Facing Demons, a Wolf Lake story by Sue Castle. Rated NC17. No copyright infringement intended. Spoilers for 'Soup to Nuts.'

If he hadn't felt like complete shit he might have been able to make more sense of the conversation. Then again, maybe not. Not much had made sense since he'd arrived in Wolf Lake. John stared at Sheriff Donner and tried to get through. Again.

"A holocaust of dead kids in the cemetery dating back to the 1800s. A religion that exists nowhere else in the world." His voice dropped, and he muttered, "Wolves." He swallowed and went on, his voice strengthening as he listed the assorted oddities of the town. "Weird Indians. A fertility rate that would make the Pope blush. Does none of this strike you as odd?" He finally got the damned Alka Seltzer packet open and dumped the tablets in a glass. Even the fizz-fizz grated. "Oh. And another thing. The moon. Is it my imagination, or is it always full around here?"

Donner finished tidying his desk and glanced up at him. "Y'know, you don't look so good. Are you getting sick?"

Slugging back the Alka Seltzer, he grimaced. Tasted awful. "I want to see your records."

"Nope." Automatic response, requiring no thought. John wasn't surprised.

"Why won't you let me see your files? As a courtesy to a fellow officer? Do I have to subpoena them?"

The look he got was pure exasperation with a tiny hint of compassion in it. "Ruby Cates is not here. That is not going to change. You're chasing a holy grail."

John bluffed, "You're going to make me call in the FBI."

The sheriff immediately called him on it. "Oh? And what are you going to tell them? Hi, I'm John Kanin. I'm AWOL from the Seattle PD. Oh, by the way, could you send over a couple agents to give me a hand finding my girlfriend, who never even told me her real name." Donner walked around the side of the desk and leaned close as he said quietly, "Look, Kanin, I talked to your lieutenant. You're a nut job. Now do yourself a favor. Get some help. Try to keep your pension." With those sage words of advice, he headed for the door, calling out to his deputy, "G'night, Molly."

Her "Night!" in response was obscenely cheerful. John growled under his breath and headed back to the cabin that was his temporary home. By the time he got there, he was thankful he hadn't crashed his bike. His head was exploding, his gut was killing him, and it felt like he'd been gang-beaten with baseball bats.

Forcing down a 7-Up chaser to the Alka Seltzer, hoping it would calm his stomach, it took him a long time to find his thermometer. He was squinting at it in the dim light of the lamp when he heard a light knock at his door. Hoping it might be Donner relenting on the files, knowing his luck wasn't that good, he croaked out, "Just a sec."

Sherman Blackstone barged past him carrying a brown grocery bag. John stared bemusedly at the man, elbowed the door shut and followed Blackstone meekly back into the room.

"Heard you were sick so I hustled right over," Blackstone announced. John looked at him, waiting for the punchline. "What, you don't see that as neighborly?"

Somewhere along the line he'd tripped off the edge of the plane of reality and landed in Twin Peaks. John sighed. "Well, it could be, if we were in Ohdabolt, Iowa, and had a country fair, and knew the postman by name. But we're in Wolf Lake."

"Ooooh." A world of meaning in a single elongated syllable, but damned if he was thinking clearly enough to try to figure it out. "Well, I got something for you," Blackstone went on when he didn't rise to the bait. He pulled a paper cup from the bag. John took it automatically. "Double cappuccino. That's for me." The cup was whisked out of his hand and a pill bottle landed in it. "Extra strength, that's the best."

He looked blearily at the little bottle. "I really appreciate that."

Blackstone took the bottle back, too, popping the top and chugging several tablets. They didn't go down easily, from the way he scrunched up his face and shook himself all over. John stared stupidly at him.

"Got an angry skull this morning. One wallbanger too many last night. Found myself dancing with a toothless palm reader wearing surgical stockings. Here." He handed over a thermos, a mild surprise since by then John half-expected it to be a log with a crazy lady attached to the other end. "Take a whiff of that. Open you right up."

