Archive of Our Own

Facing Demons and Coming Home, a Wolf Lake series by Sue Castle.

Facing Demons

If he hadn't felt like complete shit he might have been able to make more sense of the conversation. Then again, maybe not. Not much had made sense since he'd arrived in Wolf Lake. John stared at Sheriff Donner and tried to get through. Again.

"A holocaust of dead kids in the cemetery dating back to the 1800s. A religion that exists nowhere else in the world." His voice dropped, and he muttered, "Wolves." He swallowed and went on, his voice strengthening as he listed the assorted oddities of the town. "Weird Indians. A fertility rate that would make the Pope blush. Does none of this strike you as odd?" He finally got the damned Alka Seltzer packet open and dumped the tablets in a glass. Even the fizz-fizz grated. "Oh. And another thing. The moon. Is it my imagination, or is it always full around here?"

Donner finished tidying his desk and glanced up at him. "Y'know, you don't look so good. Are you getting sick?"

Slugging back the Alka Seltzer, he grimaced. Tasted awful. "I want to see your records."

"Nope." Automatic response, requiring no thought. John wasn't surprised.

"Why won't you let me see your files? As a courtesy to a fellow officer? Do I have to subpoena them?"

The look he got was pure exasperation with a tiny hint of compassion in it. "Ruby Cates is not here. That is not going to change. You're chasing a holy grail."

John bluffed, "You're going to make me call in the FBI."

The sheriff immediately called him on it. "Oh? And what are you going to tell them? Hi, I'm John Kanin. I'm AWOL from the Seattle PD. Oh, by the way, could you send over a couple agents to give me a hand finding my girlfriend, who never even told me her real name." Donner walked around the side of the desk and leaned close as he said quietly, "Look, Kanin, I talked to your lieutenant. You're a nut job. Now do yourself a favor. Get some help. Try to keep your pension." With those sage words of advice, he headed for the door, calling out to his deputy, "G'night, Molly."

Her "Night!" in response was obscenely cheerful. John growled under his breath and headed back to the cabin that was his temporary home. By the time he got there, he was thankful he hadn't crashed his bike. His head was exploding, his gut was killing him, and it felt like he'd been gang-beaten with baseball bats.

Forcing down a 7-Up chaser to the Alka Seltzer, hoping it would calm his stomach, it took him a long time to find his thermometer. He was squinting at it in the dim light of the lamp when he heard a light knock at his door. Hoping it might be Donner relenting on the files, knowing his luck wasn't that good, he croaked out, "Just a sec."

Sherman Blackstone barged past him carrying a brown grocery bag. John stared bemusedly at the man, elbowed the door shut and followed Blackstone meekly back into the room.

"Heard you were sick so I hustled right over," Blackstone announced. John looked at him, waiting for the punchline. "What, you don't see that as neighborly?"

Somewhere along the line he'd tripped off the edge of the plane of reality and landed in Twin Peaks. John sighed. "Well, it could be, if we were in Ohdabolt, Iowa, and had a country fair, and knew the postman by name. But we're in Wolf Lake."

"Ooooh." A world of meaning in a single elongated syllable, but damned if he was thinking clearly enough to try to figure it out. "Well, I got something for you," Blackstone went on when he didn't rise to the bait. He pulled a paper cup from the bag. John took it automatically. "Double cappuccino. That's for me." The cup was whisked out of his hand and a pill bottle landed in it. "Extra strength, that's the best."

He looked blearily at the little bottle. "I really appreciate that."

Blackstone took the bottle back, too, popping the top and chugging several tablets. They didn't go down easily, from the way he scrunched up his face and shook himself all over. John stared stupidly at him.

"Got an angry skull this morning. One wallbanger too many last night. Found myself dancing with a toothless palm reader wearing surgical stockings. Here." He handed over a thermos, a mild surprise since by then John half-expected it to be a log with a crazy lady attached to the other end. "Take a whiff of that. Open you right up."

He did. The steam rising up to bathe his nose was another surprise. "This is soup. You brought me soup?"

"Chicken stock, peppers, veggies. Low-tech, but it does the trick."

"Smells good, actually." It did. It was the first thing that had smelled good in two days. Probably because it was the first thing he'd been able to smell in two days. He hated getting sick. Everything went off-line. Brain first. Blackstone shook him out of his abstraction by brushing back past him and heading out again.

"Well, love to hang but I can't." He paused at the door and looked seriously at John. "Do yourself a favor. Get that in your bloodstream quick as you can." He gave a nervous-sounding laugh and ducked out. John stared at the closed door for half a second before that tantalizing smell prompted him to pour out soup and drink it down.

It tasted even better than it smelled. And it had an advantage over his last few meals. It actually stayed down.

He wandered over to the bed, shedding clothes one-handed as he sipped the soup. Settling heavily on the edge of the bed in his boxers and tee shirt, he tipped the thermos and sipped, tipped and sipped, until there was nothing left to tip and the cup was empty. His head felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and his eyelids were closing all on their own. Giving in seemed like a good idea so he went with it.

Sleep was good, and he was enjoying being unconscious, when the damned knocking started again. He pulled himself out of bed and staggered to the door, all set to rip the intruder's head off and hand it to him. The slight figure who darted in the door rocked him back on his heels.

Ruby.

He opened his mouth to say something, he didn't know what, and she laid her fingers over his lips. "Quiet."

As if he could stay quiet. Vindication was bursting out all over him. "I knew you were here!"

She sounded terrified, and there was a strange yellowish cast to her eyes. "They're watching me."

His protective instincts flared up. "Who? Who's watching you?" They could leave, right then, climb on his motorcycle and head straight back to Seattle. Leave all the weirdness behind and get their lives back. Her response was not what he expected to hear.

"You're in danger. You have to pack up all your things and get out of here tonight."

"No! Not until you tell me what's going on." She had to be kidding. She didn't look like she was kidding.

"Take a hint. I didn't ask you to follow me here." She didn't sound like it either. "And this is painful for me to say, but I don't love you. I will never love you."

That was insane. "You can't really expect me to believe that."

"It's true." Her voice was rock steady. A hell of a lot steadier than he was at the moment.

"Ruby. Stop it." He couldn't keep the harshness out of his voice, barely moderating it as he told her, "I love you!"

"You don't know me. Let me go." She sounded more sad than frightened.

He tried to plead with her. Reality took another sharp turn into the surreal, as she wrapped her hand around his throat, lifted him completely off his feet, and threw him across the room. He hit the wall hard, halfway up, and slid down to the ground. It took him a few moments to shake off the dizziness, and when he did, he saw her walk out the door.

The door that opened in front of her and closed behind her without her laying a hand on it.

Getting the sneaking suspicion that he was stuck in one hell of a dream, John picked himself up and ran to the door. Yanking it open, hoping to see her, call out to her, stop her before he lost her again, he nearly fell when the wind caught him.

The wind that was sweeping over a desert landscape unlike anything he'd ever seen. Clouds scudded across a mid-day blue sky, not the middle of the night as he knew it was. All the trees were gone, replaced by sand dunes and barren cliffs. His toes dug into the carpet and he had to fight the door to get it closed again. There was no Ruby out there. There was nothing out there.

Breathing harshly, staring wildly around the cabin that seemed familiar and threatening at the same time, he saw the thermos float gently past him. Suddenly it made sense, as much sense as madness could. "Oh, that crazy Indian!"

Unfortunately, the dream didn't end. Ruby, back again and dressed like a Hollywood version of a high class hooker, waved a hand, and his parents were suddenly in front of him. They looked pretty pale, but then, he guessed that shouldn't surprise him, since they were dead. Ghosts were supposed to be pale. Weren't they? "Hi, Mom. Dad."

Dad had his violin, and he started playing it. The music used to comfort him, but it sounded off, had a nightmare quality to it that made the hair at the back of his neck stand up. The meaning of their words took a little longer to sink in than the oddity of bad music coming from his Dad's violin.

What did they mean, he was adopted?

He didn't have time to think about it, because Hooker Ruby was doing a bad Sharon Stone impression, then two beefy guys in hospital orderly scrubs snatched him up and stuck him in a dentist's chair. There was a wire mesh around his face and a heavy band around his forehead, and he couldn't move his hands.

"It's better not to resist."

None of it made any sense. How could she do this to him? He loved her. She loved him.

"You're behaving in a highly compulsive manner."

Didn't she? He had to have a reason for this wild goose chase. For this all-consuming obsession that had torn his life apart.

"You're having a paranoid episode."

Didn't he?

"Why are you doing this to me, Ruby?" The plea slipped out unbidden.

She leaned over him and whispered against his lips, "One day it will be like she never existed."

Never.

