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CHAPTER FIVE

RORA TRAILED BEHIND Eiren and Tawny as they walked back from the restaurant towards the Center.

She was thinking about the stag, the one with silver in his hair, the one who was probably old enough to be her uncle, and she was thinking all sorts of horrifying thoughts about him.

Moon and sun, she had winked at him.

What was that?

She didn’t do things like that.

Neither of the older women had noticed, thank goodness, but she had the uneasy feeling that she had opened the door to something, something she wasn’t sure she was even ready for. But she didn’t feel frightened, that was the thing. She felt a kind of agitation, true, but it was curious, excited, eager. She wasn’t afraid of that old stag.

He didn’t look like her uncles, that was the thing. Her uncles had drooping bellies and drooping antlers and they had scraggly beards with gray in them and whenever they put their reading glasses on, they perched them on their noses and squinted. Her uncles were dear to her, of course. They were the safest stags she knew.

This wasn’t like that, because this silver stag might be old, like her uncles, but he had a trim waist and long, flowing black hair streaked with gray and a firm hard square jaw. If there were lines on his face, they only made him seem rugged, more masculine somehow. He had broad shoulders and his gaze was piercing, his eyes a stormy color like the sky in summer.

Too many romance novels, Rora, she chided herself. What a poetic description.

Yes, but she didn’t read those kinds of romance novels, the age-gap kind. She had always assumed it was because of being deerkin. You had to have some kind of daddy kink to be into that, right? Deerkin didn’t have relationships like that with their fathers, even though she had to admit that uncles and great-uncles often played fatherly roles in fawns’ lives.

Anyway, she might be attracted to that older stag, sure, maybe, but it wasn’t daddy kink. It was, um, he seemed virile and experienced and sort of…

Craggy.

That was the word.

She didn’t really know what it meant. She got out her phone and looked it up. Yes, there. It was what she meant, a man’s face that was attractive in a rough way.

But it was more than that. Because he was older, it softened him in some way. A rugged young buck might be frightening, but this stag seemed as if he might have enough life experience to know how to be gentle with her, especially since it was her first time and she didn’t know what to expect.

He seemed trustworthy. Yet, appealing.

She mused over that.

Well, she was getting ahead of herself, clearly. He was far too old for her. If he did take advantage of her, that would mean he was not trustworthy.

Or would it?

Tawny reached back and pulled Rora up between the other two women. “You’re quiet.”

“No, I’m not,” said Rora.

“We can help you, we’ve decided,” said Eiren. “If you want wingwomen, we’ll go back to the bar with you, see if we can’t find that Stockton, the sweet one, help you get yourself into a bed for your first time.”

“No, you can’t,” said Rora, matter-of-fact about this.

“Sure, we can,” said Tawny. “We don’t mind, and we’ve talked it over, while you were checked the fuck out back there, not listening at all, and we feel responsible for you.”

Rora laughed. “No, you shouldn’t. I’m not your responsibility.”

“Well, we must all stick together,” said Eiren, throwing an arm around her. “We are all damaged goods, you see, so we have to look out for each other.”

Rora laughed again. She liked this, pulled between the other two, walking around, just a bit buzzed on too much wine. “Will we keep in touch after the rite?”

“We have to!” said Tawny.

“Definitely,” said Eiren. “Give me your phone.”

The three women stopped to exchange phone numbers and send each other texts and type each other’s names into their contacts. Then, arm in arm, they walked up the street.

“Wait,” said Tawny, “you never explained why we can’t be your wingwomen.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Eiren, eyes bright because she was tipsy, too. “Why not?”

“It’s been tried before,” said Rora.

She had been taken on as a project by a group of friends lead by a particularly attractive rabbitkin girl. She was popular on campus. She was sought-after by men. She was certain that she could find someone who would be interested in Rora.

But it had gone badly, Rora shoved into the company of boys who were hankering after the rabbit. But then, all men wanted a bunny, didn’t they?

There had been a few other attempts, earnest, by other friends. A blind date once, which had proved disastrous, because her date had come out of the closet to her and the friend who’d set it up, saying he couldn’t hide who he was anymore. And several various times she’d been shoved in with someone at group things and parties. Occasionally, she’d made friends with these guys, but they’d never been romantically interested.

