Coming Home, a
The morning after the flu
episode, still struggling to clamp his mind closed against random flashbacks
and the sensory spikes that went with them, John headed back down to the Sheriff's
office for one last try at the records. Since dream-Ruby had mowed him down the
day before, John felt a little conflicted. Sure, he loved her. But he was
starting to think he really didn't know her.
He was also starting to
wonder if his over-riding need to find her had more to do with anger than love.
She'd been taken from him. Nobody took from him. It rocked him, to realize that
maybe his quest had more to do with his pride than his heart. The thing was,
after the hallucinations from the flu, or Blackstone's trippy soup, or whatever
the hell was in the air at
He'd dreamed about Matt
Donner.
Which was disturbing on a
lot of levels for a macho cop in his mid-thirties who'd always thought he was
straight. Still, he was the kind of guy who looked his fears in the face
whenever he could pin the damned things down, so he didn't hesitate that
morning. He walked out the door of his rental cabin, climbed on his motorcycle,
and drove directly to confront Sheriff Donner.
Who looked up at him,
grinned, and said, "Ready to start work?"
John looked back at him
like Matt had lost his mind. "Huh?" Not the swiftest answer, but all
he could come up with.
Matt stood and stalked over
to him. It reminded John unnervingly of the way Ruby came at him when he was
late home from work and she was horny. He twitched. Matt stopped.
Three inches away.
Close enough to feel the
warmth coming off him. Close enough to smell, and he smelled really good, and
weirdly familiar. John swallowed, finding his mouth dry for reasons he
attributed to fever dreams and tried to ignore.
From the look on his face,
Matt was smelling him, too, and liking what he smelled. His eyes were
half-closed, there was a little smile on his face, and he leaned close, like he
was about to do something crazy. Lick John, maybe.
God, that sounded tempting.
Shaking off his
distraction, John choked out, "Job?"
Drawing back a bare inch,
not enough to let John breathe, Matt cocked his head and gave him a look.
"Yeah. The one I offered you ... yesterday."
Holy shit. John blinked,
opened his mouth, shut it again, and blinked some more. That had been real?
It hadn't been a hallucination? But if that was real, then how much of the rest
of it had been? Had Ruby really come to him? Turned into some kind of wolf? Had
he really seen his dead parents?
Really had the wildest sex
of his life, which was saying something since knowing Ruby, with Matt Donner?
Before he could untangle
his thoughts and ask any of the questions tying his brain in a knot, Molly's
voice cut between them like a bandsaw.
"Boss! Call just came
in!" She sounded distraught. Matt reared away from John and made a beeline
for her desk. "There's been a shooting."
Matt and Molly stared at
one another for a moment, and it looked to John like they were talking to one
another without using words. Matt suddenly paled, as pasty white as Molly was,
then bolted for the door, grabbing his gun on the way.
Not knowing what made him
do it, John took out after him. Matt moved so damned fast that even with his
pickup, he was out of sight before John got his bike running. Following his
cop's instinct, John headed for the hill outside town. It seemed to be the
nexus for weirdness in a town chock-full of the stuff.
He found Matt kneeling
beside a body halfway up the hill. His muffled sobs were easy to follow,
echoing in the trees. Eerie. They sounded like the cries of a wolf with its paw
caught in a trap. Mournful and in pain.
Coming up beside him, John
was shocked to see the corpse of Willard Cates sprawled in the mud. He'd been
shot once in the chest from close range. He was stripped naked, not even his
shoes left. He had a calm, peaceful look John wasn't used to seeing on the
faces of homicide victims. Intending to keep a respectful distance, he was
surprised to find his hand squeezing Matt's shoulder.
Even more surprised when
Matt's hand came up to cover it, his cheek touching the back of John's fingers
briefly.
The touch seemed to help
Matt get his composure back, and he stood up, staring down at Cates' body and
sighing deeply. "Shit," he said quietly.
"You don't sound all
that surprised," John probed. Matt shook his head.
"Should've seen it
coming." Bitter, and angry, underlying pain making both emotions stronger.
John looked down at the dead man then back up at Matt.
"
"He was," Matt
said, jamming his hat back on his head. "Only one enemy. That was
enough." Pulling his radio out of his jacket pocket, he called in for a
retrieval unit.
"Looks like it,"
John muttered, glancing down the body. From the restful expression, to the
blood-soaked, torn flesh, to the ankle, caught in a wolf trap.
"Jesus."
Hell of a thing, to be
trapped and slaughtered like an animal.
John backed off as deputies
and crime scene personnel swarmed on the scene. For a small town, they had a
crack unit. Given the number of headstones in the graveyard, it was no wonder.
Every one of them choked up when they saw Cates, showing signs of respect more
worthy of a tribal chief than a local businessman, even one who owned most of
the town. None of them showed any signs of hostility, leaving John to wonder
again who the enemy was Matt had in mind. Actually, the only hostility on the
site was aimed at John, and that was almost as universal as the respect they
showed Cates.
