Wolf, en Garde [Wolf 2]

Chapter 1: Washington, DC-2

Lyle swung in his seat so fast that he almost knocked himself out of it. “I’m not eighteen anymore, Randy. I’m twenty-one. So give it up with the age bull—”

“And I am in love with Vaughn.”

Randy said it the exact same way he always said it. Firm voice, pointed stare, and set jaw. It was an obvious truth, and yet it didn’t matter how many times Lyle heard it, the words burned.

“I hate this,” Randy shook his head and lowered his gaze. “I hate when you do this. You force me to say the same s**t over and over again and then when I do, you make it seem like I’ve stabbed you in the chest.” Randy lifted his hand as if to touch that chest, and something deep inside Lyle’s guts fluttered into life.

“Tell me the two of you aren’t arguing.”

Lyle jumped, Randy dropped his hand, and they both turned toward the voice. Vaughn stood in front of the row of chairs, balancing a tray of fountain drinks in one hand, and gripping what appeared to be a new novel in the other. He frowned at Lyle, looking ready to take down mountain lions with his bare hands. “Seriously,” Vaughn growled, “I cannot even begin to put to words how badly I would manage any bullshit from the two of you right now.”

He words made it seem as if he was speaking to both of them, but his eyes never left Lyle’s face.

“We absolutely were not.” Randy rested his hand on Vaughn’s forearm and smiled, brilliantly. “I was just telling Lyle about all the weird ideas people have about this airport.” He turned to Lyle and caught Lyle’s gaze. “Right?”

There was a lump in Lyle’s throat that was almost impossible to swallow, but he forced words around it, and even managed to prop his lips into a smile. “You bet.” Lyle nodded, and reached for one of the paper cups. “People are nuts, aren’t they?”

“You got that right,” Vaughn grumbled. “But in a place like this, you can hardly blame them. I never did have much of an appetite for airports.”

“Or people in general,” Randy teased. The two men smiled at each other, and while Vaughn passed out drinks and Isaac took a seat beside the dozing Hannah, Lyle pulled out his iPhone and shoved his ear buds in place. He didn’t need to turn on the music; the illusion of being absorbed in something other than conversation was enough.

* * * *

There was snow under his paws, which was all kinds of crazy, because he knew that the spaces where he ran had been clear, dry, and hot for months now. There’d even been a small, quickly contained fire that had raced through the southeastern border of Bighorn. The aftermath of that fire had been something to see: blackened ground, blackened trees, and the silence…the complete and utter quiet that the fire had left behind had been deafening in its absoluteness.

It was black here as well, and the ground was also hard. Concrete and night, though, as opposed to ravished countryside. He padded past a familiar form, a wolf on its back, legs in the air, tongue lolling in glee while a human with dark hair leaned over it and dug both hands into the fur of its exposed tummy. Lyle—though he didn’t call himself such a name in this form—shook his head in disgust and turned away from the sight.

Though his paws were all but soundless, the snow underneath them creaked and groaned under each step. Streetlights offered relief from the dark, but his eyes didn’t need them. The light from the moon was more than sufficient in this form. Underneath the closest streetlight, two tiny pups tumbled and nipped at one another. They seemed to be much more amenable company than the previous set of interlopers to his dream (Dream? Yes, definitely. The snow wasn’t cold and the movement of his own legs was just an illusion), but the second he breached the circle of light from the lamp, both pups stopped their game and shrank against the post.

He was about to open his jaw to give them a huff of air or a softened whine to let them know he was harmless when a flash of light winked some fifty feet or so beyond them. It took him a moment to realize that the low growl he heard was not, in fact, his own, but from one of the pups. The larger of the two stood, almost on full point, with the fur of its neck poking up. Both ears rested flat against its skull and its lips were drawn up over its teeth.

Danger, the smaller pup whined. It cowered behind the other with its tail tucked between its two back legs. Then it turned its head, eyes wide beneath a raised brow. Don’t go.

But the flash came again, and Lyle stepped past the pups and toward it. The compulsion to advance was overwhelming, more so even than the scent that had come from the human he’d already passed. And wasn’t that something…wasn’t that interesting, indeed.

The quiet space got impossibly quieter; even the snow picked up the atmosphere and hushed beneath his steps. For reasons he couldn’t explain, his heart sped up. He had to drop his jaw to allow for the increased need for oxygen. A new scent began to creep in his direction—spice and dust, blood and hormones. Something oddly human, but without a single iota of the fear that he normally picked up on when getting close to a person.

That thought woke his anxiety, but it also fueled his already insistent interest. So he stepped closer, then closer, and again, closer still. While instinct urged him to turn and run, back to the pups or back to the man and the wolf, the greater drive of curiosity pulled him forward—as though tethered and dragged, collared and slowly strangling—and he realized he wasn’t moving of his own will at all; his legs didn’t bend, and his paws didn’t lift.

Dread fell over him like a blanket, and he flexed his front legs, digging eight long claws into the surface of the street. This attempt didn’t do a bit of good. He pulled back, lowered his haunches, and set his back claws as well. For a second, it seemed to work. But then the air trembled around his fur, the collar tightened around his throat, and, as if whatever was drawing him forward had gathered strength during the pause, Lyle’s body was yanked with enough force to tear his muscles from neck to tail—

Lyle sucked back a breath that was loud enough to make the people in the seats ahead of them turn back with questioning frowns. His heart pounded, his blood raced, and he felt sweaty and nauseous. When a small hand fell on his forearm, it was everything Lyle could do to hold back a shout.