He did. The steam rising up to bathe his nose was another surprise. "This is soup. You brought me soup?"

"Chicken stock, peppers, veggies. Low-tech, but it does the trick."

"Smells good, actually." It did. It was the first thing that had smelled good in two days. Probably because it was the first thing he'd been able to smell in two days. He hated getting sick. Everything went off-line. Brain first. Blackstone shook him out of his abstraction by brushing back past him and heading out again.

"Well, love to hang but I can't." He paused at the door and looked seriously at John. "Do yourself a favor. Get that in your bloodstream quick as you can." He gave a nervous-sounding laugh and ducked out. John stared at the closed door for half a second before that tantalizing smell prompted him to pour out soup and drink it down.

It tasted even better than it smelled. And it had an advantage over his last few meals. It actually stayed down.

He wandered over to the bed, shedding clothes one-handed as he sipped the soup. Settling heavily on the edge of the bed in his boxers and tee shirt, he tipped the thermos and sipped, tipped and sipped, until there was nothing left to tip and the cup was empty. His head felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and his eyelids were closing all on their own. Giving in seemed like a good idea so he went with it.

Sleep was good, and he was enjoying being unconscious, when the damned knocking started again. He pulled himself out of bed and staggered to the door, all set to rip the intruder's head off and hand it to him. The slight figure who darted in the door rocked him back on his heels.

Ruby.

He opened his mouth to say something, he didn't know what, and she laid her fingers over his lips. "Quiet."

As if he could stay quiet. Vindication was bursting out all over him. "I knew you were here!"

She sounded terrified, and there was a strange yellowish cast to her eyes. "They're watching me."

His protective instincts flared up. "Who? Who's watching you?" They could leave, right then, climb on his motorcycle and head straight back to Seattle. Leave all the weirdness behind and get their lives back. Her response was not what he expected to hear.

"You're in danger. You have to pack up all your things and get out of here tonight."

"No! Not until you tell me what's going on." She had to be kidding. She didn't look like she was kidding.

"Take a hint. I didn't ask you to follow me here." She didn't sound like it either. "And this is painful for me to say, but I don't love you. I will never love you."

That was insane. "You can't really expect me to believe that."

"It's true." Her voice was rock steady. A hell of a lot steadier than he was at the moment.

"Ruby. Stop it." He couldn't keep the harshness out of his voice, barely moderating it as he told her, "I love you!"

"You don't know me. Let me go." She sounded more sad than frightened.

He tried to plead with her. Reality took another sharp turn into the surreal, as she wrapped her hand around his throat, lifted him completely off his feet, and threw him across the room. He hit the wall hard, halfway up, and slid down to the ground. It took him a few moments to shake off the dizziness, and when he did, he saw her walk out the door.

The door that opened in front of her and closed behind her without her laying a hand on it.

Getting the sneaking suspicion that he was stuck in one hell of a dream, John picked himself up and ran to the door. Yanking it open, hoping to see her, call out to her, stop her before he lost her again, he nearly fell when the wind caught him.

The wind that was sweeping over a desert landscape unlike anything he'd ever seen. Clouds scudded across a mid-day blue sky, not the middle of the night as he knew it was. All the trees were gone, replaced by sand dunes and barren cliffs. His toes dug into the carpet and he had to fight the door to get it closed again. There was no Ruby out there. There was nothing out there.

Breathing harshly, staring wildly around the cabin that seemed familiar and threatening at the same time, he saw the thermos float gently past him. Suddenly it made sense, as much sense as madness could. "Oh, that crazy Indian!"

Unfortunately, the dream didn't end. Ruby, back again and dressed like a Hollywood version of a high class hooker, waved a hand, and his parents were suddenly in front of him. They looked pretty pale, but then, he guessed that shouldn't surprise him, since they were dead. Ghosts were supposed to be pale. Weren't they? "Hi, Mom. Dad."