Then electricity coursed through him and he screamed in pain. His body convulsed and it felt like his eyeballs were melting, his tongue fried in his mouth, his testicles boiled in the sac, his toes curling until they cramped. His hands clenched into fists so tight his fingers broke. His voice gave out as the screams went on and on and on.

When he came to, he was curled on the floor in his shorts. The carpet felt comfortingly cool against his sweating face. Gathering what was left of his wits, he wearily pulled himself upright, looking around, trying to assess a threat he didn't begin to understand. The wires were gone, as was the chair, the orderlies, the torture box.

Ruby was still there.

Naked.

Stalking him.

"This is no time to be shy, John."

She was incredible. Her hair hung down over her breasts, the nipples gleaming the way they did when he'd been sucking them, her eyes wild with that unnerving yellow tint. Her lips were redder than he ever remembered them being. He wanted to throw her to the ground and bury himself in her for the rest of their lives.

"This is what you want, isn't it, John?" She twisted sinuously, posing for him, and he swallowed. He did, yet he didn't. Because this was Ruby -- and yet, it wasn't.

"We're two of a kind. Look." He forced his eyes away from her beauty and saw the image of two wolf-people in the mirror. She had Ruby's smile, and he recognized his own eyes, before the mirror shattered. He shivered convulsively.

She laughed.

When she moved in close to him, he put his arms around her, because she couldn't be that close without him holding her. Her lips opened under his and his eyes closed.

Then they opened again as he froze in shock. Instead of the silky skin of her back that his fingertips knew so well, there was thick, coarse fur along her spine.

He tried to let go of her.

She wouldn't let him.

Her fingers on his back turned to claws, digging deep, drawing blood. The lips against his throat drew back to bare fangs, scraping his skin, leaving a trail of scratches. As they sank into his flesh, he knew he had to run. Had to escape.

He tipped his head back and pressed her open mouth to his pulse.

This had been coming for a damned long time.

Matt Donner knelt next to the sickly green chemical spilled across the dirt, staring at it and wondering how far Creed thought he could go. As sheriff of Wolf Lake, Matt had kept his eye on young Tyler Creed for years. There had never been anything he could prove, which was the only reason Tyler still ran free. But the bastard was escalating his criminal activities. He'd started running drugs at the high school, targeting the kids, kids like his daughter Sophia, who hadn't turned.

To top that off, the dealer Tyler'd been using as middleman was missing, and Matt's instinct told him the sleaze was dead. Then two more corpses turned up, and Tyler's scent was all over them. A drug dealer and a murderer.

And now, he was dumping toxic chemicals on sacred land. It was right up Tyler's alley. Poison the people. Poison the land. Poison everything he touched, as long as he could make a buck at it. As sheriff, it made Matt angry that he couldn't bring the criminal to justice.

As one of the Others, regardless of the distance he'd put between himself and his kin, it made his blood howl for Tyler's blood. A tiny noise behind him brought his head up and he straightened, coming to his feet, his stance wary. Tyler's voice floated out from the shadows.

"Looks like the beginning of a bad afternoon."

Matt watched the cocky little shit slink forward. "Storing hazardous waste on trustee land? That could spell the end of a promising career for a young tycoon like yourself."

"But removing it at great personal expense is a commendable public service. Although not a tax write-off." Tyler didn't miss a beat, waving a hand expansively at the empty warehouse. "All irrelevant, because this unspoiled property is the future home of Wolf Lake's new super-max prison."

Not if the pack leader had anything to say about it. Matt had been at the community meeting as well, and seen how Cane had reacted to Tyler's grand plan. Not well. It was beside the point, anyway, and Matt brought them back to it swiftly. "Two men are dead. Another's missing, and I'm guessing you know something about that."

Tyler sneered, "Always chasing your tail. Aren't you tired of that yet?"

"I'm tired of you feeling above the law." A howl echoed through his blood as he watched Tyler circle.

"I'm tired of you always on my ass," Tyler snarled back. "What is it about these ungulates that makes you put them first? Protect them? Marry them?"

"Watch it." The howl gathered fury. "Watch it, Tyler."

"You gave up everything for her. What the hell was that zoo-bitch's name?"

This pathetic little punk would never understand a true mating. "Marie. Her name was Marie."

"You want to kill me. Right now."

Tyler had no idea how right he was. Matt could barely hear the taunts over the call to kill sounding in his blood.

"Gonna have to some day, I expect. Pull the gun. Do it. I don't need a gun. I've got all the power I need right here." He slapped his chest, the sharp sound pulling Matt back from the edge, focusing him intently on Tyler. There was danger there, and not just the obvious kind. "You want a beef? Bring it on. But let's put a little hair on it. Find out if the old man can still" Tyler's eyes flashed gold for a moment and one shoulder shrugged in a characteristic challenge, "go native."

He almost did. He almost gave in to the siren call singing through him. He was severely tempted to change and rip Tyler's throat out. Then he hesitated, suddenly unsure if he could do either.

It had been a long time since he'd run the hill. It shook him to the core to realize he honestly didn't know if he still could.

Tyler, scenting uncertainty, closed for the kill. Metaphorically, if not literally. "What are you waiting for? Can't do it, can you. Been too long." He circled in front of Matt, staring at him with hatred and disdain in his narrowed eyes. "You're a limp, sorry son of a bitch. It's no wonder that daughter of yours can't wait to get a hill-dude between her legs."

That was all it took. The one challenge neither his chosen nor his Other code would tolerate. His gun was in his hand and he advanced on Tyler before he stopped to think. Tyler's eyes widened, then closed involuntarily as Matt's finger tightened on the trigger.

Five rounds made a ragged circle in the metal wall fractionally to the side of Tyler's head.

Tyler's eyes opened and he turned his head slowly, staring at the bullet holes, then swinging back to stare at Matt. His disdain was tempered with a touch of wariness. "If I turn on you now it's self defense."

The gun didn't waver. Matt said softly, "I've still got at least one with your name on it. And I always will."

The swagger was back as Tyler walked away. "You're out-numbered, Sheriff," he called out over his shoulder. "You're all alone. All alone."

Matt stood still until the echoes died away. All the echoes. From his gunfire, from Tyler slamming the door, from the howling in his blood. Slowly, feeling like a very old man, he climbed into his truck and headed back to the office.

"Are you okay?" Molly stood in front of his desk. He hadn't heard her move. He shook off his abstraction long enough to give her a reassuring smile. She didn't look too reassured.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just doing some thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself," she half-warned, half-teased, and he shook his head at her. It was enough to get her to go away, and leave him to his thoughts.

Which were chasing themselves in circles, much as Tyler had accused him of chasing his tail. Memories of Marie, fears for Sophia, anger at Tyler, uncertainty for the future, all vied with the sudden knowledge that he didn't know himself as well as he thought he had.

And that, alone, frightened him.

It was after midnight before he accepted what he had to try to do. He didn't know if it was a good idea. In fact, it was probably a really stupid idea, given all that was at stake. But he couldn't trust himself completely any more, and he needed somebody to watch his back. Maybe this wasn't the best somebody he could find, but he'd instinctively liked John Kanin since the man had first stormed into his office. If it was at the point where he couldn't trust any of his instincts, then it was time to hang up his badge, go to Cane's, and bare his throat for the final bite.

Still, standing on the step outside the little cabin, he hesitated. Raised his fist to knock, then dropped it. Stared at the wooden door and tried not to let Tyler's words poison his mind, turn him against himself. He might've changed more than he'd expected, but he hadn't changed to the point that he'd let a piece of crap like Tyler Creed get under his skin.

Much.

Growling silently at himself, he rapped on the door. Not hearing anything, he tried the handle. To his surprise, it opened. He stepped in, sight arrowing in immediately on John, sitting with his knees up under his chin, huddled against the backboard.

Huh. Not a reassuring sight for an embattled man looking for an ally.

Still, it was the best he could come up with, and his gut told him it was the right way to go, so he'd give it his best shot. "I'm going to say this quickly, before I have a chance to change my mind, okay? When I first took this job, I saw it as kind of a privilege, you know? I was getting paid to walk through walls, to make this town right. Hold everything together. Now I'm not so sure anymore."

Not getting a response, and not waiting long for one, since he was on a bit of a roll and didn't want to lose it, Matt walked up to the foot of the bed. "I'm going to be straight with you. I just found out that my decision-making ability is, uhm, slightly impaired. And I'm thinking that maybe I need a second opinion now and then.

Dark brown eyes stared unblinkingly at him. Looked like he was in some kind of trance. Matt didn't know if any of this was sinking in, but he took a deep breath and plowed on. "So I pulled your record. Two medals of honor. Highest clearance rating six years running. Apparently you like risking your life in the line of duty. Well?"

