.” Andre’s lips twitched like he might smile, but otherwise, he remained still. His eyes bored into Thomas’s, as dark now as they’d been haunting before Thomas had accosted him. “Do you usually take showers in the middle of the night?” A nod. Andre tilted his head to look pointedly over Thomas’s shoulder. When Thomas glanced back, it took a second to put two and two together. Mom’s room was on the other side of the wall. Understanding dawned. “So you’re around more when Mom’s awake.” The explanation made perfect sense. What didn’t, though… He pulled Andre’s arm forward. Andre resisted, but Thomas refused to take no for an answer. “Open your hand.” Andre’s mouth was a tight line that shouldn’t have looked as sexy as it did. His hand remained balled in a fist. Fine. If that was the way he wanted to play it. “I already saw the cut was gone. What happened?” He cocked a brow. With his free hand, he mimed writing. Thomas felt ridiculous for forgetting. “Pick up the towel and put it on.” If Mom woke up, she didn’t need to find her son with a naked young man in her kitchen. “I want explanations.” Reluctantly, he let Andre go, guarding the door to stop him from bolting. Andre crouched, and in the mirror, the reflection of his tight ass taunted Thomas with its perfection. Clenching his teeth, he tried to will away his desire, but when Andre straightened, and his cock tented the lime green terry, he 35

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recognized just how fruitless such an effort would be. Andre led the way to the kitchen, but the rear view, covered as it was, was as tempting as the front. He flipped the lights on as he entered, and Thomas squinted as the flickering fluorescents overhead burned their way onto his retinas. By the time he’d adjusted to it, Andre already had the notepad thrust in his face. I heal fast. Thomas rolled his eyes. “Nobody heals that fast.” I do. As if to prove his assertion, he opened his hand and faced it palm out. It was as perfect as the rest of him. Well, except for the scars. He frowned. There had been a lot of blood. They’d had to change the Band-Aid when they were done with the dishes because it had soaked through. Cuts like that didn’t just go away. But what was he going to say? The proof stared him in the face. Andre waited for him to respond, a look of mild annoyance on his fine features. “If you heal so fast, then what the hell happened to your throat? Those are some pretty vicious scars. If a cut like that doesn’t even leave a mark, how did you survive something that would wreck your neck like that?” He would never have broached the subject with Pastor in the room. Or Mom. Or anybody, really, because it was rude and none of his business that a beautiful male specimen like Andre Nezat had been so horribly disfigured. But this moment felt like it had been cut apart from their normal reality, cauterized and isolated to create a bubble around them where social niceties could be ignored. He wanted answers. He wanted to know how it was possible for such ugliness to happen to someone so oddly innocent. He needed to believe that Andre really was as innocent as 36

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everyone kept asserting. As pure as Thomas needed him to be. At first, Andre just stood there. A hint of color crept up his neck, blood-rushed skin betraying as much as his face did. He didn’t want to tell Thomas. That was obvious. Thomas couldn’t even blame him for that kind of reaction. But he didn’t back down from Andre’s unwavering gaze, waiting as long as necessary to get what he’d requested. Nearly five minutes passed. Andre was the first to look away, turning his attention to the notepad hanging in his hand. The sound of his scribbling crawled over Thomas’s skin. He almost felt guilty about asking. I was attacked by a pack of wolves when I was fifteen. Thomas blinked. Read it again. The words didn’t change. He’d expected something horrific, but nothing like that. “They tore your throat out?” Andre nodded. “Fuck me… ” he said under his breath. When he stepped forward to take a closer look, Andre countered with a step away. “Let me see.” Why? It’s done. “Because I just need to see, okay? That’s the kind of thing you only hear about on those disaster shows on cable.” Will it change anything? “What do you mean?” Andre took longer to formulate his next response. He fidgeted with the pencil, rolling it between his elegant fingers. I don’t want your pity. I’ll leave if that’s the case. That was when Thomas noticed the stubborn set of his jaw. He’d been too focused on his conflicting reactions to Andre to realize what his ignorant demands were doing to him. 37

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“I don’t pity you.” The look on Andre’s face said he didn’t believe him. Thomas scowled. “I don’t. Do I think it’s a terrible thing? Yeah. Anyone would. But you’re obviously functioning just fine.” Outside of being rootless. “I’m curious. Which, all right, makes me kind of an asshole, but I’ve been working in hospitals since I was nineteen, and I’ve never even heard of anyone surviving an attack like that. It just doesn’t happen.” I did it. He snorted. “Yeah, I figured that out. Because you heal fast, right?” Andre ignored his sarcasm. Yes. “Will you at least tell me how it happened?” It wouldn’t make a difference in the grand scheme of things. The facts were indisputable. He just had to find a way to actually believe that it was possible. Andre started to write something, then scratched it out. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes for several seconds before resuming. My father and I were out camping. We got attacked. I was trying to protect him. The more Andre said, the worse he felt for asking. The story explained his rapport with Mom, as well as satisfied Thomas’s need to know how it could have happened, but it opened another can of worms that left him sick. If the wolves had done this to Andre, what had they done to his father? There was no way Thomas could ask to find out. He might be a prick sometimes, but that was too callous, even for him. If anything, he wanted to pull Andre close and just hold him, reassure him that Thomas understood. Considering he’d already half-attacked the man, doing so was out of the question. 38

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Are we done here? His silence had stretched too long. He said the only thing he could. “Yeah. Thank you for telling me.” Andre shrugged in dismissal, but when he turned to set the notepad back onto the table, Thomas grabbed his arm to stop him. “Does anybody else know? Did you tell Pastor Schmader?” A slow lift of his eyes. The pale blue was back, just like the tenting was gone from both of their crotches. Thomas ached for Andre, but in a different way than he had before. When he shook his head, Thomas nearly slumped in relief. “I won’t tell anyone,” he said. “I promise.” Because as powerful as the mind was, it had its vulnerabilities, too. It could get hurt by a spiteful word, or decimated by a stray memory. Thomas wouldn’t be a part of that, no matter how little he actually knew about Andre. Enough pain abounded in the world already. The mind wasn’t always a weapon. Sometimes, it needed to be a wall.

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CHAPTER 5 With the pack always at his heels, Andre was used to the anxiety that weighed in the pit of his stomach from dreading the inevitable. Many days, he barely noticed it. But waiting for Thomas to bring up their pre-dawn conversation put him back on the precipice. Would he try for another kiss? Was Andre an idiot for wishing he would? What about the attack? Would he ask more questions Andre didn’t dare answer? He never went back to sleep. Telling Thomas about his father had brought back too many memories, images he usually succeeded in squelching long enough to function normally. I was trying to protect him. What weak words for such a horrifying night. Thomas would never have any idea what it had been like being the son of a pack 40

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leader known more for his fears of discovery than leading his wolves on glorious hunts. He’d never know what it was like to be viewed with contempt by his own family for being different, for believing the ideals taught to him rather than those held by the people around him. He couldn’t fathom what it was like knowing others were eager to see him dead, or how hard it was to watch the father he worshipped get torn apart while lying helpless at the side, unable to even howl for help. Andre still heard them. In the dull dark before the sun came up, he could still feel their teeth sinking into his flesh as he snapped at them and twisted to try and get away. Thank God he no longer had panic attacks when the memories came on strong like this. He would have no choice but to leave Mellowbush behind, because nobody was safe from him when he was in the throes of the terrors. The first time it happened, he’d still been in the hospital, recovering from the massive surgeries that had saved his life. He’d woken from a nightmare, already shifted, and torn a bloody path through the staff in a desperate bid to get free. He had no fears about shifting without wanting to anymore— he’d grown much stronger in the time since the attack—but living with the memories never got easier. It was simpler to pretend it never happened. Focus on the mundane. On the moment. Impossible to do when Thomas threw everything into disarray. Even though Thomas wasn’t even paying any attention to him. Thomas emerged to join them for breakfast, but made an excuse about going into town as soon as they were done. He stayed away for a good part of the day, calling at lunchtime to explain his absence. As Andre listened to Amy’s disjointed responses to her son’s vague excuses, he could only wonder why Thomas had 41

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bothered coming to Michigan at all if he was planning on avoiding his mother the duration of his stay. When Thomas pulled into the driveway just before six, he wasn’t alone. Pastor Schmader rolled out of the passenger seat to follow him into the house. “I ran into him in town,” Thomas explained. He glanced past Andre at the table set for three. “Is there enough for him to stay for dinner?” There was, but barely. Andre cut his own portions in half just to be sure. Pastor and Amy carried the bulk of the conversation, leaving Andre struggling not to stare at Thomas and wonder what he was thinking. The ploy of bringing someone home, especially the gregarious Pastor, was obvious. He didn’t want to talk to Andre. But he wasn’t as oblivious as his appearance suggested. Andre could smell the slight tang of desire permeating Thomas’s skin, adding to his natural, heady scent. The attraction still simmered between them, even if he wasn’t willing to act on it. By the time dessert rolled around, he’d convinced himself it was better this way. Sex was a complication neither one of them needed. Amy encouraged Pastor to stay, coaxing him into the living room to watch her shows with her. Thomas practically ordered Andre to join them, and while he felt guilty leaving all the cleaning behind, Andre obeyed. It was easier to avoid a repeat of last night, not to mention took him out of the immediate vicinity of the smell of Thomas’s body. Nobody but Andre seemed surprised when Thomas called it an early night. His gaze kept stealing away from his companions to the empty doorway leading to the kitchen and the guest room 42

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beyond. Perhaps he was a fool to wish for some peace, but he didn’t think it was necessarily unreasonable to want some resolution between him and Thomas. Thomas had another ten days before he had to go back to Philadelphia. That time would be much more comfortable if they could interact without this tension. Amy was the next to leave. “I love how full the house seems now,” she said with a smile. She’d become more liberal sharing them since Thomas had arrived the day before, like a door had been opened inside her heart she’d kept firmly shut. He didn’t need to be in the room for her to light up, but more importantly, Andre had noticed they kept coming even when her memory slipped. She hugged Pastor good night, then surprised Andre by hugging him, too. His heart thumped wildly, long after she walked out. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had given him such spontaneous affection. “I guess that means you’re stuck driving me home.” Pastor clapped him on the back, the sort of parental gesture he seemed to favor. On the heels of Amy’s hug, it was almost too much to take. It’s not a problem, he signed. Pastor’s ability to understand sign language had been one of the reasons Andre had been so sure staying in Mellowbush was the right thing to do. Everything had fallen into place the day he’d walked into the Lighthouse. Pastor’s smile warmed. He didn’t push for more conversation, though, not in the truck, not on the way into town. In front of the church, he climbed out of the cab with a tired grunt, then turned back to Andre. “I know Thomas wasn’t happy about you helping Amy,” he said. “But give him some time. He’s a good man. He just wants the best for her.” 43

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Andre nodded. He knew that. It was one of the few things about Thomas that didn’t worry him. “Something tells me his life in Philly isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, either.” Pastor sighed. “I think he’s learned the hard way that running doesn’t make the problems go away. It just gives them a different face.” He was grateful for the encroaching night that hid his reaction. Pastor meant well, but his world consisted of a few dozen parishioners in a town of less than six hundred. He had little idea what the real world was like. Sometimes, running was the only way to stay alive. Andre chose his words carefully. He’s dealing with a lot right now. “And that’s why having you there is the best thing for him.” Pastor slammed the door and leaned against the open window. “Don’t let him scare you off, you understand? Be strong.” When Andre nodded, Pastor slapped the side of the truck and stepped away, giving him room to pull back into the road. All the way home, he replayed the odd conversation in his head. The answers still eluded him as he pulled in beside Thomas’s rental. Sleep was sparse. Every time he nodded off, images of Perry’s snarling face jolted him awake again. He tried to focus on Thomas instead, but the only thing that worked was reliving the kiss in the bathroom. That had been real. Their mutual attraction was too tangible to pretend. In the pitch-black sanctuary of his bed, he could even acknowledge how safe Thomas had made him feel, encouraging enough trust to reveal the truth behind his scars. Nobody else knew even that much. He believed Thomas wouldn’t betray him, either. But dawn came too soon, and he rose to make breakfast more 44

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bone-tired than when he’d settled. He startled to a halt when he discovered Thomas already up, stretched out on the couch with a book propped up on one knee. “No shower this morning.” His brows shot up. Had Thomas risen early just to catch him again? Thomas chuckled. “That wasn’t an invitation.” His eyes flickered for a moment down Andre’s body. The words said one thing, but the fresh arousal coming from his body told a different story. “Sorry for bailing last night. I wasn’t feeling very sociable.” He shrugged. He wasn’t sure what else Thomas expected, especially since he was starting to react to the blatant admiration in the other man’s gaze. Tearing his eyes away from the length of long limbs moved them to the spine of the book he read, the title of which surprised him more than finding Thomas up already. Signing Made Easy. “I got it yesterday from the library,” Thomas said when he realized Andre had noticed. “You sign, right? That’s what Pastor told me. I thought it might make it easier for you if you didn’t have to carry that notepad around everywhere.” The revelation stunned him into immobility. Thomas wanted to learn sign language? Why would he go to such lengths? Because they were lengths, he’d gone out on his own and found the material for it without even asking, something nobody else had ever done. When Andre didn’t respond, Thomas cleared his throat and sat up. Color had crept into his cheeks, staining them to pink Andre knew would be warm to the touch. “I’m not making any promises I’ll be any good at it, though.” He tried to smile, and the attempt came off as both embarrassed and endearing. Andre took an unconscious step forward so he could see it better. “But at least I 45

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don’t have to worry about having a shitty accent.” He grinned at how unexpected the little joke was. Thomas was making efforts to mend the bridges between them, no mention made of the kiss that had left him ragged nor of the history he’d succumbed to sharing. Though he knew how dangerous it was to encourage this friendship, Andre wanted to reward the forwardness. Tilting his head toward the kitchen, he waited for Thomas to understand he wanted him to follow before turning on his heel to lead the way. The couch groaned behind him. The sudden flash of Thomas’s body unfolding from the cushions brought added heat to Andre’s flesh, heat he had to struggle to ignore. He blinked against the onslaught of the kitchen light. The words danced in front of his eyes as he scribbled out what he wanted to say. I can help if you want. Surprise softened Thomas’s earlier embarrassment. “You don’t have to. You’ve got Mom to worry about.” So do you. He ducked his head, scrubbing his hand over the back of his scalp. “I haven’t been the best son. I should’ve known what was happening to her without Pastor Schmader having to call me up and tell me.” Thomas had never looked more vulnerable. The instinct to reach out and reassure him he was wrong itched beneath Andre’s skin, but he didn’t trust himself to keep the contact platonic. Thomas smelled too good, and Andre wanted him too much. You’re here now. That matters. Long seconds passed as Thomas stared at the notepad. Andre meant every word. He meant even more. This would have to 46

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suffice as a baby step, though, because he couldn’t risk exposing himself if Thomas wasn’t interested in anything beyond civility and ease. A smile slowly bloomed, a different blossom than his earlier attempt. This glowed with unanticipated delight, fresh and unsolicited. It erased years from Thomas’s face and stole Andre’s breath away. “Let’s put some coffee on,” Thomas said. “We can put in a couple hours of tutoring before Mom wakes up.” *

*

*

Fate was against them when Amy woke up early, too, but when Andre tried to get back to the lessons after breakfast, Thomas begged off. “I need to make it up to Mom for yesterday,” he murmured while she was in her bedroom. “Do you mind if I help her roll her yarn?” Andre shook his head. Though he kind of enjoyed helping Amy unravel her skeins before she started on a new knitting project, how could he mind if Thomas took his place? He needed her as much as she needed him. Without his usual tasks to keep him busy, Andre worked on the yard instead. Thomas had briefly mentioned digging out the overgrown weeds obscuring the drive. It was worth braving the heat and sun to do the job if it meant getting more of Thomas’s smiles. He stopped only to eat lunch. By three, he had four big black sacks stuffed tight with debris and enough scratches on his arms and hands to remind him of scrambling through underbrush at the 47

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end of a full moon. Sweat and grime glued his shirt to his back, but adrenaline had kicked in long before he finished. He was flying too high to relish washing away the evidence of his labor. After tossing the bags into the back of his pickup to haul out to the dump when he got a chance, he retreated to the backyard and found a patch of sun-hot grass to stretch out on. Against the backdrop of the pale blue sky, clouds rolled and stretched at a languorous pace, offering fantasies of adventures tucked away in their fluffy depths. They were so different by day than night. The dark shadows that streaked and hid the heavens at the height of his shift menaced where these cajoled. He much preferred the peaceful hope of these rather than dire threats at the dead of night. The pack would laugh their heads off if they knew. When it came down to it, Andre really was a pretty lousy wolf. The back door opened and slammed shut. Andre peeked to see who it was and smiled at the sight of Thomas poised at the bottom of the steps, scanning the yard. He stopped when he spotted Andre. “Are you taking a nap out here? You’ll get sunburned.” The notion of getting burned, and that a concerned Thomas actually believed it was a reality, amused him. He smiled and shook his head. Thomas ventured closer. His cautious approach prompted Andre to sit up, inviting him to continue. “Do you have your notepad out here?” Andre pointedly lifted his empty hands. “That’s probably a good thing. Since you can sign, the pad feels like cheating.” In the dappled afternoon light, Thomas glowed with health, 48