Trailing along behind the
retrieval unit, having scoped out the scene as thoroughly as possible and oddly
not wanting to be left behind on that mountain, John pulled his bike in behind
Matt's truck at the station and walked in on pandemonium.
The grapevine must've been
buzzing like crazy. Half the town was crammed into the station. At least. Maybe
more. Luke Cates screamed and raged, barely held in check by Sherman
Blackstone. The way he was thrashing around, he'd've trashed the office if he
could. His dad's death hit him hard. His mother Vivian sat in a chair next to
Matt's desk, her eyes huge in a chalk-white face, looking composed. John knew
from the way her hands knotted in her lap it was a false, if brave, front. Matt
stood next to her, one hand resting on her shoulder the same way John had done
with Matt earlier, talking quietly with her.
Deputy Molly comforted
Sarah Hollander, standing crying next to the cells, surrounded by several
townspeople John recognized by sight if not name. A few feet away, Tyler Creed
slouched against a desk, his eyes glued to Vivian and Matt. Slumped on a bench
next to the mass of townsfolk, but somehow apart, Miranda sang under her
breath. She looked like she couldn't decide whether to be sad or happy, but she
was probably too stoned to understand what was going on.
John moved through the
crowd, unsettled by the hostile looks tossed his way but not letting it show.
Once he got to the far wall, out of the way but with a clear line of sight over
the whole scene, he noticed something strange. The crowd, which seemed like an
inchoate mass at first glance, was actually two separate groups. One flowed
around Vivian and Matt; the other centered on Creed. For no logical reason,
John was suddenly convinced that Creed was involved in Cates' death.
After all, it wasn't
logical to decide he didn't like the guy just because he had a bad attitude and
his smell made John uptight. Not that Creed stank, he just smelled ... off. It
could've been John's gut instinct, telling him since he got to
Matt was in danger. From
Creed.
He didn't know how he knew
it, but John felt it clear to his bones. He also knew, with the same unshakable
certainty, that if Creed tried anything, John would shoot him where he stood.
He didn't know when he'd gotten so protective of Matt. Maybe it was a
brother-officer-of-the-law thing. Maybe it was the lingering aftereffect of the
flu. He didn't really care why. If Creed made one wrong move John was going to
come down on him like a wall.
Things got tense when Creed
moved in on Matt and Vivian. Matt bristled at him like a dog protecting his
bone, and Creed reacted pretty much like a dog trying to steal that same juicy
bone, but the bone involved, Vivian, calmed them both down with one icy glare.
Matt had the grace to look a little embarrassed, but Creed wouldn't know shame
if it bit him on the ass. He shrugged, walked back to the desk, and stared at
them some more.
Eventually, Blackstone got
Luke calm enough to leave with his mother. Creed left soon after, Matt staring
holes in his back. John knew without a doubt that Matt thought Creed killed
Cates. His own instinct backed Matt a hundred percent on that one. The problem
would be finding evidence.
After the majority of the
people drifted out, things settled down. Still, it was a hectic day. Taking
Matt at his word about the job offer, John pitched in, handling the few routine
calls that came in and letting Molly take care of the avalanche of concerned
citizens freaking out over the Cates killing. He kept his mouth shut, his eyes
open, and puzzled his way through the scarce clues he had. So far, he didn't
have enough to come to any reasonable conclusions.
Shortly before lunch, Matt
got a call on his direct line. John did his best to eavesdrop, but didn't get a
lot out of "Donner," "Yeah," and "Now." The growl
in Matt's voice didn't bode well for the caller. He slammed the phone down and
grabbed up his jacket, hat and gun, then headed for the door at high speed.
"Want some
backup?" John asked, but the swinging door didn't give him any answer. He
glanced over at Molly, who also looked at the door, but she refused to meet his
eyes.
Okay. So whatever was going
down, Molly knew about it. John was the outsider, and no matter that he was now
a fellow cop in their little fraternity, he wasn't about to be let in on the
secret. Shrugging off his irritation, he went back to scanning a report. He'd
find out eventually. He was a damned good detective, after all. If nothing
else, working for Donner gave him access to the files he wanted on Ruby. He
couldn't keep his attention on them, though. The urge to grab his gun and go
after Matt kept interfering with his concentration.
Half an hour after Matt
left, John was walking to the coffee pot when a crippling pain hit him
mid-abdomen. Dropping the file he was carrying, scattering paper all over the
floor, he bit off a scream of pain and grabbed his middle with both hands. A
second flash of agony went through him, higher, a few inches from his heart,
then a third, higher still, near the shoulder. The force of the pain spun him
around in a circle and buckled his knees. His eyes blurred and his head swam.
Molly's hands on his
shoulders and her concerned, "What? What is it? What's wrong?"
drilled insistently in his ear brought him back to himself. Glancing up wildly
at her, he shook his head, unable to speak. Not enough breath in his body to
both talk and move, and movement was imperative.
Skidding, hands and knees
then up to his feet, careening off the side of an empty desk before making it
to his own and grabbing his jacket, keys and gun, John was still shaking his
head wordlessly as he threw himself on his bike and tore out of town. Heading
for the hill like a bat out of hell.