Still no response. He might as well be talking to the carpet. He turned and started to walk away, then turned back and glared at the silent man curled up in a ball on the bed. "Ah, what's the matter, Kanin? You can't come off that high horse of yours?" He'd spell it out if he had to. "All right, I'm offering you a job." Looked like he did. Matt folded his arms over chest, planted his feet, and finished up his pitch with a small flourish. "Kiwanis will buy you lunch. You don't have to wear a stupid hat."

John finally moved. He unwound himself from the human knot he'd made, long bare legs spreading out along the top of the bedspread. Matt found himself rooted to the floor. His skin tingled and his mouth went dry.

Lust.

That couldn't have been lust.

God. Hadn't it just been a day for personal revelations.

He realized he was watching John like he was on the hunt and the other man was a nice juicy rabbit, but there wasn't a damned thing he could do to stop himself. He could smell wariness coming off John in waves, along with a disconcertingly heavy personal scent that spoke of sweat, exertion, fear and adrenaline and sex. It made Matt's head swim. He started to unfold his arms, not sure if it was to stop John or grab hold of him, and Kanin jumped.

Matt froze. Then he leaned forward slightly, responding instinctively to a searching look that went right through him. What was going on in the man's head?

John reached out with a single finger and poked Matt, very gently, in the chest. It felt like the end of a tazer. Then John sighed with relief, and the intensity leached out of his eyes.

It found a home in Matt's spine. And a little further south.

He opened his mouth to ask what the hell that had been about, and John reached up. Slid his hand around the back of Matt's head, tangling his fingers in the thickest part of his hair, pulling his head down. Before Matt could get the words out, he had a mouthful of John's tongue.

Power surged through him, the likes of which he hadn't felt since he'd first met Marie. Every cell in his body was supercharged, every scent coming from John's skin and hair made his head swim, the heat radiating between them made him want to throw his head back and howl.

Any semblance of rational thought was overpowered by the need to claim.

John didn't put up any fight. If anything, he was an enthusiastic participant in his own seduction. Matt backed him up against the wall, knocking the lamp to the floor in the push, but neither of them noticed. Matt finally tore his mouth away when he had to breathe, and John made a few scrambled nonsense sounds. Ruby's name was in there, not a surprise since he was obsessed with her, but as Matt buried his face against the side of John's neck and sucked fiercely, he also heard low, moaned words. 'Yes' and 'god, please' and something that sounded a lot like 'fuck.' A suggestion, maybe a command, certainly not a 'no.'

Scent surrounded Matt, pulling him into the heart of an inferno. His skin itched and rippled as he moved against John, holding him against the wall with the full weight of his body. John wrapped his arms around Matt's neck and held on, as Matt ripped the thin cotton tee shirt away, mouth lapping at John's throat, hands shredding the barrier of boxer shorts keeping them apart.

Still not enough warmth, and it dawned on Matt that he was fully dressed. Hadn't even taken off his coat, much less his gun belt and his badge. He groaned into John's skin, not letting his mouth break contact until the last possible second as he stripped faster than he had in years. He didn't quite make it, down to his trousers puddled around his boots, by the time he was coming, but John wasn't far behind, and that made it okay.

Especially once John came. As soon as Matt smelled it, he knew he was a goner. He dropped to his knees, spreading John's legs and bracing him against the wall as he licked and nuzzled John's groin until it was clean. John's hands ran through his hair, skimmed around his ears and down his neck before settling on his shoulders. Strong fingers kneaded the bunched muscles there restlessly as Matt did his damnedest to lick John's hide clear off him. He tasted as good as he smelled, all sweat and semen and hairy slick skin.

By the time he was able to pry himself loose, John was clean, whimpering, and hard again. Matt sat back on his heels and nearly fell over when his pants caught on his boot heels.

"Shit," he muttered, and stood up long enough to shed the last of his clothing. Shaky hands reached out to help, but got diverted on the way, playing with his cock, pulling at his balls, generally getting Matt so distracted it was a wonder he didn't kill himself kicking off his boots.

Finally, they were both naked, and both hungry, and the bed was right there. Matt tumbled John onto the sheets, following him down and inhaling deeply. The scent was strongest here, sweat soaked into the sheets, semen dotting them from what must've been a hell of a wet dream, the faintest tinge of Other. That piqued Matt's territorial instinct, but the scent was so faint, and so easily drowned out by the want leaking out of John, that he shrugged it off.

Didn't matter who'd been there before. He was there now, and John was his.

Intent on staking his claim, Matt rubbed his body against John's, marking him, mingling their scents. John was mumbling again, but Matt couldn't make out the words, and it wasn't important. What was important was John moving against him, strong arms wrapping around his back, long legs winding around his hips. The heat of his erection jerking against Matt's belly, the startling tightness of his ass around Matt's cock, and the way he moved into, not away from, Matt fucking him.

Matt leaned up, dragging himself barely far enough away to be able to look into John's face. His dark eyes were hazy, his lips parted as he panted for air, a flush staining his skin darker than the usual tan. He looked like he was seeing God. Matt wasn't sure John was seeing him. He didn't let it stop him.

He couldn't.

The drive to mate was stronger than it had ever been. Despair undercut his need. Wolves mated for life. He'd thought he had no mate left to claim, when Marie died. But it wasn't going to be that easy.

John tightened around him, a garbled yell erupting from him as he spasmed against and around Matt. The hot splash against his belly and chest, and the clamping around his cock, drove his brain right off the rails, and he growled loudly as he held John against him. His second orgasm felt like it went on forever, and when he was finally drained, he collapsed. A muffled protest against his jaw prompted him to shift far enough off John not to smother him, but that was as far as he could go.

Then John moved beneath him, and the smell of them, together, filled his nose, and the world shifted to a yellow haze.

Energy flowed through him. His spine crawled, his lips drew back in a snarl, and he moved on instinct. He lowered his head, scenting John, nuzzling and humping against him. John made a sound low in his throat, and it felt like yes to Matt, so he went with it. Kicking the sheets and blanket away, he yanked a pillow down from the head of the bed and stuffed it down next to John's hip. Then Matt rolled him over, whimpering from somewhere deep in his chest, and he shifted up, covering John from shoulders to ankles. Skin kissed skin from chest and back to restless feet. He slid home again, hips thrusting lazily together, hands sliding down arms to settle over hands, fingers laced, palms against the mattress.

He didn't know how long the madness lasted before he was finally exhausted. John lost consciousness sometime after the third orgasm, screaming into the bed linens as Matt kept moving in him throughout. Matt couldn't stop, had to keep going, driven to crawl as far into John as he could go. There was no scent of blood, and Matt didn't shift, so he didn't do any damage. Still, when he finally pulled himself from John's back and began to lick away the evidence of their joining, he was shocked to see daylight coming through the curtains.

The sheets were shredded, but the blanket was still in one piece, so Matt smoothed it over John. The pillow under his hips was trashed, too, and Matt stared at it blankly before carrying it over to the door and dropping it there. He'd throw it in the dumpster out back. He dressed quietly, stopping more often than he realized to stare at John's ruffled head dark against the pillow, his body beneath the thin blanket. Quickly, he tidied the room, took one final look at John, and slipped out the door. Once he'd disposed of the ruined sheets and pillow, he headed for his truck.

Halfway back to the office, he reached for the radio. "Molly, this is Matt. I'll be out of contact for the next few hours. Something I have to follow up on."

"Need back-up?" She sounded extremely curious. Not surprising, since he never went out of radio contact.

"Nope," he answered abruptly. "I'll be up on the hill."

That had probably been a stupid thing to say, but it had gotten her to sign off without protest. He trusted Molly, though. If he'd said it to anyone else, it'd be all over Wolf Lake by lunch-time that the Sheriff was taking a day off to go native.

Wouldn't that give Tyler conniptions. Not that Matt cared. At the moment, Tyler was the least of his worries.

The way his skin was itching, the need to run, and the desire to go back to that cabin and take up where he'd left off topped his list.

Still not quite sure if he even could change, since it had been so long, the searing fire along his nerve endings caught him by surprise. It was almost as bad as the first time, and his scream startled him, echoing against the rocky outcroppings, barely swallowed by the trees. Mid-scream, it transfigured, and the howl that had been clawing at him since Tyler's challenge, impelled by his unexpected mating with John Kanin, sang out through the hills.

Sang as it hadn't sounded in over a decade. Since he'd lost Marie. Lost himself.

He ran for hours, at the mercy of the wildness in his blood. Joy washed through him as he tore through the trees, mind and body at peace with one another as they hadn't been for so long. He'd fought this for years, tried to forget the surge of power, tried to live within the confines he'd defined for himself. For his wife and his child. Now his wife was gone, his child practically a stranger. His choices had exiled him from the pack. He'd thought he was strong enough to meet the challenge of being alone.

Except, now, he wasn't.