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more relaxed than Andre had yet to see him. It had to be because of their morning tutoring, time spent together where he could see Andre wasn’t the threat he envisioned. They’d been equals, or as much of equals as one teaching another could be. No expectations, no mixed messages, just enjoying each other’s company without inviting in the rest of the world and all its baggage. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted it until he got it. Thomas cleared his throat. “Mom’s taking a nap. I thought… I thought we could talk.” He could tell from Thomas’s tone this wouldn’t be about learning sign language. His voice was tight with portents Andre wished he could ignore. “I owe you another apology. Yesterday in the kitchen, you caught me off-guard, and I’m stressed about Mom, and… okay, those aren’t good excuses for me being a nosy asshole, but they’re all I have. Just know… I’ll respect your privacy from now on. I shouldn’t have pushed.” Interesting how he was sorry about asking about the scars but not for the physical contact in the bathroom. That made him a man who owned his sexuality and needs, but still recognized the right for secrets. They had more in common than Andre had originally thought. Curious how much he remembered from the tutoring, Andre signed, You can push. Thomas’s gaze dropped to his hands. “Wait. Do that again.” He slowed it down, exaggerating each sign. “You,” Thomas said when Andre pointed at him. He shook his head at the downward motion. “I don’t know that one.” When Andre shoved his palms outward, he brightened a little. “Push. That one’s easy. So I what push? Shouldn’t? Didn’t?” 49

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Trying to communicate without his pad was frustrating. Andre glanced at the door. If he got it, this would go much easier. Thomas beat him to the punch by turning on his heel and jogging back to the house. He disappeared for several seconds, to re-emerge with both the notepad and the library book. This time, he sat on the grass next to Andre. Their fingers brushed when Andre took the pad away from him, and the heated electricity tingling up his arm almost distracted him from answering Thomas’s question. “Oh.” When Thomas looked up at Andre, the surprise in his eyes matched that in his voice. “I can push? That’s what you said?” He could have signed his response, but the explanation would take too long and lose its impact. He scribbled, I’m the stranger here. You have the right to be curious. “There’s curious, and then there’s none of my business.” If Amy was my mom, I’d be protective, too. Thomas sighed. “Which brings us back to me being a crappy son.” You have your own life. “I stayed away because it was easier than coming home. Being out around here is not exactly a walk in the park.” Amy wants you to be happy. “Yeah, well, there’s a fine line between happy and selfish.” He laid down, with the book resting on his flat stomach. “I know what side I land on. Trust me.” He longed to stretch out next to Thomas, with both of them staring up at the sky and getting lost in the clouds, but if he did that, they’d never be able to communicate well. He settled for staying on his side, his head propped up on his hand, his notepad 50

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on top of the book for easy access. Writing wasn’t as easy, but if he pressed hard enough, it didn’t slide around. But you’re here now. That counts. Thomas didn’t lift his head to read what Andre wrote. He looked down through his lashes in such a way that Andre had the unexplainable urge to bend over and kiss each eyelid. “Does it?” His voice was barely above a murmur, his gaze still on the page. “I could be here for selfish reasons, too, you know.” Andre frowned. I think we’re all selfish at the heart of it. “You’re not. You’ve been fantastic with Mom.” If he only knew. He couldn’t defend his assertion without going into specifics, though, and as much as he was beginning to really like Thomas, that could never happen. His hand rested on top of the pad, motionless as he debated how to respond. After a moment, Thomas reached for his wrist and lifted Andre’s hand away. It took him a beat to realize he’d set the one he’d cut on full view, but he held still as Thomas turned the palm toward him, tracing the now-invisible line where the glass had slashed him. “I still think this is unbelievable. There so was much blood, and now… ” His voice trailed off. His thumb pressed harder against the healed injury, massaging the muscle the entire length, then up between the index and middle fingers. But what started out as a simple exploration quickly shifted into something else. The strokes became longer and slower, mapping the contour around every joint. He touched in the space at the base of the fingers and skimmed over the few calluses along their pads. The first time he attempted to manipulate the fingers on his own, Andre let him, holding his breath as Thomas bent them in the crude shapes of the 51

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signed alphabet. “You must feel like you’re in a cage all day.” The odd observation startled Andre into sucking in air, and he stiffened enough for Thomas to pause and glance up at him. Thomas hadn’t figured it out, had he? Did he know about shifters? Why talk about cages if he didn’t? Andre ached to withdraw, to pull his hand back and forget he’d initiated this kind of intimacy in the first place, but the look in Thomas’s eyes made him think twice. If Thomas had guessed, he wasn’t judging, not from the way he regarded him now. And it wasn’t pity he saw there, either, the kind he got from strangers and friends alike once they saw his scars or learned he couldn’t speak. It looked like respect, a warmth deep in the blue depths he saw so rarely. For something like that, he’d do almost anything. Including torturing himself by sticking around and risking real discovery. “Does traveling around make it easier?” Thomas asked. “It’s just… you’re obviously a smart guy. Gorgeous. A real take-hometo-meet-the-parents kind, but you’re stuck with everybody else’s prejudices just because you can’t talk. That’s got to be hard to live with.” Oh, he meant a metaphorical cage. Andre tried not to let his relief show and nodded in agreement. “Have you tried getting away from Michigan?” He frowned. He wasn’t from Michigan originally, though he supposed Thomas wouldn’t know that. Thomas took that as a no. “I just mean you might be happier in a more urban area. Chicago, maybe. People aren’t as likely to judge you there.” He had more reasons to avoid urban areas than he could ever 52

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detail. Even if the smells would help hide him from Perry, they’d drive him crazy within a day or two. Plus, people asked more questions in cities. It was harder to get work without leaving a big enough paper trail for Perry to find him. When Andre tugged to be let go, Thomas acquiesced, giving him the freedom to write out another note. Does being in the city make you happier? His mouth tightened at the question. “We’re not talking about me right now.” And he’d given Thomas permission to push. Andre dropped the thread, even though he was dying to know the answer. I like the country. “People are narrow-minded here.” Some are nice. “More aren’t.” You are. That stopped Thomas, at least temporarily. Andre was glad of the reprieve and set down his pen, this time resting his hand off the edge of the book so his fingertips grazed Thomas’s covered stomach. He could pull away at any moment, or apologize it away, but he wanted to see what Thomas would do, how he would react. It would have been a lie to say it was completely out of curiosity. He wanted the desire that had been simmering beneath the surface to get the chance to explode.

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CHAPTER 6 What the hell was Andre doing? He stretched next to Thomas, curling into his body like a lover would. He let Thomas explore his unmarked skin, patient as a lover. He offered up more details about himself and his past, baring his history as if they were already involved. They weren’t. You are. Thomas didn’t feel very nice. He felt like he was taking advantage of the situation. He’d been a prick all day yesterday, which merited apologies, but seeking Andre out like this was a dangerous game. No distractions concentrated his focus on how Andre even made dirt and sweat look sexy. The way Andre touched him didn’t discourage him, either. 54

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“You don’t know me very well yet.” The weight of Andre’s hand warmed him more than the sun. A smart man would push it away, but Thomas’s common sense had checked out the second he first laid eyes on Andre. “Just give it time. I’ll find a way to disappoint you.” Andre was less than pleased with this answer and tapped his thumb hard against the library book. “That’s selfish. That’s me wanting to be able to talk to you more easily.” How did they get back to discussing him again? Andre was scarily good at getting him to open up. “It’s better I talk to you than Mom anyway. I don’t want her to see how worried I am about her.” There. He could give that much, anyway. Mention of her drove Andre’s eyes to the house, giving Thomas valuable seconds to study him without fear of being caught. He’d pulled his hair back in a leather strap to work on the yard, and the sunlight gilded his strong profile in gold. He should’ve been captured on Roman coins, or something equally magnificent. Even with the scars, he’d bet Andre could model. He was hotter than anybody Thomas saw gracing his magazines. When Andre’s gaze came back, a definite sadness pervaded the pale depths. The hand that had been branding Thomas’s stomach lifted, and a shadow fell across his face when the same fingertips that had caressed his abdomen now fluttered over his brow. Thomas closed his eyes automatically. He knew what Andre was doing, this soothing of his torturous thoughts, and would have laughed at submitting to such vulnerability. He was stronger than that. He didn’t need another man’s gentleness. At the same time, nothing had ever felt so good. The firm press of their bodies in the bathroom had been exhilarating, the taste of Andre’s skin delightful, but this surpassed all of that. This opened 55

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a door in the back of his heart he’d locked the last time he’d been left alone. He’d vowed he didn’t need anyone else again, and he’d stuck to that promise for over a year now. Until the call from Pastor, he’d been content with the solitude he’d embraced. Now he’d met a man even more lonely than him. Someone bearing the physical scars of fighting for what he loved. Someone who continued to walk along the fringe of the very thing that had nearly destroyed him and did so willingly, because he preferred it to the alternative. Andre’s strength in the face of that overwhelming force put Thomas’s to shame. After all, what kind of strength came in running from life? A sigh escaped him. The strokes along his forehead went down the side of his face, tickling at the edge of his beard, to feather over his mouth. Just as gentle. Just as giving. His tongue darted out, and there was the salty skin he remembered, the heat more so because it had been warmed by labor and the afternoon sun. He licked at the callused pad, picturing the long, slender fingers dancing across his body as he tasted it. Hands like that were sinful. The things they could do. Pulling him apart. Putting him back together. Delving deep and deep and deep until the line of separation between them disappeared. Thomas topped more than he bottomed, but for this man, he’d crawl on his hands and knees to be taken and consumed. Something told him Andre would make it worth it. The pressure against his arm changed, the grass rustling as Andre moved. The next moment, soft air wafted across his neck, breath, Andre’s breath, accompanied by the slight nudge of his nose as he nuzzled into the bend and inhaled. Thomas caught the finger between his teeth and held it with enough force to prevent Andre from pulling away. Blood rushed 56

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helter-skelter beneath his skin, frantic to escape but settling to pound against him from the inside out in a thunder that blocked out the noises of the yard. Andre’s silence unnerved him, even though it was all he could give, and he struggled to keep his eyes shut and simply relish the almost innocent contact. But it didn’t feel innocent. His cock throbbed, trapped uncomfortably against his thigh, and his palms itched to grab onto Andre and roll him the rest of the way over. Each time Andre sniffed at him, his nerves raced faster. It was more primal than he could remember any other lover being, more base. If they weren’t in his mother’s backyard, he had little doubt they’d be rutting right there in the grass, ignoring condoms, ignoring niceties, getting lost in what it felt like to tear into a willing ass without heed. God, when was the last time he’d had a simple fuck? No strings, no attempts for sweet talk. Too long. Work left him too tired for clubs he felt too old for anyway. And he was too cautious to randomly pick up some guy from craigslist. Andre came with the stamp of approval from the best Mellowbush had to offer. He was pretty, he was interested, and best of all, he was here. Letting go of Andre’s thumb, he turned blindly toward him, the book and notepad falling to the ground as he groped for Andre’s hip. His mouth found a cheek, but when he corrected, he met chin instead. Fuck it. He wasn’t going to waste even more time making sure this was what Andre wanted. But Andre moved first, his head bending, past Thomas’s mouth, back to his throat where his teeth clamped around the taut muscle. It didn’t hurt. It wasn’t even that tight. But when Thomas tried to move, Andre’s hand shot out to his ass and grabbed on, 57

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hauling him closer as he buried his face harder into Thomas’s neck. He didn’t break the skin, but Thomas felt it, a stamp of ownership that shook him to his bones. His comparison to something more animalistic was more accurate than he’d thought. Instead of being bothered by it, however, a low thrill hummed through him, tightening his grip, eliciting a moan. Andre rocked against his hip. The hard line of his erection teased Thomas with its proximity, making his ass clench and his mouth water. He wasn’t the only one who wanted this. All they needed was to get out of these clothes and let friction and nature take over. The burn would be delicious, grass scratching across bare shoulders, muscles stretching to accommodate girth. They could roll around like a couple of teenagers and say fuck you to the universe for the pretty crappy dice rolls they’d both had. The teeth at his throat loosened, and a warm, wet tongue soothed over the spots they’d just occupied. Thomas shuddered at the contrast, especially when Andre strayed higher to the sensitive spot just below his ear. Fire raced down his spine at the touch, and he gasped for breath, suddenly unable to get his body to function right. He had to open his eyes, like that would help release some of the tension threatening to explode from beneath his skin. The sudden sunlight blinded him, stabbing into his eyeballs. He cringed, desperate to get lost back in the fantasy, but the moment he did, Andre pulled away. Alarm flashed across Andre’s face. He glanced down at Thomas’s throat, then at the way his fingers curled into Thomas’s shirt. In the heat of everything else, Thomas hadn’t even noticed that, but he sure as hell felt it when Andre let him go like he’d been scalded. 58

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“Don’t,” Thomas protested when Andre scrambled to his feet. He tried reaching for him, but met only empty air. “What’re you doing?” Andre’s hands flew too fast for Thomas to understand. When he shook his head, Andre scooped up the fallen notepad and scrawled a quite message. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bitten you. Thomas touched his neck out of reflex, then regretted the movement when Andre actually flinched. “It’s nothing. You didn’t even break the skin.” I shouldn’t have done it. “Why? It was hot. We don’t have to stop.” But when he sat up and held his hand out to pull Andre back down, Andre skittered beyond his reach. It’s almost time for dinner. Amy will be up soon. That was an excuse, not a reason. He should let it go. He knew that. He’d told himself that repeatedly. The last thing he would ever do was force himself on someone else, but Andre had been just as into it as he was. This was a mutual attraction. Andre was just running scared. He’d been given the right to push, but if he didn’t want Andre to squirm off the hook, he had to give something back in return. The story about Andre’s father was a private one. Thomas owed him the same. “I haven’t wanted anyone for the last year or so. My life’s lowkey. By choice.” He barreled on, afraid if he lost his momentum, he’d chicken out of telling the story at all. “I was involved with someone. Gil and I had been together for just over four years. He’s a big reason why I stopped coming home. He was from New York, and he saw me as this recently reformed hick when we met. He 59

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was constantly making fun of where I grew up, mocking people he’d never met, criticizing how closed-minded everybody is. And I loved him, so I went along with it. Some of it’s based on truth, so it was easier to agree than not.” Gil had swept him off his feet when they’d first met. Charming, funny in an acerbic kind of way, with an infectious laugh and brown eyes Thomas could drown in. The fact that he was insatiable in bed had been a bonus, always willing to try new things, sometimes teasing Thomas when he had the nerve to say something bothered him. “About six months before we broke up, Gil started acting differently. Little things, like getting up earlier to work out, or blaming me when he’d lose something. I just wrote it all off. A health kick, since let’s face it, we weren’t getting any younger. The arguing I figured was from living together for so long. That fiveyear hump people get to where everything the partner does gets on your nerves. It just hit us earlier than usual. That’s what I told myself, anyway.” Andre watched him steadily. His hands had relaxed a fraction on his pad and pen, and his shoulders seemed less stiff. The anxiety that had been on his face before was now more a knowing curiosity. He could probably see exactly where the story was going, even when Thomas had been a blind idiot as it happened. “I got called into HR one day at the hospital. When I walked in, my boss was there, her boss was there, and the board president. Turned out, drugs had been going missing for the last few months. They’d finally traced it all back to my ID.” Andre’s eyes widened. Thomas headed the next question off at the pass before he could write it down. “It wasn’t me. I told them that, over and over again. The only 60

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reason I wasn’t fired on the spot and slapped with theft and drug charges was because of a few instances I was known to be somewhere else. They couldn’t explain it. But I could. I went home, ransacked my apartment, and found a stash in Gil’s gym bag. He’d been using my hospital credentials to steal the drugs. For his own use and for selling.” His jaw dropped. Yeah, Thomas hadn’t been able to believe it when he’d confronted Gil with the drugs, either. He let Andre write out a note this time. What did you do? “I turned him in. What else was I going to do? He’d been lying to me and using me for months. That’s not respect. It’s definitely not love. And if I’d let it go, my career would’ve been over, and he would’ve gone on to fuck up somebody else’s life.” It still must’ve hurt. Leave it to Andre to cut to the chase. He looked away, unable to meet that discerning gaze. “Yeah. Like hell. I felt so stupid, and I had to take some serious cuts at work just to keep my job. Things are only now starting to get back to the way they were.” He brushed some loose grass from his jeans. “I haven’t been with anybody since I kicked Gil out. So when you… when I… and this, just now… ” He sighed. “You’re the first guy I’ve met that’s made me feel anything in a long time. And I’m not asking for something more than sex. We don’t have time for that. But we’re both into each other, that’s obvious, so just think about it, okay? Life can get pretty lonely in Mellowbush.” Or anywhere, really. “Take it from somebody who knows.” He was actually propositioning Andre. What had his life come to? First Gil, then work, and Mom, and now… Andre crouched in front of him. Resting a tentative hand on 61

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Thomas’s knee to get his attention, he waited until Thomas was looking up to pull back. Thomas recognized the up and down gesture he did with both hands without having to look it up. Maybe. It was better than a no, though probably made him a little more pathetic that Andre had to think about it before he could commit either way. Another tap on his knee. When he lifted his eyes this time, Andre signed, Thank you. “For what?” Andre reached out and skimmed fingertips across Thomas’s mouth, leaving tingles everywhere he touched. A single finger traced the laugh line at the crease of his cheek. Saliva sprang from his taste buds at the almost gentle contact, and he smiled in spite of his lurching nerves. Andre matched it. An unfamiliar burn began spreading through Thomas’s midsection. He didn’t recognize it until after Andre had pulled him to his feet and they were on their way back into the kitchen. Hope. Long time no see, old friend. He could only pray that it didn’t leave him broken in more pieces than when he’d arrived.

