Starved Until Sunset (Critter Catchers: Level Up #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“ I can’t believe you would do this to me.”

Demetrius pulled on his work gloves. “I’m not having this discussion again.” He opened the door and stepped down from the cab, waiting to continue until he reached the back of the large Department of Public Works dump truck and saw Cody appear from the driver’s side. “This is something you’ve been aware of as long as we’ve known each other.”

Cody shook his head as he put on his own gloves. “But it’s not usually so, you know… ” He held his gloved hand up right in front of his face and gave an exaggerated shudder. “In my face. It’s like it’s so awful my mind can’t take it, and I have to forget about the tragedy of it throughout the year. Then October comes around, and it just slaps me in the face all over again.”

Demetrius allowed himself a moment to entertain the mental image of slapping Cody in the face himself before he gestured to the shape lying on the shoulder of the road. “Can we just get to work, please?”

“Anything,” Cody said, starting forward. “Even shoveling up road kill, as long as it will erase the image from my brain.”

“You’re being a huge baby about this.”

“First of all, I appreciate your use of ‘huge’ as a descriptor for me.” Cody shot a smirk over his shoulder that sent a jolt of want through Demetrius’s core and down into his groin. Dammit.

“I think you’re overlooking the word that followed it.”

“No. I’m ignoring it because, frankly, it’s a little creepy.”

They reached the animal and stood with fists on their hips, looking it over. It was a white-tailed doe, and the sight of it sent an ice-cold shard of sadness into Demetrius’s gut. He’d long thought deer were graceful, almost majestic animals, and seeing one dead on the side of the road always made him sad.

“Doesn’t look like it’s been hit by a car,” Cody said.

“You’re right.” Demetrius squatted and waved away a cloud of flies. “Legs are all fine, and there’s no trauma to the head or back end.”

“Maybe it saw you eating candy corn and died from how overwhelmingly gross it is.”

Demetrius straightened up and shot him a glare. He tried to hold it, but it turned into a grimacing smile at how pleased Cody looked with himself.

“Look, I put up with a lot of your peculiar habits,” Demetrius said.

“Peculiar?”

“And I have one treat I enjoy for a brief time during the Halloween season. One. So, how about we both agree to accept each other, peculiar habits and all, and just move on with our day? Sound good?”

“Candy corn is a little more than a peculiar habit,” Cody said, following as Demetrius walked toward the truck. “It’s basically wax. You might as well be eating candles.”

“Maybe that’ll be next on my to do list.” Demetrius pulled a shovel from where it hung along the side of the truck.

“Look, I’m not trying to give you any ideas.” Cody pulled another shovel free. “I’m trying to help you not embarrass yourself in public.”

Demetrius stopped halfway to the deer and looked between it and the truck. “This isn’t going to work. You’ll need to back the truck up.”

Cody stepped in close. The scent of him surrounded Demetrius and sent his pulse racing even before Cody gave him a quick kiss. “You love to see me back my thing up.”

Demetrius tried to give him a crabby look, but knew he hadn’t been able to pull it off. He watched Cody walk back to the truck—he had such a hot ass—then called out instructions as Cody slowly backed the dump truck along the shoulder of Route 118. When the truck was as close to the deer as possible, Demetrius shouted out “You’re good!”

When he stepped down from the truck, Cody did not disappoint. “You heard it here first, friends and neighbors. Demetrius Singleton-Bower just declared I’m good.”

“You noticed I didn’t say great?”

“Hey, everyone should have room to improve.” Cody grinned as he adjusted his gloves. “I’m taking my time and building up to great. When we’re in our seventies, I’m going to rock your world.”

Demetrius returned his attention to the deer to hide his expression. Cody had pretty much started out in great territory. What could possibly be next? Whatever it was, Demetrius looked forward to finding out. He just hoped it was sooner than when they were in their seventies.

They tried to get shovels under the deer, but it was big, and they weren’t going to be able to get the angles right. A pickup sped past and the horn blared, making them both jump. Demetrius heard fading laughter as the truck moved on.