It was dusk by the time he'd exhausted himself enough to change back. Washing the sweat that coated him away in the stream, he dressed and walked slowly back to his truck, driving home on auto-pilot. His mind felt as numb as his body. Pulling up in the driveway, he stared at the dark windows of his house and wondered where Sophia was. What Tyler was up to. How Cane was doing. What Sherman would have to say about his new mate.

He didn't let himself think about John until he was in the shower. When he did, he was hard in seconds, and he closed his eyes, closed his hand around his cock, and remembered the scent and the heat and the sounds John had made. It didn't take much to get him off. Splashing water against the tiles, washing away the mess, he bowed his head. Let the water run through his hair, down over his face. Realized that he was still Other as he'd always been, and wondered if he'd realized it just in time to have to repudiate it again. For a mate who was not Other.

The memory of John's scent tickled his nose, and his head came up, eyes closed against the spray as he concentrated. It had the faintest hint of familiarity. Matt had smelled and responded to it from the first time he'd met John. The trust and liking, and later the mad lust, hadn't been as much of a shock as they should have been. But that didn't make any sense. John wasn't Other.

Was he?

The thought followed him to the club, and he was distracted as he settled behind the piano. Miranda looked at him, waiting for her cue, but he found himself playing love songs without words, his hands moving over the keys without conscious thought, his gaze fixed on the mid-distance, seeing nothing. Eventually she got bored, pulled up a stool, leaned against the piano. Dozed off. He didn't notice.

He'd been playing half an hour when the scent hit him. He looked up to see John walking through the door, looking serious and healthy and calm. Nothing like the needing, grasping, hungry man he'd mated with for hours that morning. Their eyes caught, and Matt felt the howl start in his bones. For a moment the world flashed yellow. John checked, then shook his head as if waking from a dream. Set his shoulders, called out an order to the barman, settled down beside Sherman. Did his best to ignore Matt.

His best wasn't good enough. Matt finished the song and segued smoothly into one of Miranda's better efforts. She jerked awake, slid off the stool, and started to sing. Matt let her voice wash over him, but his attention was on John.

The wildness was rising again. And it wasn't going to go away.

That had to've been the worst bout of flu John had ever suffered. His muscles ached, but weirdly enough, not in a bad way. It must've been the hallucinations. Ruby, in the strangest incarnations. Dead parents. Shock treatments. Love and rejection and horror all tangled up together. Making love to Ruby and having her turn into Matt Donner, of all people. Even a job offer. What a wild trip.

And it was all thanks to one crazy Indian.

He spotted Blackstone sitting at the bar and made his way over to join him. Halfway there, he glanced toward the piano. Donner was playing.

Looking at him.

John missed a step, eyes caught by the intensity of the stare Donner sent his way. For an instant, the club disappeared and he was back in the cabin, leaning against the wall, hands tangled in Matt Donner's hair as he hung on for the best damned blow job he'd ever gotten. His ass twinged and he gulped, then shivered when Donner's eyes seemed to flash yellow for the barest instant.

Shaking off the weird image, deciding it must be a lingering side effect of whatever the hell Blackstone had spiked the chicken soup with, John broke off what was turning into a disconcertingly smoldering staring contest and resolutely headed for the bar. "Hot tea, please," he told the bar tender. Claiming a stool next to Blackstone, he said sternly, "Okay, Emeril, let's talk soup."

"Helped out. I mean, you look a whole lot better." Blackstone gave him an innocent look.

Not that John was buying his act. "What was in that?"

"Told you. It was just chicken and vegetables." He practically glowed with innocence. John didn't know whether to laugh or smack him.

"No, no, something else in there you can't get at the market. I've been hallucinating for the last forty eight hours."

"Still congested? Fever?" John stared at him. "Achy joints? Nausea? Explosive diarrhea?" The stare turned to a glare. Blackstone paused for an instant and said in the same exact tone, "Unrequited love?"

His glare melted into blank-faced confusion. That was too close to home. Too close to true. Blackstone stared right back, and right through, him.

"Yeah, you're cured."

John shot back, "I'm freaked."

"Facing your demons is good medicine."

Is that what he'd been doing? Funny. He didn't consider Ruby a demon. He just knew that he loved her. And she'd loved him. Where Donner and the incredible sex had come from was anybody's guess. Blackstone slurped tequila and orange juice through his straw and gave him one last bit of advice.

"Just don't get too hung up on the side effects. Celebrate!"

Right. Like he had so much to celebrate. He threw Blackstone a half-hearted glare and turned to watch Miranda sing, only to find his eyes drawn back to Matt Donner.

Memory struck him again, of skin sliding against skin, of fire flashing along his nerves, of rockets going off behind his eyes. His mind shied away from the sensations the memories provoked, and with iron discipline he put the wild, acid-trip ride firmly in a box marked 'hallucinations' and refused to think about it.

Donner looked up from the keys and directly at John. In the space of a heartbeat, he thought he saw gold flash in those eyes again, and he shivered. Turned his shoulder toward the stage. Huddled over his hot tea, and thought about lost love and demons.

Coming Home

The morning after the flu episode, still struggling to clamp his mind closed against random flashbacks and the sensory spikes that went with them, John headed back down to the Sheriff's office for one last try at the records. Since dream-Ruby had mowed him down the day before, John felt a little conflicted. Sure, he loved her. But he was starting to think he really didn't know her.

He was also starting to wonder if his over-riding need to find her had more to do with anger than love. She'd been taken from him. Nobody took from him. It rocked him, to realize that maybe his quest had more to do with his pride than his heart. The thing was, after the hallucinations from the flu, or Blackstone's trippy soup, or whatever the hell was in the air at Wolf Lake, he'd dreamed. All night. Woke up wet. And he hadn't dreamed about Ruby.

He'd dreamed about Matt Donner.

Which was disturbing on a lot of levels for a macho cop in his mid-thirties who'd always thought he was straight. Still, he was the kind of guy who looked his fears in the face whenever he could pin the damned things down, so he didn't hesitate that morning. He walked out the door of his rental cabin, climbed on his motorcycle, and drove directly to confront Sheriff Donner.

Who looked up at him, grinned, and said, "Ready to start work?"

John looked back at him like Matt had lost his mind. "Huh?" Not the swiftest answer, but all he could come up with.

Matt stood and stalked over to him. It reminded John unnervingly of the way Ruby came at him when he was late home from work and she was horny. He twitched. Matt stopped.

Three inches away.

Close enough to feel the warmth coming off him. Close enough to smell, and he smelled really good, and weirdly familiar. John swallowed, finding his mouth dry for reasons he attributed to fever dreams and tried to ignore.

From the look on his face, Matt was smelling him, too, and liking what he smelled. His eyes were half-closed, there was a little smile on his face, and he leaned close, like he was about to do something crazy. Lick John, maybe.

God, that sounded tempting.

Shaking off his distraction, John choked out, "Job?"

Drawing back a bare inch, not enough to let John breathe, Matt cocked his head and gave him a look. "Yeah. The one I offered you ... yesterday."

Holy shit. John blinked, opened his mouth, shut it again, and blinked some more. That had been real? It hadn't been a hallucination? But if that was real, then how much of the rest of it had been? Had Ruby really come to him? Turned into some kind of wolf? Had he really seen his dead parents?

Really had the wildest sex of his life, which was saying something since knowing Ruby, with Matt Donner?

Before he could untangle his thoughts and ask any of the questions tying his brain in a knot, Molly's voice cut between them like a bandsaw.

"Boss! Call just came in!" She sounded distraught. Matt reared away from John and made a beeline for her desk. "There's been a shooting."

Matt and Molly stared at one another for a moment, and it looked to John like they were talking to one another without using words. Matt suddenly paled, as pasty white as Molly was, then bolted for the door, grabbing his gun on the way.

Not knowing what made him do it, John took out after him. Matt moved so damned fast that even with his pickup, he was out of sight before John got his bike running. Following his cop's instinct, John headed for the hill outside town. It seemed to be the nexus for weirdness in a town chock-full of the stuff.

He found Matt kneeling beside a body halfway up the hill. His muffled sobs were easy to follow, echoing in the trees. Eerie. They sounded like the cries of a wolf with its paw caught in a trap. Mournful and in pain.

Coming up beside him, John was shocked to see the corpse of Willard Cates sprawled in the mud. He'd been shot once in the chest from close range. He was stripped naked, not even his shoes left. He had a calm, peaceful look John wasn't used to seeing on the faces of homicide victims. Intending to keep a respectful distance, he was surprised to find his hand squeezing Matt's shoulder.

Even more surprised when Matt's hand came up to cover it, his cheek touching the back of John's fingers briefly.

The touch seemed to help Matt get his composure back, and he stood up, staring down at Cates' body and sighing deeply. "Shit," he said quietly.

"You don't sound all that surprised," John probed. Matt shook his head.