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CHAPTER 7 Though they’d found a truce, Andre steered clear of being alone with Thomas the rest of the day. He had too much to think about and not enough control to keep his head straight when it was just the two of them. But so much made sense now. Thomas’s slow smiles. The walls he’d erected. The loneliness that came off him in waves. If Andre hadn’t succumbed to the urge to bite him, they might have actually fucked in the backyard under the afternoon sun. Except he had. And that terrified him more than the years of running from Perry. He hadn’t broken the skin, thank God. But he’d been so lost in the whirlpool of his desire he hadn’t thought at all. He’d simply acted, and the wolf in him did what came naturally. Andre had 63

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worked hard to stifle his alpha tendencies, more out of a sense of survival than a true need to suppress that side of him, but at the first provocation from a man he was interested in, those barriers had fallen away. The simplicity of it—the urgency—was what scared him so much. Because it was easy. Too easy. He went to bed that night with Thomas’s gaze on him the entire way. Promises lurked there, questions he waited for Andre to answer, but Andre had nothing for him, no way to do more than he already had. By all rights, he should have told Thomas no instead of the noncommittal maybe. The problem was, he didn’t want to. His dreams didn’t help. In them, he and Thomas stretched out together in grass so tall it hid them away, kissing and then fucking like they might have done that afternoon if he hadn’t run scared. He mounted Thomas from behind, and at the height of his orgasm, sank his teeth into the scruff of Thomas’s neck. Thomas arched back, a howl tearing from his throat. Within seconds, his skin morphed into fur, and he threw Andre off, whirling around to attack. He leapt and changed midair. His torso thickened, the eyes turned to silver. When he collided with a frozen Andre, it was Perry’s muzzle that snapped at Andre’s throat. He woke in a pool of cooling sweat, his heart skittering out of control. A cold shower made it worse. It reminded him too much of running into Thomas that first morning. By the time everyone joined him for breakfast, he felt more in control, but being around Thomas turned his senses topsy-turvy. Because Thomas was everywhere he turned. With Amy, patiently helping her with her yarns. At lunch, helping him prepare and then clean up. During her nap, when he came and asked for Andre’s tutelage again. 64

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He’d had all he could take by dinnertime. I’m going for a run. He had the note ready for the first moment they were alone. Thomas frowned and glanced out the window at the deepening hues on the horizon. “At this time of night? Do you have any idea what the mosquitoes are like around here when the sun’s going down?” In his wolf body, he wouldn’t care about the mosquitoes. But he needed to shift, as painful as it would be outside of the full moon. He needed the physical release as well as the time in a mind that didn’t have the same complications humanity did. I’ll be okay. I just need to get out for a while. “You don’t want to go into town?” Away from people. Thomas tensed. “You mean me.” He chewed at his bottom lip for a moment before finding the right words to show Thomas. I need to think. You distract me. With a small snort, Thomas turned away and went for the fridge. “Hello, kettle.” He grabbed a can of Diet Coke. Its pop when he opened it echoed throughout the room. “Be careful out there, at least. Around here, the sun goes down, and things start crawling out of the bushes.” He nodded and turned away before Thomas saw his discomfort at how close to the truth he was. What would he say if he found out Andre was one of the creatures he was trying to warn him against? Andre wasn’t going to put him in the position of finding out. He wrote a note for Amy, just in case she worried about where he might be. If she forgot, Thomas could use it to help with explanations. Slipping out the back door, he cut around the edge of the field to reach the trees beyond. His heart tattooed against his 65

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ribs, desperate for his body to run, but he kept his pace slow and even in case Thomas watched from the house. The shift wouldn’t be pleasant. Waiting until the sun fell would make it marginally easier. It also made it more difficult for anybody to see what he was doing. Hunters sometimes roamed these woods, heedless of laws or licenses. Caution was his best defense. It always had been. A stream defined the tree line, out of view of the road and any of the nearby houses. Andre clambered down to its lowest point and took off his shoes, knotting the laces together to keep them from getting separated. Socks were next, followed by his shirt. He sat amidst the bracken and dipped his toes into the chilly water, watching the sun through the trees, waiting for the moment when it would be safe to strip down the rest of the way. It took too long to arrive. He shivered with cold when he finally fumbled with his jeans, his fingers trembling as he rolled his clothes up into a bundle around his shoes and lodged them into the crook of two low-hanging branches. All he could think was how nice it would be to curl into Thomas’s side to warm up, the smell of his musky skin more soothing than any transformation could be. He shook himself hard to snap the spell. He came out to get his head straight, not muddle it further with desires he wasn’t even sure he should—could—act on. Changing without the full moon to help was different than normal shifts. The pain that came from a natural transformation rooted deep within his marrow, incinerating everything from the inside out. When he forced a shift at other times, the agony began elsewhere, at the base of his skull and behind his eyes, like his head would explode from such a travesty of his true self. His father had always claimed it was due to the power that flowed through an 66

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alpha’s body. A pack leader was more in tune with the moon than anybody else. Fighting its call—or outright disobeying it by changing when it wasn’t in full bloom—would always be a battle. He wished he could have had more of that power at his paws when his cousin had decided to wrest control of the pack for himself. Curled into a ball, every part of him was tight as he willed the shift to begin. Lips stretched thin against his teeth. Fingernails dug into his palms. Toes burrowed into the loose undergrowth. Passing out was not an option, as tempting as it was. Breathe in. Breathe out. The next inhalation brought the prickling at the back of his neck, each pore erupting as it stretched to accommodate new hair, coarser, thicker, all-encompassing. An easy transition compared to the muscles and bones to come. He almost sighed as it rippled over his bare skin, a shield against the cold. For all the misery it had brought, wearing his wolf was like coming home, crossing the threshold from the threatening world into one that made sense, one that would protect him at all costs. But his respite was brief, the torture of bones and muscles twisting and changing into new shapes overwhelming the peace that had suffused him for that split second. He had no choice but to bear it. Endurance was the mark of a true alpha. How ironic that he lacked the means to vent his pain like lesser wolves. His father would’ve been proud had he survived the attack. When the shift was over, he lay on his side and panted heavily, his limbs shaking from the transition. The pungent smell of the undergrowth comforted him, but the warm earth didn’t help. It reminded him of the afternoon with Thomas, the press of human 67

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bodies molding together against the forgiving grass. He closed his eyes, and images sprang forth, the betrayal in Thomas’s eyes when he’d told the story about his ex, the hunger when he’d confessed his desires. Just sex. That’s what Thomas wanted. They were grown men, with mutual needs. That should have been easy to fulfill. So why had Andre bitten him? Though his body had yet to settle, his wolf answered the question for him. Because you want him for your own. Nobody else can have him. It seemed so simple, and yet, it complicated things even more. Andre had never claimed anyone as a mate. He was already an outcast, on the run from the wolf that had murdered his father to ensure his ascendancy to pack leader. The urge to have someone at his side had lurked in the background as wishful thinking rather than any true compulsion. Until now. He struggled to argue with his wolf. I don’t know him. We only just met. We knew enough to recognize his sorrow. That’s called being astute. That’s called mate. Which was all his wolf needed. For him, the issue was already settled. The pain ebbed. Andre rolled to his paws and stretched, the burn within his muscles supplanting the ache. He shook once, then sniffed at the air. Where to go? He wanted to run, to feel the wind in his fur as he barely touched the ground, but when he let his instincts take over, he jogged off in the direction from which he’d 68

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come. Flimsy clouds drifted across the sky. They did little to mask the few stars that dotted the heavens, and near the horizon, the halfmoon was a gray smudge against the black. He took a long moment to tilt his head back and breathe it in, absorbing the scents surrounding him as the part of him they were. Beneath his pelt, the scars at his throat stretched, but he’d long ago grown accustomed to their special kind of aching. He was alive. He was healthy. His worries had been ridiculous in the grand scheme of things. Life was simple. The human mind tried to make it difficult. It was enough to simply be, to eat, to love, to fuck, to protect those that mattered. He padded along the field, amongst the vegetation instead of at its edge. Mingling his scent with more potent odors was his best defense, one so innate he did it without thinking. In the distance, the Durling house was a dot, growing larger with each dozen yards he covered. When the field ended, he should have stopped. It wasn’t safe to approach humanity in this form, especially those who didn’t know the true ways. But his wolf had different ideas. His pace continued without hesitation, his lope easy all the way to the outskirts of the property. The house was dark, but the bare bulb that served as a rear porch light slashed across the yard. Scents filled Andre’s nose, and he stood silent, soaking the smells down to his bones. The dirt. Amy’s flowers. Thomas’s salty skin. Each was so much duller when he was in human form. He wanted the remnants of the memories he created now to carry him through once he had to change back. A creak came from the swing set. “Andre?” At Thomas’s voice, his head swung around in time to see the 69

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man push away from the metal frame and take a step closer. Andre automatically hunkered down, trying to become as small as possible. He should run. Get out of sight. But his wolf felt no fear, and his eyes never left the tall shadow slowly edging to the end of the yard. When Thomas stopped five yards away, he sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m an idiot,” he muttered. “A horny, fucked up idiot… ” He grimaced. “Who is now talking to himself. Shit.” His obvious disdain for his behavior relaxed Andre. His ears laid back, and his tail swished once against the tall grass in which he hid. Thomas stiffened at the slight whisper. He craned to peer in Andre’s direction, seeking out the source of the sound, but Andre was well camouflaged. A human was nothing compared to the dangers Perry presented. Not a danger. Mate. Man. Who doesn’t even know shifters like me exist. His wolf was silent for a moment. Andre contented himself to watch Thomas without interruption. He really was a glorious specimen. Though Andre hadn’t seen his cock, he’d felt it, thick and throbbing even through the clothes that had separated them. He’d longed to shove his hand inside the restrictive jeans and cradle the shaft against his palm. He didn’t want to jerk Thomas off, oh no, not yet, not until he was buried balls deep inside him, Thomas’s muscled back arching toward Andre as he strained for release, the release only Andre could give him. Andre would keep a firm grip around the base, maybe let his fingers tickle lower along Thomas’s balls, denying him the satisfaction, letting it build and build until Thomas whimpered 70

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with the need of it. Then, and only then, would Andre stroke him, hard, unforgiving, setting the same rhythm he pounded at his ass until Thomas clenched down around his cock and spilled all over his hand. He was ready to come, just from fantasizing about it. Thomas turned to go back into the house. For a split second, his face was visible, illuminated by the back light. The lines around his mouth became deep furrows, the corners of his lips pulled down in melancholy. Even his shoulders were slumped. Dejected. Defeated. He shouldn’t be alone. Andre wasn’t aware of moving, only that he was, rising and clearing the grass to enter the yard. His paw came down on a twig. It didn’t break, but the low crunch of pressure was enough to stop Thomas in his revolution, his head swiveling back to follow the sound. His eyes widened at the sight of Andre. Pulling his hands free, he took a single step back. The vigorous tempo of his heart marked fright, or at the best alarm, so Andre halted, sitting down to watch expectantly. “You’re a big boy, aren’t you?” As rapid as his pulse was, Thomas didn’t sound nervous. “Who let you off the leash tonight?” Andre swept his tail once across the ground to show he was friendly. “Did you break it?” He craned his neck to either side, checking Andre out. “Well, hell, what kind of idiot doesn’t put a dog your size on a leash?” When Thomas remained where he was, Andre pawed at the ground in front of him, trying to beckon him closer. He snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I’m a little smarter than 71

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your owner obviously is.” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “Go on. Go home.” But he was home, as much home as he had anyway. To prove his point, he rose and ventured a few feet forward. Thomas retreated the same distance. “I really don’t want to have to call the sheriff to report a pretty dog like you roaming wild. Do us both a favor and just go.” With a huff, Andre shook his head. That surprised Thomas enough to stop him. His short bark of laughter cut through the night air. “Cute, but I’m not going to fall for it. I don’t care how well-trained you are.” Except he wasn’t moving any longer, which had to be a good sign. Andre sat again, content to stay in the vicinity as long as Thomas didn’t go back in the house. If this was all it took to distract Thomas from his sadness, so be it. “If you’re hungry, you’re out of luck.” He tilted his head. “Though you look like you could use a good meal. Shit, you’re probably a stray.” Swearing again under his breath, he glanced over his shoulder at the dark house. “Mom can’t see you. She’ll want to take you in, and then we’ll be the ones stuck taking care of you. And that’s only if you don’t have rabies or something.” He wanted to whine to get Thomas’s attention again, but even that was beyond his ability. He scratched at the grass instead, and when Thomas turned back, deliberately lay down and exposed his belly. With anyone else, he never would have dared. He wouldn’t have had the stomach for it. But Thomas needed to understand he wasn’t a threat, that he was here for him and no other reason. Thomas’s face softened. “I almost think you can understand me,” he mused. “Did somebody dump you? Is that what it was? Beautiful dog like you, they should be shot for abandonment.” 72

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Andre thumped his tail once in agreement. Thomas smiled. “Smart and beautiful. That’s a deadly combination.” Slowly, he crouched down, getting more on Andre’s level, though he didn’t come nearer. A positive sign. It hinted at trust. A swell of emotion, hot and profound, joined with what Andre’s wolf was already feeling. “I better be careful. I have a tendency to fall for exactly your type.” He plucked a blade of grass and rolled it between his fingers. He seemed less doleful now, a ghost of a smile now playing on his lips. Andre yearned to taste that succulent mouth, but that would have to wait until tomorrow. “I thought I had somebody here to talk to,” Thomas said quietly. His gaze lifted, staring out over the fields. “But I think I pushed him too hard.” The urge to reach out and reassure him that none of this was his fault amplified. He’d merely wished to keep Thomas from wallowing. Andre knew firsthand how miserable it was to be melancholy, both as human and as wolf. This was almost worse, because he was crippled from convincing Thomas of what he knew to be true. “You’re almost as quiet as he is.” Thomas chuckled. “Sometimes I think it’s a good thing I can’t hear what Andre sounds like. He already looks like sex on a stick. I don’t need him sounding like it, too.” His earlier fantasies came rushing back, but this was one instance he thought Thomas was wrong. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do to get his voice back, especially since he’d finally met somebody who seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say. Thomas was the first person he’d met since going on the run who’d taken the initiative to learn sign language. Everyone else expected 73

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Andre to be the one to adapt to their world instead of the other way around. “I wish he wasn’t out there on his own, though.” He was looking over Andre’s head again, his gaze concerned. “He runs into the wrong people, and he’ll end up hurt. I should’ve stopped him. Or at least warned him since he didn’t want me to tag along. But I’m not going to get any sleep tonight until he gets back and I know he’s okay.” Andre couldn’t breathe. When was the last time anyone had cared what happened to him out in the wild? Even as a pup, he’d had the run of the woods. His parents had believed independence bred strength. It had also invited loneliness. The solitude that came with playing and hunting by himself had separated him from the rest of the pack, and they’d taken it as a sign of weakness instead of the power his father had envisioned. He’d been completely unprepared in how to defend his father when the time came, no opportunities to romp with the other wolves to learn their soft spots, no chances to hone his skills on prey his own size. He didn’t think Thomas saw him as weak, just ill-informed. The differentiation was vital, as important to Andre as being respected for what he could do instead of what he couldn’t. He understands. His wolf howled silently inside his head, a crow of grand satisfaction that swept all the way to the tip of his tail. Stronger than that, however, was the need to allay Thomas’s fears, to soothe away the lines that now marred his forehead, to bring back the humor and smile Andre knew he would miss when he was finally forced to leave. It manifested in his flesh. Sank into his bones. Gripped him in a vise so unavoidable the night and its pallid moon disappeared. 74

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The pain was excruciating. Far worse than when he’d forced the shift earlier. But more terrifying than that was the knowledge he couldn’t stop it.