Following his instincts.
John found Matt lying in
the road next to his pickup. The door was open, the lights on. Blood pooled
beneath him. Whipping off his jacket, he used it to pack the wounds, then threw
himself into the cab of the truck and radioed for an ambulance. Officer down.
Three bullet wounds.
To the stomach, chest, and
shoulder.
Matt was unconscious, but
his pulse was strong. It had only been a few minutes since he was shot. John
crouched over him, drawing his weapon and scanning the forest surrounding them.
Looking for clues and threats. He didn't see either, but they were there. He knew
it.
The watching, malevolent
silence quickly got to him. Cursing under his breath, he wrapped Matt as
securely as he could and lifted him into the truck. Buckling him in, more to
keep pressure against the wounds than anything else, he headed down the hill at
top speed.
Taking up the radio, he
told Molly, "Forget the ambulance, I'm bringing Matt in. And have a guard
for his room. Whoever did this might come back and try to finish the job."
They were ready for him at
the hospital. It was a damned good thing. Matt's breathing was starting to
falter, and there was blood on his lips to match that leaking through the
wadded-up material. He hadn't opened his eyes or made a sound since John found
him.
How John found him was
something John tried not to think about, focusing on keeping the man alive
instead. A horde of white-jacketed people descended on the truck as soon as the
truck squealed into the emergency entrance. Matt was lifted onto a stretcher,
ringed by doctors and nurses, then they raced through the door. John left the
truck where it was, keys in the ignition for somebody else to move it if they
had to, and followed on their heels until they disappeared behind doors marked
"Medical Personnel Only."
Then he dropped into a
plastic chair, stared at the blood all over his hands, shirt and jeans, and
wondered what the fuck was going on with him. First Ruby, now Matt. One
disappeared and he hallucinated her back to him; the other shot with his own
gun, and John felt the bullets.
He was chewing that over
when Vivian Cates came flying in the door. She checked at the sight of John,
her nose twitching and her eyes widening. "Matt?" she asked, her
voice breaking.
John waved vaguely in the
direction of surgery. Vivian's eyes followed his bloody hand, and she shivered.
Reminded that her own husband had been killed that very morning, John tried to
think of something reassuring to say.
"He's gonna make
it," he muttered, knowing as the words came out that he was reassuring
himself more than her.
She swallowed, tears coming
to her eyes, then turned and went to the nurses' station. As she talked with
the head nurse, Sophia ran in, Luke beside her. John watched them, but neither
noticed him. Vivian touched Sophia's hair gently, then turned back to the
nurse. He couldn't hear what she said, but the nurse unlocked the door and they
were able to go in. Maybe watch the surgery. Maybe talk to doctors. After all,
Vivian wasn't the outsider. They would talk to her.
He tried not to hate her
for that.
Then he tried to figure out
why he would hate her for anything, but it was tied in with fever dreams and
phantom bullets, and he was too much on edge waiting for word on Matt for any
of it to make sense. As for Sophia, maybe having his daughter there would help
Matt fight for life. It was a faint hope, but any hope was better than none.
An hour later the world got
weirder, as Tyler Creed strutted in the door. John had his gun out, aimed at
the son of a bitch's heart, before he knew he was going to move.
Creed froze, staring at
him, nostrils flaring, eyes flashing gold. John felt a strange surge of energy
flow through him, and for an instant the world went kind of yellow. Still his
hand didn't shake; the gun stayed aimed dead center of Creed's body mass. He
didn't know how he knew Creed was a threat to Matt, but he did know it.
No fucking way was Creed going to hurt Matt again.
John only realized he was
growling when Creed huffed incredulously at him. The world shifted back to
normal colors, and John saw Creed staring at him like he was an alien from
another planet. Then he hunched one shoulder, gave a weird kind of snarl, and
backed away out of the hospital. John stared after him, knowing again without
knowing how that it wasn't the gun that had stopped him.
It was the yellow. Somehow.
Six hours later, still
covered in Matt's blood, refusing Molly's insistence that he go take a shower
and get some rest, John still hadn't the faintest idea what was going down. He
just knew he had to stay. Eventually he would figure it all out. Watch out for
Vivian Cates. Kill Tyler Creed. He didn't know what was driving him, but it
didn't matter. They were for later. His top priority was make sure Matt would
live.
After
"Thank you," she
said quietly.
Forcing himself to his
feet, wincing at the cramps in his legs, he crossed his arms over his chest,
hiding the dried blood on his hands by stuffing them under his arms against his
sides.
"I'm very sorry about
your husband," he said awkwardly. He hadn't gotten the chance to say that
earlier, and it seemed very important at that moment.
She winced, then nodded
solemnly. "Thank you for that, too."
"Will Matt be all right?" Seeking reassurance. She'd been back there.
Surely she could tell him something. For a second, jealousy swamped him, and
the world got that weird yellow tint again.
