Chapter Two
John
The one-eyed wolf who wandered into my camp has done something unexpected.
He’s made me want.
Marcus is beautiful, yet achingly sad, and that sadness calls to me. I want his body, sure, to feel his heat and to taste those soft lips. To give way to desire, bend him over, and take him.
Need clutches at my throat, and I do my best to swallow it down.
More than any of that, I want to know more about the weight he’s carrying. Not that he’s likely to tell me. Not now. I know on an instinctive level that he’ll have to trust me first.
Trust must be earned, and that takes time.
For now, though, I will feed him both food and a story that will explain my presence. What had I said before? Something about the downfall of civilization? That’s an exaggeration. Rob had called me out of the Greenwood for one specific purpose.
It was my own ambivalence that made me exaggerate.
At home in the Greenwood, the leaves would be turning, the old trees readying themselves for winter. I should be readying myself for winter as well, storing carrots and potatoes in the root cellar and drying the season’s last apples.
Instead, I’m here, waiting for a sign from Rob. He’d helped me set up this camp, close enough to the city that he can reach me when necessary and far enough away that I won’t lose patience with the whole venture while we anticipate the others’ arrival.
He’ll be here this morning to bring me news, if not an actual plan. September will be over soon, and the nights are already growing chilly. I have no objection to camping, but I’d prefer something more solid between myself and the elements than a light fabric tent.
My little house in the Greenwood is much warmer.
Once this fire is burning briskly, I lower the metal grate and go to what counts as my larder.
I have four eggs left and some cheese, though only enough bacon to use as a garnish.
Scant provisions for two hungry men. Marcus is slender to the point of being thin, and I want to let him eat his fill while I settle for the leftovers.
My stomach’s growling protest makes it clear how stupid that impulse is, and I hope Rob brings more food and sooner rather than later.
“So, this isn’t a legal campground.” Marcus doesn’t look up from where he’s peeling a potato.
“Is there such a thing?” I gesture at the glorious nature surrounding us. “It seems to me that we should all be able to share this beauty.”
“Sure.” He grins at the cutting board. “You want these cut into chunks or slices?”
“Chunks.” I’ll fry them with the eggs and bacon.
“You do know you can’t just camp anywhere, right?”
Now it’s my turn to grin. I do, in fact, know that there are rules about such things.
Even though I spend most of my time in the Greenwood, I still know that modern governments do little beyond coming up with ridiculous regulations.
“The more important question is whether I care.” I scoop up some bacon fat from the jar and toss it in the cast-iron pan, where it makes a satisfying sizzle.
“So if anyone from the Forest Service shows up, you’ll explain how little you care and send them on their way?”
He’s still focused on the potato, the lashes of his closed eye dark against his fair skin, head turned slightly away as if to hide it.
There’s no visible mark on that eye, no sign of suture or scarring, no telltale curve from an orb.
The lid is flat, masked by a subtle shadow I can sense rather than see, and when he turns his head I get glimpses of his pain.
Something happened to his eye, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess that it’s linked to the weight he carries.
“No one from the Forest Service will find us.” I say it flatly to shut down any further questions. I’d set wards around this place, guards that should have been strong enough to keep anyone out.
Except, apparently, a young, slightly damaged wolf.
“We need an onion.” I search the basket of foodstuffs for what’s left of the onion I’d sliced for dinner last night.
I really do need supplies, though I’m beginning to think this could be the sign I’d been waiting for, the thing that tells me it’s time to break camp and have Rob bring us both to LA.
Marcus will want to return to his pack, and, well, I suppose I have an interest in making sure he’s safe.
An odd sensation. One I don’t want to examine too closely. After so many years alone, I’ve lost the knack for being with another man.
Marcus makes me want to change that, and he’s close enough to touch.
His scent—sweat and sweet wolf—teases me, and I lock my gaze on the task at hand; it’s much easier to focus on cooking rather than things I can’t have.
The bacon fat has melted in the pan, and I toss the onions in, stirring them with a wooden spoon.
Potatoes go next, followed by the bacon, and later, the eggs.
I love the smell of food frying over an open fire and the light in Marcus’s eye tells me he’s enjoying it, too.