Dad had his violin, and he started playing it. The music used to comfort him, but it sounded off, had a nightmare quality to it that made the hair at the back of his neck stand up. The meaning of their words took a little longer to sink in than the oddity of bad music coming from his Dad's violin.

What did they mean, he was adopted?

He didn't have time to think about it, because Hooker Ruby was doing a bad Sharon Stone impression, then two beefy guys in hospital orderly scrubs snatched him up and stuck him in a dentist's chair. There was a wire mesh around his face and a heavy band around his forehead, and he couldn't move his hands.

"It's better not to resist."

None of it made any sense. How could she do this to him? He loved her. She loved him.

"You're behaving in a highly compulsive manner."

Didn't she? He had to have a reason for this wild goose chase. For this all-consuming obsession that had torn his life apart.

"You're having a paranoid episode."

Didn't he?

"Why are you doing this to me, Ruby?" The plea slipped out unbidden.

She leaned over him and whispered against his lips, "One day it will be like she never existed."

Never.

Then electricity coursed through him and he screamed in pain. His body convulsed and it felt like his eyeballs were melting, his tongue fried in his mouth, his testicles boiled in the sac, his toes curling until they cramped. His hands clenched into fists so tight his fingers broke. His voice gave out as the screams went on and on and on.

When he came to, he was curled on the floor in his shorts. The carpet felt comfortingly cool against his sweating face. Gathering what was left of his wits, he wearily pulled himself upright, looking around, trying to assess a threat he didn't begin to understand. The wires were gone, as was the chair, the orderlies, the torture box.

Ruby was still there.

Naked.

Stalking him.

"This is no time to be shy, John."

She was incredible. Her hair hung down over her breasts, the nipples gleaming the way they did when he'd been sucking them, her eyes wild with that unnerving yellow tint. Her lips were redder than he ever remembered them being. He wanted to throw her to the ground and bury himself in her for the rest of their lives.

"This is what you want, isn't it, John?" She twisted sinuously, posing for him, and he swallowed. He did, yet he didn't. Because this was Ruby -- and yet, it wasn't.

"We're two of a kind. Look." He forced his eyes away from her beauty and saw the image of two wolf-people in the mirror. She had Ruby's smile, and he recognized his own eyes, before the mirror shattered. He shivered convulsively.

She laughed.

When she moved in close to him, he put his arms around her, because she couldn't be that close without him holding her. Her lips opened under his and his eyes closed.

Then they opened again as he froze in shock. Instead of the silky skin of her back that his fingertips knew so well, there was thick, coarse fur along her spine.

He tried to let go of her.

She wouldn't let him.

Her fingers on his back turned to claws, digging deep, drawing blood. The lips against his throat drew back to bare fangs, scraping his skin, leaving a trail of scratches. As they sank into his flesh, he knew he had to run. Had to escape.

He tipped his head back and pressed her open mouth to his pulse.

This had been coming for a damned long time.

Matt Donner knelt next to the sickly green chemical spilled across the dirt, staring at it and wondering how far Creed thought he could go. As sheriff of Wolf Lake, Matt had kept his eye on young Tyler Creed for years. There had never been anything he could prove, which was the only reason Tyler still ran free. But the bastard was escalating his criminal activities. He'd started running drugs at the high school, targeting the kids, kids like his daughter Sophia, who hadn't turned.

To top that off, the dealer Tyler'd been using as middleman was missing, and Matt's instinct told him the sleaze was dead. Then two more corpses turned up, and Tyler's scent was all over them. A drug dealer and a murderer.

And now, he was dumping toxic chemicals on sacred land. It was right up Tyler's alley. Poison the people. Poison the land. Poison everything he touched, as long as he could make a buck at it. As sheriff, it made Matt angry that he couldn't bring the criminal to justice.

As one of the Others, regardless of the distance he'd put between himself and his kin, it made his blood howl for Tyler's blood. A tiny noise behind him brought his head up and he straightened, coming to his feet, his stance wary. Tyler's voice floated out from the shadows.

"Looks like the beginning of a bad afternoon."

