6. Chapter 6
Micah
“You kissed me back.” Of all the things I expected to hear from Lee, that was the last.
I felt like he’d punched me, a gut-shot that stole all my breath. I did what?
Lee sprinted away, his strides clumsy, slipping as if robbed of his wolf grace. Moment after moment, I stood there as he vanished into the trees and his footsteps faded, thinking I should follow him but rooted to the ground.
“You kissed me back.”
I probably had a subconscious memory of that night that I’d suppressed, because when Lee said he was queer, nothing in me had risen up in protest. Somewhere, somehow, I’d known that might be the case.
His lack of interest in having a woman in his life, his indifference to Peggy Fletcher’s beauty, had never shocked me.
Queer wolves were anathema, a risk to the pack. Queer wolves were to be hunted down and dealt with ruthlessly, killed and disposed of, same as any other wolf that might end up costing us our secrecy.
They were put in the category of “risks to eliminate” along with crazy wolves, senile wolves, child-beating wolves, rapists, and criminal wolves too stupid to get away with their crimes.
A wolf in prison would eventually succumb to the need to shift, and betray us to the humans, so if they couldn’t be freed, they were killed.
Same with anyone whose control over their mind was shaky.
Since being queer was illegal, wolves like Lee… like Lee… were susceptible to blackmail and could be thrown in jail at any moment. They threatened all our safety. They were intimate with human men and broke the ages-old pattern of wolf and human bond-wife that made up our packs.
And yet. And yet.
One thing war did was throw men who grew up in a small world into a wider and far more diverse one.
I’d served with two Chinese Marines, when I’d never spoken to an Oriental person in my life.
I’d served with a Muslim, who took a moment to pray in some particular direction when the action eased, to whatever god he worshipped.
They put their pants on one leg at a time, and fought, and laughed, and were afraid, and bled, same as me.
And I’d served with homosexual men. Probably not just the guy who’d offered to put his mouth on me as mutual relief from the craziness around us, or the one who couldn’t hide his fey gestures and lilt, who seemed to enjoy making tough guys squirm, and yet was wicked with a knife.
But those two, at least. I met the first guy again after Japan surrendered, me heading in to speak to the Major, him coming out.
We exchanged guarded nods, like strangers.
He’d been a sharpshooter, smart and trustworthy, a man I’d have chosen at my back in any fight, and it made me sick that he looked afraid of me then.
So this deep distrust the packs had for queer wolves hadn’t sat well with me by the time I headed back to the States from my service. Had my knowledge of Lee actually begun that change of heart, years before? I had to wonder now…
I whacked my forehead with one hand. I was letting my mind wander and speculate, to avoid the impact of that last thing Lee said.
The words that changed everything.
“You kissed me back.”
I’d been drunk, of course, and young, and no doubt horny like most of the time at the age of twenty. He’d been my other half all our lives, the only two pack boys close in age, even before we turned thirteen and were told we were wolves. I’d trusted Lee.
Trusted him for what?
Trusted him not to go running to the Alpha my father and betray me, of course.
But if I’d been as normal as all that, there’d have been nothing to tell.
I can’t be queer.
I’d loved Janet, as much as a young man who knows nothing about the world can love a young woman who wants entirely different things from life.
I’d definitely loved the sex. With Janet, and with other women who came after her, sex had been great.
I loved tits and clits, as one cheerful camp follower had put it, enjoyed the rounded softness and clean smell of a woman, the taste even, if I went down on her.
I imagined that sex now, trying to rouse myself, thinking back to some random woman I met on shore leave so as to not disrespect Janet.
But an image came to me of Lee, his dark hair ruffled, lips reddened, looking up at me from his knees.
He said he’d taken me in his mouth. Had he liked the taste?
Did homophiles like that, the way I enjoyed licking a woman to climax?
From deep in my memories, a flash came to me. Lee’s eyes inches from my own, his hot breath and soft lips, his hands in my hair. A sense-memory of whiskey and an eager, wet mouth and a bitter aftertaste I chased with my tongue…
Jesus.
I dropped to a seat on the grass, my head in my hands.
Oh, hell.
I hadn’t thought Lee was lying, exactly, but I’d wondered if he was putting his own spin on things. If maybe his memory had been as addled by whiskey as mine.