The chunks of cheese go in last, and I keep stirring so nothing burns before the cheese melts. “There are plates and utensils in the smaller of the two baskets. Could you bring two sets over here?”
Marcus gets up, walking stiffly, as if his wolf really did run him hard last night.
“So you set up camp in one of the legal campsites?”
He shoots a glance in my direction. “We did, yeah. Maybe.”
His smirk tells me their campsite was no more legal than mine. “Who’s we?”
“My cousins and their friend.”
He grimaces, as if the words taste bad, so I let it go. You can ask more when he trusts you. Which, admittedly, might never happen. “I have a map with this location marked. After breakfast, we can find your campground and see how far you’ve traveled.”
“Can we do that now?” He’s facing me, plates and forks clutched in his hands.
“The food will get cold.”
He closes his eye, throat moving as he swallows. “Sure. Doesn’t matter, really. We can look later.”
I take the plates from him and dish up the eggs, my instincts at war with my common sense. I want his body, and I want to know his soul.
And I can’t have him.
The mood between us grows awkward, as if he can sense my turmoil, and I firm my resolve.
There is nothing between us now, and there will be nothing between us in the future. This vibrant young wolf deserves better than an ancient creature who relies on another’s power to live. If I had balls, I’d have refused Rob and returned to the dust from which I was made.
No, I won’t take this young lover, no matter how strongly his body calls to mine.
“You put too much on my plate,” he says, dragging me away from my unpleasant reverie.
“Just eat.”
He picks up his fork, brow furrowed. “I’ve got more than you.”
“So? Your wolf needs the fuel.”
“But—”
“Eat.” A touch of command comes through my voice. Marcus’s eye widens, startled, and he spears a potato with his fork. “I’m sorry.” I moderate my tone. “Rob should be here soon with more supplies.”
That first bite, he chews and swallows thoughtfully.
I hunker down in the dirt, close enough to feel his warmth.
I scoop up a forkful of eggs, doing my best to keep my expression benign so he won’t feel like I’m ordering him to eat.
As if that somehow gives permission, he begins to eat with more enthusiasm.
I follow, though my plate is empty well before his. Rob had better arrive soon.
Neither of us say anything until he reaches for my empty plate. “I can wash up since you cooked.”
“There’s a jug of water and basin behind the tent. The towel should be dry by now.”
He gets to it while I dust myself off and get the map from the tent, along with my small folding table. I spread the map out on the table and look for campgrounds. The nearest is only ten or so miles away. “Your wolf must have run in circles.”
Marcus comes out from behind the tent, stopping to set the plates and forks on the cooler. “What do you mean?”
I tap the map. “This is where we are, and”—I point at the campground—“this is where the Monte Cristo campground is.”
“That’s not where we stayed, though.” He braces himself on the table with one hand. “We were in the Cucamonga Wilderness, not far from a place called Third Stream Crossing.”
We both scan the map, but he finds it first. “Where are we again?”
I point at the X I drew when Rob and I first arrived. “Hidden Springs.”
“Damn.” He sketches a line from my X to his campground. “That must be forty miles or so.”
“No wonder you’re exhausted.”
“Forty miles,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “How is that even possible?”
Hand still braced on the table, he stares at the fire.
“You should sit,” I say, half-rising from the chair, as if I expect him to collapse under the weight of his nocturnal exertion.
“Nah.”
Since anything else would feel awkward, I settle back in the only chair, wishing I’d thought to bring a second. As if you had any reason to think you’d have company. “Forty miles.” I shake my head. “And you don’t remember any of it?”
He gives me a bleak look. “No.”
He says it with enough sincerity that I believe he’s telling the truth and not simply trying to dodge my question. Any follow-up, however, is cut short by a sprightly whistle, a tune so familiar it sets my teeth on edge.
Rob.
I rise, positioning myself between Marcus and the Lord of the Greenwood. Rob isn’t a threat, not really. I’m simply giving in to that strange sense of protectiveness, even while I know in my bones that’s all I’ll give in to.
Rob comes through the trees behind the tent. He’s smiling and there’s an extra skip in his step when he notices Marcus. Before he can say anything, I raise my hand.
It’s both a greeting and a warning.
