14. Shallow Waters Run Fast
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SHALLOW WATERS RUN FAST
The Present: Trick in Sausalito confronting his past
Sato.
Right there in front of him. Staring at him.
Sato.
A flock of fire-breathing dragonflies was beating wings in Trick’s brain. They beat their way down, circling and floating into his throat and from there to his stomach. His gut filled with that beating heat which made him want to throw up.
What he did was run.
He ran, cursing his own curiosity. He rarely bothered to leave the cafe. But with Joe on shift and Kettil’s desperate eyes, it had been all too easy to just nip out and see what was happening.
Of course, because this was the way his bad luck worked, there was Sato in the water. Sato’s dark eyes found him, focused, held him briefly captive. Recognized him. Of course they did. Filled with desperate, delighted hope. Which terrified Trick. Because how could he trust that again? Because how dare he want that? How could he withstand the weight of it a second time?
He knew, because of the noise and the chaos and the tremendous splash behind him, that Sato had left the water to follow him on two legs.
Trick had only his instincts to run on. So he ran on them. Well, and his own two legs, of course. They took him back to the cafe, shaky knees and fire-breathing dragonflies in his stomach. Because the Bean was his territory, his safe place.
Kettil, big lug, was standing where Trick had left him, taking up too much space, decidedly in Trick’s way.
Trick dodged around him – or tried to.
Being a cop, Deputy Kettil was focused on the car accident and chaos outside in the street. He wanted answers.
He simply grabbed Trick by the scruff of his neck. One huge hand could easily fit all the way around it. “What’s going on?” he demanded in his cop voice.
“Let me go!” whimpered Trick. “Please!”
But it was too late. Sato was bursting in behind him, the cheerful bells clanging unhappily at the force of it. The merman was naked, wet, and glorious. Looking exactly like he had a decade ago and also not looking like it at all. His human skin was paler. He probably didn’t spend as much time in the sun on two legs anymore. He was just as muscled as the last time Patrick had seen him, on break from vangill training. His hair was longer, wet strands sticking to his neck.
Behind him the humans were yelling at each other and slamming car doors, waving their hands wildly. Beyond that, there was screaming down by the shore. Friday night lookie-loos had stopped to stare, some with phones out, others just mouths agape.
Sausalito hadn’t seen this much action since the selkies and the werewolf country music superstar visited town. And that had been comparatively tame.
A group of reporters was trying to cross through the accident to the cafe.
Trick clocked it all in one brief glance and then his gaze was sucked back to Sato. He struggled hard against Kettil’s grip.
But Kettil was a bear shifter and a cop. There was no way Trick was getting free until Deputy Kettil decided to let him go.
“What are you made of, concrete?” Trick demanded.
“What is going on?” Kettil’s deep booming voice filled up the entire cafe.
This resulted in dead silence in the Bean.
The tourists at the front tables were riveted, mostly by Sato’s naked ass.
No doubt the locals and the gamers at the back were also standing up to see the kerfuffle in the front.
“Shifters are required to wear publicly appropriate attire,” said Kettil to Sato. “Anyone got a robe handy?”
Sato ignored him, rushing up to stand directly in front of Trick, taking his face in both webbed hands. “Trick, baby, you’re here.”
Trick shook his head violently, shook himself violently, desperate to get free of both the bear and the merman.
“Don’t touch me!” he yelled. Sato first. He used Kettil to lever himself back, kicking forward at the merman with both feet. Thus realizing he could kick, he also kicked backward at Kettil’s legs. It was ineffectual. Oh, he bashed the bear shifter’s shins, but Kettil didn’t even flinch.
Trick shook his head again. Sato’s hands were still on him – damp and cool. Trick hated the familiar feel of the soft webbing between Sato’s fingers, the slightly slick rubbery texture. He hated the salt-sweet smell of Sato himself. How dare he smell exactly the same! This was a different ocean and a decade later. Yet Sato smelled the same ! He smelled like home and safety and things Trick had worked so damn hard to forget. He smelled like Patrick’s Sato, but here, in this place there was no Patrick, there was only Trick, and there had never ever been a Sato. But that smell took him back, and he was Patrick again, and that made Trick so scared. Scared. Scared!
