storm wolf

Buck drifted awake to warm sunlight on his face, a rough surface under his back, and a gentle breeze tickling parts that should not be hanging out in the fresh air. He groaned. “Oh, you motherloving mutt. Not again.” Sharp edges dug into his buttocks. Buck didn’t move, keeping his eyes firmly closed. As long as he didn’t look, he could still cling to the pleasant hope that he might be up a tree. Or stranded at the top of the highest mountain in Montana. Or draped across the roof of the damn White House with a patriotic flag up his ass. Anywhere except— “Good morning, Mr. Frazer!” chimed two bright, cheerful young voices from ground level. Buck cupped his hands over his groin. Letting out a sigh, he opened his eyes, staring up into the clear summer sky. “Hi, kids,” he said gloomily. “Are all of you down there?” “No, just me and Estelle,” said Beth. “We were about to go meet the boys for breakfast when we heard a thump.” “You’re on the roof of our cabin again,” Estelle informed him, as though this might have somehow escaped his notice. “Hundreds of miles of mountains,” Buck muttered. “Acres of uninhabited wilderness. And you still pick the summer camp every time, you damn hairy pervert.” “What was that, Mr. Frazer?” asked Beth. “Nothing. Just talking to myself.” Buck rolled, wincing as his battered muscles made it known in no uncertain terms that he was far too old for this nonsense. Keeping his body safely out of sight, he peered over the edge of the roof. Two upturned faces looked back at him; one with a worried expression, the other with avid curiosity. Both girls were dressed in identical camp t-shirts, which was the only point of similarity between them. Beth, all of ten years old, stood as straight and rigid as a soldier on parade, her flaming red hair bound back in a ruthlessly neat French plait. In contrast, Estelle’s white-blond mop stuck out around her head like a dandelion seed. Next to the much taller Beth, she looked so tiny that a stranger would have assumed she was six rather than nearly nine. Buck had known them both since they were literal babes in arms. Looking down at them now made him feel like he should be mounted in a museum, somewhere between the trilobites and the dinosaur bones. “Are you all right, Mr. Frazer?” Beth asked. Buck detected an eager note under her concern like she was already picturing how she’d modestly accept her medal of heroism. “If you’re hurt, I could shift and fly up to you.” “No!” Buck edged a little farther back, grateful that the shallow pitch of the roof hid his hindquarters from sight. “Stay right where you are.” Beth looked crestfallen. “Are you sure you don’t need help?” “I’m fine,” Buck said, nuts crushed flat against the shingles. “Just dandy. Having a real whale of a time up here.” Estelle c****d her head, her expression of interest intensifying. “Did you leave your clothes behind again?” “That,” Buck said firmly, “is none of your motherloving business.” “Estelle!” Beth hissed. “Don’t embarrass Mr. Frazer. You know he can’t help it.” “I was only asking.” Estelle heaved a sigh, envy clear in her mismatched eyes. “I wish I woke up on top of buildings naked.” “Believe me, it’s not as much fun as it looks.” Buck searched for help that wasn’t prepubescent and female. “Is there a grown-up around?” Beth got the vague, distracted look that shifters always did when they were using their damn freaky mind powers. “Most of the counselors are at breakfast. Director Zephyr is in his office, though. Do you want me to go get him?” “Please,” Buck said, heartfelt. “Tell him it’s the usual problem.” Beth straightened her spine, radiating responsibility. “You can count on me. Let’s go, Estelle.” “What, me?” Estelle protested. “Why can’t you go get Zeph by yourself?” “You know camp rules. And it’s Director Zephyr, remember?” “But we’ve known him forever.” “He’s in charge here, so we should use his title. We have to set a good example for the other campers.” Estelle cast a pointed glance at the nearby cabins, all of which were dark and deserted. “What other campers? Nobody else is here yet. Summer camp doesn’t officially start until tomorrow.” “We’re still at camp. We have to follow all the rules. That means showing respect to staff, and never going anywhere alone.” “Well, they’re stupid rules.” “I’m all in favor of questioning authority,” Buck said. “Except when it’s mine. For the love of dogs, will you girls please go get Zeph? Or at least get out of eyeshot?” “Right.” Beth put a hand on Estelle’s scrawny shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mr. Frazer. We’ll fetch Director Zephyr straight away. Come on, Estelle.” “Okay, okay.” Estelle’s voice dropped to a whisper as Beth steered her away. A few months ago, Buck wouldn’t have been able to catch her words at this distance, but now she might as well have been yelling in his ear. “But let’s just hide around the corner. We still haven’t seen his animal. Maybe if we wait long enough, he’ll shift to get down…” Fortunately, Beth was as much like her father as Estelle was unlike her own. Buck tracked their receding footsteps until he could be certain that both girls were indeed heading across the camp to the main office. Then, finally giving in to the increasing protests from his tenderest regions, he rolled over. Ridged muscles flexed across his midsection as he sat up. He scowled down at his belly, or at least where his belly should have been. Abs, for crying out loud. Even thirty years ago, when he’d been young and idiotic and an active Marine, he hadn’t had motherloving abs. “The only place a six-pack belongs is in the fridge,” he told his ridiculous torso. “I don’t care if I have to start snacking on entire sticks of butter. You won’t change me.” The scar on his left bicep itched. Buck clenched his jaw, refusing to scratch. Instead, he inspected the rest of his hide. Fresh scratches and bruises decorated practically every part of his anatomy, but they were trivial. He’d taken far worse injuries