"Should've seen it coming." Bitter, and angry, underlying pain making both emotions stronger. John looked down at the dead man then back up at Matt.

"Lot of enemies? He seemed pretty well-liked."

"He was," Matt said, jamming his hat back on his head. "Only one enemy. That was enough." Pulling his radio out of his jacket pocket, he called in for a retrieval unit.

"Looks like it," John muttered, glancing down the body. From the restful expression, to the blood-soaked, torn flesh, to the ankle, caught in a wolf trap. "Jesus."

Hell of a thing, to be trapped and slaughtered like an animal.

John backed off as deputies and crime scene personnel swarmed on the scene. For a small town, they had a crack unit. Given the number of headstones in the graveyard, it was no wonder. Every one of them choked up when they saw Cates, showing signs of respect more worthy of a tribal chief than a local businessman, even one who owned most of the town. None of them showed any signs of hostility, leaving John to wonder again who the enemy was Matt had in mind. Actually, the only hostility on the site was aimed at John, and that was almost as universal as the respect they showed Cates.

Trailing along behind the retrieval unit, having scoped out the scene as thoroughly as possible and oddly not wanting to be left behind on that mountain, John pulled his bike in behind Matt's truck at the station and walked in on pandemonium.

The grapevine must've been buzzing like crazy. Half the town was crammed into the station. At least. Maybe more. Luke Cates screamed and raged, barely held in check by Sherman Blackstone. The way he was thrashing around, he'd've trashed the office if he could. His dad's death hit him hard. His mother Vivian sat in a chair next to Matt's desk, her eyes huge in a chalk-white face, looking composed. John knew from the way her hands knotted in her lap it was a false, if brave, front. Matt stood next to her, one hand resting on her shoulder the same way John had done with Matt earlier, talking quietly with her.

Deputy Molly comforted Sarah Hollander, standing crying next to the cells, surrounded by several townspeople John recognized by sight if not name. A few feet away, Tyler Creed slouched against a desk, his eyes glued to Vivian and Matt. Slumped on a bench next to the mass of townsfolk, but somehow apart, Miranda sang under her breath. She looked like she couldn't decide whether to be sad or happy, but she was probably too stoned to understand what was going on.

John moved through the crowd, unsettled by the hostile looks tossed his way but not letting it show. Once he got to the far wall, out of the way but with a clear line of sight over the whole scene, he noticed something strange. The crowd, which seemed like an inchoate mass at first glance, was actually two separate groups. One flowed around Vivian and Matt; the other centered on Creed. For no logical reason, John was suddenly convinced that Creed was involved in Cates' death.

After all, it wasn't logical to decide he didn't like the guy just because he had a bad attitude and his smell made John uptight. Not that Creed stank, he just smelled ... off. It could've been John's gut instinct, telling him since he got to Wolf Lake that Creed had something major to do with Ruby's disappearance, but it was more than that. Creed was after something. Vivian was tied to it. Matt was in the way.

Matt was in danger. From Creed.

He didn't know how he knew it, but John felt it clear to his bones. He also knew, with the same unshakable certainty, that if Creed tried anything, John would shoot him where he stood. He didn't know when he'd gotten so protective of Matt. Maybe it was a brother-officer-of-the-law thing. Maybe it was the lingering aftereffect of the flu. He didn't really care why. If Creed made one wrong move John was going to come down on him like a wall.

Things got tense when Creed moved in on Matt and Vivian. Matt bristled at him like a dog protecting his bone, and Creed reacted pretty much like a dog trying to steal that same juicy bone, but the bone involved, Vivian, calmed them both down with one icy glare. Matt had the grace to look a little embarrassed, but Creed wouldn't know shame if it bit him on the ass. He shrugged, walked back to the desk, and stared at them some more.

Eventually, Blackstone got Luke calm enough to leave with his mother. Creed left soon after, Matt staring holes in his back. John knew without a doubt that Matt thought Creed killed Cates. His own instinct backed Matt a hundred percent on that one. The problem would be finding evidence.

After the majority of the people drifted out, things settled down. Still, it was a hectic day. Taking Matt at his word about the job offer, John pitched in, handling the few routine calls that came in and letting Molly take care of the avalanche of concerned citizens freaking out over the Cates killing. He kept his mouth shut, his eyes open, and puzzled his way through the scarce clues he had. So far, he didn't have enough to come to any reasonable conclusions.

Shortly before lunch, Matt got a call on his direct line. John did his best to eavesdrop, but didn't get a lot out of "Donner," "Yeah," and "Now." The growl in Matt's voice didn't bode well for the caller. He slammed the phone down and grabbed up his jacket, hat and gun, then headed for the door at high speed.

"Want some backup?" John asked, but the swinging door didn't give him any answer. He glanced over at Molly, who also looked at the door, but she refused to meet his eyes.

Okay. So whatever was going down, Molly knew about it. John was the outsider, and no matter that he was now a fellow cop in their little fraternity, he wasn't about to be let in on the secret. Shrugging off his irritation, he went back to scanning a report. He'd find out eventually. He was a damned good detective, after all. If nothing else, working for Donner gave him access to the files he wanted on Ruby. He couldn't keep his attention on them, though. The urge to grab his gun and go after Matt kept interfering with his concentration.

Half an hour after Matt left, John was walking to the coffee pot when a crippling pain hit him mid-abdomen. Dropping the file he was carrying, scattering paper all over the floor, he bit off a scream of pain and grabbed his middle with both hands. A second flash of agony went through him, higher, a few inches from his heart, then a third, higher still, near the shoulder. The force of the pain spun him around in a circle and buckled his knees. His eyes blurred and his head swam.

Molly's hands on his shoulders and her concerned, "What? What is it? What's wrong?" drilled insistently in his ear brought him back to himself. Glancing up wildly at her, he shook his head, unable to speak. Not enough breath in his body to both talk and move, and movement was imperative.

Skidding, hands and knees then up to his feet, careening off the side of an empty desk before making it to his own and grabbing his jacket, keys and gun, John was still shaking his head wordlessly as he threw himself on his bike and tore out of town. Heading for the hill like a bat out of hell.

Following his instincts.

John found Matt lying in the road next to his pickup. The door was open, the lights on. Blood pooled beneath him. Whipping off his jacket, he used it to pack the wounds, then threw himself into the cab of the truck and radioed for an ambulance. Officer down. Three bullet wounds.

To the stomach, chest, and shoulder.

Matt was unconscious, but his pulse was strong. It had only been a few minutes since he was shot. John crouched over him, drawing his weapon and scanning the forest surrounding them. Looking for clues and threats. He didn't see either, but they were there. He knew it.

The watching, malevolent silence quickly got to him. Cursing under his breath, he wrapped Matt as securely as he could and lifted him into the truck. Buckling him in, more to keep pressure against the wounds than anything else, he headed down the hill at top speed.

Taking up the radio, he told Molly, "Forget the ambulance, I'm bringing Matt in. And have a guard for his room. Whoever did this might come back and try to finish the job."

They were ready for him at the hospital. It was a damned good thing. Matt's breathing was starting to falter, and there was blood on his lips to match that leaking through the wadded-up material. He hadn't opened his eyes or made a sound since John found him.

How John found him was something John tried not to think about, focusing on keeping the man alive instead. A horde of white-jacketed people descended on the truck as soon as the truck squealed into the emergency entrance. Matt was lifted onto a stretcher, ringed by doctors and nurses, then they raced through the door. John left the truck where it was, keys in the ignition for somebody else to move it if they had to, and followed on their heels until they disappeared behind doors marked "Medical Personnel Only."

Then he dropped into a plastic chair, stared at the blood all over his hands, shirt and jeans, and wondered what the fuck was going on with him. First Ruby, now Matt. One disappeared and he hallucinated her back to him; the other shot with his own gun, and John felt the bullets.

He was chewing that over when Vivian Cates came flying in the door. She checked at the sight of John, her nose twitching and her eyes widening. "Matt?" she asked, her voice breaking.

John waved vaguely in the direction of surgery. Vivian's eyes followed his bloody hand, and she shivered. Reminded that her own husband had been killed that very morning, John tried to think of something reassuring to say.

"He's gonna make it," he muttered, knowing as the words came out that he was reassuring himself more than her.

She swallowed, tears coming to her eyes, then turned and went to the nurses' station. As she talked with the head nurse, Sophia ran in, Luke beside her. John watched them, but neither noticed him. Vivian touched Sophia's hair gently, then turned back to the nurse. He couldn't hear what she said, but the nurse unlocked the door and they were able to go in. Maybe watch the surgery. Maybe talk to doctors. After all, Vivian wasn't the outsider. They would talk to her.

He tried not to hate her for that.