She hadn’t always been this accepting of it.

There had been a point in time, when she was about nineteen, when she had hidden away for seven months in a deep depression, bursting into tears if she even saw a happy couple walking together on the street. She had spent too much time trying to determine what it was that was wrong with her.

Eventually, however, she was able to have a blunt and realistic conversation with herself about it, wherein she examined the evidence. She put forward a number of ideas: maybe she was too fat or too thin. Maybe she was too smart or too dumb. Maybe it was because she wasn’t interested in sports. Maybe it was because she read romance novels. Maybe it was because she was short. Maybe it was because her thighs were too thick.

But no matter what she conjured up, she was able to think of lots of other women who had these same attributes and who’d somehow managed to find someone romantically.

That was when she settled on the subconscious repellent theory.

It made the most sense, she thought.

The point was, however, she could stop trying to improve herself, something that had never gone well in the first place, not least because she could never decide what to improve, let alone maintain motivation long enough to see any results.

In and of itself, this was a relief.

And when she knew that she could not solve the problem, she was able to think more rationally about it all. She was ready. She wanted to try sex. She was twenty-one. If she wasn’t going to attract anyone the way most people her age did, she might as well try the rite.

At least her gran would be pleased.

“Tried before by whom?” Eiren was saying. “Not by us!”

“Okay, look!” said Rora, glancing back and forth between the other two. “You have both known me since this morning. I, however, have been gathering evidence about how men interact with me for years . I’m not incorrect about this, I promise you.”

Tawny considered. “Maybe that makes sense.”

“And maybe you have a negativity bias, like all preykin!” said Eiren. “Come on, we’re all wired to think the worst about everything, because warier creatures avoid danger better and stay alive.”

“You both have to admit,” said Rora, “that there are some people who just never find anyone. We all know that one aunt. Not everyone has that aunt, but she’s not that uncommon. The childless aunt, the one who no one ever wanted.”

“Okay, maybe,” said Eiren. “And maybe I’m going to be that childless aunt, but it’s going to be by choice. You want this, and you can have it. I’m positive you’re selling yourself short.”

Rora licked her lips. “I’m actually… I’m wondering if I’ve been looking in the wrong places, actually. What if I’m not attractive to younger men, but I am attractive to, er, older…?”

“What?” said Tawny, giggling at her. “What are you saying?”

“I may have had a moment with a stag,” said Rora in a low and wondering voice.

“When?” said Eiren.

“Well, it was just looking at each other,” said Rora, “but it was a long look, and he seemed… but he was old enough to have sired me for moon’s sake.”

“Doesn’t turn me on, the age thing,” said Eiren, “but I get it. I mean, I see why people would find it hot, but I don’t.”

“I do,” said Tawny, tapping her bottom lip. “At least, in theory. For this, at the run, no, I don’t want some old stag sperm, however. I am trying to make a strong and healthy baby here. But, sure, I could see the allure of an older man, especially for your first time. You should let us help you find him.”

Rora wrinkled up her nose, thinking about it. “I don’t know. I could never be in a relationship with a man that old. Think about it. How would you socialize? I wouldn’t want to hang out with people my parents’ age, and he couldn’t hang out with my friends. And what would you talk about? You’d have nothing in common.”

“Well, you don’t have to be in a relationship with him,” said Eiren. “That’s the whole point of this weekend, isn’t it?”

Rora considered. “I don’t want to seek him out. If it’s meant to be, he’ll show up. Otherwise, let’s just let the evening unfold.”

Tawny shrugged. “I can get behind that. So, where to? Back to the courtyard for more drinks, or back to our rooms?”

“Are you going to do the midnight run?” said Eiren.

“Are you?” said Tawny.

“I haven’t decided,” said Eiren.

“Me either,” said Tawny.

They both looked at Rora.

“Me either,” she said.

ATHOS HAD LOST track of Stockton earlier, and as the evening wore on, he had to admit that maybe it hadn’t been a particularly great idea to start drinking so early.

He could have at least stuck to beer, he thought, instead of chasing shots of whiskey with gins and tonic, as he had done.