Matt watched the cocky little shit slink forward. "Storing hazardous waste on trustee land? That could spell the end of a promising career for a young tycoon like yourself."

"But removing it at great personal expense is a commendable public service. Although not a tax write-off." Tyler didn't miss a beat, waving a hand expansively at the empty warehouse. "All irrelevant, because this unspoiled property is the future home of Wolf Lake's new super-max prison."

Not if the pack leader had anything to say about it. Matt had been at the community meeting as well, and seen how Cane had reacted to Tyler's grand plan. Not well. It was beside the point, anyway, and Matt brought them back to it swiftly. "Two men are dead. Another's missing, and I'm guessing you know something about that."

Tyler sneered, "Always chasing your tail. Aren't you tired of that yet?"

"I'm tired of you feeling above the law." A howl echoed through his blood as he watched Tyler circle.

"I'm tired of you always on my ass," Tyler snarled back. "What is it about these ungulates that makes you put them first? Protect them? Marry them?"

"Watch it." The howl gathered fury. "Watch it, Tyler."

"You gave up everything for her. What the hell was that zoo-bitch's name?"

This pathetic little punk would never understand a true mating. "Marie. Her name was Marie."

"You want to kill me. Right now."

Tyler had no idea how right he was. Matt could barely hear the taunts over the call to kill sounding in his blood.

"Gonna have to some day, I expect. Pull the gun. Do it. I don't need a gun. I've got all the power I need right here." He slapped his chest, the sharp sound pulling Matt back from the edge, focusing him intently on Tyler. There was danger there, and not just the obvious kind. "You want a beef? Bring it on. But let's put a little hair on it. Find out if the old man can still" Tyler's eyes flashed gold for a moment and one shoulder shrugged in a characteristic challenge, "go native."

He almost did. He almost gave in to the siren call singing through him. He was severely tempted to change and rip Tyler's throat out. Then he hesitated, suddenly unsure if he could do either.

It had been a long time since he'd run the hill. It shook him to the core to realize he honestly didn't know if he still could.

Tyler, scenting uncertainty, closed for the kill. Metaphorically, if not literally. "What are you waiting for? Can't do it, can you. Been too long." He circled in front of Matt, staring at him with hatred and disdain in his narrowed eyes. "You're a limp, sorry son of a bitch. It's no wonder that daughter of yours can't wait to get a hill-dude between her legs."

That was all it took. The one challenge neither his chosen nor his Other code would tolerate. His gun was in his hand and he advanced on Tyler before he stopped to think. Tyler's eyes widened, then closed involuntarily as Matt's finger tightened on the trigger.

Five rounds made a ragged circle in the metal wall fractionally to the side of Tyler's head.

Tyler's eyes opened and he turned his head slowly, staring at the bullet holes, then swinging back to stare at Matt. His disdain was tempered with a touch of wariness. "If I turn on you now it's self defense."

The gun didn't waver. Matt said softly, "I've still got at least one with your name on it. And I always will."

The swagger was back as Tyler walked away. "You're out-numbered, Sheriff," he called out over his shoulder. "You're all alone. All alone."

Matt stood still until the echoes died away. All the echoes. From his gunfire, from Tyler slamming the door, from the howling in his blood. Slowly, feeling like a very old man, he climbed into his truck and headed back to the office.

"Are you okay?" Molly stood in front of his desk. He hadn't heard her move. He shook off his abstraction long enough to give her a reassuring smile. She didn't look too reassured.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just doing some thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself," she half-warned, half-teased, and he shook his head at her. It was enough to get her to go away, and leave him to his thoughts.

Which were chasing themselves in circles, much as Tyler had accused him of chasing his tail. Memories of Marie, fears for Sophia, anger at Tyler, uncertainty for the future, all vied with the sudden knowledge that he didn't know himself as well as he thought he had.

And that, alone, frightened him.