"Yes," she
started to say, then froze, staring at him. "Couldn't you tell?" she
asked then, sounding confused.
"What's going
on?" he burst out. She shook her head.
"I'm ... not
sure," she answered. Her hand rose as if to touch him, and he shied away
instinctively. She checked, then dropped her hand and stared even more intently
at him.
The yellow bled away,
leaving the world in normal colors, but now John's skin itched, and he had the
almost overwhelming urge to run. Far, fast, he didn't know, didn't care. He had
to move.
Couldn't.
Had to protect Matt.
Felt like he was running
around in circles. If he had a tail he'd be chasing it.
Her gaze softened, and
something like wonder lit her eyes, confusing John even further, if possible.
"He's going to be okay, John," she told him gently. "Clean up.
Get some rest." Her voice dropped, and the glow in her eyes got stronger.
"You're going to need it." She smiled at him, then turned back to the
counter, speaking to the nurse quietly before going to join her son and Matt's
daughter.
Beyond thought, John walked
over to the nurses' station. Whatever Vivian told them, it worked. They were a
lot nicer to him. Or maybe they felt sorry for him. He was pretty well wrecked.
Whatever the reason, a kind young woman led him to a room with a shower, and
when he came out, handed him scrubs. Then he followed her to ICU.
Matt looked like he was
sleeping, if John ignored all the tubes going into him and the machines
surrounding him and the needles taped to him. Still, he had some color back,
and he looked a hell of a lot better than he had when John first found him. The
last of the adrenaline holding him up left John with a rush and he swayed.
The nurse caught him, one
hand on his arm like an iron cuff holding him up. Next thing he knew he was in
a cot across the hall from Matt's room. The last thing he saw before he fell
asleep was the deputy standing guard at the door. Matt was safe, and he was
going to stay that way.
John would make damned sure
of that.
Matt didn't wake up until
after ten the next morning, and John was watching from the doorway when he did.
It wasn't traumatic; he opened his eyes and winced. Before the doctor could
tell him he couldn't, John ducked into the room and came to stand beside the
bed.
"Hey, Sheriff. Welcome
back."
John had ice chips ready
before Matt got his mouth open. Spooning some into Matt's mouth, the look of
bliss on his face told John just how dry he'd been.
"Wha' happened?" Matt
croaked out when the ice had melted.
"Kinda hoping you
could tell me that." John leaned closer. "What's the last thing you
remember?"
"Gettin' a call ...
info ... meet on the Hill ..." Matt's face hardened, and John pressed the
point.
"Then what happened?"
Not getting an answer, he tried, "Who called you?"
"Mr. Kanin!"
The doctor's voice behind
him startled John, and he lost any advantage he might have had. Ignoring the
bustling doctor, grumbling at him about disturbing his patient, he looked at
Matt. His expression was completely calm, and as completely closed. Frustration
nearly made John put his fist through a wall.
"Goddamnit,
Matt," he burst out, "I can't help if you won't talk to me! Who did
this to you?"
The doctor rounded on him,
but Matt's voice, creaky as it was, stopped him from bitching John out.
"You can't help,
John." He sounded tired. John still wanted to slap him.
"Not if you don't
cooperate," he shot back. Matt looked at him for a long time before
closing his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he
whispered.
Outsider gets the door
slammed shut in his face. Again. John stared down at Matt, anger bubbling up in
him. Turning on his heel, he stormed out of the hospital room before he lost it
and did something stupid, like shaking Matt 'til the truth came out.
Or kissing him until he was
too dizzy to lie anymore.
Still pissed off when he
got to the parking lot, he was surprised to see his bike, parked next to the
entrance close to where he'd left the truck. The truck was gone, and he
wondered when Molly'd left with it. Shoving his hands in his pockets, more to
hide the fists he couldn't unclench than because he was cold, he was even more
surprised to find his keys in his right-hand pocket. Say what he would about
her unnatural cheerfulness, Molly was certainly efficient.
Digging his heels in,
determined to do what he had to even if not another damned person in the whole
damned town helped, John headed back to the station. There was a homicide and
an attempted homicide on his plate, and he had work to do.
The next week was an
exercise in futility. Everywhere he turned, he hit stone walls of silence. The
only person who seemed to be on his side was Vivian, and she was too busy
dealing with the aftermath of her husband's sudden death to help very much.
Luke was actively hostile, but then, he was actively hostile to everyone except
Sophia. While Sophia acted like she was having some kind of breakdown,
fluctuating wildly between staying glued to her father's bedside and
disappearing for hours at a time with no word to anybody.
Then there was Creed. He
kept popping up, and every time he did, it was progressively harder for John to
hold on to his temper. Something about the bastard set his teeth on edge, had
from the first time he'd set eyes on Creed, but it was more than that. His gut
told him Creed was dangerous, like a mad dog that should be put down before it
caused any more damage. John's palm literally itched to shoot him.
As for Ruby, five days
passed before he realized he hadn't thought of her at all.