He didn’t want to be Patrick and unsafe and lonely and abandoned and hungry and running all the time. He wanted to be charming Trick who everyone liked and no one really loved. Patrick was scared and hurt. Trick was the survivor.
He turned his head to where Kettil was holding him near his neck, went chin down and over, and bit down as hard as he could.
“Fuck, he bit me!” exclaimed the cop. Still not letting go.
No one was listening to him. Trick needed to get away.
A beautiful woman in a cute ruffled dress with a mouth shaped like Sato’s said, “What’s going on? Daidai, you were the one who said we had to have clothing when walking among humans. Now you’re naked and annoying them.”
“Oh, don’t worry yourself about that, young lady,” said a blue-cardiganed grandma type from the corner window table. “We’re fine with whatever he wants to wear. Especially if it’s nothing.”
Kettil’s attention was drawn from her to the window beyond and what was going on outside. “Damn it, the drivers are actually fighting now.”
The doorbells tinkled and a group of reporters pushed in, cameras and phones out.
There were so many people, all of them staring at Trick and Sato – his hands now on Trick’s shoulders, well out of biting distance. And Kettil would still not let go, even while his arm bled.
But Trick wasn’t really aware of the deputy anymore because Sato was right there, staring at him and smelling like the past. All of Trick’s body had gone numb now except the spots where Sato’s cool hands touched him.
There was a crash at the back of the cafe.
A female voice shouted, “What the hell is going on?”
It was a voice that Trick knew but couldn’t name because his ears were buzzing and there was a horrible taste of bear blood in his mouth.
Sato glanced up and then instantly back, his eyes fixed on Trick. “Stay the fuck out of this, kelpie. You too, Meymey. This has nothing to do with either of you.”
The beautiful woman, no… mermaid, said, truly shocked, “You speak to me in such a tone of voice, brother? Me?”
But Sato clearly had no more time for her – all his focus only on Trick. “You were here? How long have you been here? Why didn’t you wait for me? Why were you so hard to find?”
Sato, who rarely ever said anything, the words were pouring out of him. Crashing over Trick, relentless as a tidal wave.
Trick turned his head the other direction and bit Kettil’s arm again, this time near the wrist. He bit down as hard as he could, not letting go this time. Desperate to be free.
Sato followed the movement. Seemed to finally really register that Kettil had hold of him. That Trick hadn’t simply stopped to talk. “Let him go,” he demanded of Kettil. “Who are you to hold him like that? Why do you touch him like he is yours? Let go!”
Sato’s webbed hands began clawing at the bear’s arms.
Kettil only growled at Sato and tightened his grip. Too tight, he was too strong. It hurt.
Trick hurt. His teeth hurt. The blood in his mouth hurt. His head hurt. His heart hurt. His fucking eyeballs hurt, staring at Sato, cataloging his muscles, his changes, his sameness. Even his stupid nose hurt from the familiar smell. The dragonflies were breathing fire and his gut burned.
Trick said, not to Sato, of course, just to anybody. Just in utter frustration at being too small and too weak. “Get him off me!”
And then Sato became dangerous. What had seemed absurd and unthreatening and sexy, a naked merman, not so big a deal for a town that dealt regularly with werewolves. Suddenly that naked merman had huge spurs sprouting up both forearms from wrist to elbow. Rows of cruel-looking curved spikes, sharp bone-colored thorns, razor-edged and wicked. Like massive teeth.
Sato lunged at Kettil. Those spurs going for the bear’s sides. Normally Sato would have gone straight for Kettil’s throat, or slashed at those arms holding Trick. But Kettil held Trick in front of him. Sato would never risk cutting Trick – better to go for the cop’s unprotected ribs.
