All the same, I noticed the first thing he did was run his gaze all over me in that way he had of making my skin prickle with super-awareness. He was just so...focused. I knew that look well enough; it wasn't all about sex, but there was definitely heat there.
"Hey," he said, and his voice was nicer than it had been on the phone. "I stopped to get some food. Wasn't sure if you'd eaten." He looked more tired than normal, a lot like the last time I'd seen him. He even wore a similar outfit. But he seemed so big today. Was he always this tall, this broad-shouldered? Being around humans every day, you can forget how dangerous they are: the world's most lethal predator.
I was the focus of his intense gaze. He held out a bag of Chinese food. It did smell good; my mouth watered like one of Pavlov's dogs. Pavlov had actually been pretty cruel, experimenting on dogs the way he did. What would he have done with foxes, vivisected them? I shuddered inwardly. I couldn't seem to stop thinking "human equals danger." Maybe I shouldn't have invited him over. Hugging him had seemed like a much better idea over the phone.
"Areyou hungry?" He arched a brow, trying to get some response from me. I wasn't sure what, and I didn't expect I'd give it to him even if I knew. I felt lightheaded, very far away. I didn't step back again, though. I stood where I was and stared at him, memorizing his features. So familiar...and so strange after a little more than a week apart. I had no words for him.
I wished he hadn't come. The food smelled good, his scent was familiar — spicy and masculine...but I wished he hadn't come.
"Are you gonna let me in?"
I shrugged and held the door open. But my heart began to pound. Now he'd want sex, and if I refused he'd think I was punishing him; if I said yes he could just go back to thinking of me as his personal fuck toy. I reached up to rub the crease between my brows. My head hurt again, already.
He set the food down on the table, and turned to look at me, his expression sharply watchful and growing more serious. "I can go, if you want," he said quietly. "Hey. Would you look at me?" He caught my chin gently and turned my face a little more towards him.
I twisted free, giving an awkward shrug, and took two dancing half-steps back. My breathing felt fast and irregular.
"You've gone really pale. Talk to me, Avery."
I didn't want to. If I opened my mouth, I'd scream or cry or whimper, or do something else socially unacceptable. I hadn't been ready to face him at all, and I should have known that. Just because a "regular" human would've been didn't mean I was. Just because most people could laugh off that kind of insult didn't mean I could. I was supposed to trust him; it didn't mean I was able to.
"Avery, you look like you're ready to collapse. Sit down, okay?"
I swallowed hard. I didn't want to show weakness in front of him, a top predator. In the wild, foxes are omnivores, not top predators. When I'd told his son we weren't much bigger than a cat, I'd been telling the truth. A lot of things hunted and killed foxes. Humans were the worst threat, of course. Humans hated foxes.
Our pelts used to be trophies, ways of bragging about how many a man had killed, or decoration for women's coats and scarves. Parading proudly the death of red-furred sleek creatures who hadn't been swift enough. Our hunting and dismemberment had been immortalized as sport in some cultures. We were hated, baited, trapped, and killed. Foxes lived on the edges, always wary, always hungry and — and humansdidn'tfeed us unless there was death in the food.
I was thinking like a fox. I was still thinking like my fox self, not my human self. Humans treated shifters better, of course. They still saw them as trophies to be hunted, but for sex, not death. He wouldn't poison me; he wouldn't hurt me. But by then I'd begun to shudder, and when he took a step towards me, I took one back.
My den/home didn't feel safe right now. I could feel I was about five seconds away from losing control. He shouldn't be here. I had to get out, get away, before the walls closed in, or he lunged at me, ate me…
"Avery, just sit down," he said, his voice low and serious. "You need to sit down before you fall down."
I shook my head, backing away again. I wasn't having him tower over me.
Abruptly, Jon lowered himself to the kitchen floor. How strange he looked there, sitting awkwardly cross-legged. Now I was taller; I'd never been taller. I looked down at him. This was the man I'd let fuck me with wild abandon. I hadn't held back. I'd begged for it.
I'd probably let him think I was a sex maniac. He'd probably smirked about it with his friends behind my back.Foxes are so easy… You know foxes! Sure, the sex is good, but what do you expect from a slut like that? I bet he'd do anybody...
A thought occurred to me, rising up through the spiraling panic and pain and self-condemnation. Did he even have any friends? I'd never seen him with any. He shot the breeze with people at work, but outside it, I'd never seen or heard him with anyone you could remotely call a friend. Had he kept his friends from me...or was he that much of a loner?
It was enough to give me pause, to get my thoughts on a different track, chugging along. I stared at him, wondering if I'd ever known him...but no longer wondering if he badmouthed me behind my back with all of his myriad friends.
"Wallace. You wanted a hug. So come and get a hug." His eyes weren't as confident as his words. They looked hesitant, almost scared… His gaze held vulnerability and something like grief.
I had never struggled so much to trust him before. At least part of it must be because I'd been a fox for a week. There was always some readjusting, and it was rare for me to stay in fox form for so long. I did love my comforts; I liked job security and chocolate and curling up with a good book in a heated house. But sometimes it was good to be a fox.
I moved towards him, not quite sure yet. But he was trying hard. He was being small and not dangerous. He wasn't asking for sex or mocking me. He was just...offering a hug.
I took another step towards him. It was hard to make myself move, but I did it. I held out a hand to help him up. "I'm not getting down there," I told him.
He gave a soft grunt of surprise and struggled to his feet. For such a strong guy, he wasn't very limber getting up from that position.
"Don't you know one way a person's health can be measured is by how easily they can get up off the floor?" I asked.
"For pity's sake," he grumbled. Then he was up, and caught me in his arms, and held me against him, holding on like he didn't want to let go. He pressed a kiss to the side of my face just under my ear, as if he couldn't help himself. He breathed me in.
I stood very still in the hug, and my arms didn't do anything like come around him in return. But I liked it. He was big and real and warm and close, and being held by him brought back only good memories. He might have hurt me, and I might not feel entirely safe with him (especially with a fox's instincts coursing through my body), but he had never hurt me physically. He'd never done anything but make me feel warm and good with his touch, his hands, his body. I liked and trusted him physically (and sexually) on an almost cellular level.