When it dawned on him that
the only thing he could think about was who shot Matt and who killed Cates, in
that order, and Ruby was no more than a vague ache in the back of his mind, he
faced facts. He would continue to look for her, and he knew he would eventually
find her. When he did, they were going to have a good long talk. Then he was
going to give her back all of her CDs and let her go. Because somewhere along
the trail, something unexpected happened. He'd fallen out of love with her, and
he'd fallen in love with somebody else.
Not that he told Matt.
Hell, if Matt couldn't trust John to help find the guy who shot him, John
wouldn't trust Matt with his heart.
Not that the lack of
cooperation slowed him down. Determined to investigate despite the roadblocks,
he stopped by the Cates' mansion and knocked on the door. He didn't have
anything new to report on the murder, but he wanted to touch bases with Vivian
again. Luke yanked the door open and glared at him.
"Your mom home?"
John asked politely, tensing up as the teenager loomed at him. Luke was a kid,
but he was a big, possibly violent, emotionally unbalanced kid. John wasn't
taking any chances.
After a few seconds' wild
staring, Luke let go of the door and left him standing there. Taking it for an
invitation, intended or not, John walked in. Raised voices, closer to angry
snarls than words, led him down the hall to what looked like a library. Luke
had disappeared and no one else was in sight. The door was open, so John paused
outside, listening.
"You know what he would
have wanted! The pack needs unity and strength right now and --"
"Yes,
"Shit, Vivian, think
about this --"
She cut him off again.
"I have thought of nothing else since Willard was killed."
"Then you know what we
have to do." Now Creed sounded seductive, soft words and inviting tone.
Her answer was, if anything, even colder than before.
"I know what I
have to do. You have to leave."
"You better think
again, babe," Creed snarled, all seduction gone. "You're not nearly as
strong as you think you are, and you're losing allies fast."
There was a weird sound,
like a cross between a howl and a bark, and John reached out instinctively to
push the door open. "Mrs. Cates?" he called loudly, deliberately, one
hand on the butt of his gun.
Creed and Vivian both
turned on him, and for an instant, he saw yellow in both sets of eyes. Refusing
to let it spook him, he dealt with the immediate danger.
"Is there a problem
here?" he asked Vivian, his eyes daring Creed to make a move, his fingers
curling around the pistol's handle, drawing Creed's attention to it. Creed gave
him a sneer, but Vivian sounded like she was in complete control.
"No, thank you, Mr.
Kanin. Mr. Creed was just leaving."
Creed glared at her, but
she glared right back, not backing down a bit. Hunching his shoulders, he
slouched out the door. He gave John a threatening look as he went by, and John
returned it with interest.
"You're in way over
your head, boy," Creed muttered at him. John gave him a thin smile,
showing some teeth.
"Give me an excuse, boy,"
John shot back.
Creed glanced over his
shoulder at Vivian then left without another word. When John looked back at
her, she looked tired, angry, and a little amused.
"Please, have a seat,
Mr. Kanin." She waved him to a chair, and he perched on the edge.
"Would you like something to drink?"
"No, thank you,"
he responded politely, getting right to the point but keeping his voice gentle.
"I'm sorry. We haven't made much progress in the investigation into your
husband's death." He watched her closely. She didn't seem surprised.
"I was wondering if there was anything you might be able to add to your
statement that could help us out?"
She took a deep breath,
staring at him as if she could see right through him, then let it out slowly.
"I'm afraid not. Willard didn't have any enemies, really. He treated
people fairly. The only thing I can think is that it was some kind robbery,
that Willard had ... something that somebody wanted, badly enough to kill
him."
That jived with what they'd
found. Whoever'd murdered him even stripped the clothes from his back and the
shoes from his feet. Nothing, but nothing, had been found anywhere near the
scene. Still, she was holding back. He had the impression she was giving him
clues, but he didn't have enough information to decipher them. Falling back on
procedure, he took her through her statement and attendant questions with as
much kindness as he could, stretching it out for a half hour or so in case
Creed came back.
Thanking her as he was
leaving, he hesitated. "Would you feel more secure with a guard here, Mrs.
Cates?"
He was thinking of Creed
when he said it, but he left it open so she could interpret it as concern for
her safety with her husband's killer still free. She gave him a lovely smile,
patting his hand like his mom used to when he'd done something sweet but
stupid.
"No, but thank you,
Mr. Kanin. I'll be all right."
He saw steel in her, and
had a feeling she was right. She would be okay. Heaven help anybody who tried
to take her down. Shaking off the thought, he smiled uncertainly at her.
Trotting down the steps to his bike, he got an itch that told him he was being
watched. Glancing around, making it look casual but being dead serious about
it, he didn't see anybody. Didn't make any difference. He knew someone was
watching. And he knew who that someone was.
Tyler Creed.
Someday soon he was going
to have to take care of that son of a bitch.
First things had to come
first, though. John kept digging at the cases on his desk, and looked in on
Matt every chance he got. Given his resemblance to Swiss cheese when John
brought him in, Matt should have been in the hospital at least a couple weeks,
probably closer to a month. The third day in, they transferred him out of ICU.
