Loving Paws Page 4

  As I was heading towards the edge of town, I realized that my truck was running out of gas. I had no choice but to stop and get some if I wanted to make it home, but by then, I was deep into a rather unfamiliar part of Lillington--and not eager to stop anytime soon. Shifters avoided this part of town. We weren’t welcome here.

  I’ve been told that most humans are scared of remote places, the forest, deserted highways at night, and long stretches of quiet road. I’m scared of being alone, surrounded by humans. Even in my human form, I’m afraid they can sense that I’m different somehow, that something subtle I’ll do will reveal my true nature--and then that could get me killed.

  I managed to make it some ways out of the busier areas and pulled into a truck stop. To my immense relief, there was only one other vehicle in the parking lot. Once inside the store, the sight of all the junk food stacked along the aisle made me realize how hungry I was. I had been so caught up in Caleb and the protest that I couldn’t even remember the last time I had eaten. After that stay in the hotel, though, I probably had just enough money for the gas to make it home.

  The store clerk nodded at me before she retreated into the employees-only room. I went into the restroom and splashed cold water on my face. Right then a man in a camo-print jacket came inside and stood at the sink next to me. As I washed my hands, I noticed that he was only pretending to wash his. The hood of the jacket was hung low over his face. I feigned looking at my reflection in order to watch his movements as I finished. He pulled something from his pocket.

  A gun.

  My eyes widened. Before I had time to react, he pressed the cold end of the steel barrel to my temple.

  “Gimme what you got, wolfman,” he grunted. This close, I could smell the foul stench of alcohol on his breath. I winced as he twisted the barrel into my skin.

  I kept my gaze on the mirror. He swayed slightly. There was no doubt that he’d had some liquid courage.

  “Come on!” he snapped. “Don’t think I won’t do it! I’ll do it and no one’s gonna care that you’re dead, wolfman. I know where you freaks live--and I’m gonna do it to each and every last one of ’em, too.”

  I reached into my pocket for the small wad of bills I had left. Slowly, I tried to angle myself away inch by inch until I had enough space to move. The sight of the money seemed to pacify him just a bit, and when he reached for it, I saw my chance and kneed him in the groin.

  The man groaned in pain and stumbled back but immediately took aim at me again. I cowered against the wall and shut my eyes tight after I watched him pull the trigger. The shot exploded right beside my head. I carefully shifted my eyes to the side. The bullet went through the wall, missing me just by an inch or two.

  My ears rang, but I could just about hear someone yelling outside the restroom.

  This man was going to kill me. His missed shot seemed to have distracted him, as though he himself couldn’t believe just how close he had come to snuffing out another life, but he lifted his gun and pointed at me again.

  “Please,” I begged. “Please let me go.”

  He chuckled humorlessly. “Well, I was gonna do that, but you just had to go and kick me in the balls. You think I’m gonna take that? From you?”

  Weak from fear, hunger, and exhaustion, I stumbled away the wall. “Stay back! Stay back or I’ll shoot!” he screamed--but his hands were trembling. He was seriously drunk. Could I use that to my advantage?

  No time. I knew he would shoot again, but I needed enough time to turn and run out the door--I was certain I could outrun him, even as weak as I was,but then what? Get into a truck without enough gas to even get me down the road? If he shot again, there was a chance he’d hit me.

  With no other options, I lunged at him. He fired a second time, but in his effort to avoid me, shot at the ceiling. The dim restroom light flickered and sent sparks into the air as I pinned the man hard against the wall. I bared my teeth at him, allowing him to see a glimpse of the wild beast that lay within, the beast that he hated enough to want to kill.

  Someone kicked the door open. A deep voice commanded me to get off the man. I immediately complied. A pair of policemen had their guns aimed at us. Dread filled my stomach like a lead weight. If they thought I had attacked a human, it was over for me.

  “Hand over the gun,” said the taller of the two.