“Good morning, my liege and old friend.” My words are a deliberate reminder of who we are to each other. His power may sustain my life, but I’m the cornerstone, the one around whom he’s built his team.
His smile takes on shades of a question. “Good morning to you.” He bows, a simple gesture. I do the same. I sense movement behind me, though I don’t look away from Rob to see what Marcus has done.
“Marcus, this is Rob Loxley. Rob, this is Marcus.”
Rob stops at the corner of the tent closest to us. He’s wearing flannel and denim, and his long hair is tied back. The trees feel closer and the fire burns brighter in his presence, as if he’s drawing from one and feeding the other.
“And where did you come from?” Rob asks.
When Marcus doesn’t respond right away, I supply a little of what I’ve learned. “Last night was a full moon, and young Marcus’s wolf seems to have traveled quite some distance.”
Rob manages to look both puzzled and oddly satisfied. “I wonder why.”
I might ask him if he knows anything about why a wolf might run forty miles in a night. “We were just looking at the map to see exactly how far he traveled.”
I risk a glance at Marcus. He’s standing rigid, his gaze locked on Rob. The silence between us grows awkward, and I remember something Marcus had said earlier. “Did you bring a telephone?”
Grinning, Rob pulls a cell phone from the front pocket of his plaid shirt. “In fact, I did.”
Marcus appears at my elbow. “May I borrow it?”
Wordlessly, Rob holds it out. Marcus takes it and brushes his thumb across the screen. “Good. Three bars.”
Rob and I share a glance while Marcus taps the phone’s screen. He holds the thing to his ear, his gaze directed toward the trees. I have questions and a shared glance with Rob tells me he does too. To our credit, we let Marcus alone.
“Hullo?” Marcus’s voice is rough. “Abby?” He covers his eye with his free hand. “I’m somewhere near Hidden Springs.”
There’s a long pause. “I don’t know, David. I woke up here. What the hell happened?”
He sounds upset, even agitated. “I thought you—” He’s cut off by something on the other end.
“All right. Go ahead and pack up my stuff and bring it home.” He turns to me, and I give him what I hope is a reassuring nod.
“Nah, I don’t think we’ll be able to find each other.
It’ll be easier if I beg a ride back to civilization, all right?
I’ve met some people and, yeah, I’ll talk to you later. ”
He brushes his finger across the screen and hands the phone to Rob. “Thank you. My friends were looking for me.”
“Were they?” Rob tucks the phone away, giving Marcus an assessing look. “Your friends are wolves, too?”
“Yes,” he says shortly.
“And you came to the wilderness to celebrate Mabon. Cool.”
Marcus doesn’t confirm or deny Rob’s guess. “How far away is your vehicle?” I ask Rob, a blatant attempt to draw his attention.
He raises one brow. “It’s on the logging road, the same place I always leave it.”
I cross my arms in a show of minor defiance. “I haven’t been there since I set up camp.”
“All right, then.” Despite his infectious grin, I resist the urge to smile back. “It’s less than half a mile. Why?”
“It’s time for me to leave this place.”
To his credit. Rob doesn’t gloat. “Mi casa es tu casa.”
“What?” I ask, laughing. This is an old joke; Rob knows my knowledge of Spanish is rudimentary at best.
Rob rolls his eyes as he laughs in return and does the next, familiar, reply. “Chez moi c’est chez toi.”
“Merci.”
Marcus clears his throat, glancing between us. “So, uh, can I catch a ride with you?”
“Of course.” Rob holds his hands wide, charm rolling off him like a perfect, warm wave. “You’re the reason John is finally willing to rejoin my merry band.”
Rob might be laughing, but my mood sobers in a flash. It’s been decades since Rob brought anyone into our group, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him make Marcus our newest member.
“Thank you.” Marcus sounds dazed. “I really appreciate it.”
“Of course.”
I glare at Rob. Don’t do it. Not him. “It’ll take me a moment to pack.”
“I’ll help,” Marcus says. I give Rob another hard stare and get to work. It’s bad enough that he’s dragged me out of the Greenwood. Bringing Marcus into our quagmire might be the last straw for me.
And that has nothing to do with the heat in my belly or the way my palms itch with the need to touch the young wolf.