“Assholes,” Cody grumbled.

“Probably someone we went to high school with.”

“Even worse.” Cody stuck the point of the shovel into the gravel, leaning on the tip of the handle. The late afternoon October sun brought out ginger highlights in his hair and cast him in a warm yellow glow. Demetrius had to stop and catch his breath at Cody’s physical beauty sometimes. This was usually followed by him marveling that Cody had been the one to propose to him. And here they were, years later, still married.

Despite the monsters, violence, and the loss of their company, things were actually pretty great.

Or at least, not terrible.

“We’re going to have to touch it,” Cody said.

And sometimes, they were so much worse.

Demetrius stabbed the blade of his own shovel into the gravel and leaned on the handle as he groaned. “I hate when we have to touch it.”

“You usually like touching it when we’re home.”

“Well, sure, because it’s not lying in a cloud of flies on the side of a road.”

Cody made a face. “And that pretty much killed any mood I was going for.”

“First of all, I have no idea why you’d try to set a mood as we stand over roadkill. Second, I know you. You’ll be able to amp it back up again pretty quick.”

“I love that you’re so confident.”

“Years and years of experience have gone into my research.”

“So many years,” Cody said.

“So much research.”

They returned the shovels to the side of the truck and took up position at the deer’s feet. Demetrius stood by the head, and they crouched to grab the legs. Cody counted down from three, and they lifted the deer a few inches. Demetrius’s back muscles clenched in protest.

“God, this weighs more than Roman’s ego,” Cody said between grunts.

Demetrius snorted a laugh and lost his grip. The front half of the deer thumped to the gravel, the head rolling to expose the side of the neck that had been against the ground. Ragged puncture marks surrounded by dried blood marred the tawny hide. A flash of cold shuddered through him, and Demetrius took a step back.

A horn blared. Demetrius jumped from the road onto the shoulder again as a car sped past less than a foot away. Its wake rippled the back of his coveralls and lifted his thinning hair.

“Shit, you okay?” Cody dropped the deer’s back legs and gripped his arm.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Demetrius took a couple of deep breaths in an effort to slow his racing heart as adrenaline zinged through his system. He heard a high-pitched buzz in his ears, but the feel of Cody’s fingers kept him grounded. With his free arm, he jabbed a finger at Cody. “Stop saying things about your asshole brother and making me laugh while we’re doing stuff like this.”

Cody grinned even though Demetrius could see he tried not to. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” Demetrius gestured toward the deer. “At least now we can see what killed it.”

“Well, we know what it died from.” Cody squatted and leaned in to inspect the wounds. “But not what did it. I haven’t seen anything like this before.” He looked up, the sunlight making him squint. “Have you?”

“No. Most of the roadkill we’ve dealt with has had trauma from being hit by a car and been picked apart by scavengers. I don’t remember seeing bite marks like this on any of those.”

Cody touched the fingers of his gloved hand to the skin around the wounds. “Not a very big bite, either.”

“No tearing, and no skin or muscle missing.” Demetrius squatted across from Cody, careful to stay on the shoulder and out of the road. “It’s like it was just bitten and died.”

Cody met his gaze over the carcass, his expression serious. “You thinking what I’m thinking?’

“Most likely.”

“Is it a full moon?”

Demetrius stood again. “I’ll check my phone once we’re done. Let’s load this up and get out of here.”

Cody stood and they both took a moment to scan the woods. There was some time before sunset, but shadows were already slowly, steadily pushing the light out from between the trees.

“Yeah, good idea,” Cody said.

They struggled a bit longer, but finally managed to swing the deer a few times and get it up onto the end of the truck bed. Cody climbed in and extended a hand to help Demetrius up, then they dragged it to the back to join three other much more mangled deer carcasses. Four raccoons also made up the grisly menagerie, legs stiff and pointing toward the sky. Two flattened opossums lay nearby and Demetrius couldn’t help thinking about possum pancakes.