  The hooded man held out his gun. “It-it wasn’t my fault…” he whimpered. “It was him. He attacked me, officers. It was him…”

  “Shut up, Bert,” said the other. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  The taller cop took the gun and placed it into a Ziploc bag. I watched as the other put my would-be mugger in handcuffs. I stood frozen as he was led away.

  The tall officer let out a sigh. “Got here just in time, didn’t we?”

  I took in a big gulp of air. “I didn’t attack him first. I swear.”

  “We know, we know. Bert’s a known bigot around these parts. You wouldn’t be the first wolf he shot. This gun?” He tipped the bag towards me. “It’s got silver-tipped bullets. All of his do.”

  “Christ,” I said. It was all I could say. All the air had been knocked out of me, and no matter how hard I breathed, I still felt like I was suffocating.

  “Yeah. You’re lucky Miranda out front recognized you from the news, so when Bert followed you, she knew something was gonna go down.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem. Well, anyway--I gotta get going.” The cop patted me on the shoulder and headed towards the exit--but stopped in the doorway. “If I were you, I’d stay away from these parts. I’ve got nothing against your kind, but I sure as hell can’t say the same for everyone in town.”

  I got out of there as fast as I could. I went out to put gas in my truck before going in to pay Miranda, the store clerk. Before I left, I thanked her for calling the cops.

  As I pulled away, I found myself having trouble understanding Caleb again. These were the people he thought needed protection from us? I wanted to understand him. I wanted so badly to understand him, but the more time I spend away from the pack, the less I did.

  We would have a lot to talk about the next time we saw each other again. If we saw each other again.

  7

  Caleb

  “Come in, come in. Goodness, it’s absolutely pouring out there,” Sarein said, as he ushered me into his apartment. “I need to shut the blinds. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

  I shut the door behind me while I watched Sarein rush around the place, shutting all the blinds to make sure not a sliver of moonlight would hit us. That sort of act had become more ritual to him than true precaution; it had been so long since we last shifted that I doubted we could do so, even under the full moon, but we always feared that one night our bodies could betray us.

  Full moons, of course, were a different matter entirely. My heart raced at the thought of losing control. I was always careful, never venturing out late at night, never straying too far from my hotel rooms or studio apartment whenever the sun began to set, always keeping track of each passing hour. I would never forgive myself if I let the beast within me show. Not in a city surrounded by so many humans.

  The first night of the full moon, when it was hardest for us to resist, was still a few days away. I watched the lunar calendar like my life depended on it, and to some extent it did. It seemed like Sarein’s paranoia rubbed off on me.

  Sarein reappeared in the living room once it was safe. “Now that that’s over, how about a drink?”

  “I’d love one.”

  “Whiskey? Scotch?” he asked.

  “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” I replied.

  He nodded. “Be back in a sec.”

  I took a seat on Sarein’s pristine, cream-colored sofa and had a look around the room. The decor was minimal; there was nothing on the glass coffee table but a small, decorative, black plate. Nothing hung from the walls but a gold-rimmed clock. Even in the dim light of the living room, I could tell that Sarein
was rather fond of solid white and black. Aside from the rim of the clock, the only other splash of color was a plastic fern on an empty bookshelf. It was all very clean and orderly and…tame. I had been over to Sarein’s place dozens of times, but I never really noticed how strangely empty it felt.

  Since he worked behind the scenes at the Human and Shifter Council, he was often much busier than I was. Perhaps he had no need to make his home more lively--or perhaps he preferred it this way. It wasn’t like he was the most outgoing guy, after all.

  Why was I thinking about this so much?

  “Nice place you’ve got here,” I said when Sarein returned.

  He chuckled lightly as he placed the whiskey bottle and two shot glasses on the table. “You’ve never said a word about my apartment till now.”

  “I guess I’ve just never paid much attention to the small details,” I said. There were, of course, no small details to be found. Everything was simple, upfront, and not unlike Sarein, himself. I could appreciate that about him.