“Heya,” Isaac said. “I was just going to wake you up.” He pointed at the small window to his left. “We’re landing. I thought maybe you’d want to watch with me.”

Isaac was eleven and still had all the fascinations of youth, even though he insisted that he “wasn’t a kid anymore.” More than once, Lyle had seen him standing in front of the large windows of their ranch back in Wolf, Wyoming with his wide eyes on the moon. Lyle remembered that anticipation. That fear. The what-if? Hannah was only ten, and though they-that-professed-to-be-experts said females matured faster than their testosterone-blasted counterparts, Hannah was either still too young or too unaffected to feel the pull yet. She would, though, unless girls went through the process differently. Lyle wasn’t much of an expert on girls.

“Yeah.” Lyle rolled his head to the left, and stared without seeing at the window. “I’m watching.”

For a moment, Lyle’s heart sank. He looked out the window and all he saw was water and trees—the last thing Lyle had been hoping to see. He’d hoped and prayed he’d left the trees and the nature behind in Wyoming, at least for the time being. His whole life he’d been told how lucky he was, how blessed, to have open country, mountain ranges, and wooded areas to roam through. And sure, while he’d been a kid, that had been cool. He’d been looking at those same sights for over twenty years, though. They grew tiresome. He’d been sure that DC would be different, that he’d finally be in a place where a person wouldn’t know every damn person they came across by name. He’d wanted a real city, damn it.

Then the plane banked to one side, and Lyle sighed with relief. Buildings, streets, life. Halle-f*****g-lujah.

When Isaac looked over with a grin and said, “I know; it makes my stomach feel weird, too,” Lyle didn’t correct Isaac’s assumption. Instead, Lyle watched the ground get closer, waited for the bump that signified the plane had landed, and waited (yet again) for the plane to completely empty before his father gave them all the okay to move down the aisle. Then there was baggage, and the journey to the exit of the airport while his father scowled at anyone that dared to come too close. But the goofy expression that Randy got on his face when he saw the slim, smiling, older but still damn attractive man that Lyle recognized instantly as Randy’s father, Henry, almost made the whole trip worthwhile. It had been a long time since Lyle had felt like that when he looked at his own dad, and it was endearing as all f**k.

They’d met Henry a few times before when Henry and his wife had visited during various holidays. Henry always seemed nice and friendly for the most part, but at the same time, Henry was a little too much of a martyr for Lyle’s liking. Randy’s mother Mary, however, had been harder to get a decent read on. She was one of those people that seemed to think everyone around her was mentally challenged—if not completely, then at least partially—and she tended to be a bit overbearing when it came to her dealings with her husband. But considering the two of them had been married as long as they had, Lyle figured she had to have good traits to go along with the bad. Maybe she was drop-dead awesome in the sack. After all, if Vaughn’s lazy smiles and melted-butter gazes could be trusted, Randy had to be.

Lyle shuddered from head to toe and willed his mind to get out of everybody else’s beds.

“You guys look wiped!” Henry exclaimed, letting go of Randy to shake hands exuberantly with Isaac. “How was the flight? Was this your guys’ first time on a plane? Did you have any trouble?”

While the chitchat got into full swing—led, to no great surprise, by Hannah, who regaled Henry with everything from her new Nook to how many A’s she’d received on her report card—Lyle’s thoughts drifted back to paws on snow and the weird tension left behind from the dream he’d had on the plane. It wasn’t until Randy and Vaughn were getting the kids into the van and Lyle was trying to shove his suitcase into an already stuffed cargo space that Lyle’s head finally came back into focus.

“How are you doing, kiddo?”

Lyle startled, and Henry dropped his hand casually and yet firmly on Lyle’s arm. “Have you been well?”

The urge to yank his arm away was both weird and ridiculously hard to ignore. “Yes, sir. Very good. Thank you for asking.”

“For the hundredth time, you can just call me Henry. ‘Sir’ is far too formal, and you already have a father.” Henry smiled. He reached into the back of the van, turned Lyle’s suitcase long-ways, and it slid right in between two other ones. “So, things are okay?” He looked at Lyle with a long, soul-searching gaze.

Anxiety crept up Lyle’s spine. Of course he was okay. What the f**k? Had Randy told him something? Something that Randy shouldn’t have been talking about? “Absolutely perfect, thank you. If I felt any better, they’d have to arrest me for being out in public.”

“Excellent.” Henry nodded and tapped the side of the van. “Swing that hatch down for me, will you?”

Lyle did as he was asked, and once the hatch closed, Henry gave him yet another long look. “If you need anything while you’re here—anything at all—even if it’s just someone to talk to, you let me know. Randy can vouch for the fact that I’m a pretty good listener when I’m given the opportunity.”

Doubt flared into suspicion in Lyle’s guts. If Randy had been talking…well, s**t was going to get serious when they all got back to Wolf. The committee would lose their collective mind if they thought that somebody had been blabbing about things that mere men and women need not know about. “Thank you again. But I really don’t have anything to talk about.” Lyle kept his tone light and his expression blank. “Unless it’s about whatever Mrs. Connor is making for dinner.” He faked a shy smile. “I’m starving.”