3
After spending another restless night in his barn, Terry opened his eyes to a day filled with sunshine. He had spent many hours considering the events of the last couple of days and was determined not to give up on Clyde. Sure, there was the physical attraction, but something about the man stirred deeper feelings than mere lust. He had a certain presence that Terry wanted to get close to, much as Clyde had tried to push him away. Besides, he wanted to make sure that the curse-breaking magic would hold once the sun went down.
The bell tinkled over the door as Terry made his way into Clyde’s store but the owner was nowhere to be seen. Half-empty cardboard boxes were strewn near the counter, and Terry figured he was probably in the middle of restocking for the busy hunting season. An image of the lifeless wolf flashed through his mind but he pushed the vision firmly away. The day was to be about healing, not death.
When Clyde emerged from the back, he didn’t look too pleased to see a customer who clearly wasn’t there to make a purchase.
“What do you want?” Clyde asked rudely, pretending to brush an invisible speck from the spotless counter.
“I just want to talk. I know that there are still things we need to say to each other.” Terry moved towards the back of the store, hands open in a gesture of peace. “Just talk to me.”
“I’ve got nothing to say to a warlock,” responded Clyde stiffly, “so if you don’t want to buy something, you can go back out the way you came in.”
“Would you just cut the macho crap for once,” exploded Terry, his patience at an end. “You saved my life, and I’m pretty sure I made yours a whole lot better as well. We come from the same world, even if you think it has two distinct sides, so the polite thing to do would be to show a little class and offer me a cup of tea.”
Clyde burst out laughing in spite of himself. “A cup of tea? Is that what the refined warlock is drinking these days? A cup of fucking tea?”
Terry smiled and shook his head. “My grandmother taught me to always offer a visitor a cup of tea. She was English though. I don’t know what you offer a guest in these parts.”
“A beer,” grinned Clyde. “You offer a guy a beer.”
“Are you offering me a beer?” asked Terry innocently.
“That’s exactly why you can’t trust a warlock,” roared Clyde in mock anger. “One minute they’re just standing there looking all cute, and the next they’re emptying your fridge.”
“I’m not much of a drinker,” said Terry lamely.
“Oh, come on back then,” said Clyde relenting. “I’ve got a fridge in the office and I’m sure I can spare a cold one.”
The two men walked back to a small office which was clearly Clyde’s den. An old but comfortable looking couch faced a desk that was covered with invoices, sales slips and account books. There was no computer to be seen, and Terry wondered which century Clyde thought he was living in. A small fridge churned noisily in the corner, and Clyde pulled out two longnecks and tossed one to his guest.
“Here. Cheers.”
Terry popped the top and took a long swallow. He could feel the liquid moving down his throat and the cold as it radiated through his body. Clyde was looking at him thoughtfully as he drank his own beer, and motioned for him to take a seat on the couch.
“So, what was it you wanted to talk about?” he asked as they settled at opposite ends, both pretending to be at ease with the tight space.
“I want to know what happened to you,” began Terry. “I want to hear about the witch and the curse. I also wanted to thank you for dragging me out of the house. I know that it didn’t come without a cost.”
Clyde involuntarily lifted a hand to the scar beneath his shirt and Terry instinctively pushed it away.
“Don’t touch that if you want it to heal,” said Terry sharply, instantly embarrassed for sounding like an old woman.
Clyde just smiled and let his fingertips rest briefly on the back of Terry’s hand. “We werewolves heal nicely if you give us a chance,” he murmured. “We need time, but not a lot of it.”
The touch of Clyde’s fingers sent a bolt of heat coursing through Terry’s nerves and awakened a need that had been left unattended for far too long. He wanted to move his hand to Clyde’s chest but couldn’t bear the thought of being rebuffed. Pulling back, he thought desperately for a way to maintain the intimacy he could feel growing between them.
“How does it feel to change?” he asked.
Clyde made a face and sucked in his breath. “It hurts. At first, it feels like a burning under your skin, almost like a bee sting that spreads down your body, only it gets more intense in a really short time. I can feel everything stretching, but I can’t focus on what’s happening physically because my brain is pumping out these weird signals. All I can think about is what’s happening in my head. As I go deeper into the shift, it doesn’t hurt anymore. I guess wolves have a higher pain threshold than humans, and by the end, it actually feels amazing.”
“And what about coming back?” pressed Terry. “Is that the same?”
“No.” Clyde shook his head and looked suddenly crestfallen. “It’s not painful, but it’s the worst feeling in the world. Coming back to human form sucks the joy right out of your soul, like your best friend just died, or your lover walked out and you know he isn’t coming back. It’s a sadness that you just can’t put into words, and I think that’s what I hate most about this awful curse. I have to feel that way, even if it’s only for a few minutes, every single day.”
Terry wanted to reach out and hold this broken creature in his arms, the need to comfort Clyde pulling at every corner of his heart. At the same time, he wanted desperately to remind the wolf how good it could feel to be with a man, to erase the loss and replace it with the healing release of passion. He couldn’t have explained, even to himself, what was drawing him so forcefully to want the feel of Clyde’s body pressed against his own.
It was Clyde who broke the tension, leaning forward to look directly into Terry’s eyes. “Thank you for trying to help,” he said earnestly. “I know you’re not like the others. Wolves can sense evil from a mile away, and I lied when I said you were hateful. I just don’t know what to do when people don’t behave the way they’re supposed to.”
