The second Jake Nash dropped the name 'Mortaine' I saw we had trouble. Kit jumped like somebody had set off firecrackers under his feet, and the next thing I knew, a little white fox darted from his pile of empty clothes and shot away towards the woods like the hounds of hell were on its tail.
I didn't bother calling after him. In that state, he wouldn't stop 'til he ran out of steam. Under normal circumstances, I'd have let him go—let him run it out of his system, calm down naturally, and come back in his own time—but these circumstances weren't normal.
Somebody burned my parents' house to the ground, and—Mortaines or not—they could still be out here.
So I hadn't thought twice about Shifting and going after him. I'd stripped off my own clothes as I started to run; Kit might be able to shed his with ease, but mine would tear apart at the seams—or worse, get stuck on me. Nothing dumber than a werewolf strangled by his own shirt.
As I shed my last garment and took full form, Dane called after me.
"Monty, careful! Chase instinct!"
I barked in reply. Dane didn't have to tell me to be careful; I'd been careful my whole damned life. Ever since I accidentally broke Travis's arm while play wrestling when I was six.
I'd felt like such a monster. I'd run away and hid in the woods for two days, living off creek water and berries (it was fortunately summer at the time), until my dad finally tracked me down.
First, he'd cried and hugged me til I couldn't breathe (I hadn't considered that a six-year-old boy disappearing for two days would worry anyone) and then he'd sat me down and explained.
He told me that what had happened to Travis wasn't my fault, and that it wasn't my fault I was big and strong. But if I kept up that way, he'd said, I'd grow to be bigger and stronger than most anyone, most likely.
And that meant I had to be careful, especially as a Wolf. He told me my strength and size were like superpowers, and it was up to me to choose how I'd use them.
I'd chosen to use them sparingly. From then on, I was as gentle and as careful as I could be. The memory of poor Travis's four-year-old baby face scrunching up with unexpected pain, and then with fear, as he clutched his limp little arm to his chest still haunted me, even now, as I chase Kit through the tangled brush and densely packed trees.
In a little clearing where a seasonal creek runs—dry now, so late in the summertime—he tires and misses a step on the uneven ground. He stumbles, and I lunge for the 'kill.' Dane's right—my instincts are still there, still ready to rise with the heat of the chase—but they don't control me. They serve me.
I take Kit down in a gentle tumble, then hold him beneath my paws. I can feel his heart racing full tilt in his little fox chest, and his pink tongue lolls in his open mouth between sharp teeth as he pants for breath. For a while, he just stares, his black eyes wide and glassy as a creature accepting its fate. Then, gradually, he quiets, and his eyes slide shut behind white-furred lids.
When I'm sure he's safe and calm, I stand, releasing him and giving him some space to recover. My own heart still thuds fast and strong in my breast, and the muscles in my legs tremble a bit. It's been a while since I ran so hard and fast.
There's a big old pine nearby, with a thick carpet of soft needles under it, and I lay down against its wide, rough bole.
I rest my head on my front paws and watch Kit. After a minute or so, he gets to his feet and looks my way, his large ears laid flat and his long tail (just one, at the moment) tucked between his legs.
Then he pads over, a little shaky, and lies down at my side.
All the tension in my heart melts away, and a strange feeling—like honeyed sunlight—floods my mind.
I take a deep, slow breath and let the feeling fill me, from the tip of my tail to the tip of my nose, and finally I find a name for it. It's a kind of quiet, simple joy. Something about Kit and the way he just fits with me makes me indescribably happy.
Happier than I've been in a long time; maybe even in my whole life.
Then my happiness dims as a cloud passes over that honeyed sun.
He trusts me.
Maybe he'd even love me, if I let him.
I can't risk that.
Like my dad used to tell me every time I brought a stray or injured animal home: "You can't keep it, Monty. You can help 'em, but then you gotta let 'em go."
It's the first thing my first boss taught me on my first day as a bodyguard: the feelings aren't real. People in high-stress situations, relying on someone else to keep them safe, naturally develop a kind of emotional dependency. Sometimes they mistake that for something more. Once the situation's over, though, the feeling fades and they move on—no harm no foul. The danger comes when the bodyguard falls for it. When they believe they're loved for more than doing their job. Then they get hurt.
I only fell for it once. The last time.
You could say I learned my lesson.
Still, there's something different about Kit. It's like he's... made for me, almost. If I didn't know it was impossible, I'd almost think...
Kit lets out a long, soft breath, and then I feel him Shift.
In place of the little fox, his human form lies curled against my fur. Slowly, he sits up and rubs his eyes, like he's just waking from a long nap.
He takes in my Wolf form, and his eyes widen. He's only seen my wolf once, and he was barely conscious at the time.
"Monty... You're so big," he whispers wonderingly, and strokes my fur.