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CHAPTER 8 Thomas was so wrapped up in his worry about Andre that he didn’t notice the stray curl into himself until the animal’s head was tucked between its front paws. Other than the noise it had made entering the yard, it had been completely silent, no whine for food, no whimper of potential discomfort. Even as his gaze swiveled back to it, the dog remained quiet, the only evidence something was wrong the contorted posture of its long, slim body. Then it started to shake. “Shit.” Thomas scrambled back to his feet and backed off. He should’ve known it was sick. That was probably why it had come into the yard in the first place. Someone had dumped an ill animal, and it had sought out civilization because it associated people with food and shelter. He should’ve just called the sheriff like he’d 76

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originally planned. As he took another step toward the house to do just that, however, the dog struggled to brace a rear paw against the grass, most likely in attempt to stand. The paw slipped, and the leg splayed awkwardly alongside his tail. Thomas blinked. Wait. Where was the tail? It had been there a moment ago. Was the dog lying on it? The more he stared, the more the dog seemed different than its first appearance. The lustrous honey-colored fur was thinner— correction, thinning—and the legs looked chunkier, more muscular. In fact, they looked longer. The paw it had attempted to stand on was deformed, locked in a convulsion that gave the appearance it was twisting in on itself. The fur lost its sheen, paling before his eyes. He kept expecting to see tufts of it clinging to the grass, but the darkness hid it as the skin beneath the pelt came into view. A violent convulsion startled him into jumping back, but his heel slid on the ground, knocking him off-balance. His hands flew out to break his fall, and pain shot up his arm as the impact jolted all the way to his shoulder. Though he rubbed at it, he was still too—what? Fascinated? Horrified? It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. He hadn’t even known animals could have fits like this. Pale skin glimmered through the fading fur. The dog writhed, breaking free of the curled stasis its body had been in. Its head flung back, the neck stretching as its mouth opened, but though it looked like it was howling at the moon, no sound came out. The new position exposed the dog’s belly, laid even farther open by its thrashing legs. But it was the long expanse of its neck that stopped Thomas’s 77

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heart beating. Because there, twisted and mangled, were the same scars that Andre wore. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. As impossible as it was for this stray to bear the same marks Andre did, he had no explanation except what was unfolding right in front of him. Namely, the man coming free of the dog’s body—no, replacing it, changing from it. Like some kind of character out of a horror movie. And though he’d been fixed on the legs and torso, the changes weren’t limited there. The dog’s muzzle shortened, flattened, its powerful jaws snapping shut and reforming into a pained grimace. Lips became visible, while the ears shrank and flattened, disappearing beneath the fur—hair—that now fell to the man’s shoulders. Sweat glistened in dewdrops along the pale shoulders, and though the face was blocked by the fall of hair over his cheek, Thomas knew there’d be more perspiration there. This took a toll. His own body ached with sympathy, even as stupefied as he was that it was happening at all. His shoulder was sore, and he realized he’d been gripping it hard in response to what he was witnessing. He let it go and flexed his tense fingers. The knuckles cracked. Compared to the silence of what the man was going through, it was like a gunshot in the open air. The man flinched. No fur remained. Long legs curled against his chest, with his arms wrapped around them protectively. Every inch of his skin gleamed with sweat, and when he lifted his head to turn glazed eyes to Thomas, it confirmed Thomas’s suspicions about its presence on his face. But he didn’t have time to pat himself on the back for guessing correctly. Not when he was staring into Andre’s eyes. 78

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The silvery-bloodlessness of the dog’s eyes, the lack of color that he’d attributed to the glow from the porch light and the darkness around them, were Andre’s, only paler. The fur had been a near match for his now-tangled hair, and the sinewy, almost skinny, musculature of its physique the canine equivalent of the man who’d been living in his mother’s house for the past two months. The man he’d been worried sick about. The man he’d missed the second he’d walked out the door. Andre didn’t look away, but it was too dark to read him. All Thomas had to go on was body language, and the second the shivers began, he reacted. If he’d been as smart as he’d claimed to be, he would’ve demanded some kind of answer first. Stayed away from what was a freak of nature. But his instincts ordered him to act differently. They drove him forward to scoop an arm around Andre’s back and try to help him to his feet. The tremors continued after Thomas got a good, strong hold on him. They even felt like they were getting worse as more of Andre’s body unfolded to face the cooling night. “Can you walk?” Thomas asked, but when Andre tried resting his weight on his own feet, he nearly crumpled, his features contorted in silent agony. Without a word, Thomas slung him over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry and headed up to the house. He refused to consider the meaning of what he’d seen and focused instead on getting Andre someplace warm and comfortable. The kitchen was dark, but he navigated with ease, keeping his footfalls as quiet as possible as he headed for Andre’s room. Having a mute patient was a godsend right now. The last thing he needed was Mom waking up and asking why he was hauling 79

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around a naked Andre. Even after Thomas laid him down on the bed, Andre continued to shiver. “Cover up. I’ll get a towel to clean you up.” He half-jogged to the bathroom and grabbed the first one he could find. When he came back, Andre was leaning over the side of the bed, fumbling around in a backpack. “You’re going to fall over if you keep doing that,” Thomas scolded. Tossing the towel onto the end of the bed, he crouched to help with whatever Andre was doing, pushing gently at his shoulder to force him back to a horizontal position. Andre resisted until his hand emerged from the pack with a large plastic bottle. He allowed Thomas to wrest it away before finally collapsing back against the pillow. The industrial-sized bottle rattled, but Thomas didn’t take the extra-strength ibuprofen label at face value until he’d opened it up and tipped a few onto his palm. Andre reached for the pills, taking the two Thomas had removed and swallowing them dry. He then held his hand out for more. Thomas’s brows shot up. “How many do you want?” Andre held up three fingers. Prescription strength was 800mg. Andre wanted a thousand. Thomas handed over three more pills and watched them disappear in the same fashion. “Does it help?” A weak nod from Andre. As Thomas perched on the edge of the bed, Andre inched over to give him room, curling into a fetal position at the same time. He had questions. Oh, did he have questions. Like was Andre a werewolf? Or a mutant? Or something else Thomas couldn’t wrap his brain around? Had he always been one? Had he been turned 80

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into one by the wolf attack that killed his father? Was he a threat? Was it a choice? Was he even human? But looking at the pale, almost fearful man huddled on his bed, Thomas couldn’t voice them. In the face of what was already too much for Andre to deal with, that seemed like overkill. Thomas couldn’t add to it, no matter how confused he was. And really, what would having the answers change? He’d seen it happen. He wasn’t hallucinating or drunk or any other convenient excuse. “Do you want me to go?” Andre’s eyes were luminous and unblinking as he shook his head. The relief that swept through Thomas came as a shock. He hadn’t known he was so scared about being dismissed until the answer had come. “I didn’t know it was you.” With trembling fingers, Andre tapped his forehead twice. Thomas searched his scant sign knowledge for what it meant. I know. He couldn’t even remember what he’d said outside, only that it had been intimate. Andre didn’t seem fazed by it, though. “I guess it was stupid of me to be worried.” He grimaced. “Almost as stupid as me sitting here asking you questions when you don’t even have your pad.” Andre pointed past him, directing Thomas’s gaze to the nightstand. On it was another notepad, with a stub of a pencil shoved into the slightly bent coils. Thomas passed it over and waited as Andre wrote out a note. Are you kicking me out? Thomas frowned. Why did Andre always assume the worst? “Are you dangerous?” When Andre shook his head, he shrugged. “Then nothing has to change.” He tried to make a joke of it. 81

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“Besides, I’d look like an asshole for getting rid of you since I’m guessing nobody else knows about this.” Another shake confirmed it. An outsider would probably think he was taking this too calmly, but what else was he supposed to do? All joking aside, telling anyone would do more harm than good. Nobody would believe him. Worse, he’d look just as crazy as his mom with stories about men changing into animals and animals changing into men. As long as Andre wasn’t a threat, his best choice was to go along as they had been until it was time to return to Philly. What now? An excellent question. “I guess… nothing changes.” When Andre arched a brow and pointedly looked at Thomas’s crotch, he flushed. “I don’t know about that anymore. It’d be… kind of weird knowing you’re a dog half the time.” Wolf. “All right, I stand corrected. But it’s still weird.” Though looking at Andre now, it was hard to remember the wolf at all. He seemed so thoroughly human and vulnerable, still so damn beautiful it almost hurt. “At some point, will you tell me about it?” Andre nodded. I don’t want to lie to you anymore. He read it twice, almost afraid to meet Andre’s eyes. His throat was tight with unexpected emotion, because he knew even before he finally looked up that Andre was sincere. Andre couldn’t hide it, and it shone on his face like the innocence of youth. Thomas reached out and gently squeezed Andre’s shoulder. It was meant to be reassurance, the reminder he wasn’t alone, that Thomas was a friend. But the continuous vibrations beneath Andre’s skin prolonged the contact, prompting Thomas to drift upward to skim over the scars at his throat. 82

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Andre caught his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. Both men froze. Thomas should’ve pulled away for such an invasion, but Andre’s hold wasn’t defensive. He would have pushed Thomas away then. No, this was something else, something Thomas couldn’t quite put his finger on until he felt Andre’s thumb caressing the spot over his pulse point. Proprietary. Especially when matched with the quiet hunger in Andre’s eyes. Without rising, Thomas toed off his shoes. This wasn’t about rational thought. This was need and instinct and wants, too strong to give a voice to. Andre’s fingers remained coiled around him as he carefully stretched out on the bed, taking the space next to him like it was his to own. They remained face to face like that for long seconds, sharing air, breathing each other in. Then, Andre flipped over in a single, graceful move that stole what little breath Thomas had left. He nudged back, spooning to Thomas’s front, and pulled the arm he held securely around his waist. No denying what Andre wanted. Or how good it felt to finally feel their bodies molded together. The only thing that would have made this better was if Thomas was naked, so he could have the sensation of hot skin sliding against each other, but then he held little doubt they wouldn’t actually be lying here, letting Andre’s pain dissipate. Regardless of what other form Andre might take, if Thomas had his now fully stiff cock nestled against his ass without anything barring the way, they would definitely be fucking. Their current position made two-way communication difficult, but just maybe Andre was done for the night anyway. Whatever he’d gone through, it had taken a physical toll. An emotional one, too, Thomas suspected. The quivering was slighter now but still present, the hand holding his arm in place unwilling to let go. 83

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But Thomas could talk, and without that penetrating gaze on him reading through every line, it was almost a confessional, coaxing him to relax and share what it was he needed. First, however, he had to make one thing clear. “Mom will freak out if she sees us like this.” He couldn’t move without fighting that implacable grip, so he settled on stretching his fingers to caress along the nearest patch of skin he could touch. “She’s not as comfortable with me being gay as you might think.” A brief pause, then an inclination of his head that could only be a nod. “I’m worried about her, though. We can’t be sure she’ll be able to take care of herself. You know that even better than I do. I mean, I don’t know what Pastor told you what she was like before, but she’s pretty much the only reason my father didn’t kill me before I could get out of here. She was the strong one, not me. And… I don’t know if I have it in me to be as strong as she needs me to.” All the fears he’d kept bottled up since getting the call from Pastor bubbled to the surface. He’d sidelined them in favor of the distraction Andre presented, but they’d been there all along, percolating until he allowed them the room to expand. Though this might not have been how he imagined it occurring, he now knew secrets about Andre that few others did. It seemed only fair and right to give back the same. Now, they could entrust the other not to expose them for the frauds they were. “It’s so hard to see her like this.” Burying his face in Andre’s hair muffled his voice, but the smell of the fields and grass that lingered in the thick strands made it worth it. It transported him back in time, when he was a skinny ten-year-old running around with only a fraction of the cares bogging him down now. “I want 84

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the best for her, and I know that should be me, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to face this on a day to day basis. I don’t want to watch her deteriorate. I want all my memories of her to be of when she was healthy, not like this.” He felt like a traitor for admitting this out loud. She deserved better. Somebody who saw her needs as the most important thing in the world. Somebody who could focus on her like she was owed after all those years she’d put up with his dad’s crap. His, too, since he was being honest. Because he’d skipped out of town the first chance he got, off to the so-called big city to “find myself,” which really meant to “get as much cock as I can without getting beat up or belittled for it.” He sighed. He was an asshole just thinking any of this. “I need to figure out what’s best for her. The more I see, the more I think she needs full-time care.” Andre twisted enough to reach over his body and tap Thomas on the chest. The look in his eye was empathetic but not necessarily blind acceptance. “She needs more than me,” Thomas said. “I can’t be here all the time.” When Andre started to gesture toward himself, Thomas cut him off. “You can’t do it, either. You should have a real life, not be saddled with a woman who isn’t even related to you. You’re young, you’re gorgeous, you could do anything you wanted to.” With a small snort, Andre rolled his eyes and settled back down. “Fine, don’t believe me. It doesn’t make it less true.” He settled back in, this time letting his lashes flutter shut. The heat pouring off Andre’s body was soporific, and his thoughts were getting harder to catch a hold off. “Anyway, it’s not your problem. It’s mine. I just wanted you to know where I stand, that’s all. Since 85

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we’re not keeping secrets from each other anymore.” He’d been forced to stop caressing Andre when the other man had turned around, but before he could resume, Andre lifted his hand to his lips. With a nudge of his nose, he coaxed Thomas’s fingers to open, then scattered feathery kisses across the bare palm. The unexpected tenderness clamped a vise around Thomas’s chest. He didn’t know what to do with it, let alone how to respond, so he stayed perfectly still, allowing Andre the freedom to touch however he wished. It didn’t last long, but those seconds felt like an eternity. Andre curved Thomas’s arm upward, diagonally across his chest, and burrowed farther into the crook of Thomas’s body. Falling asleep was the last thing he should’ve done. Mom could walk in and see them. He still had more questions than answers, no matter what he might have divulged to Andre. He wanted to give a little bit back to Andre, regardless of his earlier assertions to the contrary. But he lost the battle against exhaustion. Wrapped around Andre like he was, his last thought before drifting off was that he never stood a chance.

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CHAPTER 9 When Andre woke, peace pervaded everything, from the heat at his fingertips to the soft swirl of his thoughts as he realized he’d slept through the night without a single nightmare. That didn’t happen often. It was one reason why he rose so early, to abort any terror that might ruin his rest. At some point in the night, he and Thomas had switched places. Now, Thomas faced the edge of the bed while Andre curled around him. His bare skin felt overly sensitive where it rubbed against the clothes Thomas still wore, and his fully erect cock scraped over the seams in the back of Thomas’s jeans. Thomas still slept. His breathing was deep and even, his pulse a soothing throb. Andre buried his nose in the back of his neck and allowed himself the luxury of simply breathing Thomas in. 87

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He knew. And he didn’t judge. Thomas had offered it without compunction or hesitation. He’d stayed when Andre had asked. He’d even revealed secrets of his own, selfish truths a man like him would find difficult to admit. The trust that implied was like nothing Andre had known. More than ever, his wolf’s claim over this man felt right. Not to mention necessary. His lips moved of their own accord. Thomas had changed his mind about the sex—not that Andre could blame him—but climbing into bed with Andre hinted he was more than okay with intimacy. Besides, he wasn’t kissing Thomas so much as he was mouthing the words he’d never be able to utter aloud. Thomas could wear them as an invisible brand on his skin instead of carrying them in his consciousness. Thank you. You’re beautiful. Whether you think so or not. Mine. The short hairs at the nape tickled across his lips and tongue, making his mouth water. He already had an arm securely around Thomas’s waist, but he tightened his hold a fraction, claiming ownership in the only time he could. When Thomas woke up, he’d probably retreat to politeness and casual conversation. The light of day always frightened away the deepest secrets, driving them back underground where the dark only helped them grow. Andre needed this time for what it gave him—a place, a partner, the fantasy that life didn’t have to be as bleak as he’d endured the past decade. He would back off as much as Thomas wanted once they were back in the real world, but here, now, he would steal as much as he could. Thomas shifted slightly in his sleep, rolling more onto his stomach to trap Andre’s arm beneath him. Andre followed, both 88

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because he didn’t want to wake Thomas by pulling his arm free and because he refused to give up the heat and pressure of his bedmate. His body covered more of Thomas’s, his leg nudging up between Thomas’s legs to press gently against his trapped balls. How he would love to sink into Thomas’s willing, hungry hole. He’d never had a lover he could cherish before. All of his hookups had been the slam-bam variety, suck-and-swallows so quick and cold they couldn’t touch the deeper need. Thomas might have been different if he hadn’t called a halt to them progressing to lovers. Andre was sure of it. Intoxicated by the scent of Thomas’s skin, he dared to lick along a bare strip, ending at the hollow beneath the ear. His touch was delicate, barely enough to give him a taste of the musk and man, but his taste buds erupted in ecstasy, his wolf growling silently in possessive desire. He had to be gentle. No breaking of the skin, no matter how strong the urge was to clamp his jaws around the back of Thomas’s neck. He closed his eyes, and Thomas consumed him. Since leaving the pack, his world had been both infinite and miniscule, everywhere open to him, everywhere a threat because of the possible exposure. He’d become a hunted animal, incapable of allowing anything to block that out because doing so could very well lead to his demise. Thomas changed that. He’d found a chink in Andre’s protection, and before Andre could stop him, created a door for himself that blocked out everything else. They might not be lovers, but he was mate regardless. Andre would do everything to protect him, from the world, from his own pain, from Andre. But the contrast of his aching hunger with his determination not to put Thomas at risk somehow sharpened each burst of flavor and 89

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smell. His lick didn’t stop at one. A second joined in, then a third. When his tongue rasped over the stubble, he longed to feel the texture of hair from other parts of Thomas’s body, too. He couldn’t remember ever wanting anything as badly as that. Thomas stirred. Andre froze, his heart suddenly racing. He couldn’t risk damaging the tenuous bonds woven between them by the revelations of the night before. Thomas had made his opinion clear, and if Andre ignored that… “Fuck, you feel good… ” a sleepy Thomas muttered. He hadn’t opened his eyes. His body was on the verge of full waking, too. These weren’t the whispers of a dream, but Andre was too nervous about misinterpreting what he wanted to make another move. Without turning, Thomas stretched an arm behind him until his hand came to rest on Andre’s flank. His fingers moved just as slowly, caressing the muscle in small inches that sent an array of goose bumps across Andre’s butt. “What time is it?” Thomas asked. He had to lift his head to glance at the clock. With Thomas’s eyes still closed, he couldn’t sign the answer, but Thomas hadn’t let him go to reach for the pad, either. Time to take a risk. Taking a deep breath, he nuzzled the space below Thomas’s ear before catching the lobe between his teeth. He nipped once, then deliberately released as a shudder wracked through Thomas. A corresponding tremor went through Andre, but he held off from taking what he wanted to repeat the nibble four more times. Several seconds passed after he let Thomas’s ear go. Then, Thomas chuckled. “It’s either somewhere around five, or you’re trying to drive 90

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me crazy.” Wishing for his voice back was fruitless. He’d given up on hopeless yearning a while ago. But every once in a while, he wanted it so badly, it made him ache. Like now. He would love to whisper his response—both—and feel the way a single word changed how Thomas breathed. Without a way to properly resolve Thomas’s query, he had to remain still as Thomas finally blinked his eyes open. Thomas squinted at the clock, then glanced over his shoulder to give Andre a languid smile. “If I tell you to hell with what I said last night about no sex, are you going to mock me for being a complete flake?” His grin was automatic. He shook his head. “Good. Because I haven’t woken up wanting someone as bad as you in a really long time.” Andre pulled away, but only to give Thomas to room to roll onto his back. Getting clothes off was the first order of business. He sat up, blushing a little at the smile Thomas still wore, and tugged at Thomas’s fly. He didn’t waste time pulling off the jeans, taking the underwear with it, but he couldn’t watch where he tossed them onto the floor. He was too transfixed by the dusting of hair curling up Thomas’s thighs, as well as the heavy balls darkening the hollow between his legs. His fingers skimmed up the nearest leg, absorbing the faint tickle of hair, the residual heat from sleep. He reached the sac and brushed the back of his knuckles over it, watching the skin tighten at the simple contact. Thomas sucked in a hard breath. “I must’ve been dreaming about you again or something, because I don’t think I’ll be able to last long if you keep that up.” 91