Then he tried to figure out why he would hate her for anything, but it was tied in with fever dreams and phantom bullets, and he was too much on edge waiting for word on Matt for any of it to make sense. As for Sophia, maybe having his daughter there would help Matt fight for life. It was a faint hope, but any hope was better than none.

An hour later the world got weirder, as Tyler Creed strutted in the door. John had his gun out, aimed at the son of a bitch's heart, before he knew he was going to move.

Creed froze, staring at him, nostrils flaring, eyes flashing gold. John felt a strange surge of energy flow through him, and for an instant the world went kind of yellow. Still his hand didn't shake; the gun stayed aimed dead center of Creed's body mass. He didn't know how he knew Creed was a threat to Matt, but he did know it. No fucking way was Creed going to hurt Matt again.

John only realized he was growling when Creed huffed incredulously at him. The world shifted back to normal colors, and John saw Creed staring at him like he was an alien from another planet. Then he hunched one shoulder, gave a weird kind of snarl, and backed away out of the hospital. John stared after him, knowing again without knowing how that it wasn't the gun that had stopped him.

It was the yellow. Somehow.

Six hours later, still covered in Matt's blood, refusing Molly's insistence that he go take a shower and get some rest, John still hadn't the faintest idea what was going down. He just knew he had to stay. Eventually he would figure it all out. Watch out for Vivian Cates. Kill Tyler Creed. He didn't know what was driving him, but it didn't matter. They were for later. His top priority was make sure Matt would live.

After midnight the band of pain around John's chest finally eased and he could breathe again. Looking up, he saw Sophia, Luke's arm around her, stumbling down the corridor toward a waiting room. Vivian came out on their heels, but instead of following them, she came over and stood next to John.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

Forcing himself to his feet, wincing at the cramps in his legs, he crossed his arms over his chest, hiding the dried blood on his hands by stuffing them under his arms against his sides.

"I'm very sorry about your husband," he said awkwardly. He hadn't gotten the chance to say that earlier, and it seemed very important at that moment.

She winced, then nodded solemnly. "Thank you for that, too."

"Will Matt be all right?" Seeking reassurance. She'd been back there. Surely she could tell him something. For a second, jealousy swamped him, and the world got that weird yellow tint again.

"Yes," she started to say, then froze, staring at him. "Couldn't you tell?" she asked then, sounding confused.

"What's going on?" he burst out. She shook her head.

"I'm ... not sure," she answered. Her hand rose as if to touch him, and he shied away instinctively. She checked, then dropped her hand and stared even more intently at him.

The yellow bled away, leaving the world in normal colors, but now John's skin itched, and he had the almost overwhelming urge to run. Far, fast, he didn't know, didn't care. He had to move.

Couldn't.

Had to protect Matt.

Felt like he was running around in circles. If he had a tail he'd be chasing it.

Her gaze softened, and something like wonder lit her eyes, confusing John even further, if possible. "He's going to be okay, John," she told him gently. "Clean up. Get some rest." Her voice dropped, and the glow in her eyes got stronger. "You're going to need it." She smiled at him, then turned back to the counter, speaking to the nurse quietly before going to join her son and Matt's daughter.

Beyond thought, John walked over to the nurses' station. Whatever Vivian told them, it worked. They were a lot nicer to him. Or maybe they felt sorry for him. He was pretty well wrecked. Whatever the reason, a kind young woman led him to a room with a shower, and when he came out, handed him scrubs. Then he followed her to ICU.

Matt looked like he was sleeping, if John ignored all the tubes going into him and the machines surrounding him and the needles taped to him. Still, he had some color back, and he looked a hell of a lot better than he had when John first found him. The last of the adrenaline holding him up left John with a rush and he swayed.

The nurse caught him, one hand on his arm like an iron cuff holding him up. Next thing he knew he was in a cot across the hall from Matt's room. The last thing he saw before he fell asleep was the deputy standing guard at the door. Matt was safe, and he was going to stay that way.

John would make damned sure of that.

Matt didn't wake up until after ten the next morning, and John was watching from the doorway when he did. It wasn't traumatic; he opened his eyes and winced. Before the doctor could tell him he couldn't, John ducked into the room and came to stand beside the bed.

"Hey, Sheriff. Welcome back."

John had ice chips ready before Matt got his mouth open. Spooning some into Matt's mouth, the look of bliss on his face told John just how dry he'd been.

"Wha' happened?" Matt croaked out when the ice had melted.

"Kinda hoping you could tell me that." John leaned closer. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Gettin' a call ... info ... meet on the Hill ..." Matt's face hardened, and John pressed the point.

"Then what happened?" Not getting an answer, he tried, "Who called you?"

"Mr. Kanin!"

The doctor's voice behind him startled John, and he lost any advantage he might have had. Ignoring the bustling doctor, grumbling at him about disturbing his patient, he looked at Matt. His expression was completely calm, and as completely closed. Frustration nearly made John put his fist through a wall.

"Goddamnit, Matt," he burst out, "I can't help if you won't talk to me! Who did this to you?"

The doctor rounded on him, but Matt's voice, creaky as it was, stopped him from bitching John out.

"You can't help, John." He sounded tired. John still wanted to slap him.

"Not if you don't cooperate," he shot back. Matt looked at him for a long time before closing his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Outsider gets the door slammed shut in his face. Again. John stared down at Matt, anger bubbling up in him. Turning on his heel, he stormed out of the hospital room before he lost it and did something stupid, like shaking Matt 'til the truth came out.

Or kissing him until he was too dizzy to lie anymore.

Still pissed off when he got to the parking lot, he was surprised to see his bike, parked next to the entrance close to where he'd left the truck. The truck was gone, and he wondered when Molly'd left with it. Shoving his hands in his pockets, more to hide the fists he couldn't unclench than because he was cold, he was even more surprised to find his keys in his right-hand pocket. Say what he would about her unnatural cheerfulness, Molly was certainly efficient.

Digging his heels in, determined to do what he had to even if not another damned person in the whole damned town helped, John headed back to the station. There was a homicide and an attempted homicide on his plate, and he had work to do.

The next week was an exercise in futility. Everywhere he turned, he hit stone walls of silence. The only person who seemed to be on his side was Vivian, and she was too busy dealing with the aftermath of her husband's sudden death to help very much. Luke was actively hostile, but then, he was actively hostile to everyone except Sophia. While Sophia acted like she was having some kind of breakdown, fluctuating wildly between staying glued to her father's bedside and disappearing for hours at a time with no word to anybody.

Then there was Creed. He kept popping up, and every time he did, it was progressively harder for John to hold on to his temper. Something about the bastard set his teeth on edge, had from the first time he'd set eyes on Creed, but it was more than that. His gut told him Creed was dangerous, like a mad dog that should be put down before it caused any more damage. John's palm literally itched to shoot him.

As for Ruby, five days passed before he realized he hadn't thought of her at all.

When it dawned on him that the only thing he could think about was who shot Matt and who killed Cates, in that order, and Ruby was no more than a vague ache in the back of his mind, he faced facts. He would continue to look for her, and he knew he would eventually find her. When he did, they were going to have a good long talk. Then he was going to give her back all of her CDs and let her go. Because somewhere along the trail, something unexpected happened. He'd fallen out of love with her, and he'd fallen in love with somebody else.

Not that he told Matt. Hell, if Matt couldn't trust John to help find the guy who shot him, John wouldn't trust Matt with his heart.

Not that the lack of cooperation slowed him down. Determined to investigate despite the roadblocks, he stopped by the Cates' mansion and knocked on the door. He didn't have anything new to report on the murder, but he wanted to touch bases with Vivian again. Luke yanked the door open and glared at him.

"Your mom home?" John asked politely, tensing up as the teenager loomed at him. Luke was a kid, but he was a big, possibly violent, emotionally unbalanced kid. John wasn't taking any chances.

After a few seconds' wild staring, Luke let go of the door and left him standing there. Taking it for an invitation, intended or not, John walked in. Raised voices, closer to angry snarls than words, led him down the hall to what looked like a library. Luke had disappeared and no one else was in sight. The door was open, so John paused outside, listening.

"You know what he would have wanted! The pack needs unity and strength right now and --"

"Yes, Tyler, I know damned well what Willard would have wanted." Vivian's voice was sharp as a knife and cold enough to make John shiver. It stopped Creed mid-rant. "A level head, a strong heart, and a clear mind. None of which you have ever had."

"Shit, Vivian, think about this --"

She cut him off again. "I have thought of nothing else since Willard was killed."

"Then you know what we have to do." Now Creed sounded seductive, soft words and inviting tone. Her answer was, if anything, even colder than before.

"I know what I have to do. You have to leave."

"You better think again, babe," Creed snarled, all seduction gone. "You're not nearly as strong as you think you are, and you're losing allies fast."