It was after midnight before he accepted what he had to try to do. He didn't know if it was a good idea. In fact, it was probably a really stupid idea, given all that was at stake. But he couldn't trust himself completely any more, and he needed somebody to watch his back. Maybe this wasn't the best somebody he could find, but he'd instinctively liked John Kanin since the man had first stormed into his office. If it was at the point where he couldn't trust any of his instincts, then it was time to hang up his badge, go to Cane's, and bare his throat for the final bite.

Still, standing on the step outside the little cabin, he hesitated. Raised his fist to knock, then dropped it. Stared at the wooden door and tried not to let Tyler's words poison his mind, turn him against himself. He might've changed more than he'd expected, but he hadn't changed to the point that he'd let a piece of crap like Tyler Creed get under his skin.

Much.

Growling silently at himself, he rapped on the door. Not hearing anything, he tried the handle. To his surprise, it opened. He stepped in, sight arrowing in immediately on John, sitting with his knees up under his chin, huddled against the backboard.

Huh. Not a reassuring sight for an embattled man looking for an ally.

Still, it was the best he could come up with, and his gut told him it was the right way to go, so he'd give it his best shot. "I'm going to say this quickly, before I have a chance to change my mind, okay? When I first took this job, I saw it as kind of a privilege, you know? I was getting paid to walk through walls, to make this town right. Hold everything together. Now I'm not so sure anymore."

Not getting a response, and not waiting long for one, since he was on a bit of a roll and didn't want to lose it, Matt walked up to the foot of the bed. "I'm going to be straight with you. I just found out that my decision-making ability is, uhm, slightly impaired. And I'm thinking that maybe I need a second opinion now and then.

Dark brown eyes stared unblinkingly at him. Looked like he was in some kind of trance. Matt didn't know if any of this was sinking in, but he took a deep breath and plowed on. "So I pulled your record. Two medals of honor. Highest clearance rating six years running. Apparently you like risking your life in the line of duty. Well?"

Still no response. He might as well be talking to the carpet. He turned and started to walk away, then turned back and glared at the silent man curled up in a ball on the bed. "Ah, what's the matter, Kanin? You can't come off that high horse of yours?" He'd spell it out if he had to. "All right, I'm offering you a job." Looked like he did. Matt folded his arms over chest, planted his feet, and finished up his pitch with a small flourish. "Kiwanis will buy you lunch. You don't have to wear a stupid hat."

John finally moved. He unwound himself from the human knot he'd made, long bare legs spreading out along the top of the bedspread. Matt found himself rooted to the floor. His skin tingled and his mouth went dry.

Lust.

That couldn't have been lust.

God. Hadn't it just been a day for personal revelations.

He realized he was watching John like he was on the hunt and the other man was a nice juicy rabbit, but there wasn't a damned thing he could do to stop himself. He could smell wariness coming off John in waves, along with a disconcertingly heavy personal scent that spoke of sweat, exertion, fear and adrenaline and sex. It made Matt's head swim. He started to unfold his arms, not sure if it was to stop John or grab hold of him, and Kanin jumped.

Matt froze. Then he leaned forward slightly, responding instinctively to a searching look that went right through him. What was going on in the man's head?

John reached out with a single finger and poked Matt, very gently, in the chest. It felt like the end of a tazer. Then John sighed with relief, and the intensity leached out of his eyes.

It found a home in Matt's spine. And a little further south.

He opened his mouth to ask what the hell that had been about, and John reached up. Slid his hand around the back of Matt's head, tangling his fingers in the thickest part of his hair, pulling his head down. Before Matt could get the words out, he had a mouthful of John's tongue.

Power surged through him, the likes of which he hadn't felt since he'd first met Marie. Every cell in his body was supercharged, every scent coming from John's skin and hair made his head swim, the heat radiating between them made him want to throw his head back and howl.

Any semblance of rational thought was overpowered by the need to claim.

