Page 17 of Outside the Veil (Endangered Fae #1)

Chapter nine

Hope and Despair

D iego set his coffee on the counter and sneezed again. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m staying in today.”

“Ah. I forget that the damp isn’t the best thing for you.

” Finn leaned against the counter, drinking milk.

Diego had bought Finn his own bottle, still sold in glass containers in the local stores, so he could stop nagging about the proper use of drinking vessels.

“You stay warm and dry. I’ll go out on my own. ”

“You think that’s a good idea? What if something happens? Or the park rangers think you’re a vagrant? You don’t have any identification and no way to contact me.”

Finn pondered this a moment, put the bottle down and stalked off.

What now? Did I offend him?

He returned with his bright, Cheshire smile and his collar. “I’ll go out in my canine skin today. That way, on the fingernail-thin chance that something might happen, I’ll have your name and number around my neck and the park rangers can call you, yes?”

“Yes. You’re too damn clever.” Diego took the collar with a chuckle and turned to pour himself more coffee. When he turned back, Dog Finn sat on the kitchen floor, tail thumping on the granite tiles. “Oh. I guess you want to go right now.”

Finn leaped to all fours and let out a happy bark, jumping around Diego’s feet in manic canine joy.

“Whoa! Settle down and let me put this on.” Diego dropped to one knee and fastened the collar. A sudden surge of emotion welled up. He swallowed hard, threw his arms around Finn’s neck and hugged him tight. “You be careful. Don’t stay out too long.”

He got a long, wet tongue in his ear for his troubles.

“You worry too much. Go write. All will be well.”

The conifers stood draped in mourning veils of fog. Diego shivered as he watched Finn lope off into the woods, one hand raised to wave when Finn turned back to bark farewell.

Why had he pushed Finn away again the day before?

His reasons for resistance had edged over to plain stubborn.

That moment in the woods, he should have grabbed him and kissed him stupid.

Instead, he’d left them both frustrated and lonely.

Finn hid his hurt well, but he never quite covered the little wince every time he was refused.

To hell with Mitch. To hell with putting up barricades because of the pain.

And to hell with all the manufactured reasonable explanations.

Finn couldn’t have made it any clearer. He wanted Diego, despite his neuroses and his infirmity.

Someone warm, caring, passionate, intelligent and understanding offered himself freely.

What did it matter that he wasn’t human?

What did it matter that this might be a brief, heated affair?

They needed each other now, in so many ways, and he was selfish to keep shoving Finn away.

Enough was enough. Tonight he’d make dinner, with candlelight, flowers, the works. Then when they were content and relaxed, maybe lazing by the fire, he would let whatever happened happen.

Decision made, he threw himself into his work with a vengeance.

Chapter 3—Diet and Habitat

You seem to be omnivorous.

“Pardon?”

Omnivorous. You’ll eat just about anything.

“I couldn’t eat that blasted pretzel you tried to feed me. And those long things that were supposedly meat? Heated dogs? Disgusting.”

What I mean is, you eat meat and plant matter and fish and insects. Like a bear. An opportunistic feeder.

“Oh, yes. All of those things. Of course, it depends on the form I’m wearing, too.

I can’t very well eat meat when I’m in horse form.

Doesn’t work well with that kind of stomach.

While the wildcat shape doesn’t much appreciate thistles and hay.

One has to take advantage of the season and the food available. ”

Do you ever take food from humans?

“I have fed from around human habitations, if that’s what you mean.

There do tend to be numerous temptations thereabouts.

Lovely fields of wheat. Fat chickens sitting in pens waiting for someone hungry to happen by.

Apple trees and cabbages and these marvelous tubs with a stick on top where you can get butter if you time things right.

But humans, present company excepted, aren’t good at sharing.

They come after you with sharp bits of iron and sticks if they see you eating around their homes. Best to avoid such unpleasant scenes.”

But isn’t there a tradition about leaving out a bowl of cream for the local pooka?

“Ah, such a hospitable tradition that was. I do so love cream. Only elderly grandmothers still observed it in the time before I slept, though. And then the household cats usually lapped it up before I could get to it.”

Diego inserted the photo of Finn stretched out naked on a flat rock by the river.

One knee bent up to obscure Finn’s genitals, he hoped the picture would be viewed as artistic rather than pornographic.