“I find that people are rarely who they claim to be,” mused Terry. “Even in the human world, I’m always surprised by man’s need to deceive. And just like you, I’m not great with those who break the mold.”
“But you’re ok with me?” asked Clyde softly.
No spell could have held Terry back from placing a lingering kiss on Clyde’s lips. “I’m fine with you,” he said as he retreated. “You’re exactly who you say you are.”
“Come back,” said Clyde, reaching for Terry’s hand. “That felt really nice.”
As Terry moved to Clyde’s side, the big man reached across and pulled him into his chest, brushing a finger over Terry’s lips before bending to kiss his upturned face. Their tongues touched softly and Terry experienced a melting in the pit of his stomach, even as he felt himself harden.
Clyde’s eyes were open and Terry could see the turmoil behind the deep blue gaze. Lust in pitched battle with everything the werewolf had ever thought to be true. Reaching into Clyde’s shirt, Terry stroked the quivering chest and felt the pounding of his conflicted heart.
“It’s not wrong,” said Terry softly. “I’m not your enemy.”
Clyde moaned and buried his face into Terry’s shoulder, running his hands down the length of Terry’s spine and receiving a low groan in return. His fingers explored the small of the warlock’s back, moving rhythmically to the sound of their tandem breathing. As if to signal a sudden surrender, he tore the shirt away and ran his tongue across a bare and willing torso.
They began to move together, locking limbs and testing their strength against the unresisting terrain. When the couch proved too constricting, Clyde lifted Terry as though he weighed nothing at all and laid him on the floor. They tore at their clothes, gasping at every new touch and lingering on the edge of abandon. As Terry reached for the top of Clyde’s boxers he paused to stroke the downy line of hair that had so captivated him the night before.
“Are you sure?” he asked huskily.
Clyde writhed and pressed his hips with mounting urgency against Terry’s thigh. “I trust you,” he whispered. “Go ahead and work your magic.”
Terry lifted Clyde’s arm very slowly, and placed it gently at his side. He rolled away from the sleeping form and crept quietly into the store, naked and cold. He wondered briefly whether people going by would be able to see him through the windows, but the street was deserted as the sun began its descent on the horizon.
He moved to the racks of clothing and tried to find something to wear that wouldn’t make him look like he was on an African safari. His own clothes were in shreds on the office floor, and he had no others left at home. Settling on a plaid shirt and khakis, he dressed quickly and watched for the coming of night.
“Nice duds,” called a voice behind him and Terry turned, startled, to see a grinning Clyde lounging against the counter. “You planning to pay for those?”
“I already did,” laughed Terry.
Clyde reached for a cloth bundle in a nearby bin and threw it at Terry’s head. “You’re selling yourself short. That was worth at least a pair of tube socks.”
They were both suddenly serious, drawn to the moment by a pressing urge for reassurance but neither quite knowing what to say.
“You ok?” asked Terry tentatively, crossing the floor to stroke Clyde’s cheek.
“You’re going to have to stop asking me that all the time,” said Clyde, suddenly embarrassed by the attention. “I’m fine.”
“I mean, it’s almost dark. Have you noticed?”
“Of course. My whole life revolves around the rising and setting of the sun. I could tell you to the millisecond when the last ray will disappear. We’ve got about four minutes.”
“Do you think you’ll shift?”
Clyde sighed. “I always shift, every night since I was seventeen. I can’t imagine that this one will be any different, though it’ll be weird to have someone around when it happens.”
“It won’t happen,” said Terry nervously. “You wait and see.”
“You think you’re that good?” teased Clyde. “You think you can overturn a curse laid by Beatrice herself?”
Terry froze and looked into Clyde’s eyes to see if he was joking. “You must be shitting me. Beatrice?”
“The one and only.” Clyde looked absurdly proud and Terry wanted to reach out and shake him.
“What did you do to piss off the most powerful witch in the state?” he asked.
“We don’t have enough time,” said Clyde, “but I’ll tell you tomorrow when I’m back.”
“Does that mean you’ll see me again?” asked Terry hopefully.
Clyde reached out and pulled Terry close, bruising his lips with the pressure of his kiss. “I trust you,” he whispered. “Now you really need to go.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” answered Terry firmly. “You won’t shift.”
“Fine, if you want to watch, you can watch.”
The two men stared at each other in a silence broken only by the grinding of the old fridge in the office. Seconds turned to minutes as they stood unmoving, waiting for the transformation to begin. When the darkness was absolute, a single tear coursed down Clyde’s cheek and landed softly on Terry’s outstretched finger.
“Nothing is happening,” Clyde moaned. “I can’t feel it at all.”
“So now you’re complaining?” asked Terry, palpably relieved.
“You don’t understand. This curse has been with me all my adult life. I’m a freak in my own pack. I never dreamed it would ever be broken.”
Clyde was crying in earnest now and Terry rubbed his shoulder as he sobbed, years of grief and regret filling the space between them. They were no longer warlock and werewolf, but savior and redeemer: Terry atoning for the sins of his forefathers as Clyde was reborn through his own act of kindness to a stranger in peril.
Terry finally pulled away and straightened his new shirt. “Well, since you’re not doing anything tonight, maybe you could buy me dinner?”