John didn't put up any fight. If anything, he was an enthusiastic participant in his own seduction. Matt backed him up against the wall, knocking the lamp to the floor in the push, but neither of them noticed. Matt finally tore his mouth away when he had to breathe, and John made a few scrambled nonsense sounds. Ruby's name was in there, not a surprise since he was obsessed with her, but as Matt buried his face against the side of John's neck and sucked fiercely, he also heard low, moaned words. 'Yes' and 'god, please' and something that sounded a lot like 'fuck.' A suggestion, maybe a command, certainly not a 'no.'

Scent surrounded Matt, pulling him into the heart of an inferno. His skin itched and rippled as he moved against John, holding him against the wall with the full weight of his body. John wrapped his arms around Matt's neck and held on, as Matt ripped the thin cotton tee shirt away, mouth lapping at John's throat, hands shredding the barrier of boxer shorts keeping them apart.

Still not enough warmth, and it dawned on Matt that he was fully dressed. Hadn't even taken off his coat, much less his gun belt and his badge. He groaned into John's skin, not letting his mouth break contact until the last possible second as he stripped faster than he had in years. He didn't quite make it, down to his trousers puddled around his boots, by the time he was coming, but John wasn't far behind, and that made it okay.

Especially once John came. As soon as Matt smelled it, he knew he was a goner. He dropped to his knees, spreading John's legs and bracing him against the wall as he licked and nuzzled John's groin until it was clean. John's hands ran through his hair, skimmed around his ears and down his neck before settling on his shoulders. Strong fingers kneaded the bunched muscles there restlessly as Matt did his damnedest to lick John's hide clear off him. He tasted as good as he smelled, all sweat and semen and hairy slick skin.

By the time he was able to pry himself loose, John was clean, whimpering, and hard again. Matt sat back on his heels and nearly fell over when his pants caught on his boot heels.

"Shit," he muttered, and stood up long enough to shed the last of his clothing. Shaky hands reached out to help, but got diverted on the way, playing with his cock, pulling at his balls, generally getting Matt so distracted it was a wonder he didn't kill himself kicking off his boots.

Finally, they were both naked, and both hungry, and the bed was right there. Matt tumbled John onto the sheets, following him down and inhaling deeply. The scent was strongest here, sweat soaked into the sheets, semen dotting them from what must've been a hell of a wet dream, the faintest tinge of Other. That piqued Matt's territorial instinct, but the scent was so faint, and so easily drowned out by the want leaking out of John, that he shrugged it off.

Didn't matter who'd been there before. He was there now, and John was his.

Intent on staking his claim, Matt rubbed his body against John's, marking him, mingling their scents. John was mumbling again, but Matt couldn't make out the words, and it wasn't important. What was important was John moving against him, strong arms wrapping around his back, long legs winding around his hips. The heat of his erection jerking against Matt's belly, the startling tightness of his ass around Matt's cock, and the way he moved into, not away from, Matt fucking him.

Matt leaned up, dragging himself barely far enough away to be able to look into John's face. His dark eyes were hazy, his lips parted as he panted for air, a flush staining his skin darker than the usual tan. He looked like he was seeing God. Matt wasn't sure John was seeing him. He didn't let it stop him.

He couldn't.

The drive to mate was stronger than it had ever been. Despair undercut his need. Wolves mated for life. He'd thought he had no mate left to claim, when Marie died. But it wasn't going to be that easy.

John tightened around him, a garbled yell erupting from him as he spasmed against and around Matt. The hot splash against his belly and chest, and the clamping around his cock, drove his brain right off the rails, and he growled loudly as he held John against him. His second orgasm felt like it went on forever, and when he was finally drained, he collapsed. A muffled protest against his jaw prompted him to shift far enough off John not to smother him, but that was as far as he could go.

Then John moved beneath him, and the smell of them, together, filled his nose, and the world shifted to a yellow haze.

Energy flowed through him. His spine crawled, his lips drew back in a snarl, and he moved on instinct. He lowered his head, scenting John, nuzzling and humping against him. John made a sound low in his throat, and it felt like yes to Matt, so he went with it. Kicking the sheets and blanket away, he yanked a pillow down from the head of the bed and stuffed it down next to John's hip. Then Matt rolled him over, whimpering from somewhere deep in his chest, and he shifted up, covering John from shoulders to ankles. Skin kissed skin from chest and back to restless feet. He slid home again, hips thrusting lazily together, hands sliding down arms to settle over hands, fingers laced, palms against the mattress.