There was a weird sound, like a cross between a howl and a bark, and John reached out instinctively to push the door open. "Mrs. Cates?" he called loudly, deliberately, one hand on the butt of his gun.

Creed and Vivian both turned on him, and for an instant, he saw yellow in both sets of eyes. Refusing to let it spook him, he dealt with the immediate danger.

"Is there a problem here?" he asked Vivian, his eyes daring Creed to make a move, his fingers curling around the pistol's handle, drawing Creed's attention to it. Creed gave him a sneer, but Vivian sounded like she was in complete control.

"No, thank you, Mr. Kanin. Mr. Creed was just leaving."

Creed glared at her, but she glared right back, not backing down a bit. Hunching his shoulders, he slouched out the door. He gave John a threatening look as he went by, and John returned it with interest.

"You're in way over your head, boy," Creed muttered at him. John gave him a thin smile, showing some teeth.

"Give me an excuse, boy," John shot back.

Creed glanced over his shoulder at Vivian then left without another word. When John looked back at her, she looked tired, angry, and a little amused.

"Please, have a seat, Mr. Kanin." She waved him to a chair, and he perched on the edge. "Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you," he responded politely, getting right to the point but keeping his voice gentle. "I'm sorry. We haven't made much progress in the investigation into your husband's death." He watched her closely. She didn't seem surprised. "I was wondering if there was anything you might be able to add to your statement that could help us out?"

She took a deep breath, staring at him as if she could see right through him, then let it out slowly. "I'm afraid not. Willard didn't have any enemies, really. He treated people fairly. The only thing I can think is that it was some kind robbery, that Willard had ... something that somebody wanted, badly enough to kill him."

That jived with what they'd found. Whoever'd murdered him even stripped the clothes from his back and the shoes from his feet. Nothing, but nothing, had been found anywhere near the scene. Still, she was holding back. He had the impression she was giving him clues, but he didn't have enough information to decipher them. Falling back on procedure, he took her through her statement and attendant questions with as much kindness as he could, stretching it out for a half hour or so in case Creed came back.

Thanking her as he was leaving, he hesitated. "Would you feel more secure with a guard here, Mrs. Cates?"

He was thinking of Creed when he said it, but he left it open so she could interpret it as concern for her safety with her husband's killer still free. She gave him a lovely smile, patting his hand like his mom used to when he'd done something sweet but stupid.

"No, but thank you, Mr. Kanin. I'll be all right."

He saw steel in her, and had a feeling she was right. She would be okay. Heaven help anybody who tried to take her down. Shaking off the thought, he smiled uncertainly at her. Trotting down the steps to his bike, he got an itch that told him he was being watched. Glancing around, making it look casual but being dead serious about it, he didn't see anybody. Didn't make any difference. He knew someone was watching. And he knew who that someone was.

Tyler Creed.

Someday soon he was going to have to take care of that son of a bitch.

First things had to come first, though. John kept digging at the cases on his desk, and looked in on Matt every chance he got. Given his resemblance to Swiss cheese when John brought him in, Matt should have been in the hospital at least a couple weeks, probably closer to a month. The third day in, they transferred him out of ICU.

The sixth day, John went to smuggle in some chocolate, and found the room empty. He made it to the nurses' station in two seconds flat.

"Sheriff Donner?" he barked, pointing at the empty room. With the bag of chocolate. The nurse looked at the candy with disapproval and lust.

"He was released this morning," she informed him cheerfully. He glared at her.

"Less than a week after being shot full of holes?"

She straightened and put on a poker face, although her eyes still gleamed at the chocolate. "He's a fast healer," she told him.

He left the chocolate with her. Another piece of the puzzle slid into place, although the picture made no sense at all. A fragment of conversation overheard at the candy shop played through his memory. The boy behind the counter was flirting with a girl, neither noticing him there. John ignored the incomprehensible teen babble until the boy said, "At least that's over and we know where we're going. I'm glad it'll still be a Cates. Even if I'm not so sure about a woman running things."

The girl snorted. "Who d'you think's been doing most of the work ever since the old man got cancer? She's strong. She'll do fine."

Then the boy spotted John, and both kids went silent. John paid for his chocolate and left, not paying much attention, thinking it must have had something to do with business. The Cates family did own most of the town. But there'd been some deeper, hidden meaning he hadn't understood. And now there was Matt, out of the hospital a damned sight sooner than he should be, apparently with his doctor's full cooperation. Not that anybody told John. Anything. Ever.

Caught between sulking about being left out of the loop -- again -- and making damned sure Matt was safe, since the guy who shot him was no closer to being caught than the day he did it, John went with his gut again. A few minutes later he pulled up outside the Donner house.

His nose played tricks on him, because for a second he could swear he smelled Creed. And that was impossible. Then the world shifted colors and everything went yellow. He was off his bike and running into the house, gun in hand, before he knew he was moving.

The front door hung off the hinges, what looked like claw marks shredding the wood like wet toilet paper. Further into the house John heard fighting, screams of rage that didn't sound human. Crashing into the living room, he got the confused impression that somebody'd tossed the place. Furniture was upended, books off the shelf, lamps smashed. In the middle of the mess, two big dogs fought, while a third, smaller one, huddled next to a torn sofa cushion, licking blood from its fur.

No. Not dogs.

Wolves.

"Holy fuck!" John yelled, bringing his gun up, not sure what to shoot. The injured wolf growled at him, and the other two stopped fighting to wheel around and snarl. Their eyes all glowed yellow, but it was hard to notice, since his own were suddenly doing the same.

The smaller of the two fighters suddenly bounded past him, heading for the stairs. John stepped back, trying to keep an eye on the two that were left and still see where the one went. The wounded wolf leapt just as suddenly in the opposite direction, heading out the front door. The largest one whined and ran after it.

So much for them. John ran after the only remaining threat, taking the steps two at a time. The puzzle was starting to make sense, although it was completely insane. Well, illogical, anyway, but his instinct screamed at him that it had to be the truth.

That same instinct urged him down the hall to the bedrooms. Rounding the corner at the top of the staircase he saw the last wolf throw itself at a closed door, snapping and clawing at it. From behind the door, he heard Matt's voice, sounding a little groggy.

"Sophia? That you? What's wrong, honey?"

So Matt thought his daughter was a homicidal wolf trying to eat its way through the bedroom door to him since it couldn't turn the knob. The last piece fell into place. Werewolves. It figured. It fit. John raised his weapon and sighted at the center of the moving animal.

Which turned before he could steady his gun and launched itself at John.

Life, already shifted into the yellow end of the spectrum, took a further turn to the surreal when John felt the gun drop from his hand as he tried to squeeze the trigger. His fingers were no longer fingers. They were toes. With claws.

Pain unlike anything he'd ever felt ripped through him. The external threat became moot as his brain struggled to accept what was happening to his body. Dimly he heard wood breaking, felt the air displace over his body as another joined the fray, felt more than heard snarls and snaps and howls as battle took place a foot or so away from where he curled up in a little ball of disbelieving agony on the floor.

His boots fell off. His hind paws kicked them away. His clothing threatened to choke him where it wasn't ripping apart at the seams, and he dug at the collar of his jacket with his front paws until it gave. Gasping for air, he whined, tongue hanging out the side of his muzzle. He shook too hard to move. Everything sounded too loud and god, the smells ... his head felt like it was bursting.

Raising his head an inch or so, he watched with confusion as a large brown wolf clamped its jaws on the throat of a smaller, scruffy blond and white one. Blood spurted from the killing bite, and with a shudder, the attacking wolf died. John's defender shook the corpse back and forth ferociously for a few seconds, then dropped it with a contemptuous shake of its head.

"Wrrroof?" He'd meant to ask what was going on. He barked instead. The big brown wolf looked over at him, and proving he had indeed lost his mind, winked at him.

It's okay, John.

He rolled his eyes, trying to find Matt, before it dawned on him that the voice hadn't come from behind him. It had been inside him, inside his brain. Keeping his muzzle shut, he asked hesitantly, Matt?

Yeah. The brown wolf came over to him and gently nuzzled his fur. You okay?

Do I look like I'm okay? There was a definite hysterical edge to the question. I'm talking telepathically with a wolf, who just killed another wolf to save my life, and I'm a WOLF. What is it? Something in the water?

Silent, breathy laughter echoed in his brain. Something like that.

What the fuck's going on, Matt?

You came home, John. More nuzzling, and John found he had strength enough to nuzzle back a little. Then the wolf that was Matt raised his head and sniffed the air.

Sophia? He glanced down at John. I smell her blood. Not much, but it's there. Is she all right? Anxiety put a whine in the words. Funny how expression of emotion changed when it was the wolf doing the worrying, instead of the man.