It probably saved Deputy Kettil’s life.
It certainly saved him from severe injury.
But he was still pretty badly hurt. Wide red punctures opened up, quickly soaking his uniform.
Kettil had his own training and there was no way he was holding on to a small shifter he knew was harmless, when a weaponized unknown creature was suddenly attacking him.
He let Trick go, massive arms up in guard position, ready to defend himself.
Trick, who had been pulling away as hard as he could, stumbled to one side at sudden freedom and fell to the ground. He tried to stand up, slipped, and fell again. Banging his chin on a chair and seeing stars.
Instinctively, Kettil shifted into his bear form, both for protection and to help himself heal. He was even bigger as a bear and the Bean suddenly seemed incredibly small. Several humans ran screaming from the cafe. The film crew dodged but kept their camera and phone focused on the action.
The bear lurched at Sato, narrowly missed stepping on Trick.
Trick rolled to get away but Sato was fast and trained. He got his spurs in the way first, the bear’s momentum partly skewering him on them. Sato using his own body to shield Trick from injury.
Sato grunted from the sheer force and weight of the bear.
Kettil lurched off the spurs, undaunted. His bear form had an extra layer of fat for protection and he healed incredibly fast. Plus there was a reason bears were also called berserkers – they retained even less human logic in battle than other shifters.
Sato and Kettil crashed together again.
Trick climbed to his feet and didn’t stay. He didn’t care. He was free.
There were too many reporters and humans blocking the front door now. Plus all the chaos in the street. The blare of sirens as more cops arrived. Sausalito Police Department saw very little action. This was all quite exciting for them.
Trick headed for the back of the cafe, pushing through the regulars, standing defensively with craning necks. Like a gaggle of confused but brave turkeys.
Floyd’s worried face swam before him. “Trick, kid, you okay?” He was holding his knitting needles up like weapons.
Trick shoved past him.
The human lesbian was there with the kelpie and the board game queers. Trick vaguely realized he knew all of them and that they were kind with familiar faces. Faces that had names, but he didn’t remember any of them right now. While most of them were friendly, none of them were safe. There was only the roaring in his head, bear blood in his mouth, Sato’s desperate face, and dragonflies in his gut. The need to flee.
Trick pushed through all those worried faces and frozen bodies, and into the stockroom, and out the back of the building. He froze for a second, there in the parking lot. Fresh salt air around him. What to do now? Where to go? His otter self wanted water. The dratsie wanted cold, rushing rivers, muddy banks, and slippery, round rocks. A different country. A different time. Trick thought briefly of the ocean. But he could not go to the sea. He was a river otter. The sea was Sato’s domain, the merman’s world. Patrick was only a visitor. Sato could easily catch him in the ocean.
There were no rushing rivers nearby.
Where else could he run? Where else was safe?
The cafe behind was now a prison.
Where to go?
In that moment, much to his own shock, Trick thought of the pack. Surprising himself with trust.
He thought of a sunken den full of scratch-resistant leather couches and werewolves. Colin’s red head bent over a laptop. Lovejoy humming as he puttered about the kitchen. An overgrown yard full of barbecues. Alec’s kind hazel eyes. He thought of the neighbor’s tuxedo cat who had recently decided that cats owned all things, including werewolves. She had delivered a dead mouse to their doorstep. She liked Trick. She let him scratch her cheeks.
He remembered his rundown station wagon in the garage. The one that had carried him across the country, limping, but reliable. The one that smelled only like him. His old home parked in his new home.
So Trick ran through the streets of Sausalito, heading uphill, away from the water and toward the San Andreas pack house. He had nowhere else to go.
The Present: Sato in Sausalito confronting Patrick’s present
Sato had suspected, this trip, he might have to go up against a werewolf, but he hadn’t had a bear shifter on the list of probabilities. Certainly not a bear in a small cafe crowded with tourists, reporters, and other shifters. Everyone was tripping over everything and everyone else in an effort to get away from that bear – once it started roaring and bleeding.