It was only ten o’clock when he had to acknowledge that he was staggering around, slurring his words, and that the world might be spinning. Hotly embarrassed, he made a beeline for an elevator and headed back to his room.

There, he collapsed on his bed and flung an arm over his face, only to discover—yes, definitely spinning.

He sat up.

When was the last time he’d gotten the spins? When he was twenty-three? It was pathetic.

But then, he didn’t drink that often these days. He was busy. He worked. A lot. In the wake of the divorce, he knew a lot of guys would have started going out more, but Athos had mostly poured himself into work, taking on extra projects and filling up his schedule. What time was left he used to be available to his sisters and mother.

He supposed he had figured that if he were busy every second of every day, he wouldn’t have time to feel grief.

And the end of his relationship? In some ways, it felt like someone had died.

It wasn’t Cira, his ex-wife, though. It wasn’t even him.

It was just the thing they had been together, the meshing of them, the two-ness of them. That had died. He had been so pulled into that, it had become his identity. He hadn’t been Athos, not really, not anymore. He’d been part of Athos-and-Cira. They’d been a unit.

He had thought they would be together forever.

He had thought he would never lose her. More than that, he would never lose that identity as being part of that unit. He had felt, when she left, like she had taken so much more than just his happiness and his security.

He didn’t know who he was anymore.

The rut had seemed like a good idea, but look at him, drunk off his tail hours before midnight. He was pathetic.

He tried to remember what was a good idea to help the spins.

Water, right?

Shouldn’t he drink water?

He got a bottle of water from the mini-bar, knowing he’d be charged for that when he checked out. The rates for the rite were pretty reasonable, really. Most of the cost was covered by various deerkin groups who wanted to preserve the traditions of the rite, so he couldn’t complain about what he’d paid to get into this thing. He could afford a bottle of water.

Even so, after he downed it, he filled it up from the tap in the bathroom.

He guzzled bottle after bottle of water, hoping to feel better.

Instead, the spins seemed to intensify. He felt nauseated. He ended up on his knees in front of the toilet, vomiting up every single drink he’d had that evening, which was when he belatedly realized he’d forgotten dinner.

No wonder you’re so trashed, he thought, his cheek against the tile in the bathroom.

That was where he fell asleep, lying on the bathroom floor, after vomiting not only all the alcohol he’d drunk, but all the water he’d drunk too.

TAWNY PARTED WAYS with the other women, saying she was going upstairs to her room. The others said they were doing the same, and they all rode the elevator up, each getting off on different floors.

Tawny pretended to be going up to her room—she didn’t know why she was pretending—but after Eiren got off on one floor, Tawny rode the elevator back to the bottom floor and went to the courtyard.

It was 9:30 around that point. She quickly spotted that cocky son of a bitch Athos, who looked as if he was already three sheets to the wind. She avoided him, maneuvering her way around the perimeter.

In the courtyard, there were strings of outdoor lights hung over the area. There were tables set up with appetizers, stuffed mushrooms and chips and salsa and a cheese ball that was made from nut-cheese, not dairy. She wasn’t hungry, but she nibbled at crackers and some of the nut cheese, trying to decide if it tasted like walnuts or cashews.

Time passed.

She didn’t get another drink.

At some point, she caught sight of Rora, who was seated at the bar, drink in hand with a tall, black-haired stag leaning against the bar next to her. He did look older, maybe, sort of. He was attractive, though.

Good for Rora, she thought, smiling.

At another point, she saw Eiren, who was sipping wine and standing at the edge of the courtyard, peering off into the night.

Tawny could have approached her, but she deliberately stayed out of the other doe’s sight. She actively avoided conversation with anyone, in fact. If someone spoke to her, she was polite, but she excused herself quickly and got away, somewhere she could be alone.

She was nervous, she realized.

Could she even do this?

Stranger sex.

In the dark.

After being chased .

It was 11:30 when she retreated to her room. She told herself she was just too tired, something that seemed supportable because she was yawning as she changed into her pajamas. She flipped on the television and closed her eyes, assuring herself she’d fall asleep in no time.

But an hour later, she was sitting up in bed, turning the TV up to drown out the sounds of the cheers and whoops of the midnight run.

Coward, she whispered to herself, pulling the covers tight against her chin.