She's fine, I think. Just a little bite on her paw. There was another wolf here, fighting ... John looked over and saw Tyler Creed's naked corpse, a gaping hole where his windpipe used to be ... Creed. Protecting her. He realized he was panting, but he couldn't seem to stop.

Luke. Matt sounded half-irritated and half-relieved. Well, he'll take care of her. In this, anyway. Just don't put him behind the wheel of a car. His mental voice softened, and he licked John's face gently. Hey, hey. It's okay. It's going to be all right.

John rolled his eyes again, but the panting lessened. Just what he needed -- not only was he a wolf, he was a hyperventilating wolf. Once more with feeling. What the fuck is going on?

Lot to explain. Matt was good at understatement. First things first, though.

We call the cops?

More silent laughter. No. We call the Cates.

Pack leader. Of course. That made sense, too. Creed tried to take it from her. She wouldn't let him.

Yeah. This was his last attempt. Maybe he thought with me out of the way he'd have a better chance to take her down and take over the pack.

Why? John couldn't help the jealousy that came through loud and clear with the word. Is she your mate? It sounded stupid. It also sounded all too believable.

That got him a nuzzle, a lick, and a serious look. She can't be, John. You already are.

Before he could make sense of that, the wolf before him began to expand. It was a revolting and fascinating sight, seeing the wolf become the man. The voice in his head continued.

Your turn.

My turn to what?

Change back.

I don't know how the hell I changed, John protested. How am I s'posed to change back?

His mind caught on the last word as he felt it start. Perspective shifted. Muscles stretched, bones ached, skin itched, but it wasn't the agony the change to wolf had been. Colors returned as the world faded from yellow. In a moment, he lay in the tattered remains of his clothes, staring up at Matt, kneeling next to him. Grinning at him.

Stark naked.

"Does it always hurt?" John asked absently. Matt looked good. Ridiculously good. The scars from the bullet wounds were barely pink, looking like nothing next to the new scratches from his fight with Creed.

"It only hurts the first time."

It sounded a little too solemn, and John snapped back from his examination of Matt's body to give him a suspicious glare. "You laughing at me?"

"Nah," Matt obviously lied, going by the grin on his face. John grinned back.

"So what now? Besides the obvious," he nodded over at the corpse. Rolling up to a sitting position, he was surprised at how good he felt. Energized. He looked over at Matt again, who was glancing over at Creed.

Energized and horny.

Swallowing dryly and shifting over to hide a growing erection from Matt's sight, John wondered what he was supposed to do. Matt said they were mates. And there was that dream. He glanced up quickly to see Matt staring at him, concerned.

"Did you hear what I said?"

John shook his head. "Sorry. Distracted." Very.

"Creed can wait. He's not going anywhere. Vivian has enough on her plate right now. Sophia's okay. Luke won't do anything too stupid while she needs him to look after her." His voice dropped, and for a second his eyes glowed yellow. "You need a little TLC. It is your first time, after all."

John couldn't help the wicked grin spreading over his face. Glancing down the length of Matt's body, he saw he wasn't the only one with a problem in the crotch area.

The dream. "It wasn't a dream, was it?" he asked suddenly. Matt looked confused.

"What wasn't a dream?"

"In the cabin. You came to me. I should've known it was real when you said you'd offered me a job, but it didn't seem possible."

Matt grinned at him. "What made you think it was a dream? Was it that good?"

Shooting him a look, John shrugged. "Well, yeah." Matt's grin broadened. "But it was more than that. I figured it was something in the soup Blackstone brought me." He licked his lips and took the plunge. "I thought Ruby was there."

The grin froze on Matt's face, and the light went out of his eyes. "Ah. Yeah. Ruby." He stood. John shoved himself to his feet as well. "I guess you'll be wanting Ruby, then."

John caught Matt around the waist, pulling him into a hug. Matt's body resisted the closeness, standing stiff in his arms.

"I want you," John told him firmly. "Yeah, I want to find out what happened to Ruby. But ever since that night, it hasn't been Ruby I've been thinking about. Dreaming about." He leaned forward and kissed Matt, a light peck with a promise behind it. "Been dreaming about you."

Matt finally relaxed against him. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," John admitted. "Messy ones, too."

With a snort of laughter, a lot like the silent chuckle of his wolf-self, Matt turned in John's arms, stepping out of the hug and grabbing his hand. "C'mon, then." Stepping over Creed's body, he headed into the bedroom, hauling John along after him. "I have a teenage daughter. Privacy's hard to come by and we have to make the most of it when we can find it."

John wasn't about to argue with him. There were a lot of things he didn't understand yet, but he wasn't an outsider any more, and they'd have time for his questions later. He had more important things to concentrate on first.

Like Matt. The way he felt underneath him, the taste of his mouth and the scent of him, deeper now in a way John couldn't explain but that turned him on fast and hard. An echo of what he'd felt with Ruby, but stronger than anything he'd ever felt in his life.

Matt didn't give him much time to think about it. Stopping at the bed, he turned and shoved John onto it, climbing on after him, hands and mouth already roaming freely over every part of John he could reach. John reached back, licking and kissing Matt's shoulder, chest, lapping at a scratch and drawing a moan for his trouble.

They rolled back and forth on the bed, grappling for holds that shifted with each kiss, laughing and murmuring nonsense. The energy John felt since his wolf moment in the hall stayed with him, and he made love with enthusiasm barely restrained by the need to go easy on Matt. After all, the guy had been in the hospital for a week and just finished a duel to the death with a psycho-wolf.

Not that Matt let him hold back. Pressing his advantage, he pinned John to the bed and proceeded to drive him completely insane. Using his whole body, he stropped all along John's legs, torso, chest, lingering to grind his cock into John's until John was humping back so hard Matt was nearly bucked off. Then he drew away, teasing John with kisses everywhere except where John wanted him most, ignoring John's pleas to stop playing and suck him already.

Not that John had any complaints. If he was going to go nuts, he couldn't think of a better way to go. Matt finally settled down between his thighs and licked him all over, from his testicles to the small of his back and everything in between. He took his time, and by the time he was done, John was close to coming just from Matt's tongue at his ass. Ruby'd been pretty inventive, but past experience was nothing compared to what Matt did to him.

Giving up completely on words, since his brain had fried and his tongue couldn't remember how to work, John wove his fingers in Matt's hair and tugged until he had that tormenting mouth right where he wanted it. Matt took pity on him, slurping along the length of his cock then taking the head into his mouth. At the same time, he slipped a couple fingers into John's ass, sending him into a frenzy.

Holding tight, sliding down John's shaft then slowly back up, working his other hand deeper as he went, Matt turned John inside-out and John loved every second of it. Taking the length down his throat, Matt hummed gently, and the resulting massage around John's cock gave a whole new meaning to the phrase 'good vibrations'. It was one hell of a trip.

Too soon, he had to come or implode, and he managed a garbled warning. It sounded more like "Mgoncumatgodgodgod" than what he'd intended, but Matt took the hint. Pulling his head back, licking all the way, he palmed the shaft and pumped hard a few more times, crooking his fingers in John's ass as he did and tickling his prostate. That was all it took. John came like a freight train, and Matt milked him all the way through it.

Then Matt kissed him, sticky hands spread his thighs, and John felt a longer, wetter, thicker intrusion in his ass. His arms came up, hands resting on Matt's shoulders, and his legs curled up, hooking around the back of Matt's knees. Forcing heavy eyes to stay open, John stared at Matt as Matt fucked him, certain in that moment that he'd never seen anything so damned gorgeous in his life.

As heated up as he was, and still recuperating from his wounds even if he didn't act like it, Matt came in no time. John held him through it, catching Matt as he collapsed against him afterward, nuzzling Matt's throat and whispering in his ear. "Love you" and "it's okay" and "rest" and a few more times with "love you," then Matt was sound asleep, sprawled out over him like a blanket.

Grinning, pushing sweat-wet hair out of his face, John gently shifted Matt until he lay beside him instead of on top of him. Pulling up the blankets, covering them both, he wrapped his arms around Matt and settled down for a well-deserved nap. It had been a hell of a day, and it wasn't over yet. But for now, it was enough. It wasn't every day a guy discovered he was a wolf, found his mate, and came home to a whole new world. He had a lot to think about.

Later.

 end

note: CBS canceled Wolf Lake after only four episodes, not giving it any time to find an audience. Their mistake. Consequently, this story takes into account only those originally televised episodes. Here is the cast list for the characters used in this story:

John Kanin (Lou Diamond Phillips); Matthew Donner (Tim Matheson); Vivian Cates (Sharon Lawrence); Sherman Blackstone (Graham Greene); Tyler Creed (Scott Bairstow); Luke Cates (Paul Wasilewski); Sophia Donner (Mary Elizabeth Winstead); Willard Cates (Bruce McGill); Ruby Wilder Cates (Mia Kirshner).