Bleeding because of Sato.
Which was quite satisfying.
Sato was no match for most land shifters, but it turned out his training had given him more speed than this bear shifter, at least. But fuck, the creature was strong.
Sato managed to dodge most of the hits, getting in long, cruel slashes whenever he could. But the bear had tons of thick fur and pretty good natural defenses. Mostly what Sato was managing to do was give him an extremely ugly haircut.
He got in a few jabs, and the creature was still bleeding a little from Sato’s initial attack, but it was clear those first successful strikes had been a matter of surprise and luck, and both had now run out.
The bear had been understandably surprised by the razor sting of spurs, and then angry, and was now a better fighter than Sato, even if the bear was only operating on animal instinct. All he needed to do was to land one solid hit with all his weight behind it, and Sato was a goner.
Which is exactly what he did.
The bear caught Sato across his right ribs and sent him flying to one side, hard. He hit the news camera and the cameraman behind it, and then a table, the sad wet crunch of his own ribs echoing in his head. Landing hard on that table also knocked the wind out of him. Or maybe that was just the ribs.
Sato lay, shocked and in terrible pain for a moment. He tried first to catch his breath and then to inhale against the sharp shooting burning all over his left side and back. Ribs. Broken, fractured, or thrown out, he didn’t know which – probably all three. Stupid fragile human body. He needed his merform to heal from this, but there was no way he was going back to the sea, not when he had finally found Patrick.
Patrick! Where was he?
Meymey was leaning over him, pretty face full of shock. “Daidai, are you alright? What’s going on? Who is that boy? Why are you fighting a bear? Why are you freaking out over a barista?”
The bear loomed behind her, coming after Sato. He shoved Meymey away, hard.
“Stay back!” Sato managed to cough out the words.
Meymey gave a little shriek and stumbled into the pastry case.
Sato rolled off the table as the bear crashed both massive front paws down on it. It cracked in two.
His sister, little idiot, would not stay out of the way. She was suddenly there and seemed to be trying to get between him and the bear.
Sato barely made it to his feet, trying to interpose himself between her and the massive creature. Protect his sister. Protect the Paralia of the Deep. Training.
What the hell was she doing? “Meymey, get away!”
Then he realized that Meymey was trying to meet the bear’s gaze so that she could freeze him. Medusa power. One of the mermaid’s bag of supernatural tricks, used for protection and seduction.
She might have been equally effective with siren song – that tended to cause land shifters with sensitive hearing to bleed out the ears. But Meymey wouldn’t be accustomed to using her song as a defensive mechanism, so she had reached for her other ability, the stoney stare.
It must have looked very strange. Sato trying to engage the bear with his spurs, dodging and slashing, knocking over tables and chairs and tourists and reporters. His sister ducking her head in between the fighters in order to meet that same bear’s eyes. This was proving especially hard for her to do, since the bear had a huge, fuzzy face and small, beady, close-set eyes right in the middle of it.
Finally, she caught the creature’s gaze.
Fortunately, her power seemed to work on bear shifters, because he froze. She held him in thrall, locked in place.
Sato straightened up, feeling the adrenaline leave his system, forcing him to register the agony in his ribs and the difficulty of breathing. Refusing to let his spurs retract, he looked for Patrick, just in time to see him slipping away through a door marked staff only at the very back of the cafe.
Taking short sips of air in an effort to control the pain, Sato dodged around the now frozen bear, intent only on following Patrick.
A frail, elderly human man made a weak effort at attacking Sato with some kind of long pointy silver… chopsticks maybe?
“Careful, Floyd!”
Sato brushed the chopsticks aside, snapping one with a twist of his spurs.
“My favorite needle! Get him, Rosie!”
A large human female with shaved sides of her head chucked a very hard pastry at him.
“What good is a scone at a time like this?”
