It was a small rabbit though, barely a mouthful, and the wolf went looking for more. She scented a raccoon’s musky trail, tracked it to a hollow oak, but the creature scrambled up before she could leap. She went on the prowl, moving slow and quiet, and caught movement — a flock of wild turkeys. She crept close to them and then leapt. They erupted in their escape, feathers exploding like gray smoke, but she managed to pounce on a yearling, his clumsy wings no match for her hunger.
She lay in the forest and feasted, listening for coyotes just in case, but nothing approached, and she gorged on fresh turkey until her belly was good and full.
When she left, there wasn’t much for the vultures to devour, and she was a fat and happy wolf.
She slept in the shallow cave the pack most often uses, woke with the sun, and ran back to the human’s car. Not the fun car. The wolf liked it when the human drove the fun car.
Once back in human form, Tuesday dressed, brushed her hair and put it into a ponytail holder, and then drove to First Watch for breakfast. She was always starving after achange.
She occupied herself the rest of the day with laundry, grocery shopping, and the latest cozy mystery from one of her favorite authors.
And the whole time, she watched the clock for how close she was to Monday.
All week the texts had come steadily — quick check-ins, silly memes, a photo of a perfect ribeye. But there was nothing today. She knew he spent weekends with his club brothers and he was probably busy.
But he’d texted at work when he was busy. Or probably between being busy, but still.
- - -?- - -
Knife rode home around midnight Sunday night, his mind focused on his plans for Monday. The first two dates with Tuesday had been all about the sex, and it was time for that to change.
He’d had a nice weekend, hanging out with his brothers, and he’d only thought of Tuesday a handful of times. But now, his focus was entirely on how their day would go.
When she arrived the following day, she was back in the Maserati. He closed the gate behind her with the app on his phone, and met her in the driveway.
He’d told her to wear jeans, a thick jacket, and sturdy shoes that covered her feet. She’d done all three, and his cock pulsed in his jeans.
She was wearing painted-on jeans, a denim jacket, and shit-kicking boots. She opened her trunk to retrieve a small backpack, and she slid a wallet into it before lifting it and closing the trunk.
Usually, he’d double-check that someone had water, but they’d talked about it when he’d told her to wear sturdy clothes, and he trusted she’d brought some.
He walked her to the garage, where he had the Sport Glide ready to go, and he saw her looking between the bigger bike and the sportier XR750.
“The racer’s a solo ride,” he told her. “No passenger pegs.”
She looked at the Sport Glide with the evaluating eye he was starting to recognize — the same look she gave a tenderloin on the rail, or his knife display. Taking in every detail. Tuesday didn’t seem to do the pretend appreciation thing, and he respected that. “It’s beautiful, and I don’t know anything about bikes, but I’m guessing one is all about speed and handling, the other some combination of those things along with comfort.”
Once again, her perceptive skills impressed him.
“We do long trips together as a club sometimes. Two long days of riding. Other times, we head to the mountains to play in the curves.”
He handed her a helmet and watched her put it on.
“Not the first helmet you’ve strapped on,” he noted.
“When we were in Denver, Dad bought this huge ranch, and ATV’s for all of us. I think he was hoping mom might choose to stay for full moon runs, but she always took me back to Chattanooga for them.”
“Wolves don’t usually wear helmets unless the law requires it,” he noted.
“When cousins on my dad’s side of the family visited, we all had to wear them when we went out. Same when friends rode with me, which happened a lot, actually.”
Right, her dad was human, her mom was wolf. They’d talked about that. And it was kind of a no-brainer anyway, since the Concilio, and now the Senatus, doesn’t allow shifters to play sports with humans, and her dad had played in the NFL.
“You ever ridden on the back of a bike?”
She shook her head, and he smiled. “Oh goodie. A virgin. The helmets have radios, so we can talk without shouting. Keep your feet on the pegs and your arms around me. The rest, you’ll just have to figure out.”
He stowed her pack, climbed on, and she swung on behind him with more ease than he’d expected, her boots finding the pegs without fumbling, and then her arms came around him, her fingers locking together in front of him.