“Busy day,” Cody said.

“Yeah.” Demetrius leaned against the side of the truck bed. “I still prefer catching live critters.”

“Me too.” Cody tipped his head toward the end of the truck. “Ready to call it a day?”

“A day, a week, a month, a year, all of it,” Demetrius said. He gave the raccoons a quick glance.

“Trevor is fine,” Cody said, patting Demetrius’s ass. “He’s in his raccoon castle back at the house waiting for dinner.”

“I know. It’s just…”

“It’s been a lot, hasn’t it?”

Demetrius smiled, but it felt sad, and there was a cold spot in his chest. “Yeah.”

They returned to the cab and pulled off their gloves, dropping them on the floor mats. Cody handed over a pack of antibacterial wipes and they each scrubbed at their hands. Once his skin had dried, Demetrius pulled his phone from the pocket of his coveralls as Cody started the engine and turned toward town.

“No full moon,” Demetrius said after checking his app. “Not for another ten days.”

“Great. So, something strong enough to bring down a deer and kill it with a single bite is lurking around the woods outside of town.”

Cody’s phone buzzed from inside the pocket of his coveralls. “Dammit.”

He lifted a butt cheek off the seat and stuck one hand in his pocket. The truck edged over the center line, and Demetrius reached to grab the wheel and bring them back into their lane.

“Easy there, big guy.”

“I know, I know… Just want to make sure it’s not the Pines.”

Which Demetrius knew meant Parson’s Pines, the senior care facility where Cody’s Grandma Felicia resided.

“Just try not to get us killed in the process.”

“Ugh. I can’t get to it.” Cody took the wheel in both hands and leaned toward his door. “Can you reach into my pocket and get my phone?”

“Is this some kind of cheap move to get me to touch your dick?” Demetrius smiled as he slid his hand into the warm darkness of Cody’s pocket. He felt the phone, then extended his fingers a little further to brush the side of Cody’s cock. “Because it’ll work every time.”

“Noted,” Cody said with a grin, keeping his eyes on the road.

Demetrius eased the now silent phone from his pocket. He used Cody’s code to unlock the phone and checked the recents.

“It was Jugs.”

“Nice of him to call so often,” Cody said.

“He left a voicemail.”

“I’ll listen to it later.”

Demetrius locked the phone and held on to it, watching through the dirt-streaked window as the soybean and corn fields grew smaller. The farmhouses, barns, and fields were eventually replaced by houses with big yards, which soon gave way to smaller homes closer together. They rode the rest of the way to the town limits in comfortable silence, and when they passed the sign welcoming travelers to Parson’s Hollow, Demetrius noticed some new graffiti across it: Monster capital .

“Little fuckers,” Cody said. “Shrieky Pete and I just cleaned that sign.”

“Always something to do in lovely Parson’s Hollow.”

“Or run from.”

They drove along Main through town. Another DPW truck passed them, and Cody sounded the horn and stuck his arm out the window in a wave, receiving the same in response.

“Was that Spiffy?”

“Yeah. He and Bill were patching potholes today.”

“Ugh, better them than us.” Demetrius put his head back against the seat, consciously keeping himself from thinking about how many other sweaty heads over the years had rested in the exact same spot. “I hate pothole patching.”

A mile past the town line on the northeast end of Parson’s Hollow, Cody slowed the truck and turned into a narrow dirt lane. He glanced over at Demetrius as he eased the big truck down the heavily rutted road. “How you doing over there? All okay?”

“I’m okay, just tired. Really glad it’s Friday.”

“Hate to shoot down your balloon, but it’s Thursday.”

“What? It is?” He checked his phone display. “Crap.”

They’d reached an open sandy area in the middle of a tight growth of trees. A deep pit waited at the far end, clouds of flies buzzing above it. Cody slowed the truck to a stop and shifted into reverse. He gave Demetrius a tight smile as he turned to look over his shoulder, the truck beeping as he backed up. “At least it’s meatloaf and mashed potatoes special night at Margie’s.”

