I swallow. I never met my dad. Around first grade, I decided I wanted to, but that was only because we were doing a class project on our parents. Mom helped me do half the project on her, and half on the host of my favorite show, Reading Rainbow. My entire class ending up thinking I was LeVar Burton’s daughter. My popularity went way up, and I haven’t given a thought to my mystery sperm donor since.
Except, now. Because of him, I turn into a fox. The thing that will most impact my life, given by a man I’ve never met.
I sigh.
“It’s okay, Foxfire,” Tank says again, and squeezes me tight. He may be a giant grouchy lump most of the time, but he’s pretty good at reassuring me. I feel a lot better in his arms, anyway. If he wasn’t here, I’d be a complete mess. Probably ready to commit myself to the loony bin. “It’s going to be all right.”
“How is it all right? I turn into an animal during the full moon.”
“Not just then. With practice, you’ll be able to shift at will.”
“Oh, goody. I can wow them at dinner parties.”
A sound rumbles in his chest-a half growl. “No. No dinner parties. You have to keep this a secret.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
He catches my chin lightly. “Okay, baby. First rule of any pack. You give animals bigger and deadlier than you your respect. I’m telling you now so you don’t get it beaten into you by someone less sympathetic than I am.”
I try to think of something snarky as his dominant gaze bores into me. “Fine,” I mumble, dropping my eyes.
“Good girl.” He tucks me closer. I’m practically on his lap. He nuzzles my hair. He’s sniffing me again. This time, I don’t mind. Must be a wolf thing.
“So, does this mean I’m one of your pack?”
“No,” he says quickly.
I hide my flinch. This creature, this animal inside me, she wants her kind.
“Most shifters keep to their own. But I’ve never heard of a pack of fox shifters. You’re the first one I’ve seen.”
Great. I’m still a freak, no matter what species. Whatever.
I sit up and scoot away from him to shake out my hair. It’s a mess, full of sticks and grass. I comb my fingers through it.
“Let me,” Tank murmurs, and picks out the rest. When he’s done, he keeps his arm around me.
“Thanks.” Slowly, I let myself relax. “What now?”
“Now, we wait. You need rest. In the morning, I feed you.”
“You’re staying?”
“You’re still my prisoner. And we both know I can catch you, no matter how far you run.”
I nod. I’m too tired to argue. He’s been here only a few hours, and he’s already a fixture in my life. But I’m glad. I feel safer with him, somehow.
I’m a fox. Fuck. I tuck my face into his shoulder. He’s so big and so strong. And when I… my fox came out, he knew just what to do. I’m too tired to think about what that means, but maybe, for just tonight, I don’t have to.
“I always knew I was different,” I mumble.
“What’s that, baby?”
“My mom. She’s weird. And she raised me.”
“Did she ever leave for periods of time, or act strange around the full moon?”
“She’s my mom. She was always strange.” I remember kids pointing at us. Laughing. My name, my petite body, my hippie mom, smelling of patchouli oil and dressing us in clothes from Goodwill. Weird.
I realize I said all this out loud when Tank tightens his hold on me.
“It’s going to be okay.”
I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his chest. He cups the back of my head as he murmurs, “We’ll figure it out, together.”
Foxfire
I dream of my paws scrabbling in the rocky earth. A sunset blazes in the distance, fiery red and orange. My broken cell phone crackles with my mother’s voice telling me I should dye my hair those colors. Then Tank looms over me, shaking his head…
I wake with a start, the smell of bacon so intense, I can taste it.
My stomach rumbles as I pad to the kitchen. Tank stands at the stove, his broad back hunched and shaved head bowed over a skillet.
“OMG,” I say. “Are you making breakfast?” A folded paper bag soaks up grease under a stack of bacon. “Is some of this for me?”
He flashes me a grin, jerks his head at the table. My little card table is covered with dishes of meat. Sausage, hamburger patties, more bacon.
“Oh my god, Tank. Did you kill every pig and cow in the world?”
“Just for you, baby. Eat up.”
Baby. I like that.
Bad Foxfire!
“I’m such a bad vegan,” I mumble as I sit down.
“Seriously?” Tank raises a brow.
“What? I thought it’d be healthy.”
“You can’t be vegan.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause you’re a carnivore.” Tank puts a plate of bacon right in front of me.
“I could eat tofu and stuff,” I argue, as if I’m not about to swallow a pound of delicious pig.
“You can’t cut meat out. Your fox won’t let you.”
Right.
That.
My stomach twists.
“Eat, baby.” Tank gets more bacon going then comes to the table. “You had a long run last night. Your fox needs this.” His hand settles on the back of my neck, calming the storm in my stomach. I nod and pick up a strip of bacon. In no time, I’ve demolished half the plate, and a third of the sausages. Just enough to take the edge off my hunger. I’ve always had a great metabolism. Guess now I know why.
Tank moves around my kitchen as if he owns it. He’s so big, but somehow he fits.