The sixth day, John went to
smuggle in some chocolate, and found the room empty. He made it to the nurses'
station in two seconds flat.
"Sheriff Donner?"
he barked, pointing at the empty room. With the bag of chocolate. The nurse
looked at the candy with disapproval and lust.
"He was released this
morning," she informed him cheerfully. He glared at her.
"Less than a week
after being shot full of holes?"
She straightened and put on
a poker face, although her eyes still gleamed at the chocolate. "He's a
fast healer," she told him.
He left the chocolate with
her. Another piece of the puzzle slid into place, although the picture made no
sense at all. A fragment of conversation overheard at the candy shop played
through his memory. The boy behind the counter was flirting with a girl, neither
noticing him there. John ignored the incomprehensible teen babble until the boy
said, "At least that's over and we know where we're going. I'm glad it'll
still be a Cates. Even if I'm not so sure about a woman running things."
The girl snorted. "Who
d'you think's been doing most of the work ever since the old man got cancer?
She's strong. She'll do fine."
Then the boy spotted John,
and both kids went silent. John paid for his chocolate and left, not paying
much attention, thinking it must have had something to do with business. The
Cates family did own most of the town. But there'd been some deeper, hidden
meaning he hadn't understood. And now there was Matt, out of the hospital a
damned sight sooner than he should be, apparently with his doctor's full
cooperation. Not that anybody told John. Anything. Ever.
Caught between sulking
about being left out of the loop -- again -- and making damned sure Matt was
safe, since the guy who shot him was no closer to being caught than the day he
did it, John went with his gut again. A few minutes later he pulled up outside
the Donner house.
His nose played tricks on
him, because for a second he could swear he smelled Creed. And that was
impossible. Then the world shifted colors and everything went yellow. He was off
his bike and running into the house, gun in hand, before he knew he was moving.
The front door hung off the
hinges, what looked like claw marks shredding the wood like wet toilet paper.
Further into the house John heard fighting, screams of rage that didn't sound
human. Crashing into the living room, he got the confused impression that
somebody'd tossed the place. Furniture was upended, books off the shelf, lamps
smashed. In the middle of the mess, two big dogs fought, while a third, smaller
one, huddled next to a torn sofa cushion, licking blood from its fur.
No. Not dogs.
Wolves.
"Holy fuck!" John
yelled, bringing his gun up, not sure what to shoot. The injured wolf growled
at him, and the other two stopped fighting to wheel around and snarl. Their eyes
all glowed yellow, but it was hard to notice, since his own were suddenly doing
the same.
The smaller of the two
fighters suddenly bounded past him, heading for the stairs. John stepped back,
trying to keep an eye on the two that were left and still see where the one
went. The wounded wolf leapt just as suddenly in the opposite direction,
heading out the front door. The largest one whined and ran after it.
So much for them. John ran
after the only remaining threat, taking the steps two at a time. The puzzle was
starting to make sense, although it was completely insane. Well, illogical,
anyway, but his instinct screamed at him that it had to be the truth.
That same instinct urged
him down the hall to the bedrooms. Rounding the corner at the top of the staircase
he saw the last wolf throw itself at a closed door, snapping and clawing at it.
From behind the door, he heard Matt's voice, sounding a little groggy.
"Sophia? That you?
What's wrong, honey?"
So Matt thought his
daughter was a homicidal wolf trying to eat its way through the bedroom door to
him since it couldn't turn the knob. The last piece fell into place.
Werewolves. It figured. It fit. John raised his weapon and sighted at the
center of the moving animal.
Which turned before he
could steady his gun and launched itself at John.
Life, already shifted into
the yellow end of the spectrum, took a further turn to the surreal when John
felt the gun drop from his hand as he tried to squeeze the trigger. His fingers
were no longer fingers. They were toes. With claws.
Pain unlike anything he'd
ever felt ripped through him. The external threat became moot as his brain
struggled to accept what was happening to his body. Dimly he heard wood
breaking, felt the air displace over his body as another joined the fray, felt
more than heard snarls and snaps and howls as battle took place a foot or so
away from where he curled up in a little ball of disbelieving agony on the
floor.
His boots fell off. His
hind paws kicked them away. His clothing threatened to choke him where it
wasn't ripping apart at the seams, and he dug at the collar of his jacket with
his front paws until it gave. Gasping for air, he whined, tongue hanging out
the side of his muzzle. He shook too hard to move. Everything sounded too loud
and god, the smells ... his head felt like it was bursting.
Raising his head an inch or
so, he watched with confusion as a large brown wolf clamped its jaws on the
throat of a smaller, scruffy blond and white one. Blood spurted from the
killing bite, and with a shudder, the attacking wolf died. John's defender
shook the corpse back and forth ferociously for a few seconds, then dropped it
with a contemptuous shake of its head.
"Wrrroof?" He'd
meant to ask what was going on. He barked instead. The big brown wolf looked
over at him, and proving he had indeed lost his mind, winked at him.
It's okay, John.