in his long and varied career, both in the military and as a wildland firefighter. Even as he watched, the shallow scrapes healed over. His bruises disappeared, leaving his skin unmarred except for the familiar, faded traces of long-healed burns. And, of course, the scar on his arm. It itched. “Shut up,” Buck said under his breath. He fingered the chain still padlocked around his wrist. A short length dangled free, thick steel links clinking together. The final link was mangled and misshapen, torn open. Bitten open. “s**t,” Buck muttered. “I heard that,” said an amused male voice from ground level. “You are having a bad day, Uncle.” “Every day is a bad day these days,” Buck replied. “Please tell me you brought pants.” “I did indeed.” Something clunked against the edge of the roof. “And a ladder.” Buck reflexively clamped a hand over his tackle again. “Zephyr, don’t you dare come up here.” “Uncle, I’m a fully grown man. And anyway, you’ve seen me naked.” “When I was changing your diapers. Just toss me the motherloving pants, okay?” Underwear arced over the edge of the roof, followed by a pair of jeans. Buck scrambled into the clothes with practiced speed. Not that he’d made a regular habit of public exhibitionism—at least, not until recently—but you didn’t spend decades as a firefighter without learning how to get dressed in a hurry. Not that he was a firefighter anymore. He wasn’t anything, except a monster. And now I’m getting maudlin. Buck shook his head as he did up his jeans. He’d never been one for angst, and he damn well wasn’t going to start throwing himself one-man rooftop pity parties just because a flea-bitten monster with a penchant for public nudity had moved into his skin. “Got a shirt?” he called. A t-shirt hit him in the chest. With a sinking sense of inevitability, Buck shook it out, taking in the image printed on the front. He sighed. “Got a different shirt?” he asked without much hope. “If you’re going to go around crash-landing on other people’s roofs, I don’t think you have the luxury of being picky about your apparel.” Buck looked down at the words Camp Thunderbird and grimaced again. Since the alternative was parading his graying, unnaturally ripped chest through a camp full of lithe college-age counselors, he pulled the t-shirt on. Decent at last, he went to the edge of the roof. Some insane instinct almost had him stepping off into thin air before sanity kicked in. Ignoring his itching scar, he climbed down the ladder. Zephyr waited at the bottom, amusement quirking one corner of his mouth. He too wore a camp t-shirt, along with an enamel name badge. The word Director was written underneath in smaller letters. Zephyr’s dark eyebrows rose as he took in the chain dangling from Buck’s wrist. “That’s new. You’re lucky you didn’t lose a hand.” Buck started undoing the clips to retract the ladder. “Next time, I’ll wrap it around my neck.” His nephew’s jaw tightened. “Don’t. You’re a lot bigger in your other form, you know. And I don’t think throttling yourself will prevent the shift. Uncle, how many times has this happened now? Three?” Buck grunted, noncommittal. He’d just been caught three times. Depressingly, he was getting damn good at sneaking bare-assed through the woods, all the way back to his shitty rented trailer. “Ignoring your problem won’t make it go away.” Zephyr folded his arms. “Speaking as the camp director as well as your family, this can’t continue. The rest of the campers arrive tomorrow. Shifters have a relaxed attitude to nudity, but the parents won’t be happy about a naked man crashing their kids’ dorms. We have to find a solution.” “I’ll drive down to the big hardware store today.” Buck shut the ladder with a snap. “See if they’ve got any heavy-duty logging chains. Must be something the motherlover can’t bite through.” “Tying yourself up isn’t a solution, Uncle.” Zephyr blew out his breath. “Have you considered that perhaps your animal is trying to tell you something?” “I don’t have an animal,” Buck said sharply. “I have an unfortunate medical condition.” Zephyr gave him an exasperated look. “Well, your condition has its instincts, and trying to deny them just makes it harder to control. No matter how hard you fight, it keeps bringing you here. Haven’t you wondered why?” “Because it’s an enormous furry asshole. That’s why.” Zephyr let out another sigh. “I’m beginning to think your alter ego is the reasonable one. It’s because I’m here, and the kids. People who care about you, and who you care about in return, much as you try to deny it. A hellhound—” “I am not a motherloving hellhound.” “True, but you were bitten by one,” Zephyr said, unruffled. “Your ‘condition’, as you put it, may be unique, but you seem to be manifesting at least some of the standard hellhound instincts. Hellhounds need a pack, Uncle. You need a pack.” “What I need is a shark cage in my bedroom.” Buck tucked the ladder under his arm. “See you around, Zeph. Hopefully, with pants.” “Wait.” Zephyr caught Buck’s elbow, halting him. “Please stay, Uncle.” Buck shook him off with an irritated twitch. “Give me one good reason.” He expected Zephyr to trot out yet another maddening line about embracing his fate. Motherloving shifters couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting to share their head with a feral animal. They were all convinced that if he just stopped fighting, he’d learn to control his condition. Even enjoy it. Fat chance. Buck had spent over five decades as a standard-issue human being, thank you very much. He knew who he was. Whether fighting wars or wildfires, he’d always been able to count on his own strength and selfcontrol. He’d already lost his career and his crew. The only thing he had left was himself. He wasn’t about to let the monster take away that away too. Any weak-ass platitude about accepting change, Buck would have easily swatted aside. Instead, his nephew said the one thing that would always stop him in his tracks. “Because,” Zephyr said, “I need your help.”