He wasn’t lying. Now I’d opened Pandora’s box, more memories emerged— Lee’s lips, Lee’s tongue. I enjoyed that kiss, wanted it.
Drunk or not in that moment, that was the truth.
And now, I’d travelled around the world for two decades, only to be led here to find him again.
I didn’t know what that meant, but I wasn’t ready for my friendship with Lee to end in bitterness and rejection.
Mine or his. I might be stunned, nauseous, reeling from an avalanche of suppressed history, but that thought rang clear as a bell.
I don’t want to lose Lee.
So go after him, you fool.
I pushed to my feet. It was too late for me to chase him through the forest. He’d always been stronger, faster.
I’d often thought Lee had only remained pack Twelfth, to my Eleventh, because that rank put him between me and any lower-ranked wolf trying to climb the ratings.
Jonas had been Thirteenth and a hulking fifteen-year-old when Lee left— he’d Challenged and beaten me barely a year later.
If Lee had been there, he’d have had to beat Lee first…
Letting my mind drift back was more procrastination. I knew where Lee would be going, eventually. I hurried to the truck.
A faint hint of women’s perfume as I opened the door reminded me of one chore first. This was as good a place as any to hide Peggy’s clothes.
I took the hat, dress, and shawl from under the seat, carried them a long way into the woods, and buried them in a swampy hollow under an old log.
The surrounding seedlings of young poplar trees would be two feet taller by next year and they hid the spot well.
Then I started the truck and set out back down the rutted drive. Focusing on the bad road kept my mind from wandering places I wasn’t ready to go.
I didn’t know the countryside but once I reached the main road, retracing the way we’d come wasn’t difficult.
I passed the accident site. The Sheriff’s cruiser had been towed away, but Chuck’s sedan still sat on the shoulder surrounded by orange cones.
I suppressed the urge to go pee on his seats.
He’d probably end up selling the car, if it could be repaired. The new owner didn’t deserve that.
The paved two-lane road wound back toward town, and from there I knew my way.
Even without that, I felt like I could home in on Lee like I had radar, like we were pack-bonded, though we hadn’t had that connection for twenty-five years.
Lee. That way. An illusion, but so strong it made my heart clench.
Circling the driveway to his front door, I kept my eyes peeled for any sight of him.
But in truth, even as a determined runner, he’d need two hours to cover the ground I’d driven in fifteen minutes.
I parked, got out. This piece of the world shouldn’t have been so familiar already that it brought a lump to my throat, and of course, it wasn’t the simple cabin or the towering pines that mattered, but the man who lived here.
I left the keys in the truck. If he arrived, and decided he needed to run farther from me, I wouldn’t stop him. It might rip me in half, but I never wanted to trap Lee. I could only hope he’d give me a chance.
Zipper chattered at me from overhead as I opened the cabin door. I braced in readiness as the weasel dropped from the rafters to my shoulder.
“I’m honored, small warrior,” I told him, reaching up carefully to stroke his head. He tolerated that for a moment, then nipped my finger and jumped down to pursue his own interests.
Should I pack, in case Lee doesn’t want me here?
But I had almost nothing that wasn’t borrowed from him.
Packing would take five minutes. Instead, I headed for the kitchen and surveyed the pantry.
Lee would be hungry and cranky, with that run after skipping lunch.
Feeding him, and myself, reduced the chances of a knock-down drag-out fight by a lot, and cooking would keep my mind and hands busy.
Like a housewife for her man? a voice a lot like my father’s asked. I shoved the thought away viciously. Werewolves cooked, because our metabolism demanded that we eat. Wouldn’t be the first or the tenth time I’d cooked for a friend. Nothing new. Nothing different.
Do you want it to be?
I shoved that thought away even deeper and grabbed the potato peeler.
The potatoes were fried, sandwiches made, and a whole bowl of carrots and celery washed and trimmed before I heard Lee’s footsteps on the gravel outside.
There was a moment when he paused. I figured he was looking at the truck.
Will he leave, or wait out there till I’m gone?
But after that hesitation, he came on steadily.
The door opened, closed. Two thumps as he kicked off his boots.
I turned. Lee looked disheveled and sweaty and wrecked beyond a mere run in the woods. I schooled my voice to sound light and steady. “Hey, you made good time. I have food ready to go on the table.”
Lee blinked at me. “What are you still doing here?”
“Making us lunch?” I pointed.