“Scones are the real weapons!”
Someone else drenched Sato in a sticky coffee drink of some kind.
Sato barely registered.
He homed in on the big female kelpie from the night before, there to meet Meymey. She was standing and watching him, but she seemed intent on staying out of the altercation, which was a relief.
The door marked staff only led to a dark stockroom.
Patrick was not hiding there.
The heavy bang of another door betrayed his whereabouts.
Sato ran after him, brushing people out of his way with his spurs. Not caring if they cut, kind of liking it because they were between him and Patrick. He burst outside into a back parking lot and dim evening light in time to see Patrick’s small lithe form running away, diving into some bushes on the far side.
Sato didn’t waste his breath shouting. He needed all of his diminished lung capacity just to breathe through the pain in his side and back. It was incredibly difficult to run and he seemed to be bleeding down one leg where bear claws had caught him, but he couldn’t let Patrick out of his sight. Not again.
Never again.
So Sato chased the dratsie through Sausalito. Through yards and up busy streets. He must have made quite the spectacle. The humans were less in awe of him than he might’ve hoped. He still had his spurs out, but he was naked, bleeding, limping, and puffing. So he shouldn’t be offended that they regarded him as some kind of crazy person and not an actual threat. No one cleared out of his way. He had to dodge through and around groups of tourists, dating couples, and gaggles of teenagers, avoiding cars driving the street and trying to park, badly.
Why were there so many humans? Why were they in his way? Why were they between him and Patrick? Why was Patrick so good at running through them?
Sato put on a burst of speed, just to keep Patrick in his line of sight.
Luckily, Patrick seemed intent on leaving the downtown area and most of humanity, eventually running up a much less crowded residential back street. The operative word being up .
Now Sato could see him clearly, but they were heading up an extremely steep hill, and Sato had a broken rib or two.
Patrick didn’t slow, just kept speeding up that seemingly endless hill. Mountain? Eventually he veered to one side, leaving the road for a driveway.
Sato had managed to close the gap a little. He followed Patrick down the drive into a big circular parking area with a garage on one side. The lot was edged by steep, overgrown hills, down on the left and up to the right. There was a pathway through those trees down the left side, presumably leading to the massive house perched on the hill below. The parking lot was above the house. Strange arrangement.
Patrick paused, clearly undecided as to whether he should hide in the overgrowth, or head for the house, or go for the garage, which was closest.
That was his mistake, because he also looked back to see if he had been followed. Only then realizing that Sato was right there. Because Sato hadn’t had the breath to yell, Patrick hadn’t realized his proximity.
Sato grabbed him from behind in a hug, holding him as close as he could, both arms around his waist. Careful with his spurs – the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt Patrick.
Patrick struggled against him. His breath short and panting. His familiar voice was wracked with stress and fear. “Just leave me alone.”
Sato held on as gently as he could, trying to turn a prison into a cradle. Trying to impart warmth and reassurance rather than threat.
If Patrick had kicked back at Sato’s knee, as Sato had once taught him, he probably would’ve hit him right near where the bear had slashed him open with those claws.
But Patrick didn’t.
If he had reached back and twisted Sato over one hip in that old wrestling move, Sato would have been flattened out, for all he weighed twice as much.
Immobilized, hugged, Patrick just slumped forward. Forcing Sato to use some of his fading strength to keep them both upright. Mermen were built for speed, not endurance.
“Why are you still so light? Don’t they feed you in this town?”
“Sato-san, get off me!” Patrick braced himself, his slight form stiffened. Stabilized and grounded.
Sato rested his chin gently on Patrick’s shoulder. Exhausted. Just so relieved to have him there in his arms. Yes, he hurt, but that pain was somewhat dissipated by an odd fissure of sensation that wasn’t adrenaline. What was that? Happiness?
“Am I. Too heavy?” Sato asked. Feeling numb from his injuries, but also not numb at all for the first time in years.