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His brows shot up. Again? That was promising. “Next time, though… ” Thomas caught Andre’s wrist and tugged, his smile widening when Andre sprawled less than gracefully along his length. “You’ll be so sore, you won’t be able to walk for a week.” He had every intention of making Thomas live up to that promise, but right here, right now, he was the one on top, he was the one leading the way. He straddled Thomas’s hips and scooted back slightly so their cocks lined up. As much as he’d love to fuck Thomas, he had neither lube nor condoms readily available, and he was pretty sure a guy like Thomas would insist on both. He’d explain later that the condoms were superfluous—at least as a shifter, he didn’t have to worry about human diseases—but Thomas might not necessarily take him at his word. The weight of both shafts in his palm settled his nerves. He was still excited, but the rub of them together, combined with the way they curved into each other, felt like coming home. They fit like they were supposed to be together, like the mates he knew them to be even if Thomas would never know or understand the truth of it. A piece of him he’d thought gone forever slipped back into place, and he bent to kiss Thomas with a smile on his lips, his hand pulling at both of their cocks in a lazy, sensual rhythm. He caught a glimpse of Thomas’s heavy-lidded gaze before their mouths melded, then all else was erased as their limbs entwined. He welcomed the strong hands grasping his ass, pulling his buttocks apart to expose his hole to the cooler air. Jerking his hips slightly to thrust into the circle of his fingers helped create the illusion that it was Thomas’s ass that enveloped him, but the contact of cock to cock was heady on its own. It was all circles upon circles, arms, hands, fingers, the ever-changing shape of their 92

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mouths as they drowned themselves in kisses. Pre-come slicked his palm on every pass. It might have been his, or it might have been Thomas’s, but odds were it was both of them since he craved this as much as Thomas had vocalized. Such a simple act, this devotion to pleasure, and yet, for Andre, it meant more. The lust was a superficial beast, easily caged and fed, but the hunger for claiming Thomas as his own went bone-deep, the trust to come from sharing this, from being able to guide it, as vital as breathing. He’d forgotten over the passage of time. But he wouldn’t forget again. Thomas moved, too, grinding upward, trying to force more contact. He kept searching for leverage Andre refused to give him, even growling in frustration once or twice between kisses. Andre rarely used his strength during sex—it wasn’t necessary most of the time—but he liked the effort it elicited from Thomas, how it sharpened the edge of their desire to an almost deadly heat. He pinned, and Thomas pushed, but when Thomas reached between them to cover his hand over Andre’s, he allowed the addition, drawing back to meet Thomas’s eyes as they pulled at their cocks together. “This is better.” Without warning, Thomas hooked his leg around the back of Andre’s, brazenly defying the attempts to hold him down. “But don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” With a crooked smile that matched the leaping of his heart, Andre pointedly looked down between their bodies. Thomas laughed. “You’re incorrigible.” Perhaps. But only because Thomas freed him to play for the first time in years. He wanted to hear more of Thomas’s voice, the joking that came with companionship, with comfort, but Thomas seemed to be 93

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done. Maybe he was reminded that Amy was down the hall, or maybe the rising pressure beneath Andre’s skin was matched in Thomas’s, orgasms rushing ever closer as their strokes quickened. He would have asked for it if he’d had a way of letting Thomas know, but that was beyond him, not if he didn’t want his balls to ache from cheating them out of coming. With his free hand, Thomas cupped Andre’s nape and guided him back down. He expected kisses like the tussle of their hands, but instead received nibbles at his lower lip, almost tender in their attention. His mouth parted, and he inhaled as much of Thomas’s scent as he could, the mingling of perspiration and pre-come and breath that could only belong to this specific man. God, how could he want something so desperately when he’d only just discovered it? And he did, more and more with every pull, every taste, every rock of their hips. He bit back at Thomas’s mouth, needing that extra attack, the flip of power, the reminder that Thomas was his regardless of anything else. “Yes… ” Thomas hissed. His hips stuttered. A second later, the vein along the length of his cock pulsed, and warm come splattered over their fingers, onto his rumpled T-shirt. Andre’s head spun. The verge he’d fought to hold off as long as possible was suddenly upon him. He was overwhelmed by the heat racing through his body, the smells soaking into his skin. His balls tightened, and he buried his face in the crook of Thomas’s neck as everything unfurled inside him. He didn’t bite. Somehow, he held onto the last shred of control necessary to keep from doing that. But his mouth did open, his voice trying to work as a soundless cry escaped him. His body jerked, his come joining Thomas’s. It coated his fingers and 94

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slipped down the crown to drip between their cocks, along the shafts, onto their bellies, binding them together in all the best places. Thomas slid a hand down his back, holding him close and steady as he rode out his orgasm. Turning his head, he feathered stubbled kisses in Andre’s hair, his murmurs unintelligible to human ears. Andre heard them, though. If anything, they confirmed his beliefs more than ever. “So good,” Thomas had said. “I don’t know how you exist, but fuck if I’m not glad that you do.” He had no answers, either. But at least he now knew that not all of his feelings were in vain. Some were reciprocated. For a wolf who’d had nothing for so long, that was enough.

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CHAPTER 10 Thomas hummed under his breath as he scraped the scrambled eggs out of the frying pan and onto the waiting plates. He shouldn’t be in such a good mood. He had a werewolf taking care of his mother, who was showing signs of not having a very good day, and he’d already broken his vow not to move things to a physical level with Andre. By all rights, he should be grumpy as hell. But he wasn’t. He’d fallen asleep in his sticky T-shirt after Andre had peeled himself away to go take a shower, and he’d dreamt of pale, haunted eyes and long limbs until Andre had woken him up with butterfly kisses across his palm. He was hard enough again at that point to bend Andre over and follow through on his earlier promise to fuck him, but Mom had already been 96

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moving around, and Andre had only woken him to give him the time to get cleaned up before she realized where he’d spent the night or what had happened. That courtesy had proliferated his thoughts as he stood beneath the tepid shower. In spite of what he’d learned about Andre last night, it didn’t change the kind of man Thomas already knew him to be. Respectful, generous, loving. That, more than anything else, demanded his spirits remain high while he fixed breakfast. “Food’s on!” He gathered condiments out of the refrigerator as Andre followed Mom in from the living room. She paused in the doorway, forcing Andre to stop, and gazed around with a frown. “This isn’t right,” she said. Thomas paused with the ketchup and horseradish in his hands. “What’s not right, Mom?” “This.” She swept a hand around the room. “We have to clean it up. George is going to have a fit if he sees this mess.” Nudging the fridge door shut with his hip, he tamped down his initial instinct to argue with her and headed for the table. “We’ll clean up after we eat.” “No, no, we have to do it now.” Andre tried grabbing her, but she was too fast. She scooped up the broom and leveled it across the kitchen counter, sweeping the eggs he’d left out and the dirty dishes into the sink. The carton missed the sink and crashed to the floor. When she shifted to sweep it up, Andre was there behind her, his hand firmly around the handle. “Let go.” She struggled with him, but Thomas knew firsthand she wouldn’t best his strength. The broom was immovable within his grasp, and he stepped away from the mess on the floor, forcing 97

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her to come with him. That gave Thomas room to clean it up without her interference. By the time he’d dumped the broken shells and yolks into the trash, Andre had taken the broom away from her completely. “George isn’t going to be happy,” she repeated. She whipped around to stare at Thomas in disbelief. “Why do you do this to him, Tommy? You know better than that.” Her use of his childhood nickname—the one he hated more than anything in the world—stunned him into immobility. Worse, her voice held a note of bitter accusation he wasn’t accustomed to hearing from her, like this was somehow his fault, like it would all be better if he didn’t deliberately sabotage everything. In that moment, he wasn’t a thirtysomething man trying to do the right thing by his sick mom. He was that seven-year-old boy trying to understand why his world felt so different from everybody else’s at school and church. Andre rested a hand on her upper arm, distracting her attention back to him. She turned reluctantly, then blinked in confusion at the sight of him. It would’ve been the perfect opportunity to direct her back to breakfast and away from the mess she’d made, but Thomas couldn’t break out of the stasis she’d locked him in. Egg white dripped from his fingers as he watched Andre curve his free arm around her and do what Thomas should’ve done. She was his mom, for fuck’s sake. That was his job. She refused to sit in the chair Andre held out for her, instead taking the seat that had always been reserved for her while Thomas was growing up. Once she saw the bacon, however, she seemed to calm a little, picking through the plate to take the crispiest pieces. Just like when he was younger. Andre hovered at her side until it became clear she was settled. 98

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When he finally turned away, his and Thomas’s eyes met, and the understanding he saw gleaming there nearly had Thomas crumpling on the spot. As it was, his pulse leapt when Andre came to him, his hand nearly jerking away when he gently caught Thomas’s wrist. He took the same care leading Thomas to the sink, though at least he had the grace to let Thomas wash up by himself. His hesitant sign, You okay?, helped break the spell down even more. “Yeah.” He kept his voice low enough so Mom wouldn’t hear. The rushing of the water from the tap helped. “She just… it caught me off-guard.” The soothing hand at the small of his back was probably more than was appropriate, but Thomas needed it and refused to push it away. They returned to their meal and ate in silence. Though he was ready this time for another confrontation, it didn’t come. Mom insisted on cleaning up when they were done. When Andre tried pushing Thomas out of the kitchen, he shook it off. He needed to get used to this kind of outburst from her, or he’d never be able to tolerate them. If he couldn’t handle a minor snap like this, what would he be like when she deteriorated? The rest of the morning passed without a blip, as if the incident before breakfast had never occurred. In her mind, it probably hadn’t, especially since she spent most of the next few hours chattering away with Andre about her morning programs. Some of his earlier good mood returned, but not the blind euphoria that had been a part of it. Questions and common sense now seeped around the edges. As they were working on lunch, he pulled Andre aside. “Would you mind if I ran into town this afternoon?” Andre shook his head, but the tilt of his head questioned why. 99

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Thomas ignored how easy it was getting to read him even without the sign language and answered, “I want to go back to the library and get online to look around and see if there are any support groups in the area for families of Alzheimer’s. It might help for me to talk to somebody while I’m here.” It was an excuse to get away, and they both knew it. The best part was, Andre didn’t call him on his cowardice. He just smiled and nodded. On impulse, Thomas crowded him into his arms, in as tight an embrace as he could manage. Mom was just in the next room, but he didn’t care. He needed the feel of Andre’s sinuous body against his. As he expected, the moment his cheek brushed across Andre’s, the thudding of his pulse slowed down to a more manageable crawl. Andre turned into him, molding around him as naturally as he had in bed. Thomas hadn’t been hard, but at the first touch, his cock perked up with a life of its own, uncaring that the rest of Thomas really wasn’t in the mood for anything sexual at the moment. Later, however, was another matter. His lips brushed over Andre’s ear. “Can I sleep with you tonight?” he whispered. A tremor rippled through Andre, strong enough for Thomas to feel it. He nodded and his mouth touched the side of Thomas’s neck. Fleeting, barely a kiss, but Thomas felt that, too. He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of emotion it aroused. Not now. He couldn’t get attached to Andre, regardless of the secrets they shared. But he held on for a few seconds longer anyway. 100

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*

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Without Thomas around, the house seemed bigger. It was all in his head, of course. He’d spent weeks here with just Amy, and the visit was still in its early days. But he’d become so accustomed to watching for him, or listening out for the sound of his steps, or working alongside him that he missed him when he wasn’t around. Was that a mate thing? He couldn’t remember the few details his father had deigned to share. Pack dynamics hadn’t been as important to Andre’s dad as they were to other wolves. He’d been most interested in protecting Andre, in letting him lead the life he wanted, not as others dictated. Of course, Perry had his own ideas. Andre shut those thoughts down almost as soon as they arose. The life he’d forged here was too good to sully with thoughts on Perry and his betrayal. Sure, it might be transitory, but it was still real, more real, in fact, than much of the last few years. He could choose to block out the bad. It was just a matter of willpower. To help with the loneliness of not having Thomas around, he clung to Amy more than usual. She was bright and cheerful, not like she’d been that morning. Her episode at breakfast had hardly been unique, but he still wasn’t sure what it was specifically that had set Thomas off. Mention of his father? The mess? He was afraid to ask. He didn’t even know if it was his place to dig for answers. Regardless, he helped her sort through her yarns for a new project, then tipped out her button jar to help her choose what she wanted for embellishment. He’d never get to see the sweater she kept talking about, but he loved the excitement in her voice as she spoke about surprising Thomas with it for Christmas. 101

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Too bad Thomas couldn’t hear it, too. It might have been just what he needed after that morning. “Now what color would you like?” Her question took a moment to sink in. He’d been lost in thought, wondering how much luck Thomas was having at the library. The last thing he’d expected was for her conversation to shift to him. At his obvious befuddlement, she laughed. “Don’t tell me you don’t like sweaters.” He reached for his pad. Why would you give me a sweater? “Because my Social Security only goes so far. And it gets cold here in winter. You need something to keep you warm.” He didn’t have the heart to tell her he wouldn’t be here in December. Instead, he tried, Ask me again when you’ve finished Thomas’s. Her smile softened. “You’re as bad as he is. Always trying to do for others first.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice, as if somebody was in the next room and could overhear what she was about to say. “He doesn’t think I know, but I do. That’s one lesson he never really learned. You can’t keep secrets. Not in this house.” For a second, he thought she referred to him. But that was impossible. He’d been so careful. Thomas had only discovered the truth because Andre hadn’t been strong enough to hold the shift in front of him. The swell of all that raw emotion was more powerful. “I don’t mind,” she went on. “He thinks I do, but he’s my boy. I just want him to be happy.” The dry whisper of her hand as she patted his cheek was gentle, almost tender. His throat closed in reaction to the rush of affection. “You’ll be good for him. I know.” This. This was what Thomas should’ve seen. She was entirely lucid. Andre was positive of that. She’d had other periods, but this 102

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was such a different side to her, like they were co-conspirators and protectors of everything Thomas, it was like meeting a brand new woman. His hand shook a little as he wrote, Why don’t you tell him? Her smile faded, and she fidgeted with the yarn in her lap, winding the loose end around the tip of her finger. “Because he might leave sooner if I do that. Look at how long it took him to come see me now. I want to make this visit last.” She looked up, a sudden fear in her eyes. “But you’ll make sure he comes back for Christmas, right? I have to give him his sweater.” What was he supposed to say to that? Anything remotely truthful would hurt her. So he lied and nodded, all the while wishing it didn’t have to be so. *

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Pushing the keyboard back, Thomas rested his elbows on the edge of the student desk he sat at and rubbed at his tired eyes. Too much information and not enough of the hopeful kind. He’d scrolled through directories and forums in search of anything remotely local and come up with exactly nothing. Apparently, people in remote corners of the state just put up with their problems on their own rather than sought out help from others. He was pretty sick of that kind of stoic blindness. He would probably have better luck farther south, but traveling to Muskegon or Grand Rapids on the vague hope that he’d find somebody who understood what he was going through and could actually help left him tired just thinking about. Andre was the only one who might be willing to listen—scratch that, he was sure 103

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Andre would listen, but he didn’t want to do that, either. Andre had his own shit to deal with. He was already a rock with Mom anyway. Dumping on him would accomplish nothing but wear them both out. After clearing out the history on the computer, he logged off and stood, stretching to work out the kinks in his back. The clock over the librarian’s desk read five-twenty. He’d stayed a lot longer than he’d anticipated. Dinner would be waiting on him at home, but at least he felt like he’d had enough of a break to deal with another meltdown if there was one. He nodded at the librarian as he passed, a middle-aged woman he couldn’t identify though somewhere in the back of his mind lurked the suggestion that he probably should. She might’ve been somebody he’d known in his youth, marked too much by time for him to recognize. Such a fickle mistress, time was, picking and choosing who it would touch and who it would leave alone to pass the years in a static mire. He could ID some people he hadn’t seen or thought about in decades, while others remained strangers when he knew they really weren’t. And then there was Mom, bouncing between the two extremes. Early evening humidity smacked him in the face as soon as he stepped beyond the doors of the air-conditioned library. Thomas grimaced and quickened his pace. His shirt collar stuck to his neck by the time he reached his car, but as he unlocked the door, someone called his name out from across the street. Pastor Schmader huffed as he approached, his face red and gleaming with sweat. “I’m glad I caught you,” he wheezed. “Carol told me you were in town, but I got stuck helping Leah Findley deal with that son of hers.” He hooked a thumb behind him at the hardware store he’d just emerged from. “Between you and me, 104

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Mellowbush will be a much better place once we’ve seen the back of that little thug.” Against his will, Thomas smiled. Pastor would go to his grave, saying it like it was. “I was just heading home. Did you want to come out and see Mom? You’re more than welcome to come for dinner. I even promise to be nicer company than I was the other night.” He crossed mental fingers that there would be enough to feed an extra mouth, but the notion of somebody else to help with Mom tonight was too appealing to ignore. “No, no,” Pastor said. “I just wanted to see how you’re dealing with it.” His stomach knotted. “The other night wasn’t about Mom, if that’s what you’re thinking.” “I know it’s not easy seeing her like this.” “I’m managing.” “Still—” “I said, I’m managing.” When his voice came out sharper than he intended, he winced. Pastor was just trying to help. “It’s taking time,” he tried again, forcing his tone to soften. “It’s easier when she just forgets things in the moment.” Pity flitted in Pastor’s eyes. “What about when she forgets other things? How are you dealing then?” Taking a deep breath didn’t really help. “Not well,” he admitted. “She called me Tommy this morning.” Few would know the significance of it. Pastor was one of the small circle who’d heard George Durling’s tirades firsthand. He’d been the only one to ever call him Tommy. “A sissy boy gets a sissy name,” he’d declared. Usually right before he threw something at Thomas’s head. “Your mother loves you,” Pastor assured. “She stood by you, 105

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even when it got rough. Hell, she’d stand by you even now if she knew what people have been saying.” “What was that?” All thoughts of his own troubles disappeared. “What are they saying?” “It’s nothing.” “You said they’re talking.” Everything rushed down to this moment, this place. He didn’t even feel the heat anymore. His skin was too busy prickling in righteous anger. “Talking about what?” Pastor looked like a man who wished he could be anywhere but where he stood. “Stupid stuff. You know what this town’s like. Every time you come back, you’re everybody’s favorite topic.” Bitterness laced his tone. “I’ve done everything short of telling people they’re going to hell for being such narrow-minded bigots, but they never listen. They don’t like different here.” “You mean, they don’t like gay.” “Which to them is different.” “So what am I supposed to have done this time? I’ve only come into town a couple times. I haven’t even talked to much of anyone since I got back except you and… ” That’s when it dawned on him. If he’d felt sick before, he was downright nauseous now. “This is about me and Andre. People are assuming the worst.” “It’s been a slow gossip season. You two have been the most exciting thing to hit town since Rudy got picked up for drunk driving last New Year’s on his way back from the casino.” “Us two? I didn’t even know who he was a week ago.” “They don’t care. Look, you’re both good men, and if something happens between you, then that’s your business, not theirs. Remember that, Thomas.” Pastor could say that because he wasn’t the one on the other end of the bigot stick, but Thomas was sick and tired of people 106

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trying to manipulate his life to suit their own needs. His ex and the drugs. Locals and their driving fear of anything different. He could leave Mellowbush behind and put his mother in a care facility so he never had to come back, but it resolved nothing. Andre would still be running from the world, Mom would still be retreating from it, and Thomas would be back where he’d started, minus his mother and new friend. Time to take a stand and do what was right.