The mist-shrouded river, the water rushing around the edges of the rock outcropping, the dark woods in the background, he thought it all perfect for hinting at the hidden depths of the photo’s subject.

Later that morning, he sent Miriam a short blurb about the book concept, the first three chapters, and all the photos. The phone rang before an hour had passed.

“Diego? Oh, my God, is that Finn in these pictures?”

He held the phone away to preserve his hearing. “Um, yes.”

Colorful swearing followed for a full thirty seconds. “Well, shit, kiddo. No wonder you changed your mind and decided to keep him all to yourself. Greedy bastard. He’s gorgeous.”

“Maybe I’ll introduce you someday.”

“You better if you know what’s good for you. What’d you do, raid the Playgirl model stable?”

“Not quite. Did you even look at the book idea or just the pictures?”

Miriam’s volume decreased. “It’s a keeper, hon. I smell pay dirt. I can pitch with what you sent but what are you looking at for completion time?”

“Two weeks. Maybe three. I’ve got most of the material. Just compiling right now.”

“Attaboy. This could be my easiest sale in years. These fantasy ‘natural histories’, they’re hot right now. Dragons. Faeries. Should be able to get it out in time for the whole Christmas, hardcover, gift-book season.” Miriam paused. “Is he willing to sign a release for those photos?”

Diego’s heart stuttered. A release. From someone who shouldn’t exist. “I’d like to use the photos as a suggestion. Maybe get an illustrator for the book? Finn’s a bit shy. I don’t think he wants the actual pictures used.”

“Yeah, right, shy. I can see that.”

He laughed. “Not with me.”

“’Kay, sweetie. Stand back and watch me work. I’ll have something for you soon.”

Miriam’s confidence soothed his fears. This would work. He’d never harbored any illusions about being rich and famous as some starry-eyed authors did, but a livable income would be a relief.

Finn might be home soon. ‘Home’ together with ‘Finn’ sounded so permanent and comfortable. If he had some money, he could buy a little house somewhere away from any urban sprawl. Minnesota, maybe. Or Montana.

“One step at a time. No building air castles again.” But the possibility of lying in Finn’s arms that night sent a rush of desire right down to his knees. He clutched the desk, dizzy from the sudden redistribution of blood.

With a soft laugh, he tugged on the leg of his jeans and threw himself back into his work.

The problem with taking on dog form was the lack of focus. Dog senses yanked the mind this way and that with disorienting results. The sheer joy of overloaded senses, though, alleviated any annoyance.

Finn’s canine lope devoured ground while he struggled in the throes of tumultuous ecstasy to keep his thoughts in order. Sights, scents and sounds assaulted him like waves in a storm.

Moss

lichen

owl fewmet

(mouse)

bunchberry

wasp wasp wasp

green snake

(mouse)

spruce

squirrel

distant human

MOOSE

flash of falcon overhead!

(mouse)

raccoon spore

fir

primrose

roar of river River RIVER…

Rush and sparkle, crash and dance, the Pointe Wolf River leapt into view. He froze on the bank, legs trembling. The river song, sweet and clear, skittered over his skin, yanked at his bones. Oh gods, oh gods, so glorious it rips the heart.

He closed his eyes, pulled himself inward and slid into the river as an otter.

The groceries shifted with ominous thuds when the truck hit another crater.

Diego winced and sent up a prayer that the cream had landed on top.

The trip into what passed for a town nearby had taken longer than he’d intended.

Items he took for granted back home, like arugula, prompted raised brows and puzzled looks here.

After few compromises and substitutions, he returned to the house, relieved to find he’d beaten Finn back.

Not that it mattered, but he did want dinner to be a surprise. If Finn were there, his ravenous curiosity would drive him underfoot during the entire dinner preparation.

A rich strawberry cheesecake, a salad with currants and walnuts and a batch of cornbread later—the steaks would have to wait until Finn arrived—Diego turned to the dining area.

He considered setting up at one end of the ten-person table but discarded the thought.

The occasion called for a more intimate space.

He found a card table in a closet and a deep burgundy tablecloth the right size, black china place settings and delicate wine glasses with gold bubbles set in the stems. Two islands of milky white completed the setting—one the vase holding the wildflowers and the other the bowl that would hold Finn’s cream.

Diego hummed as he climbed the stairs to get ready, anticipation dancing through him.