Patrick stamped his foot. “You always think of me as weak.”
Sato relaxed, gave him his weight.
Patrick whimpered.
That sound made all of Sato’s injuries hurt more.
“What are you so damn heavy? And you’re freezing cold.”
“Well. I am. Naked,” admitted Sato, although he might also be going into shock.
Patrick yelled then, loudly. Top of his voice, “Pack!”
Sato said, still short of breath. “Why. Call. Others? Why. Running? From me ?”
Patrick said, voice low and trembling, “I called for werewolves. A lot of them. They aren’t gonna like it if they find you holding me against my will. Just let me put you down.”
“Why. Against your. Will? I’ve been looking. For you. For so long. Just. Let me. Rest. Here.”
“No. Let go!”
But Sato’s arms had already dropped, not much strength left in them. Patrick could have easily twisted away.
Sato closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into the curve where Patrick’s neck met his shoulder. “I just. Found you. Again. Why. Would I. Let go? Patrick. It’s me .”
“My pack isn’t going to like this.”
“Your pack? Since when. Did you get. A pack?”
“Since you left me behind!” Patrick’s voice was all high-pitched agony.
A deep voice reverberated around them then. “So who’s this, draped over our boy?”
A huge redheaded man wearing very little clothing emerged from the path down to the house.
Sato bristled and straightened. He tried not to appear weak, with his cracked ribs and a slashed leg, bear-marked and broken. But he remained leaning on Patrick a little, for support. And connection.
Trick said. “Hi, Kevin. Little help?”
Sato glared at the man who was, to be fair, quite a bit bigger than him and most likely a werewolf.
Even with his spurs, Sato knew he was no match for this person. He had barely survived the bear and this one moved like a warrior. Like a vangill. Or the werewolf equivalent of a vangill. What were they called? Oh yes, enforcers. Sato was definitely at a disadvantage.
The werewolf named Kevin said, “He doesn’t look very dangerous. Do you want me to shift and maul him and get you free that way? Or should we talk about it first, like Alec and Isaac always say I should?”
“You’re developing a sense of responsibility and maturity right now ?” Patrick whined. Sato knew that tone well.
“It had to happen sometime,” replied Kevin. “And he doesn’t seem to want to actually harm you.”
“I would. Never. Hurt. Patrick.” Sato defended himself.
“See?” said Kevin.
“Except that you did! You abandoned me!”
Sato was instantly annoyed. “What. Are you. Talking about? I never. Abandoned you. It was you. Who left. Before I got home! You. Did. Not. Wait. You. Abandoned. Me.” It was getting harder and harder to talk.
“Well, this is interesting,” said another, new voice. A little higher toned, and originating from higher up and to the left, above where Kevin stood. The top of the garage?
Sato glanced over. There was a set of outside stairs just there, which apparently led to an apartment on top of the garage. The human pack member, the one with the scars and leather jackets, seemed to live in that particular box.
He had come out to a small landing and was leaning casually against the railing, staring down at them. He was dressed much the same as he had been previously. In layers of black, covering his body completely from the neck down.
“Hello, merman,” he said to Sato. “Nice ass you got there. You always hang it out to dry for all to see?”
The red-headed werewolf, Kevin, sniffed the air in a pointed manner. “Aren’t you the smart one, Max? You’re right, he sure as shit smells like merman. What’s he doing hugging our dratsie?”
“Don’t know. Met him last night. He’s something they called a vangill . What are those things on his arms?”
“Spurs,” explained Patrick. “It’s what makes him a vangill.”
“Cool,” said Max, apparently unthreatened and untroubled. This human appeared to be unflappable where all manner of shifters were concerned. Impressive.
As casual as he had been down by the water, Max sat on the stairs and leaned back on his elbows, relaxed. As if the shifters below him were some mildly entertaining TV show he happened to have tuned into.
“Could you, maybe, get him to let me go, Max?” Patrick pleaded. “Kevin wants to talk it out.”