He rolled his eyes, trying
to find Matt, before it dawned on him that the voice hadn't come from behind
him. It had been inside him, inside his brain. Keeping his muzzle shut, he
asked hesitantly, Matt?
Yeah. The brown wolf came over to him
and gently nuzzled his fur. You okay?
Do I look like
I'm okay? There was
a definite hysterical edge to the question. I'm talking telepathically with
a wolf, who just killed another wolf to save my life, and I'm a WOLF. What is
it? Something in the water?
Silent, breathy laughter
echoed in his brain. Something like that.
What the fuck's going
on, Matt?
You came home, John. More nuzzling, and John found he had strength
enough to nuzzle back a little. Then the wolf that was Matt raised his head and
sniffed the air.
Sophia? He glanced down at John. I smell
her blood. Not much, but it's there. Is she all right? Anxiety put a whine
in the words. Funny how expression of emotion changed when it was the wolf
doing the worrying, instead of the man.
She's fine, I think.
Just a little bite on her paw. There was another wolf here, fighting ... John looked over and saw Tyler
Creed's naked corpse, a gaping hole where his windpipe used to be ... Creed.
Protecting her. He realized he was panting, but he couldn't seem to stop.
Luke. Matt sounded half-irritated and
half-relieved. Well, he'll take care of her. In this, anyway. Just
don't put him behind the wheel of a car. His mental voice softened, and he
licked John's face gently. Hey, hey. It's okay. It's going to be all right.
John rolled his eyes again,
but the panting lessened. Just what he needed -- not only was he a wolf, he was
a hyperventilating wolf. Once more with feeling. What the fuck is going on?
We call the cops?
More silent laughter. No.
We call the Cates.
Pack leader. Of course. That made sense, too. Creed
tried to take it from her. She wouldn't let him.
Yeah. This was his last
attempt. Maybe he thought with me out of the way he'd have a better chance to
take her down and take over the pack.
Why? John couldn't help the jealousy
that came through loud and clear with the word. Is she your mate? It
sounded stupid. It also sounded all too believable.
That got him a nuzzle, a
lick, and a serious look. She can't be, John. You already are.
Before he could make sense
of that, the wolf before him began to expand. It was a revolting and fascinating
sight, seeing the wolf become the man. The voice in his head continued.
Your turn.
My turn to what?
Change back.
I don't know how the
hell I changed,
John protested. How am I s'posed to change back?
His mind caught on the last
word as he felt it start. Perspective shifted. Muscles stretched, bones ached,
skin itched, but it wasn't the agony the change to wolf had been. Colors
returned as the world faded from yellow. In a moment, he lay in the tattered
remains of his clothes, staring up at Matt, kneeling next to him. Grinning at
him.
Stark naked.
"Does it always
hurt?" John asked absently. Matt looked good. Ridiculously good. The scars
from the bullet wounds were barely pink, looking like nothing next to the new
scratches from his fight with Creed.
"It only hurts the
first time."
It sounded a little too
solemn, and John snapped back from his examination of Matt's body to give him a
suspicious glare. "You laughing at me?"
"Nah," Matt
obviously lied, going by the grin on his face. John grinned back.
"So what now? Besides
the obvious," he nodded over at the corpse. Rolling up to a sitting
position, he was surprised at how good he felt. Energized. He looked over at
Matt again, who was glancing over at Creed.
Energized and horny.
Swallowing dryly and shifting
over to hide a growing erection from Matt's sight, John wondered what he was
supposed to do. Matt said they were mates. And there was that dream. He glanced
up quickly to see Matt staring at him, concerned.
"Did you hear what I
said?"
John shook his head.
"Sorry. Distracted." Very.
"Creed can wait. He's
not going anywhere. Vivian has enough on her plate right now. Sophia's okay.
Luke won't do anything too stupid while she needs him to look after her."
His voice dropped, and for a second his eyes glowed yellow. "You need a
little TLC. It is your first time, after all."
John couldn't help the
wicked grin spreading over his face. Glancing down the length of Matt's body,
he saw he wasn't the only one with a problem in the crotch area.
The dream. "It wasn't
a dream, was it?" he asked suddenly. Matt looked confused.
"What wasn't a
dream?"
"In the cabin. You
came to me. I should've known it was real when you said you'd offered me a job,
but it didn't seem possible."
Matt grinned at him.
"What made you think it was a dream? Was it that good?"
Shooting him a look, John
shrugged. "Well, yeah." Matt's grin broadened. "But it was more
than that. I figured it was something in the soup Blackstone brought me."
He licked his lips and took the plunge. "I thought Ruby was there."
The grin froze on Matt's
face, and the light went out of his eyes. "Ah. Yeah. Ruby." He stood.
John shoved himself to his feet as well. "I guess you'll be wanting Ruby,
then."
John caught Matt around the
waist, pulling him into a hug. Matt's body resisted the closeness, standing
stiff in his arms.