  “We have been buried in work these past couple of months,” he mused as he poured himself some whiskey. “Personally, I prefer it that way. Don’t you?”

  “I never know what to do with myself whenever I have too much free time,” I agreed. He slid a shot of whiskey towards me and I took a small sip, enjoy the way it burned my throat--but I put it down again before I could drink more. I shouldn’t have been drinking. Lately, I was worried that my night with Lucien nearly a month ago left me with something more than a warm memory. I had been so aroused that I had forgotten to worry about the condom entirely.

  “You know, Caleb, there is a lot more to home decor than there seems. There’s quite a lot of introspection that needs to be done. ‘Where should I put this piece of myself? Where should I put that piece of myself?’ Some people really enjoy decorating their spaces. Their homes become almost like extensions of themselves. I can admire that, but it seems like it could get rather…” he paused for a moment, thinking. “Rather messy, I suppose.”

  I pretended to take another tiny sip of my whiskey. “What do you mean?”

  “The mind is a powerful thing, Caleb. Have you heard the saying that memory is like a muscle? The more you use it, the stronger it gets. Well, muscles also tend to weaken over time if you do nothing with them. When your muscles atrophy, you yourself become weak. When you let old memories fade away, you cease to become who you were in the past.”

  I furrowed my brows in confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t follow. Are you saying you don’t want to make any memories, Sarein? Memories shape who you become, too. You can’t avoid that part of life.”

  Sarein shook his head as he poured himself another drink. “I’m saying that I want to forget my past, Caleb. I want to be free of the life I lived before I came out here. Sometimes, I…” he paused again for a moment and looked away. “Sometimes I like to pretend I was never born a shifter. I like to pretend that I, Sarein Appleton, am all human--that I can go out into the light of the full moon like anyone else, that the people I meet won’t be wary of me, that I didn’t have a wild beast trying its damnedest to break free from inside me no matter how hard I try to tame it. That’s what I’m saying.”

  I almost didn’t know what to say. Though I knew he and I carried the same pain, he had never been so open with me before. “Yes. I think I know that feeling.”

  Everything Sarein had said hit a bit too close to home. My entire life, I found myself longing for one impossible thing after another. Back when I was a boy, I wanted to save all the animals on the ranch--but then what would we have eaten? When I left Thunderstone, I wanted to save the world--but I was only one person. And later, I wanted the most impossible thing of all, to be human.

  But did I really want to be human? Or did I just not want to be the person I was, Caleb Haust, the man with no home? I couldn’t deny that I’ve hoped to belong somewhere, but if I didn’t belong with the pack and didn’t belong out here, where did I belong?

  Maybe it wasn’t a somewhere I was looking for, but a someone.

  Lucien.

  I had carried the paper with his number with me in my pocket these past few weeks, like a lucky charm, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to call him. What would I even say? That I couldn’t stop thinking about him? He knew that already.

  Did Lucien ever feel like this? Lost?

  “I know it may not be the most healthy thing, repressing everything I feel, but out here, it’s not like there’s much of a choice. It’s safer this way--for everyone,” Sarein went on. “So, I keep my home simple. It’s how I keep my head clear.” He looked somberly at me. “I could decorate this place to remind me more of home. There are still a few memories from that time that make me happy, but if I give in to my old ways, even just a little, I’m afraid I’ll lose all the work I’ve put into becoming who I am now.”

  I nodded.

  “Being human is all about restraint.”

  I didn’t want to drink anymore. I had a strong feeling I would regret it if I did.

  Neither of us said much of anything for a while after that. Truth be told, I was rather uncomfortable. Was this the real Sarein? I thought I knew him better than this.

  But I supposed we all needed our secrets.

  Sarein continued to drink, and I continued to listen. Outside the rain continued to fall well into the night until at some point it suddenly ceased. Sarein stopped making sense and withdrew from conversation. I didn’t like how quiet it became. My inner thoughts felt too loud, and I worried that he’d sense the turmoil of my emotions.