The otter shot downriver. His whiskers tingled with the vibration around him, alerting him to fish and crustaceans, upcoming rocks and rapids. Without slowing, he snatched a fish from its hiding place under an outcropping and rose to the surface.

He climbed onto a rock, fish head clutched in his sharp teeth.

Cool, glorious fish. Smooth, soft meat and the crunch of small bones.

Sun-warmed granite. Splash of clear water.

Scent of algae. The flows of life sluiced through him, the patterns of interconnected magic leaped out clear and bright for him again.

The small magics of grass and fern. The larger flow that comprised the river. The…

The feeling reached him as it had the day before, a keening hunger in the distance. Not an audible sensation but a humming inside his head. Something…something…

Gods.

He leaped onto the bank as a deer and raced into the woods. Another magical being trapped like himself on this side of the Veil. Somewhere in these woods. The threads from this other mind emanated strange vibrations, nothing he had met before, but he had to find whoever it was.

I am not alone.

Diego fidgeted and glanced at the clock again. Six-fifteen. Five minutes later than the last time he’d checked. Finn would stay out longer without someone tagging along to worry about, of course. Still, his impatience grew as the sun came to rest atop the conifer tips and then penetrated them.

He turned on the television, channel surfed, turned it off. He opened the front door to check outside, then came back in to fuss with the table for the hundredth time.

After eight, a gripping anxiety lodged in his stomach. What if something had happened? What if some hunter had mistaken Finn for a wolf and shot him? Was it hunting season up here? Were they allowed to shoot wolves?

Flashlight in hand, he trudged out into the woods to check the familiar trails. He didn’t dare go too far. No moon shone and the woods were an inky black so thick it crawled on his skin.

“Finn!”

He called until his throat was raw but no one called back in greeting or distress. Only the owl shrieked at him from her tree, but whether she tried to tell him something or warn him off, he couldn’t decipher. He didn’t speak owl.

Over an hour later, he trudged back to the house. Finn must have stayed out to enjoy the night air. He loved nighttime here. Probably counting the stars.

Diego told himself these things, stubbornly avoiding the one thought he could not face. Finn would be back. Soon. In the morning.

Do I lock the door? But what if he comes back and can’t get in? Will he think I’ve locked him out on purpose? Though if I leave the door open, who knows what’s out there.

Axe murderers came to mind. He compromised and locked the door but stayed downstairs to sleep on the oversized ottoman in case Finn knocked.

The ottoman held traces of Finn’s scent.

He supposed it was as close to sleeping with Finn as he would get that evening.

The whole thing was his fault, though, so he tried to shove his disappointment into a dark corner.

He should have told Finn he was making dinner, should have sent him off with a kiss and a promise if he expected him back by dinnertime.

He woke with the sun to the uncomfortable sensation of having slept in his clothes . Oh, no. I must not have heard him when he came back.

“Finn?” He flung open the front door, expecting, hoping to find Finn on the grass. Nothing. No long, lean body stretched out near the house, no muddy footprints on the veranda, no sign he had been home at all. “Finn!”

Only the crickets and birds answered.

Diego slumped in one of the porch chairs and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Where are you, damn it?”

He retraced their usual trails again in daylight. If Finn lay hurt somewhere, he would have missed him in the dark. Again he called and called with no response. He had just come back out of the trees when his cell vibrated in his jacket pocket.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Sandoval?”

“Yes?”

“This is Tara McHenry with the Park Service at Fundy. Are you somewhere near the park?”

“Yes,” he answered when he could breathe again. “Yes, I’m staying at Miriam Thorpe’s house on the northwest side. Is everything all right? Did you find my dog?”

The moment’s hesitation made his stomach sink to his feet.

“We…we found his collar, Mr. Sandoval. On the bank of the Pointe Wolf. By some class five rapids. I’m sorry, sir, it doesn’t look good.”

“No sign of him?” he whispered.

“What does your dog look like? We’ll keep an eye out for him.”

“He’s big. Black. Pointed ears. Like a Shepherd. Bigger. Thicker coat.” He swallowed against the cracks in his voice.

“I’m so sorry.”

Diego knees buckled. “He’s gone to join his wild cousins.”

“Pardon?”

“The vet warned me. I let him get away from me. And now he’s gone.”