“Kevin wants to talk when he could have a nice little fight? Kevin, sweet-pea, you feeling all right?”
“Little thing doesn't look up for much, and I’m trying to become a better person,” said the redhead, crossing his arms, not taking his eyes off Sato.
“Don’t strain anything,” said Max, and then, presumably to Patrick, “I’ll give it a try, kid. Hey, vangill! Dude whose name I do not know. Why don’t you let the cute dratsie go or I’ll use quintessence to make your head go all splatty splat?”
“Don’t explode his brains,” said Kevin. “That would make such a mess.”
“That’s why we do it outside , Captain Obvious,” replied Max.
“Can you even do that?” wondered Kevin. “Without, ya know…?”
“I can certainly try. Been a while since I exploded someone’s head, outside of metaphorically, of course. Might be fun.”
“One imagines a failed attempt would be even more messy – but okay,” said the werewolf.
“You know me, for a good time call… ,” replied Max.
“Do you have to be so cheerful while you’re threatening to kill someone?” wondered Patrick.
Sato felt hopeful. Maybe Patrick was worried about him? He leaned on him a bit more. Also, it appeared one of Sato’s legs was no longer strictly working properly. Stupid legs, so unreliable.
“Yes,” said Max promptly.
“Carry on then, I guess,” said Patrick. “You’ll owe me a new outfit, though.”
Sato relaxed a tiny bit. That sounded a lot more flippant and casual, a lot less tortured and afraid. A lot more like the Patrick he knew and loved.
“Do you want him dead?” asked Kevin.
“I don’t know. Right now I just want to get away and hide,” admitted Patrick, his voice small.
“Well, it doesn’t look like he’s letting you go without a fight,” said Kevin. “So why don’t you make introductions before one of us has to kill him.”
Patrick relaxed a little bit more.
Sato was grateful to the two pack members. Their weird violent banter seemed to be having a beneficial impact on Patrick. The small frame under Sato’s was softening slightly.
Sato risked pressing the length of his own arms against Patrick’s shivering ones, trying to warm them. But his own were even colder. He didn’t seem to be healing or recuperating as fast as he should. He slumped even more than he intended, rested his cheek on the back of Patrick’s neck.
Sato started to shiver. His head felt a little puffy and fuzzy, like Patrick’s otter fur. Aftereffects of happiness? Something else? Patrick was so solid and so there and it had been so long since Sato had felt anything. Pain, weakness, Patrick. At least he wasn’t numb.
Patrick said, “This is Sato Daiki, Vangill of the Deep, merman, and my ex-boyfriend.”
Sato said, getting the words out as fast as he was able, “When. Exactly. Did we. Break up?”
“We haven’t seen each other in over a decade!”
The redhead said, “Kevin Mangnall, San Andreas Pack enforcer. That is Maximillian Barker, Beta-mate. You’ve met already.”
Max’s voice cut through the fuzzy. “While this is entertaining as fuck, is my exploding brains technique necessary when this is obviously a lover’s spat? And one half of the spat is equally obviously about to go splat?”
“Oh my god, Sato! Just let me go. You’re barely standing on your own anyway.” Patrick shifted to better support Sato’s weight.
Sato shifted against his back, halfway to a piggyback, chin hooked over Patrick’s familiar bony shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded.
“Never. Letting go. Again,” insisted Sato, as firmly as he could, tightening his arms as much as he was able. They were not behaving like arms, though, more like soba noodles.
Why were they still talking? Why weren’t he and Patrick alone somewhere, preferably fucking? Okay, maybe he didn’t have the energy to fuck. Just cuddling would be nice.
Kevin said, “I really think you should let go of our boy.”
“Our. Boy.” Sato did not like that. “Why. Are. Werewolves. Interfering?” He knew he was whining. “Go. Away. Pack. Or. I will make. You.”