“There’s that, I guess.”

Cody stopped the truck. “I need some direction.”

“Go backward very slowly,” Demetrius said.

Cody smirked. “Still sassy even though you’re tired and just found out it’s not Friday. Such a spark in you.”

“I’m a veritable beacon of inspiration.”

Demetrius climbed down and moved to Cody’s side of the truck. He made a face as he approached the edge of the pit. The buzz of the flies was so much louder this close. Standing several feet back from the edge of the pit, he waved Cody back until the truck’s bed was right at the lip. “Stop!”

Cody stayed in the cab, operating the hydraulic lift for the truck bed. Demetrius looked into the pit at the other roadkill carcasses that had been dumped earlier. A large wolf lay sprawled across some raccoons, tongue hanging out the side of its jaws. It looked big and intact, the only evidence of violence the blood-matted fur at its throat, swarmed by flies. Then the animals they’d cleared that day tumbled out of the truck, scattering the flies, and Demetrius stepped farther back. The sound was always terrible. Hooves and claws scraping across the metal bed. The thump of impact and crack of bone. He winced, then checked to make sure the truck was empty.

“Clear,” he called, and Cody lowered the bed.

“Run free, guys,” Demetrius whispered as the flies returned, then he rounded the front of the truck and climbed back into the cab.

Cody put the truck in gear and drove back into town. The sun was close to setting, painting the clouds a deepening orange. Demetrius let himself move with the motion of the truck, shifting his eyes from the setting sun to Cody’s profile. He looked masculine and natural driving the big truck. Demetrius had driven it a few times, and pretty well, he thought. But he could tell Cody really enjoyed driving it, so he was happy to be the passenger.

At the DPW garage, Cody parked the dump truck in the lot behind the main building. They got out and locked the doors, then walked side by side through the open roll up door.

“Fred and Shaggy are here,” Shrieky Pete called out.

Demetrius managed not to roll his eyes, but he shot a glance at the back corner, where an old linoleum kitchen table was set up under a metal stairway. The top of the table was coated with grease and other stains. A half dozen chairs circled it, the type that might have come from school offices or libraries. Shrieky Pete sat in the shadowy corner, swiping a big, dirty thumb down the glass of his phone. Demetrius couldn’t imagine what he was looking at, and didn’t want to know.

“Which of us is which?” Cody said. Demetrius heard the touch of steel in his tone.

Shrieky Pete didn’t even look up. “Does it matter?”

“I think I’m Fred,” Demetrius said quietly. “You don’t have the build to pull off a neckerchief.”

“So, I’m the stoned scaredy cat who’s always hungry?” Cody frowned and crossed his arms. “Huh. That kind of fits.”

The door to the manager’s office at the top of the stairs opened, the hinges whining with the effort. Demetrius marveled, yet again, that in a place specifically geared toward keeping a small town running, no one had made the effort to oil them.

John Burnwell poked his big head out the door and barked, “Bower, Singleton. Get up here.”

“What’d we do now?” Cody grumbled.

“Maybe we’re getting raises.”

Cody snorted. He hung the truck keys on a peg board at the bottom of the steps, then led the way up to the office. They stood looking at John as he wedged himself behind his desk inside the tiny space.

“You guys find much roadkill out on 118?”

“The usual,” Cody said. “Few deer. Some raccoons.”

“Tired of it yet?” John looked between them, a cold, mean glint in his eye. Demetrius was reminded, not for the first or last time, of Cody’s nickname for him: John the Bastard. Demetrius had heard some talk down at Margie’s that John’s wife had cancer—the word always spoken in a whisper—but no one knew what kind.

“We’ve smelled better,” Cody said.

John lifted his chin in Demetrius’s direction. “What about you?”

“If there’s something else needing to be done, I wouldn’t be heartbroken.”