If I were in human form, I'd be blushing, which makes me reluctant to Shift. Trouble is, I can't talk to him like this.
Rising, I get carefully to my feet. My head is almost level with his, even when I'm on all fours, and he takes an involuntary step back. I gently nudge his bare chest with my nose, then circle around behind the large pine. I don't like people watching me Shift.
Maybe it's because of my size, but it always takes me a little longer than my brothers and sisters, and 'the between,' as Wolves call the process of our transformation, is nobody's best look.
Some minutes later, I take a few deep lungfuls of air, leaning my hand against the tree-trunk to catch my breath, before stepping around it to rejoin Kit.
He stares, and I hope he's not going to repeat what he said before. I resist the urge to cover myself with my hands. Kit's not ashamed, so why should I be?
Besides, I'm staring, too, because Kit is beautiful.
Sun and shadow dapple his bronze-toned skin, and his honey-gold curls are tousled in charming disarray. His dark eyes shine with a soft light while mine drink in the shape of him. Thanks to good food and plenty of it, he no longer looks half starved. Instead, he looks like a young god, slim and toned—a little fox in human form.
For the first time in a long time, desire stirs to life like coals stoked in my belly. My heartbeat quickens, and when I look at him, I see something I'd like to call mine.
Conscious of my gaze, he flushes prettily, his cheeks highlighted with copper warmth, and lowers long gold lashes to veil his eyes.
He steps towards me, his feet making no sound on the soft layers of fallen pine needles that cover the ground, and folds himself against me, skin to skin, resting his head on my chest.
I hardly know what to do with this otherworldly creature in my arms, and stand for a moment, almost holding my breath.
Then he shivers, and I'm brought back to earth from the heaven into which I'd momentarily strayed.
"You okay?" I smooth my hands over the bare skin of his back, enjoying the soft warmth of him beneath my touch.
He presses a little closer and nods, and I'm intensely aware of every place his body touches mine. A little too intensely, in fact, and I lean away from him in an effort to avoid an unfortunate incident. I don't want to scare him again.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I just..."
"I know. But I don't think Jake meant any harm by it. He doesn't know we've any reason to fear the Mortaines—beyond the usual."
Kit nods and pulls away far enough to look up at me.
"I know," he whispers, his lips forming words with only a hint of sound.
"Besides, if there are Outcasts here, they'll be just as scared of their old Pack as you are, Mortaines or not. I'll keep you safe, but you gotta stick close to me and do what I say, okay?"
"Okay," he echoes with simple sincerity, and I can't help smiling.
His expression remains serious, though, open and wondering, and another surge of warmth heats my chest as I once more experience the desire to keep all his honeyed sunlight for myself.
"You feel it, too," he says, surprising me, "don't you?"
"F-feel what?" I stammer, distracted by the soft perfection of his lips.
"This." He touches the center of my chest with his fingertips, and then his eyes flick up to mine again and his golden lashes catch the light. "Us."
I swallow hard. "Us?"
"Yes. Like this."
He presses close to me, skin to skin in the warm, pine-scented light, and I stray towards heaven again as he tilts his head back and invites me to kiss him.
I almost do—lessons learned be damned—when a yelp of surprise makes us both jump.
Freya stands at the edge of the little clearing, our bundled clothes in hand.
"Uh... Oops?" She winces with apology, but I see laughter and delight behind her eyes, and silently swear.
Now everyone will get the wrong idea.
"Um... I thought y'all might want your clothes. Here."
She sets them down like she's leaving an offering for some dangerous god, then turns and retreats back the way she came. At the edge of the clearing, she turns and shoots me an exaggerated wink.
"Take your time. I'll spread the word all's well."
"Freya..."
"Yeah, yeah. No worries."
She waves at me and disappears into the brush.
Sighing, I turn my attention back to Kit. The allure is still there, full force—in his careless gold curls, his warm brown skin, and his softly masculine form; in the way he leans into me, and how good he feels in my arms—but now my senses have returned.
I can't give in to this; I can't risk Kit's life, and my heart, on a fantasy. My feelings are just raw and strong, and heady, because they're new—something I've never felt to this degree. It doesn't mean...
Well, it doesn't mean anything.
"You okay now?" I ask, releasing Kit and going to retrieve our clothes.
"Yes," he answers, head bowed, and takes his clothes from me without raising his eyes.
We get dressed, and then return the way we came, human-formed and hand in hand.
And again—despite the fact my parents are missing and I'm worried out of my mind for them, and although everything I know tells me this isn't something I can have, a little of that honeyed sunlight slips through again, and warms my heart.
As if he reads my thoughts and feels the same, Kit's hand briefly squeezes mine, and a burst of that strange happiness shoots through me as he moves a little closer to my side.
Maybe I can enjoy this while it lasts, I think. Even if it isn't something I can keep.