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CHAPTER 11 Dinnertime came and went with no sign of Thomas. Amy didn’t seem to notice, slipping into their earlier routines when it had just been the two of them, no more mention of their conversations that afternoon. When she insisted Andre take seconds of the meatloaf they had made together, he had to force down each bite. The meat lodged in his throat, then settled like rocks in his stomach. By the time they cleared the table, he felt like he was going to be sick. Throughout the washing up, he kept glancing out the window. The shadows were lengthening, dusk approaching. It wouldn’t be full dark for several hours, but the library would have closed before they’d sat down to eat. He could only hope that Thomas had found what he’d been looking for and sought them out in person. 108

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Amy said good night at her usual time, surprising Andre with an affectionate kiss on the cheek before retiring to her bedroom. The itch to shift and go out in search of Thomas increased, but leaving Amy alone wasn’t an option. The best he could manage was sitting on the front porch and watching the sky darken and the occasional car whiz by on the way into town. Headlights slashed across the horizon just before midnight. Andre leaned forward, craning his neck to watch the car advance. Every once in a while, the beams would disappear, blocked out by foliage lining the road. When they vanished like that, his heart pounded, hard enough to hurt. Please be Thomas. He exhaled slowly at the sound of the gravel crunching beneath the tires as it pulled into the driveway. For a brief moment, the lights on the dashboard reflected onto Thomas’s face, casting him in grim shadows, but those blacked out when he killed the motor. It might’ve been silly, but Andre stood and came to the edge of the porch, gripping the wooden railing with enough force to drive a splinter into his palm. Thomas was home. Everything was all right. No smile brightened Thomas’s face when their eyes met, but it wasn’t distance Andre saw reflected there, either. More than anything else, it was a quiet resolution. The plastic bag he carried rustled as he walked up to the house. “I wasn’t sure you’d be up.” Thomas paused on the bottom step. “I’m sorry if you’ve worried. I thought about calling, but then Mom would’ve picked up the phone and I couldn’t really have her repeat anything I might’ve said to you.” At least Thomas had considered the lateness of the hour, as well as Andre’s feelings on his wellbeing. He reached for his notepad in his back pocket, but Thomas caught his wrist and shook 109

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his head. “I don’t want to do this in front of all creation.” He nodded around the side of the house. “Let’s go out back.” Andre would have followed him anywhere. No telltale scents clung to Thomas to reveal where he might have been, and the shape in the bag was too uniform to discern what he carried. As hard as it was, Andre kept his curiosity and concern in check. Thomas would tell him when he was ready, though when they finally came to a stop next to the old swing set, Andre was poised to pounce. “Do you have any family left at all?” The question wasn’t what he expected. Had Thomas run into some of Perry’s scouts in Mellowbush? Was it time for Andre to move on? No more secrets, they’d decided, but how did he go about explaining a psychotic cousin who wanted him dead because he was the only one who would reveal the truth about what had happened to their real pack leader? He shrugged. He didn’t know what else to say. Thomas took it in stride, though. “Where are you going after you leave Mellowbush?” That’s when it dawned. Thomas was trying to get rid of him. He shrugged again, trying desperately to make it look nonchalant. It wasn’t like he ever planned anything. He just picked a direction and drove. “I don’t think this will be the friendliest place anymore.” With a sigh, he dropped the bag to the ground and leaned against the iron post, the aging metal creaking beneath his weight. “People in this town see me and automatically think the worst.” He didn’t need to pull out his notepad yet. He knew Thomas understood the sign for, Why? 110

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“Because my father hated the fact that I was gay and badmouthed me every chance he got. People in small towns have long memories.” Enough was enough. He whipped out the pad and scrawled his annoyed response. They don’t know you. Thomas had to squint to read it in the faint light that came from the house, then shook his head. “They don’t care.” I don’t care. “You should. What if they make you the target of their next witch hunt? They could find out about the wolf.” Are you trying to make me leave? Again? “I don’t want you getting hurt when Mom and I go!” The sharpness of his voice cut through the night, startling both of them. With a frustrated snarl, Thomas rubbed at his face before taking a leveling breath. “People are starting to talk about us. Which means they’ve noticed you. Which means you’ve now been officially labeled, whether the label is true or not, because nobody in this damn town gives a flying fuck about privacy, or truth, or what really matters.” He might have been thrilled to hear that Thomas cared enough to be concerned if he hadn’t started out with the declaration he was taking Amy away from here. That had been the intent from the start, after all, whether Andre had known it or not. All the peace and happiness he’d found here was about to be ripped away from him, sooner than he’d anticipated. His dejection must’ve been obvious. Thomas took the pad out of his hand and tossed it to the ground, then hauled Andre against him. It hurt from how tightly his arms wrapped around Andre’s back, but it was the good kind of hurt, the sort of aching rib comfort he’d needed without realizing. 111

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Thomas buried his face in Andre’s neck. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “You didn’t need this shit.” Andre would have laughed if he could. That a few narrowminded people could be any kind of real threat when he had wolves at his heels was ridiculous. As it was, he still had to shake his head in disagreement. Thomas didn’t acknowledge it. His lips were moving over the bare patches of skin he could reach, his cock hardening where it rubbed against Andre’s hip. “I wanted more time, but I don’t think we’re going to get it.” There was never enough time, not to run, not to hide, not to live. Andre had come to accept that long ago, even when he wished otherwise, but it was a lesson Thomas clearly hadn’t needed before now. Better to take advantage of the moments they had than lose what opportunities fate had decided to give them. He slid his hands down to cup Thomas’s ass, shifting on the balls of his feet to better align their cocks. The flesh clenched beneath his palms, creating the same contractions inside his own body, and Thomas groaned. “One of the things I did while I was out was get lube and condoms.” He licked up the side of Andre’s neck, not stopping when he reached his ear. Shivers set in deep in Andre’s gut, and he held his breath as Thomas continued to explore into his hairline. “I made you a promise last night.” Yes, the kind of promise to make him forget about lives getting uprooted and being forced to move on again, to help him forget everything that had driven him to this moment and this place. He would have preferred fucking Thomas, but he’d had his turn to be the alpha last time. It was Thomas’s turn. Thomas’s time. He relaxed his hands, letting them skim to the sides, tracing 112

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along the firm edge of the denim waistband. Muscles twitched wherever he touched, and Thomas’s ragged breath fluttered through his hair. “Out here.” Thomas pulled back far enough to meet Andre with a bemused smile. “Unless fucking under the moon brings your wolf out. In which case, we better get inside before I can’t stop myself.” Andre glanced up. The moon was only now coming out, fat but not quite full where it gleamed like silver against the pinpricked sky. In a few days, it would be much harder to resist the change. Tonight wouldn’t be impossible. Besides, he strongly suspected Thomas’s human touch would help keep him grounded in this form. To answer Thomas’s question, he let him go, peeling away enough to grab the hem of his shirt. He whipped it over his head and tossed it onto the swing set, his nipples tightening to hard, little points at the cooler rush of air. Thomas’s gaze dropped, past the scars Andre hated so much, to linger hungrily on the expanse of his chest. The tip of his tongue appeared between his teeth, running along their edges, and his nostrils flared, like he was the wolf capable of scenting Andre’s arousal and not the other way around. “You’re so damn beautiful.” His rough voice was a caress all on its own, its timbre enough to arouse Andre even more. His eyes lifted, and the emotion swirling in their depths nearly knocked Andre off his feet. “In both bodies.” His knees buckled, and Thomas snatched him up to keep him from falling to the ground. In his experience, lovers only cared about getting off, about finding their own release. An attractive partner was a bonus, not necessarily a requirement. None had ever 113

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known about his wolf form, but he was sure that if they did, they wouldn’t have been as eager or willing. They probably would’ve called him a freak. Two or three had done that to his human face, too. Thomas was the first to embrace both. Andre might sometimes pray that he didn’t have to be a shifter for the peace it would offer, but it was still a part of him. Thomas knew that. Thomas wanted him anyway. Together, they opened his jeans and pushed them off. Thomas forced him to slow down, allowing his fingertips to dip into the warm crevices at the junction of his groin, to stroke across Andre’s balls, already sensitive and heavy with the need to come. He had no choice but to stand there and take it, quivering like a reed in the wind as Thomas explored. His arm remained firmly behind Andre’s waist, holding him upright, but his free hand was everywhere else—knuckles burning down his flank, fingers pushing behind his balls to stroke the hollow between his buttocks. Andre gulped for breath and clutched at Thomas’s shoulder, riveted to the spot by the way Thomas never looked away. Because he saw more than he was sure Thomas intended. His eyesight was keener than a normal human’s, just like his other senses, a fact he hadn’t actually discussed with Thomas. If they had, he was positive Thomas wouldn’t have been as open as he was. He would’ve held back the remorse and affection that now burned in the blue irises. He wouldn’t have laid any of it bare. That led to vulnerability, a state neither one of them cared for. And yet, here they were. One naked and waiting in the physical sense, the other exposed emotionally. Their mouths met. He didn’t know who moved first. Everything seemed to happen all at the same time, the recognition 114

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of their need more mutual than anything else. Lips parted in synchronicity, tips of tongues touched. Just the slightest of glances, hardly the desperation that marked their previous kisses, but just as fulfilling, maybe even more so, fueled as it was by the knowledge of what had just happened and what was yet to come. Thomas backed him up, slowly, step by step, until his shoulders brushed against the swing set’s cooling metal frame. His hold eased for a moment, long enough for him to crouch down and root around in the bag. The ruffling plastic overcame all other sounds, sending shivers of anticipation through Andre’s body. When Thomas straightened again, he held the lube, and he flipped the lid with expert fingers as he reached around to slip back between Andre’s buttocks. “Turn around and brace yourself.” The command was gentle, but still undeniable. As difficult as it was to turn away from Thomas’s haunted eyes, he obeyed without hesitation. This was the kind of sex he was used to, though he tried to top as often as he could. It felt right for Thomas to fall into feral behavior, like he was stepping over the line to join Andre rather than watching from the other side. When Andre reached overhead to grip the A-line frame, Thomas hissed. A moment later, hands smoothed over Andre’s stretched muscles, kneading for a moment along his spine, then skimming back up to caress the bunched knots nearer his neck. “I don’t know how anybody could have ever hurt you,” he said. “It would’ve been like breaking up Michelangelo’s David.” He wanted to tell Thomas that he wasn’t the only one gorgeous one here, but that would’ve meant letting go and searching for his notepad when interruptions were the last thing he wanted. So he simply accepted the compliment and made a mental note to share 115

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with Thomas later, after they were done, when they were entangled in bed together and sleep was on the horizon. At the first probe of his opening, he spread his legs farther apart and squeezed his eyes shut. Thomas’s fingers were already slick—when he found time to lubricate them, Andre had no idea— and they skimmed over his hole without penetrating in long, easy strokes. Andre clenched in anticipation of what was to come, then sighed in bliss when Thomas massaged the ring of muscle into relaxing. He could take a lot when he got fucked, but knowing Thomas was prepared to make this as painless as he could had him even more eager to get him inside. Though Thomas began with a single finger, he added two more within moments. His knuckles grazed over Andre’s skin, pushing against the back of his balls when he was buried as deep as he could go, tickling across the light hairs along the crack when he withdrew. The sound of foil tearing came in the midst of it, but Thomas didn’t let rolling the condom interrupt his careful stretching. He wanted more than this. He needed Thomas to take him, to feel the force of his mate’s desire all the way to his toes. For all he knew, this was going to be it, all he’d ever get. He wanted it hard enough to make forgetting impossible. He held his breath when Thomas pulled away, bracing for the entry to come. Against his palms, the gritty rust of years of weathering ground into his skin, but he welcomed the sensation. These were memories, pieces of Thomas he wouldn’t have once they parted ways. He’d treasure them, just as he treasured the trust Thomas had shown, and wish until the day he died that things could be different. Thomas bent over Andre’s back, his arms wrapping around his 116

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chest. In the space of time when they’d been apart, he’d stripped down, too, and now his bare flesh molded with Andre’s. He nosed in Andre’s hair, bestowing small kisses along the sinew of his neck, and rocked his hips gently against him, his cock gliding up and down Andre’s crack. “I wish I could keep you,” Thomas whispered. Everything in Andre stopped. The few words held as much longing as filled his heart, but despair was there, too, a resignation that the world was fucking around with them yet again. Andre let his head fall forward so he could hide behind his hair in case Thomas tried to search his face. He couldn’t let Thomas see how badly he wanted the same thing, or how much it hurt knowing it couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t make this more difficult for Thomas than it already had to be. Thomas angled his hips to allow the tip of his cock to slide downward, stopping as if on instinct over Andre’s hole. His hands lowered, too, lightly grasping Andre’s hips, and with a smooth thrust forward, he breached the tight ring. A silent gasp escaped Andre’s lips as the burn flared through his groin. Thomas immediately stilled and pressed his mouth back to Andre’s shoulder. “Hold on,” he murmured. Anyone with half a brain knew he didn’t mean that literally, but Andre’s grip tightened anyway, a direct contrast to the way he deliberately relaxed all his muscles. Thomas slipped farther in without having to push, then took control back and sheathed the last remaining inches. His balls swung with the momentum, slapping the back of Andre’s thighs. Both men shuddered at the slight contact. “Jesus… ” Thomas rested his forehead against the sharp blade 117

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of Andre’s shoulder. His hot breath wafted downward, heating already saturated skin to the boiling point, while the flex of his fingers betrayed his shaky nerves. “I expected good, but I didn’t expect this.” Neither had Andre. Thomas’s cock was nestled perfectly within him, no awkward angles to provide discomfort. He was filled more completely than he’d imagined, stretched to the breaking point before Thomas had even moved. He would have squirmed if he wasn’t strung so taut, pinned as effectively against Thomas as he was the swing set. Thomas was the one who had to do it first. A minute passed. Dozens of beats of his heart followed. He thought it would explode before Thomas finally made the move, easing out of his constricting channel with the languor of a man who had all the time in the world. A lie, of course, but Andre would let it slide. Because the longer Thomas took, the longer it would be before they had to separate for good. Their rhythm was slow and shallow at first, more of a rocking than actual strokes. It gave them time to fully adjust to their position, to the way they fit together, even though Andre thought it unnecessary. He couldn’t lift his head. He didn’t dare. One twist to meet Thomas’s eyes, and he was done for. The almost tender merge of their bodies was too much of a reminder of the potential they could’ve had, the passions they could’ve shared. As Thomas’s strokes gained momentum, the swing set began to creak. A flurry of birds took off from a nearby tree, calling to Andre’s wolf to take pursuit, not for the hunt but for the play, the freedom that he felt under the hands of his mate. The urge to howl had never been as great as it was right then. Andre swallowed repeatedly to try and contain the energies rising within his flesh. 118

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Thomas must have felt it or something, because his embrace changed. He let go of Andre’s hips and folded one arm across his chest, his other hand straying to Andre’s bobbing cock. “I know,” he said, and his voice was like deep red wine, rich and warm beyond belief. “It’s not just you.” How did he know? How could he always tell? Andre yearned to ask, but even if he’d been able to speak, he lacked the control to do anything but give himself over to the fiery ecstasy already straining for its release. He clenched on every thrust Thomas made, offering enough resistance to make the claim worth it, and was rewarded with harder strokes that tore into him like there was nowhere else Thomas needed to be. Right then, there wasn’t. This was it. It didn’t get more perfect than this. Except he was wrong. Because Thomas pulled at his cock with the same fervent strength he slammed into his ass until Andre’s world imploded. He arched backward as he came, his head knocking against Thomas’s when Thomas didn’t get out of the way in time. His mouth opened as if to scream, but then there was Thomas, stealing what little air he had as his hungry kiss fused them together. When Thomas nipped at his lips, Andre bit back, too wracked from the violence of his orgasm to think straight. He shuddered at the jerk of Thomas’s cock against his ass. A moment later, Thomas went rigid, groans filling both of them as he shot into the condom. They stayed like that, their kisses gradually slowing, then softening, until Thomas licked one final time across Andre’s bottom lip and pulled back. Andre’s mouth felt raw from the scrape of his beard, but the sting faded to nothing when their eyes locked. Thomas’s shone. That was the only way to describe it. Better 119

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yet, he wore the carefree smile Andre had admired long before he’d ever met the man. “This is one of the few times I’m glad Mom lives in the middle of nowhere,” he said. At the unexpected joke, Andre burst into a matching smile. He nodded, then glanced at the back door. “I’d still like to sleep with you,” Thomas said, correctly interpreting his query. “This doesn’t take the place of that.” That was what he’d hoped for, but he’d needed to be sure. “We’ll have to talk tomorrow.” Though his tone grew solemn, enough of the smile remained to temper his words. “But right now, I’d like to keep pretending everything’s going to work out just the way I want it to.” He was dying to ask what specifically that might be, but too afraid the truth would hurt more than it helped. Easing his grip on the frame, he reached to catch Thomas’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together heedless of the particles that clung to his skin. He squeezed. Just once. Thomas squeezed back. As far as Andre was concerned, tomorrow could take its own sweet time in coming.