“Wouldn’t be heartbroken.” John shook his head, seemed about to say something, but held it back. Demetrius figured it was some kind of gay slur that was probably flashing in bright neon inside his brain. “Here’s an early trick or treat gift for you two. Tomorrow, I want you to take the cherry out and decorate the streetlights on Main for Halloween.”

While the job sounded a hell of a lot better than scraping up roadkill, Demetrius still had to keep from making a face. This was accomplished by reminding himself that working at the DPW provided them with steady paychecks and health care. It didn’t matter that he hated having anything to do with the ‘cherry’, which was what the DPW team called the truck with a cherry picker basket on a hydraulic lift. They used it to change burned out street lights, fix traffic signals, trim trees, and anything else that required them to be any height off the ground. Demetrius wasn’t a fan of heights, so he didn’t like being in the bucket. And even though Cody didn’t mind being in the basket and up high, Demetrius didn’t have, as Cody called it, a ‘gentle touch’ when it came to working the controls.

“Downtown decorations?” Cody said. “That’s new, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess that new downtown development group they established last year decided we need to decorate for every major holiday.” John sat back and scratched his belly. “Never thought of Halloween as a major holiday, but ever since…” He waved a hand and moved in closer to the desk again, dropping his gaze. “Well, you know.”

Demetrius knew John was alluding to either Nicolae and his attempt to unleash an army of werewolves within the town or the zombies from that past summer. Of course, he and Cody were inextricably tied to all of it, although surprisingly few people knew all the details.

“Anyway, the downtown group and the yahoos at the parks department are going to put on some damn shop and treat party or something like that on Halloween, which will include a costume contest. They’re predicting a lot more visitors this year, based on internet chat rooms and such.”

There was no good way to explain to John the Bastard that internet chat rooms were pretty much extinct, so Demetrius kept quiet. He wasn’t too surprised to learn their town’s reputation was pulling in visitors for Halloween.

“Decorations are at City Hall. Pick ‘em up first thing and get as many done as you can.” John fished a sheet of paper out of the pile of papers on his desk. He held it at arm’s length and squinted. “Black and orange garland with purple and orange twinkle lights. What the loving fuck? They should plug into the outlets at the top of the lamp posts. Oh yeah, and there’re some fucking glitter spiderwebs to hang from the crossbars as well.” He made a face and tossed the paper on top of the pile. “You two can figure it out between you. Now get the fuck out of here. I’m not approving overtime for either of you.”

“See ya,” Cody said before following Demetrius out of the office and down the steps.

Shrieky Pete had departed, and in the shadows under the steps, the empty chairs surrounded the table like wolves trying to take down an ancient moose. Their steps echoed around the wide open space of the garage as they headed toward the time clock. Decades of dirt and grease caked its plastic cover, and a crack spiderwebbed out from a bottom corner. Since their first day, Demetrius had wondered if some employee years ago had been so pissed about punching in late, he’d literally punched the clock. He’d never had the courage or interest to ask about it.

Outside, the evening was mild, the sun just out of sight but still painting the clouds orange and yellow. He’d driven that morning, so he walked to the driver’s side of the truck. They both stripped out of their coveralls and stowed them in the back. Wearing cargo shorts and t-shirts, they got in the truck and Demetrius started the engine. Before he could pull out of the space, loud music started up from not too far away, followed quickly by the rough growl of a motorcycle. The music volume bumped up, sending peals of shrieking Christian praise out into the evening.

“Good Lord,” Cody said.

“Pretty much the gist of it.”

Pete revved the motorcycle engine a few times, the music blaring from a Bluetooth boombox strapped to his handlebars. After another couple of engine revs, he put the bike in gear and roared off into the night, the music trailing behind like a cloud of religious zeal exhaust. He wore just an American flag do-rag and no helmet, and Demetrius wondered if Pete had decided the good Lord would save him from brain damage if he crashed.

“Bye Shrieky Pete.” Cody gave a wave with his middle finger up. “Thanks for forcing your shitty music on the rest of us.”