  I was dying to hear Lucien’s voice again no matter how briefly. The short time we had spent together weeks ago felt like part of a different life.

  A different me. A self that was almost…happy.

  All the pieces of my soul seemed to settle in place when I was with him. Unfortunately, that meant the pieces seemed to scatter now we were apart.

  I watched Sarein curl up miserably on the loveseat. I never imagined I would ever see him so discomposed. “You don’t need any more of this,” I said as I took the whiskey bottle and shot glass from him. He whined as I managed to keep it out of his fumbling reach, but he soon fell back in defeat. His kitchen was more of the same featureless white as the rest of the place. Not a single dish or utensil was out of place.

  This apartment did not feel clean. It felt desolate.

  I wished I didn’t understand what Sarein was going through, but I did. That was why I dumped the rest of the whiskey down the drain of his sink.

  When I came back Sarein was asleep--or at least he seemed to be. He began to grumble, moan, and even cry a little. Unsure of what to do, I went into the bathroom to check my phone and read my text messages, emails, news reports--anything to keep my mind off of my own feelings. The article Matheson posted about me on his paper’s site had gotten dozens of shares and positive comments on social media, and it even looked like we had just gotten a rather sizeable donation from a local source here up on the Hill.

  My professional life was going great. The registry bill was picking up a lot of support in urban areas and was progressing well with all the bureaucrats on the Hill. The only thing that wasn’t perfect was a lack of support in rural areas, like around Lillington.

  Lillington. The town right by my old home.

  “Sarein?” I asked, returning to the living room. I found him sitting upright now, his dreamy, sad eyes open half-way. “Do you think you’re gonna be okay here by yourself?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said quietly. “I’m always fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He said nothing else. Instead, he watched as I prepared to leave. The sun had not yet risen, but I wanted to get out of that apartment as soon as possible. With a deep breath, I opened the front door.

  Sarein only stared at me. “You know where to reach me, don’t you? I need to take off for a few days and do some campaigning. Please, don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything--anything at all, S
arein. I mean it.”

  Nothing.

  “And Sarein?” I turned back before I stepped outside. “Please, don’t deny yourself the things that make you feel alive.”

  I rushed down the street, grateful that they were still largely empty at this hour. With each step I worried that my body might change, that it would shift into the wolf I had hidden for so long.

  Would that be so terrible? I wondered for a fleeting moment. Oh, I could run all the way to Thunderstone like that.

  No. It would be wrong of me to do that. I was above those kinds of animalistic pleasures now.

  So, I went home, packed a few things, and got in my car. I drove with my hands tensely gripping the steering wheel until the sun came up and morning traffic forced me to slow down. At a stop, I finally worked up the courage to pick up my phone and text Lucien:

  Lucien, I’m gonna be in Lillington for a few days. Just wanted to let u know in case u wanna meet up again

  To my surprise, I received an answer less than ten minutes later.

  Really??? That’s great. Sure I’d meet. After a few minutes, he followed up with: where are u staying?

  I wrote back: Not sure yet maybe a hotel

  About a half-hour later, he sent: No way. Stay over with me. I got plenty of room.

  Stay over? At his house? On the pack lands? I took in a deep breath. Could I really do that? I imagined being that close to Lucien for longer than a couple of hours. My body was yearning for his touch. Not only that, we could talk. Really talk. We could figure this whole messy thing out.

  But if it went wrong, I had a feeling I would be out of chances to fix things with him.

  It took a while for me to make up my mind. I mulled over a million different scenarios in my head about what would happen when I finally got there. I wondered how much had changed since I left, and how much had stayed the same. I pictured Lucien and I as boys out on the ranch during the late summer evenings, sneaking off into the woods to chase each other in our wolf forms once the light of the first night of the full moon called us out. Even then I wasn’t crazy about shifting, but Lucien had a way of making me forget my discomfort.