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CHAPTER 12 They sat at the kitchen table, fresh coffees between them, while Mom bustled around at the counter, working on a batch of cupcakes for supper. A jovial mood had pervaded the morning, and though Thomas avoided spoiling it as long as possible, enjoying the jokes and warmth for the gift they were, he couldn’t outrun reality, no matter how much he wanted to. “You haven’t asked me about where I was last night.” Though he pitched his voice low to keep from pulling her into the conversation, he didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep this to himself. Sooner or later, she would need to be told. Andre lifted a single shoulder in an uninterested shrug, the first gesture of the day to suggest he wasn’t as entirely relaxed as he could be. His notepad rested nearby, but he made no move to pick 121

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it up. Thomas gritted his teeth in frustration. “We need to talk about this, damn it. It’s about you, too.” “What’s about him?” Shit, his tone had hardened and caught Mom’s attention. She’d been sharp ever since finding them on the front porch greeting the sunrise, like the mother he’d always known. He knew it was temporary, that her memory could slip on her at any moment, but if he had to discuss the matter of their future, perhaps it was better to do it when she’d understand all the ramifications of what he had to say. Pushing back his chair, he rose and crossed to the cupboard where he’d stashed the bag he’d brought home last night, minus the condoms and lube. “Take a break, Mom. You should hear this, too.” She frowned, but did as he asked, wiping her hands on a towel and perching on the edge of the third seat. “What’s that?” She nodded at the folder he pulled out of the bag. “Just paperwork.” Just. Ha. Their futures were tied up in the pieces of paper he carried back to the table. “It’s about the house.” Andre’s sudden stillness could only indicate how wary he was of this topic, but Mom seemed oblivious to it. “There can’t be any problems with the bank. Your father’s life insurance took care of the mortgage.” Further proof that she was in the perfect state of mind to talk about this. She might not remember it tonight or tomorrow, but he could make this decision knowing she was fully aware of all the ramifications. “I know, Mom.” The top sheet was filled with his careful handwriting, made more angular by the haste at which he’d been 122

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taking notes. “I made a call last night to a friend of mine in Philly. A lawyer friend. I wanted to get his advice on what the best way would be for us to let Andre live here.” She glanced between them and frowned. “He already lives here.” “I don’t mean now.” He took a deep breath. “I mean after you move back with me to Pennsylvania.” “I’m not going anywhere. This is my home.” Her reaction was exactly what he’d expected. Andre’s was not. His hand shot forward and caught her from getting up. Once he had her attention, he pointed first to his ear, then to Thomas. Listen to him. He’d anticipated resistance, though now that he thought about it, he hadn’t given Andre enough credit. Mom’s welfare had been his focus all along. “Mom, I’ve talked to your doctor. I know how many meds you’re taking now—” “I dare you to find anybody in Mellowbush who’s my age who isn’t taking some kind of medication.” “That’s not my point.” “Do you need money? You want to try selling the house?” “It’s not money, either. This is about you. About somebody taking care of you.” Her jaw set, her eyes flashing with anger. “Don’t you take that tone with me, young man. I can take care of myself, thank you very much.” “But you can’t,” he snapped, then bit his tongue. This wasn’t working. He was only putting her on the defensive. “Look, do you even know what kind of medication you’re on?” 123

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“Of course, I do. I’m not stupid.” “So you know what the Aricept is for.” For the first time, she seemed to falter. She glanced at Andre for a split second, though he hadn’t moved from where he held her wrist. “It’s just the usual stuff. ‘Getting old’ stuff. My memory problems.” “Alzheimer’s is not the usual stuff, Mom.” He softened his tone, leaning forward so she could see how earnest he was. It was hard. This was hard. Probably the hardest thing he’d ever done. She was too proud of a woman to have to face what was happening to her so bluntly. “You know that’s what it is. That’s why Pastor had Andre helping you before I came to visit. Because sometimes the meds don’t work as well, and you forget things. And the last thing I want is for you to get hurt because of that.” “I’ve got Andre.” “Andre’s got his own problems to deal with.” He’d thought about it a lot after talking to Pastor. How unfair it was for Andre to be burdened with Thomas’s baggage. What it would mean on nights when he had to shift and leave Mom alone. Andre had been excellent for the interim, but he wasn’t the solution regardless of how much Thomas wanted him to be. “The way I see it, we have two options. You can come and live with me, or we can find someplace nice for you where there’s twenty-four hour care.” Her eyes narrowed. “You want to put me in a home?” “No, that’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid here. I can find plenty of people to keep you company back in Philly, and I’ve got an extra room so you’d have your own space. But if you say no, I’m not going to have a choice but to sell the house so I can pay for a care facility for you. That’s the last thing I want.” “You can’t sell my house!” 124

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Actually, he could. That had been another topic he’d discussed with David on the phone last night. With her diagnosis, there wasn’t a court around that wouldn’t give him legal control. Arguing that point wasn’t his intention, though. “I don’t want to,” he repeated. “And I don’t have to if you come back with me. We can hire Andre to act as a caretaker. That way, we can come back here whenever you want and Andre has someplace to live without having to rely on people like Pastor Schmader.” Both of them now stared at him like he was insane. This was part of why he’d wanted to talk to Andre alone first. If he could’ve sold him on the idea of taking care of the house, convincing Mom would’ve been easier because he’d have an ally. As it was, he had to sell this idea to both of them at the same time, because honestly, it wouldn’t work at all if Andre wasn’t on board. “Why do I have to go at all?” she said. “Why not just go back to Pennsylvania on your own and leave Andre here to keep on going like we were? We were doing just fine until you showed up.” Her words cut deep, though she was so straightforward it was impossible to tell if it had been intentional or not. And there was a grain of truth in it that he couldn’t actually argue with. “Because he’s not your son.” “He’s been around more than you have.” Okay, that had been deliberate. “Did you want me to hang around here and be miserable?” His face had gone hot with his sudden anger. “For God’s sake, Mom, Dad wasn’t the only one who couldn’t stand the fact that I’m gay. Why should I have to put up with that if I don’t have to?” “Because I needed you!” Her eyes glistened, bright with 125

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unshed tears. “Because all I ever had in this world was you and your dad, and then he died, and you took off, and I didn’t have anything left!” Yanking her arm free, she scraped her chair across the floor and stood. “You are not selling my house, Thomas. I won’t let you take that away from me, too.” He and Andre sat there stunned as she marched out of the room. A moment later, her bedroom door slammed. “Shit,” Thomas muttered. That had gone about as badly as it could. When the thought that hopefully she’d forget about it so he could try again passed through his mind, he groaned and dropped his head to rest on his folded arms. What a fucking selfish thought to have. Only assholes would use their mother’s Alzheimer’s as a means to manipulate them and get what they wanted. Paper rustled. Something poked him in his arm. He glanced up to see Andre’s notepad resting where he could read it. Why didn’t you tell me this last night? Thomas sighed. “Because I didn’t want to talk about it last night. I was tired, and I was pissed, and I meant what I said about wanting to pretend. The world fucking sucks sometimes.” Andre toyed with his pen, rolling it between his fingers as he regarded Thomas with sad eyes. Was that pity there? He didn’t want Andre’s pity. He wanted his support, maybe a thank you for thinking of him. “This is the best solution for everyone,” he continued. “Mom gets the attention she needs, you get a place to stay. Everybody wins.” The pen scratched across the paper. I’m not staying. “What do you mean, you’re not staying? Where else would you go?” I don’t stay anywhere too long. 126

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“Because of the money? You wouldn’t have to actually pay rent, you know. You’d get to live here for the cost of paying the bills. And I’m sure Pastor would throw work your way.” Money’s not the issue. “Then what is? Is it the wolf thing?” The way Andre looked down at the pad again gave him away. “You said you weren’t dangerous.” His head snapped back up. Fire flashed in those pale eyes, defiance and pride all rolled into one. I didn’t lie to you. “Then what?” He gestured toward the back door. “You’ve got all the room in the world to run around here. Be smart during hunting season, and you should have no problems.” It’s not that simple. “Why?” He didn’t get it. He honestly didn’t see how Andre could turn this down. “You’re healthy, you don’t have any other ties. Get me out of the picture, and people in town will go back to the way things were. Easy.” Andre shook his head. People never forget. Now he was just being stubborn. “What’s there for them to even remember? We’ve never been seen together, and it’s not like you have a record for them to use against you.” When Andre went still again, Thomas knew he’d revealed too much. But they’d promised honesty between them now, hadn’t they? He couldn’t very well lie. Andre’s knuckles were white from how tightly he gripped the pen. How do you know that? Saying the words was harder than he’d imagined. “I asked a friend to run a background check on you the night I got here. You didn’t really think I’d let a total stranger live in my mom’s house, did you?” 127

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Andre bolted from his chair so abruptly, it fell back and skidded halfway across the room, leaving a black smear across the linoleum floor. Thomas leapt after him, his only intent to keep him from running away. The check might have been sneaky, but he hadn’t known Andre then. He’d only done what was best for his mom. That was all he ever wanted. Why did nobody recognize that today? When he grabbed Andre’s arm, however, the muscles flexed viciously beneath his fingers as Andre flung him off like an annoying child. Thomas stumbled back and only stopped himself from falling on his ass by catching the edge of the counter. Echoes of the strength it took to throw him so easily reverberated through his body, and he froze, suddenly unwilling to be at the brunt of that force yet again. “Andre—” The rest of what he was going to say choked off in his throat when Andre swiveled his intense gaze in his direction. The anger he’d expected to find there was missing. In its stead was pure, unadulterated terror. The bonds holding his body prisoner vanished. He took a step forward to calm whatever he’d done to scare Andre, but his momentum propelled Andre through the kitchen doorway and down the hall, out of sight as he ran into his bedroom. Thomas followed, but within seconds, Andre re-emerged, his duffle thrown over his shoulder. “Andre,” he tried again, but he had no effect. Andre twisted out of his reach and went straight for the front door. “Andre! Let me explain.” He raced to catch up, but by the time he reached the doorway, Andre was already in his truck. The engine roared to life, and in a 128

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spit of loose gravel, he backed out of the driveway. The brakes squealed when he reversed direction. Thomas could only watch as he gunned the motor to shoot down the road. What had just happened here? Andre didn’t even give him the chance to explain. Except, that wasn’t it, he was sure of it. His actions had been intrusive, not terrifying. Nothing for Andre to be scared about, especially since there was so little to actually dig up. A birth certificate, hospital records, some vague references to family. On paper, Andre’s life was as boring as they came. Something fluttered at the corner of his eye. He turned to catch what it was and saw Mom standing at her window, gazing sadly at the empty driveway where Andre had just been. His heart twisted. He’d messed this up, big time. Mom hated him, he’d done something to run Andre off, and nothing was resolved. Worst of all, he was alone again. Because of what? What had he done? Trusted the wrong man? He doubted it, but until he knew for sure, the questions would haunt him. It was an excuse to run inside and grab his car keys, but Thomas didn’t care. He wouldn’t stop driving until he caught up with Andre and got the answers he needed. And then, he’d bring him back.

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CHAPTER 13 The needle on the truck’s gas gauge hovered at a quarter of a tank. As much as Andre would have loved to leave Mellowbush behind, he needed to fill up at the Amoco station first if he wanted to make it to the next gas station. This far north, his options were too limited. Rudy spotted him through the grimy windows and gave him a friendly wave. Though Andre acknowledged the greeting with a nod, his stomach dropped. He didn’t look forward to going into the store to pay for his gas. In and out. That’s what he wanted. What he needed. The sooner he got out of Mellowbush, the colder the trail would be when Perry found it. But Rudy was a talker under the worst of circumstances. The faster Andre tried to get out, the harder Rudy tried to keep him in. 130

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If only Thomas hadn’t run that background check. He couldn’t blame him. In his shoes, Andre would have done the same thing. But Perry had eyes everywhere. Online, offline, didn’t matter. Nowhere was safe. He even had someone on the inside at St. Joe’s in the event someone did exactly what Thomas had done. That damn hospital had helped point a huge arrow in his direction more than once since he’d run away, and now, Thomas’s cautious nature would send up smoke signals all over again. Running was his only choice if he wanted to stay ahead in the chase. He had his money ready when he walked up to the counter, sliding it across without looking up. Rudy lumbered off his stool to come up to the cash register, his gum smacking as he grinned. “How much you want back?” he asked. Andre shook his head, waggling his fingers at the money for Rudy to take it. His brows shot up. “That much gas will get you almost all the way to Lansing. You running some errands for Mrs. Durling or something?” It was as good an excuse as any. Before he could nod, though, the door opened, letting in a blast of hot air. And Pastor Schmader. “Hey there, Rudy.” The two men nodded in greeting, but Pastor’s smile was turned on full-beam for Andre. “Well, you just might be the last person I expected to see in town today, son.” The smile he returned felt brittle, as fragile as his warring nerves. He’d do anything to just bolt by Pastor and avoid more conversation, but he owed the man more courtesy than that after everything he’d done for Andre. For starters, he’d helped find Thomas, even if Andre had to walk away from his mate now. That alone merited taking the time to give Pastor what he wanted. 131

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His fingers flew in response. I needed gas. “Going somewhere?” Errands for Amy. The lie was perfect, even if it made him like a shit for confirming it. She needs some yarn they don’t have in town. “I’m surprised Thomas didn’t run and get it.” He was out all day yesterday. “Well, sure, but what about your guest?” Andre forgot about Rudy and getting gas and what it was like to lie to a reverend. All he heard was guest, and the rest of the world stopped like someone had killed the power on the jukebox. His hands shook. What guest? “That man who stopped by the Lighthouse this morning. He told me you’d called to borrow some money, but he’d lost the directions you’d given him out to the Durlings.” I didn’t call anyone. Pastor frowned. “Well, he knew Thomas was visiting, and he had the address. He even had an old picture of you in his wallet. Said you two were cousins or something.” It had to be Perry. Or one of Perry’s flunkies. The back of his throat burned at the thought of how close he’d cut it this time, only for another thought to terrorize him even more. They wouldn’t find him. They’d find Amy and Thomas. With his scent all over them. The world sped back into normal play. Andre darted around Pastor and ran for the door, flat-handing it with a force that sent it flying on its hinge in spite of its weight. Vaguely, he heard Rudy call after him about his money, but his head was elsewhere, his focus on getting back to the house before it was too late. Pastor hadn’t said how long ago he’d spoken to his so-called 132

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cousin. Andre had to hope it was recent. He’d run from Thomas less than fifteen minutes ago. He could make it back in less than ten if he pushed it. Twenty-five minutes. A lot could happen in that time span. A father could be killed. A lover could be lost. A life could be forever altered. He pushed the accelerator all the way to the floor. Not this time. *

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The weeds he’d pulled would eventually grow back, but for now, the driveway was visible from half a mile away. That meant he saw the second car parked behind Thomas’s long enough in advance to pull over. His tires crunched against the loose shoulder as he yanked to a stop. Without taking his eyes off the shiny silver Lexus, he ripped the keys out of the ignition and tossed them beneath the passenger seat. His clothes came off next, a seam tearing on his shirt as he cast it aside. He didn’t care. The important thing was to make the shift. If this was Perry or one of his flunkies, he was no match in his human form. And he couldn’t allow anybody to threaten Thomas or Amy. They were his. His family. His pack. His mate. Scrambling out of the passenger side, he barely made the scrub lining the road before he fell onto his hands and knees. Forcing the shift was hard enough outside of the full moon, but doing it during the day doubled the effort. His skin felt like it was in flames as his 133

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fur sprouted from his pores. The drying grass dug into his palms as he clawed at the earth for support, but the scratches were nothing compared to the ache of his bones stretching. Soon, he couldn’t even feel them as the thick pads formed along his paws. He’d only ever known pain like this once before. The first time, he’d survived out of sheer luck. Now, he focused on the threat to Thomas and Amy to weather the transformation. For their sakes, he needed to be strong. He’d failed his father. He would not fail again. His ragged panting reverberated through his body. The change was complete, but his legs were wobbly from the tremors still wracking through him. Andre braced his front legs against the slope of the ditch and pushed up onto all fours. His stomach heaved. The only way to keep from getting sick was to clamp his jaw shut. He emerged from the ditch with his senses awhirl. He could count on one hand how many times he’d been wolf during the day, so he wasn’t prepared for the tumult that clouded his head. Scents and sounds and sights, all bound up in the warm summer breeze that ruffled his fur and twisted them together until he could barely pull them apart. The smell of the truck overran everything else, though, and he padded away, putting distance between them so he could root out who might be at the house. Not that he had any doubts. Too much added up to bad news. He stayed in the ditch, belly low to the ground as he loped along, out of sight in the event Perry was watching or had lookouts. The lone car suggested not, but Andre refused to trust the possibility. Lives were at stake. His scent was all over the house. Perry could take them hostage, or worse if he decided he didn’t like Thomas’s attitude. What if Amy’s lucidity slipped away in the 134