He didn't know how long the madness lasted before he was finally exhausted. John lost consciousness sometime after the third orgasm, screaming into the bed linens as Matt kept moving in him throughout. Matt couldn't stop, had to keep going, driven to crawl as far into John as he could go. There was no scent of blood, and Matt didn't shift, so he didn't do any damage. Still, when he finally pulled himself from John's back and began to lick away the evidence of their joining, he was shocked to see daylight coming through the curtains.

The sheets were shredded, but the blanket was still in one piece, so Matt smoothed it over John. The pillow under his hips was trashed, too, and Matt stared at it blankly before carrying it over to the door and dropping it there. He'd throw it in the dumpster out back. He dressed quietly, stopping more often than he realized to stare at John's ruffled head dark against the pillow, his body beneath the thin blanket. Quickly, he tidied the room, took one final look at John, and slipped out the door. Once he'd disposed of the ruined sheets and pillow, he headed for his truck.

Halfway back to the office, he reached for the radio. "Molly, this is Matt. I'll be out of contact for the next few hours. Something I have to follow up on."

"Need back-up?" She sounded extremely curious. Not surprising, since he never went out of radio contact.

"Nope," he answered abruptly. "I'll be up on the hill."

That had probably been a stupid thing to say, but it had gotten her to sign off without protest. He trusted Molly, though. If he'd said it to anyone else, it'd be all over Wolf Lake by lunch-time that the Sheriff was taking a day off to go native.

Wouldn't that give Tyler conniptions. Not that Matt cared. At the moment, Tyler was the least of his worries.

The way his skin was itching, the need to run, and the desire to go back to that cabin and take up where he'd left off topped his list.

Still not quite sure if he even could change, since it had been so long, the searing fire along his nerve endings caught him by surprise. It was almost as bad as the first time, and his scream startled him, echoing against the rocky outcroppings, barely swallowed by the trees. Mid-scream, it transfigured, and the howl that had been clawing at him since Tyler's challenge, impelled by his unexpected mating with John Kanin, sang out through the hills.

Sang as it hadn't sounded in over a decade. Since he'd lost Marie. Lost himself.

He ran for hours, at the mercy of the wildness in his blood. Joy washed through him as he tore through the trees, mind and body at peace with one another as they hadn't been for so long. He'd fought this for years, tried to forget the surge of power, tried to live within the confines he'd defined for himself. For his wife and his child. Now his wife was gone, his child practically a stranger. His choices had exiled him from the pack. He'd thought he was strong enough to meet the challenge of being alone.

Except, now, he wasn't.

It was dusk by the time he'd exhausted himself enough to change back. Washing the sweat that coated him away in the stream, he dressed and walked slowly back to his truck, driving home on auto-pilot. His mind felt as numb as his body. Pulling up in the driveway, he stared at the dark windows of his house and wondered where Sophia was. What Tyler was up to. How Cane was doing. What Sherman would have to say about his new mate.

He didn't let himself think about John until he was in the shower. When he did, he was hard in seconds, and he closed his eyes, closed his hand around his cock, and remembered the scent and the heat and the sounds John had made. It didn't take much to get him off. Splashing water against the tiles, washing away the mess, he bowed his head. Let the water run through his hair, down over his face. Realized that he was still Other as he'd always been, and wondered if he'd realized it just in time to have to repudiate it again. For a mate who was not Other.

The memory of John's scent tickled his nose, and his head came up, eyes closed against the spray as he concentrated. It had the faintest hint of familiarity. Matt had smelled and responded to it from the first time he'd met John. The trust and liking, and later the mad lust, hadn't been as much of a shock as they should have been. But that didn't make any sense. John wasn't Other.