Demetrius put the truck in gear and pulled out of the lot. Cody slouched in the passenger seat, one big foot turned on its side, his long legs spread open. He looked down at his phone, scrolling through a social media channel, but apparently didn’t have the attention span for it, because he soon dropped the phone in his lap and looked out the windshield at the road.

“This is good, right?” Cody said. His voice was deep and quiet in the darkness gathering in the cab of the truck. “We’ve got health insurance, and we’re paid every two weeks.”

“According to the general consensus, it’s a good thing.”

Cody put his head back and looked at him. “I miss our office.”

Demetrius gave him a quick smile before looking back at the road. The one traffic light in town had turned red, of course, and he slowed to a stop. “Me, too.”

“I’m glad we still work together, but it’s not the same.”

“It’s nothing like what we had. What we built.”

“What you built.” Cody looked out his window. “You ran the whole business.”

“We’ve talked about this a million times, at least.”

“Slight exaggeration.”

“We came up with the idea, together. We signed paperwork, together. We ran our business and made decisions about the business, together.”

“Yeah, I know.” Cody tried for a smile, but in the red glow from the traffic light, it looked hard and hurt. “But you managed it.”

“I did most of the paperwork, yes. But you did the bulk of the client work and animal trapping.” The sigh came from somewhere deep inside Demetrius. He felt empty afterward. “We worked really, really well together.” The light changed, the green glow filling the interior of the cab, and he pulled ahead. “We still work really well together.”

“I’ll remind you about that tomorrow when we decorate the streetlights.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty interesting. Think it’ll make much difference?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Cody pushed himself up in the seat as Demetrius pulled into a spot right outside Margie’s Diner. “I’m just glad it’s not scraping up roadkill.”

“So awful.” Demetrius touched Cody’s arm, stopping him from getting out of the truck. “Are we good?”

Cody leaned over for a quick, soft kiss. “Always.”

The meatloaf was delicious, and it seemed to perk them both up a bit. When they stood to leave, Margie came out of the kitchen and handed Demetrius a plastic bag filled with cast off parts of vegetables. “For Trevor.”

“Thanks, Margie.”

“If I didn’t give it to you, it’d just go into the trash.”

“Trash or trash panda.” Cody mimed weighing the options with his hands. “It’s a toss-up.”

The drive home was quiet. Every so often the plastic bag would rustle in Cody’s hands, but that was all. Once Demetrius had pulled into the driveway, they both walked to the backyard.

“Trevor, dinner’s here,” Demetrius called.

Trevor’s masked face popped out of the door of the shelter Cody had built from scrap wood he’d found in the garage and an old animal carrier. Demetrius dumped the veggie haul into a big stainless-steel bowl he’d found a couple weeks ago on the side of the road while scooping up roadkill. He’d scrubbed it until it gleamed and put it in Trevor’s shelter.

“Eat up, Trev,” Cody said. “You’re living the life now.”

They left Trevor to his supper and entered the house. After almost two months of working at the DPW, they had a routine now. Demetrius usually showered first while Cody ran their coveralls through the washing machine. Once Demetrius finished his shower, Cody got in, and by the time he was through, Demetrius was in the basement moving the coveralls to the dryer. He heard the TV switch on upstairs and Cody running through the channels until he found a baseball game. The World Series was underway, and even though neither team from Pennsylvania had made it to the playoffs, Cody was going to watch. Demetrius didn’t mind. He’d probably be asleep in ten minutes anyway.

Cody was propped up in a corner of the couch, one leg extended along the cushions, and the opposite foot planted on the carpet. He was studying his phone but shifted position slightly to allow Demetrius to sit in the V of his legs and lean back against him.

This was Demetrius’s favorite part of the day. Cody big and warm and solid behind him, the television volume low, and only one lamp on across the room.

A gentle kiss on the top of his head helped Demetrius relax even more, and, in moments, the sound of the television and heat of Cody’s body lulled him into sleep.