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time Andre had been gone? She could reveal too much without ever meaning to. He quickened his pace. Time was his enemy as much as Perry was. Twenty yards from the house, he caught a whiff on the wind that sent his hackles up. Wolf. Definitely. A few more feet and he was sure it was Perry. He flew across the road, a silver streak against the shimmering concrete. The front door was too open. The creaky porch would give him away as much as his scent would. His best chance to take Perry by surprise was the rear, though if the screen was locked, tearing it open would be all the warning Perry needed. Muffled voices emanated from the house. Slinking around the corner, he cocked his ears to try and separate them. Two men, for sure. He couldn’t hear Amy. Counting scents was easier. Amy’s sugary warmth. Perry’s heavy cologne that could never quite mask the stink of his arrogance. Thomas and his wondrous musk, that mixture of sun and earth that seemed so much like home. The back door was open. Words became distinct as he crept closer. “… for Andre to find?” At the sound of Perry’s voice, his lip curled back in a silent growl. He hated no one in this world like he did this wolf, for all the pain he’d caused, for the lives he’d taken and wrecked. To hear him so nonchalant now… His nose twitched. Something else was becoming clear. Blood. Freshly spilled. Thomas’s. *

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Thomas cradled his bleeding hand against his chest, glaring at the man who blocked the front door. He didn’t bother hiding his fury. If anyone deserved it, it was the one responsible for so much of Andre’s grief, and if goading Perry Nezat gave Andre time to get farther away, Thomas was more than happy to do it. “You’re an idiot,” he spat. “Andre isn’t even here.” “For now,” Perry conceded. “But he’ll be back. He’s marked this entire property as his.” The corner of his narrow mouth tipped. The physical similarities to Andre were distorted, like someone had picked up a clay version of Andre and squished him to make this cousin. The pale eyes that haunted Thomas’s dreams were small and beady, glittering with a half-mad intelligence that would have put him off even if he hadn’t known the guy was a wolf. He had the same rangy body, but a slight pull across his midsection suggested a softer life, like he was too busy barking orders rather than defending them. “Though he picked a good hiding place this time. My scouts were convinced he’d gone south. It would’ve taken me months to find him if you hadn’t gotten nosy.” “This is Andre’s home.” Thomas tried not to cringe. Mom hadn’t stopped talking since Perry had arrived. At first, he’d been glad for the diversion. He’d thought it would be enough to get the knife out of Perry’s hand, the one he’d pulled as soon as Thomas tried to force his way past to get to the car. He’d been wrong. Perry was just as strong, just as fast, as Andre. The blade had cut deeply across his palm. When Perry turned his chilling smile toward her, though, he was ready to attack again. “That’s what I’m counting on, ma’am. Good dogs always find their way back.” “Not when they’re on the run, they don’t.” At least he understood why Andre had been so skittish about Thomas’s 136

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proposal, and why he never settled down. He just wished Andre had trusted him enough to tell him the truth from the start. “Except he thinks he’s safe.” He sniffed pointedly at the air. “Andre’s a mongrel for a whole host of reasons, but I don’t think even he would leave his mate behind.” “His what?” “Mate. Well, you probably think of it as lover or partner or whatever gay word whitewashes it for you, but you’re still his mate.” Andre hadn’t used any kind of word at all, and Thomas had done everything in his power not to think beyond the immediate future. He couldn’t risk hurting his heart by going gaga over someone so transitory—let alone a wolf—but hearing Perry’s label forced the door to all those emotions open. Mate. It answered questions he hadn’t realized he’d been asking. Why couldn’t Andre have said something instead of taking off? Except he already knew why. Andre’s first instinct was survival. Everything else was secondary. “You can do with us whatever you want. It won’t change the fact that you’re too late.” A bluff, because if he made any kind of move toward Mom, Thomas would tear him apart. A crash sounded from the backyard. Perry’s gaze snapped past Thomas, his nostrils flaring. When Mom half-rose from her chair, Thomas stepped to place himself between her and Perry, but his attention was on the kitchen doorway, too. It couldn’t be Andre. He hadn’t heard the truck that always rumbled like it was dying. Perry’s grin said he believed otherwise. “Stupid mutt thought he could surprise me from behind.” He tightened his grip on the knife, edging forward. When he reached 137

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level with Thomas, he jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Let’s go say hi, shall we?” Better him than Mom. Without taking his eyes off Perry, he closed the distance between them, creating an easy path to the front door. His keys still sat on the front table. Hopefully, she’d grab them and make a run for it. As soon as he was within reach, Perry caught him by the scruff and hauled him in front. “Just in case Andre decides to leap before he looks.” The scent of cigarette smoke filtered from his breath. Thomas’s stomach churned as much from that as fear for Andre. He stumbled once, but quickly righted himself. Out of the corner of his eye, the blade glinted from stray light streaming through the window, but it was too far out of reach to try making a play for it even if he thought for a second he might be able to take Perry. The man was too strong, and considering Mom’s state of mind, Thomas wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t interfere if she thought Thomas was getting hurt. Better to go along and see where it took him. At least Perry wasn’t brandishing a gun. Andre might actually stand a chance. When Thomas’s toe caught on the metal strip lining the edge of the kitchen floor, Perry shoved him forward. “Go check it out,” he snarled. “And don’t think for a second you’re going to warn him. Make a sound, and I’ll slice your spine out before you can finish the second syllable.” The inside door was open, but the screen was still shut. Though Thomas couldn’t see much of anything but the yard directly in front of it, he did as Perry ordered, ears sharp for any signs from the front room. More came into view as he approached. The empty swing set. The edge of the field. The trees off to the side. No sign 138

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of Andre. “Well?” Thomas shook his head. “There’s nothing here.” “Something made that noise.” He kept scanning through the screen. Mom’s wheelbarrow had been overturned, when he was sure it had been upright before. Its metal edge rested on the bricks lining the flowerbeds. The sinking feeling that Andre really was here, that he’d knocked over the wheelbarrow and was now hiding, sent his thoughts racing to cover for him. “It might have been a stray.” His voice gave away nothing. “Or an animal wandered in off the field. It happens all the time.” “Or a wolf.” “We don’t really get wolves around here.” “Nice try.” His hard soles clicked against the kitchen floor as he entered. Thomas stiffened, forbidding himself to look back. No weakness. His gut told him Perry thrived on it. The steps didn’t come very far, however, before he heard a slight thump, followed by a feral growl. He whipped around in time to see a sleek, furry body slam into Perry’s side, vicious teeth snapping for the bare skin exposed at the man’s neck. Andre. He must have come in from the front, but how he’d escaped Perry’s attention, Thomas had no idea. His lean form tangled with Perry’s arms and legs, even more so after Perry effectively twisted away to avoid having his throat ripped out. Perry’s growls filled the air. It was more than a little disconcerting to hear such wolf sounds coming from a man, but there was no way Andre could have made them. The only sounds emanating from him were the 139

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click of his teeth as they tried to sink into some part of Perry’s body. Perry slashed through the air. Thomas remembered the weapon a second too late. “He’s got a knife!” Andre contorted at the last moment, leaving the blade to slice through open air. His back paws skidded across the floor, and his hind end landed at an awkward angle. Perry used the freedom to scuttle away. His shirt was torn, his breathing ragged. Blood dotted his collar. Just like the blood on Andre’s jowls. Keeping the knife in front of him, Perry dabbed at the spot on his neck. His fingertips came back wet and red. “I suppose you think this is karma, you stupid son of a bitch. Too bad you failed.” He sneered, his eyes glittering. “Again.” Andre found his footing and rose, his body stiff, his ears flattened. He circled to the side, putting himself between Thomas and Perry, and curled his lip in warning. Perry laughed. “Oh, please. You’re pathetic. And only proving yet again why killing your father was the smartest thing I ever did for the pack.” Thomas didn’t get it. “What does one have to do with the other?” The look Perry shot him was pure disdain. “You know, I’m really not surprised Andre’s mate ended up being human. So shortsighted, the both of you.” “If he’s such a waste of space, why not just leave him be?” “Because he could fuck up everything if he decided to grow a set.” His gaze swiveled back to Andre, who hadn’t backed down from where he had Perry cornered. “Even more reason Uncle 140

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Charles should never have considered you the next in line. You’re too weak, just like he was.” Thomas saw it all so clearly now. Andre barely escaping death because his power-hungry cousin wanted the leadership for himself. Being on the run for so many years, just trying to stay one step ahead of getting killed. Perry wasn’t the sort to give up, either, that was obvious. He wanted the last potential threat to his leadership removed, once and for all. He took a step closer. Perry jerked the knife in his direction, but before he could utter the order to back off, Andre was leaping, taking the opening Thomas had just given him. His aim was better the second time around. Perry’s shout was garbled by his sudden wet choking. The pair crashed into the wall behind him, hard enough for plaster dust to sift from the ceiling. Perry stabbed blindly, but Andre remained firm, his jaws locked around his throat as they crumpled to the ground. Thomas grabbed the frying pan from the drying rack. Heedless of his slick grip, he darted forward and slammed it down on Perry’s flailing wrist. Bones crunched under the cast iron. The knife flew across the floor, sliding out of reach into the corner. The fingers that had held onto it fell lax. He stood there for a minute, the pan poised in his hand like some irate fifties housewife. Perry’s gurgles ebbed into abbreviated gasps. Each time he fought for air, another shiver went down Thomas’s spine. After another heart-pounding sixty seconds, he lowered his arm. The handle slipped through his fingers, and he had to grab it with his other hand to keep it from sliding free completely. Andre took another two minutes to let Perry’s dead body go. 141

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Opening his blood-soaked jaws, he sagged to the side, exposing the shallow cuts Perry had sliced into his belly. All of them bled, some more than others. “Jesus.” Thomas rushed forward and pushed Andre down the rest of the way. His hands ran expertly over the injuries, testing their depth, putting pressure where blood came out too fast for his liking. “Mom! I need towels!” Andre tried tilting his head to look at Perry’s dead body, but Thomas put a stop to it. “Don’t. He’s gone. Just relax while I take care of this.” This was more than putting a Band-Aid on a bad cut. When Mom came back with the towels and her sewing kit, he locked his jaw to concentrate on his stitching. The adrenaline was seeping away. His hands were starting to shake. And all he could think was… “He could’ve killed you. What the hell were you thinking?” His hands were too busy with the thread and needle to prevent Andre from lifting his head a second time. He froze when Andre licked along his forearm, gazing up at him with what looked disarmingly like a doggie smile. He laughed, in spite of his residual terror. “We’re going to have a long talk when you change back.” Andre thumped his tail once and settled back down. The peace in his face was unmistakable.

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CHAPTER 14 Thomas waved at Pastor as he pulled away. He was the last to leave in a long line of strangers traipsing through the house. As much as he would’ve loved forgetting the entire incident happened, he’d known that was delusional. He called the cops as soon as Andre had shifted back to his human form. Pastor had come right on their heels. Nothing happened in Mellowbush that he didn’t know about. He wasn’t sure they bought the story a stray dog had intervened on the family fracas gone awry, but with the bite marks in Perry’s throat, they had to rule out anyone in the house killing him. Besides, Thomas and Andre both had injuries from the knife Perry had brandished. They were the real victims here. Now that the drama was over, however, he was exhausted. 143

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Andre rested in his bedroom, drugged up on painkillers, while Mom kept cleaning the kitchen. Thomas wanted to join Andre, but that would have to wait until after she went to bed. The front door opened behind him. “You want some coffee?” Mom asked. “No, thanks.” He settled on the chair and stretched out his legs with a small groan of discomfort. “Are you done in there?” “For now.” Her hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed. “You should go check on Andre.” “He needs to sleep.” “He needs you.” “Mom—” “No, you’re going to listen to me, at least this one time.” Without letting him go, she came around and crouched down to face him head-on. Wispy tendrils had escaped her braid, and the hollows beneath her eyes were dark and heavy. She was as tired as he was, but he could tell at a glance she was still present in the moment and not lost in delusions. “I shouldn’t have said what I did this morning. That wasn’t fair to you. You’re a grown man, and I know you deserve to live your life the way you want. But you’ve been happy here this week. I’ve seen it. You weren’t when you got here, so to me, that’s because of one thing. Andre.” He’d wanted to protect her from knowledge he thought would upset her, but she’d seen the truth all long. Why was he surprised? She’d always seen the truth and done everything in her power to protect him. “That’s why I wanted him to have the house,” he explained. “I don’t want him out of our lives.” “It’s not your house to give. Not yet anyway.” “You need care, Mom. I know today’s a good day, but it’s not 144

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always going to be like that.” “I’ve got Andre. He doesn’t need to run anymore.” That was true. And she’d seen his wolf form and not batted an eyelash when he’d shifted back. No more secrets. The issue of his monthly shift, however, remained. “If you’re worried that’s not enough,” she continued, “then move back. Get a job in Traverse City or Charlevoix if you don’t want to be here in Mellowbush. You don’t have to stay away.” He did, though. Mellowbush wasn’t ready for a gay man in its midst, let alone a gay couple. His silence stretched too long. With a sigh, she pulled her hand away and straightened. “He came back for you. I can’t believe I raised a son so selfish that doesn’t mean anything.” The screen door banged lightly behind her, leaving him with a storm of emotions he couldn’t control. Guilt, desire, anger, frustration… he wanted to rail at her that she didn’t understand, but what would be the point? The house was quiet when he went back inside. The only light was over the stove in the kitchen. Ignoring it, Thomas went to Andre’s closed door and knocked once before pushing it open. Andre sat against the headboard, flipping through the sign language book from the library. His bare torso was a mishmash of spidery black thread where Thomas had stitched him up, but already, he could see the cuts were shrinking. It couldn’t happen fast enough, as far as he was concerned. “How’re you doing?” A generic question, but he needed something like that to break the ice. Because seeing Andre hurt was worse than all the rest of it combined. Andre offered a wan smile. Okay. 145

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He closed the door behind him and ventured a couple steps closer. More than anything, he wanted to crawl into that bed and never let Andre go, especially since he kept looking at Thomas like he was the second coming. The best he could manage was perching on the edge. “I don’t know what to do,” he blurted. “I thought giving you the house and taking Mom back to Philly was best for all of us, but Mom doesn’t want to go, and I don’t know if I can fight her on that on top of everything else. She wants me to move back, but that means putting up with the same old shit from people in town, and you won’t get a chance to really fit in because of that, and how fair is that to you?” It all came out in a rush, like he’d lanced a boil and the poison was running free. Carefully, Andre set aside the book and crawled down the length of the bed, stopping within inches, not touching even though everything inside Thomas screamed to take him in his arms. He smiled wider, more openly than ever before. Because the weight of his past was gone now. “Are you still going?” Thomas whispered. Andre shook his head. “Mom will be glad to hear that. This is your home as long as you want it to be.” A nod, but Andre added to it with the press of his palm to Thomas’s chest. With his free hand, he signed, Ours. How he wanted to believe that. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “It’s too hard.” Andre cocked his head, just watching him. Waiting. “Your cousin… called me your mate. Was he fucking with me?” No. 146

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“What does that mean?” You’re mine. I’m yours. He signed something else, but Thomas didn’t understand what he meant. “I don’t know that one.” Andre pulled away and returned to the head of the bed, fetching the notepad sitting on the nightstand. His hair fell against his beautiful cheek as he wrote, tempting Thomas to push it back behind his ear, his fingertips grazing over Andre’s skin. It was hard to look away when Andre held the pad out for him to read. We’re pack. Family. Andre hadn’t written the rest of it out, but Thomas knew what was unsaid. Family stuck together. They took care of each other. They came back. “But I’m not a wolf.” Mine doesn’t care. The heart doesn’t pick who it wants. It just wants. A philosophy he’d finally come to grips with when he’d realized he was gay. Impossible to argue with or deny. Slowly, Thomas took the pad and set it aside. His blood soared as he finally pulled Andre into his body like he’d wanted to for what felt like too long. The arms that wrapped around his back didn’t cage him in with their strength. They set him free. Moving back to Michigan would still be difficult. That hadn’t changed. But the people who needed him here were more important than having things easy. He kissed Andre softly, then rested his forehead against Andre’s as he whispered a single word. “Pack.” 147

VIVIEN DEAN

Vivien Dean has had a lifetime love affair with stories. A multipublished author, her books have been EPPIE finalists, Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Nominees, and reader favorites. After spending her twenties and early thirties traveling, she has finally settled down and currently resides in northern California with her husband and two children. For more information about Vivien and her books, visit her website at http://www.viviendean.com

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Don’t miss (Boys Of The Zodiac) Aries: Riddle Me Wicked available at AmberAllure.com! On his first day on a dig in California, gunshots awaken Ian Tunbridge, an assistant curator of classical antiquities at the British Museum. The only way to save his life is to run for it, but luck is not on his side. At least, not until he meets Lucas Arpini, the brash American photographer who seems to have some sort of clue what’s going on. Together, they’re supposed to be the tools in

finding an artifact nobody believes is real—nobody, that is, except Lucas and the man who has kidnapped both of them. Ian doesn’t know what to believe. His colleagues are dead, he’s injured, and he has no choice but to put his faith in a gorgeous stranger. Their escape should lead them straight to the police, but when Lucas shows him pieces of the puzzle they were meant to solve, Ian is too intrigued to walk away. He wants to solve the riddle as badly as Lucas does. Unfortunately, they’re not the only ones…

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