Was he?

The thought followed him to the club, and he was distracted as he settled behind the piano. Miranda looked at him, waiting for her cue, but he found himself playing love songs without words, his hands moving over the keys without conscious thought, his gaze fixed on the mid-distance, seeing nothing. Eventually she got bored, pulled up a stool, leaned against the piano. Dozed off. He didn't notice.

He'd been playing half an hour when the scent hit him. He looked up to see John walking through the door, looking serious and healthy and calm. Nothing like the needing, grasping, hungry man he'd mated with for hours that morning. Their eyes caught, and Matt felt the howl start in his bones. For a moment the world flashed yellow. John checked, then shook his head as if waking from a dream. Set his shoulders, called out an order to the barman, settled down beside Sherman. Did his best to ignore Matt.

His best wasn't good enough. Matt finished the song and segued smoothly into one of Miranda's better efforts. She jerked awake, slid off the stool, and started to sing. Matt let her voice wash over him, but his attention was on John.

The wildness was rising again. And it wasn't going to go away.

That had to've been the worst bout of flu John had ever suffered. His muscles ached, but weirdly enough, not in a bad way. It must've been the hallucinations. Ruby, in the strangest incarnations. Dead parents. Shock treatments. Love and rejection and horror all tangled up together. Making love to Ruby and having her turn into Matt Donner, of all people. Even a job offer. What a wild trip.

And it was all thanks to one crazy Indian.

He spotted Blackstone sitting at the bar and made his way over to join him. Halfway there, he glanced toward the piano. Donner was playing.

Looking at him.

John missed a step, eyes caught by the intensity of the stare Donner sent his way. For an instant, the club disappeared and he was back in the cabin, leaning against the wall, hands tangled in Matt Donner's hair as he hung on for the best damned blow job he'd ever gotten. His ass twinged and he gulped, then shivered when Donner's eyes seemed to flash yellow for the barest instant.

Shaking off the weird image, deciding it must be a lingering side effect of whatever the hell Blackstone had spiked the chicken soup with, John broke off what was turning into a disconcertingly smoldering staring contest and resolutely headed for the bar. "Hot tea, please," he told the bar tender. Claiming a stool next to Blackstone, he said sternly, "Okay, Emeril, let's talk soup."

"Helped out. I mean, you look a whole lot better." Blackstone gave him an innocent look.

Not that John was buying his act. "What was in that?"

"Told you. It was just chicken and vegetables." He practically glowed with innocence. John didn't know whether to laugh or smack him.

"No, no, something else in there you can't get at the market. I've been hallucinating for the last forty eight hours."

"Still congested? Fever?" John stared at him. "Achy joints? Nausea? Explosive diarrhea?" The stare turned to a glare. Blackstone paused for an instant and said in the same exact tone, "Unrequited love?"

His glare melted into blank-faced confusion. That was too close to home. Too close to true. Blackstone stared right back, and right through, him.

"Yeah, you're cured."

John shot back, "I'm freaked."

"Facing your demons is good medicine."

Is that what he'd been doing? Funny. He didn't consider Ruby a demon. He just knew that he loved her. And she'd loved him. Where Donner and the incredible sex had come from was anybody's guess. Blackstone slurped tequila and orange juice through his straw and gave him one last bit of advice.

"Just don't get too hung up on the side effects. Celebrate!"

Right. Like he had so much to celebrate. He threw Blackstone a half-hearted glare and turned to watch Miranda sing, only to find his eyes drawn back to Matt Donner.

Memory struck him again, of skin sliding against skin, of fire flashing along his nerves, of rockets going off behind his eyes. His mind shied away from the sensations the memories provoked, and with iron discipline he put the wild, acid-trip ride firmly in a box marked 'hallucinations' and refused to think about it.

Donner looked up from the keys and directly at John. In the space of a heartbeat, he thought he saw gold flash in those eyes again, and he shivered. Turned his shoulder toward the stage. Huddled over his hot tea, and thought about lost love and demons.

end