"I want you,"
John told him firmly. "Yeah, I want to find out what happened to Ruby. But
ever since that night, it hasn't been Ruby I've been thinking about. Dreaming
about." He leaned forward and kissed Matt, a light peck with a promise
behind it. "Been dreaming about you."
Matt finally relaxed
against him. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah," John
admitted. "Messy ones, too."
With a snort of laughter, a
lot like the silent chuckle of his wolf-self, Matt turned in John's arms,
stepping out of the hug and grabbing his hand. "C'mon, then."
Stepping over Creed's body, he headed into the bedroom, hauling John along
after him. "I have a teenage daughter. Privacy's hard to come by and we
have to make the most of it when we can find it."
John wasn't about to argue
with him. There were a lot of things he didn't understand yet, but he wasn't an
outsider any more, and they'd have time for his questions later. He had more
important things to concentrate on first.
Like Matt. The way he felt
underneath him, the taste of his mouth and the scent of him, deeper now in a
way John couldn't explain but that turned him on fast and hard. An echo of what
he'd felt with Ruby, but stronger than anything he'd ever felt in his life.
Matt didn't give him much
time to think about it. Stopping at the bed, he turned and shoved John onto it,
climbing on after him, hands and mouth already roaming freely over every part
of John he could reach. John reached back, licking and kissing Matt's shoulder,
chest, lapping at a scratch and drawing a moan for his trouble.
They rolled back and forth
on the bed, grappling for holds that shifted with each kiss, laughing and
murmuring nonsense. The energy John felt since his wolf moment in the hall
stayed with him, and he made love with enthusiasm barely restrained by the need
to go easy on Matt. After all, the guy had been in the hospital for a week and
just finished a duel to the death with a psycho-wolf.
Not that Matt let him hold
back. Pressing his advantage, he pinned John to the bed and proceeded to drive
him completely insane. Using his whole body, he stropped all along John's legs,
torso, chest, lingering to grind his cock into John's until John was humping
back so hard Matt was nearly bucked off. Then he drew away, teasing John with
kisses everywhere except where John wanted him most, ignoring John's pleas to
stop playing and suck him already.
Not that John had any
complaints. If he was going to go nuts, he couldn't think of a better way to
go. Matt finally settled down between his thighs and licked him all over, from
his testicles to the small of his back and everything in between. He took his
time, and by the time he was done, John was close to coming just from Matt's
tongue at his ass. Ruby'd been pretty inventive, but past experience was
nothing compared to what Matt did to him.
Giving up completely on
words, since his brain had fried and his tongue couldn't remember how to work,
John wove his fingers in Matt's hair and tugged until he had that tormenting
mouth right where he wanted it. Matt took pity on him, slurping along the
length of his cock then taking the head into his mouth. At the same time, he
slipped a couple fingers into John's ass, sending him into a frenzy.
Holding tight, sliding down
John's shaft then slowly back up, working his other hand deeper as he went,
Matt turned John inside-out and John loved every second of it. Taking the
length down his throat, Matt hummed gently, and the resulting massage around
John's cock gave a whole new meaning to the phrase 'good vibrations'. It was
one hell of a trip.
Too soon, he had to come or
implode, and he managed a garbled warning. It sounded more like
"Mgoncumatgodgodgod" than what he'd intended, but Matt took the hint.
Pulling his head back, licking all the way, he palmed the shaft and pumped hard
a few more times, crooking his fingers in John's ass as he did and tickling his
prostate. That was all it took. John came like a freight train, and Matt milked
him all the way through it.
Then Matt kissed him,
sticky hands spread his thighs, and John felt a longer, wetter, thicker
intrusion in his ass. His arms came up, hands resting on Matt's shoulders, and
his legs curled up, hooking around the back of Matt's knees. Forcing heavy eyes
to stay open, John stared at Matt as Matt fucked him, certain in that moment
that he'd never seen anything so damned gorgeous in his life.
As heated up as he was, and
still recuperating from his wounds even if he didn't act like it, Matt came in
no time. John held him through it, catching Matt as he collapsed against him
afterward, nuzzling Matt's throat and whispering in his ear. "Love
you" and "it's okay" and "rest" and a few more times
with "love you," then Matt was sound asleep, sprawled out over him
like a blanket.
Grinning, pushing sweat-wet
hair out of his face, John gently shifted Matt until he lay beside him instead
of on top of him. Pulling up the blankets, covering them both, he wrapped his
arms around Matt and settled down for a well-deserved nap. It had been a hell
of a day, and it wasn't over yet. But for now, it was enough. It wasn't every
day a guy discovered he was a wolf, found his mate, and came home to a whole
new world. He had a lot to think about.
Later.
end
note: CBS canceled
John Kanin (Lou Diamond
Phillips); Matthew Donner (Tim Matheson); Vivian Cates (Sharon Lawrence);
Sherman Blackstone (Graham Greene); Tyler Creed (Scott Bairstow); Luke Cates
(Paul Wasilewski); Sophia Donner (Mary Elizabeth Winstead); Willard Cates
(Bruce McGill); Ruby Wilder Cates (Mia Kirshner)