“That’s rich coming from a man who is butt-naked and bleeding, and looks like he’s about to faint,” replied Kevin, casually.
“Bleeding? Still?” Now Patrick really did sound worried.
That was great . He’d love it if Patrick were worried about him.
Kevin said, “Big old gashes on his leg. Plus broken ribs, I think. Can’t you tell from the way he is panting? You ran up a hill, sure. But he’s obviously fit. He shouldn’t be winded like that.”
Max added, “Yes, Trick, bleeding . All over your cute outfit.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Sato-san ! Let me go. I love this outfit. Let me see how bad you’re hurt!”
Sato could feel all of it then. Now that they were forcing him to think about it. It did actually hurt, a lot. It was also causing him to lose his grip on Patrick. Or maybe that was the soba noodles. He wanted to hug him, cradle him close. He didn’t want to hold him with spurs out, drooping against him. He didn’t want Patrick against his will, he just wanted Patrick.
Did soba noodles have spurs?
Apparently not. His appeared to have retracted.
Two more figures came sauntering up the overgrown path. One as big as Kevin, the other one slighter, but giving off an aura of power and charisma.
Sato knew those two. Alpha Alec and Judd, his enforcer. Judd, his fellow survivor of shopping hell earlier that day.
The Alpha took in the scene at a glance, then turned and yelled, presumably to the house, “Everyone else back inside. There’s enough pack here already but it’s not safe. That means you, Marvin. Lovejoy, keep him out of this!” There was a muffled squeak of annoyance and the sound of a big door slamming.
Alec turned back to face them and said, sounding much more authoritarian than he had during negotiations the night before, “What exactly is going on here? Why are you holding onto our dratsie, vangill? You’re losing quite a bit of blood, too. Kevin, is that your fault?”
“Nope,” said Kevin cheerfully.
Alec looked up the garage stairs.
“Not me either,” added Max. “He showed up already damaged. Should we return him for a refund?”
“Why. Are. Wolves. With my otter?” Sato asked. He just wanted Patrick alone to himself, but more and more damn werewolves kept showing up!
That was always the problem with werewolves. They were like dust bunnies – once you spotted one, you knew others were bound to follow.
Alec pondered the situation. “ Yours , is he?”
“And yet, we are his pack,” growled Judd, glaring at Sato. Apparently any mutual goodwill they’d built up that morning at, well, the Goodwill, had now evaporated.
“How. Did. My Patrick. Get a pack? He doesn’t need you. He has me.” Sato’s breathing was becoming infinitesimally less labored. It still hurt like hell, though.
Kevin looked annoyed. “Oh, does he? So him, driving around in that death trap of a station wagon, starving and desperate, and sleeping in his car – that was your fault?”
“What?” Sato tried to see Patrick’s face to understand what the hell they were talking about. What was going on?
“Shut up, Kevin,” yelled Patrick. “How much is Sato bleeding? Sato, let me go. Are you crazy?”
“I told you. Never. Letting go. Again. That’s when everything. Went wrong!” Sato yelled this despite the pain, beyond frustrated. Even though Patrick was right there – he wasn’t listening!
Alec said, “Trick, what on earth is going on?”
“Alpha, this is Sato Daiki, my ex-friend-lover-whatever. He seems a bit confused.”
Judd said, “Well, well, well, I didn’t expect that .”
“I’m not even slightly confused,” said Sato for the benefit of everyone there, very carefully trying to string sentences together. “I’m thinking clearly. For the first time. In a decade. And I am. Absolutely not. Letting go.” In telling them, he wished his arms would also listen.
But then his good leg gave out. He slid abruptly forward, all his weight completely on Patrick.
Patrick stumbled in surprise at the slack heaviness of him, jerked one sharp elbow back as he twisted trying to catch him, hit Sato’s side in the region of the broken ribs.
Sato lurched instinctively back from the agony and crumpled to the ground with a wet thud. The soba noodles had completely failed and gravity won.
On land, it always did.