Homelands Pt. 10 Ch. 01

She laughed and slapped his chest. Then kissed his cheek, quick and furtive. Like they'd been together forever and it was no big deal.

The look on Curt's face as she did almost made Yvette laugh. The way he blushed, one could almost think him a virgin. More likely, though, he was just really into her. Which was cute. He wasn't even close to being her cup of tea, but Yvette hoped for her roommate's sake that things worked out between them.

"Huh," Zach said as he flipped over a blank card.

"What's that mean?" Yvette asked.

"Don't know," he said, reaching across her knees to grab the instruction sheet.

Why did it feel like that excited Lance?

She glanced over at him and saw the fire blazing behind him. A log must have split open, allowing a rush of oxygen to breathe new life into the flames. That was all she'd sense. Not a flash of heat from somewhere deep within their guest.

"So you all drove out here from the University? In Laramie?" he asked, moving closer still to the coffee table. "Quite a hike."

"How'd you know that?" Kristen asked, giving him an unfriendly look.

"Down girl," Yvette said. "I mentioned we were from there just a minute ago."

"Well, sorta," her friend said, frowning.

Curt gave Lance a look they must have taught at How to Be a Man workshops. The kind that said, "I'm not necessarily planning on kicking your ass, but I'm definitely sizing you up to see if I think I could. And, yep, your ass would be mine, so watch your step. Nothing personal, though. We can be friends if you behave yourself." Yvette had never met a girl who could convey quite that message without speaking a word. With her kind, it was always some variation of "We're besties" or "Bitch, I'mma pull your hair out."

"Whoa, didn't mean anything by it," Lance said holding his hands up defensively.

"It's okay," Yvette told him. If he'd pulled his chair any closer to them, she might have laid a hand on his leg. Not too far from the knee or anything. Just a little gesture to let him know that he hadn't overstayed his welcome. But she had to settle for a warm smile. "She's just a little edgy because the game is creeping her out. A delicate little flower, our girl is."

"Bite me," Kristen said.

"Haven't had enough to drink yet," Yvette said.

"There's nothing in here about a blank card," Zach said, as if they'd all been waiting with bated breath for the pronouncement. "Strange."

"You know, I should probably get going anyway," Lance said. "Sorry if I made anyone uncomfortable." His neck swiveled a few degrees as his focus turned to the blonde jock sitting beside Kristen. "Thanks for letting me warm up."

"No prob-"

"Stay," Yvette said. All eyes turned to her. Her stomach tied itself in knots, but she played it cool. As best she could, anyway. "It'll be dark soon. We can't let you hike through the snow without any light to see by. You can crash here on the couch."

Zach quickly added, "Yeah. Totally."

"You sure?" Lance said. "I wouldn't want to impose."

Kristen frowned but held her tongue. And that was apparently all Curt needed. After studying her face for a moment, he turned to Lance and said, "Definitely, dude."

"Thanks," he said. "Won't lie. I wasn't looking forward to going back out there," he added with the sort of self-effacing laugh that was never heard from horror movie villains. Not even in campy ones. "I didn't used to mind the cold. But the older I get, the harder it becomes to warm up again. I think there might be ice in my bones that won't thaw until I sell this damn place and move to the coast."

"Time for a beer then, huh?" Curt asked.

With a laugh, their guest said, "Guess so."

"Can we please put the game away?" Kristen asked Zach.

"Fine," he said, without taking his eyes off the blank card.

"Yay!" Kristen said, clapping. "I vote we play Never Have I Ever next."

When Yvette put a hand on his shoulder, Zach gave a little start. But then he smiled up at her and it was the sweetest thing she'd ever seen. He badly needed to be kissed. "Really weird," he mumbled. "No idea what it means."

"Probably just a mistake," she said. "Factory defect."

"Yeah," he said. "Probably." With a chuckle, he added, "Certainly doesn't mean we're leaving the manner of our death in the hands of fate by packing it in now, without drawing another card first. Nothing like that. Who would even suggest such a thing? Not me."

Yvette said nothing. Just smiled.

#

Frank stood still as a statue. He'd invested enough energy into making himself invisible that it probably wouldn't have mattered, but he'd found that if he made it just a little easier for the mind to fool itself, such tricks grew substantially more effective. And there was no telling whether the fucker was one of Daphne's stronger sons or more of a runt. He didn't think he'd attracted enough attention yet for her to send one of her favorites after him. But the last thing he was going to do was underestimate Lady Winter.

"So you're saying your neighbor's a liar?" the man, who was obviously a wolf, asked.

In his brief time in Winter, Frank had discovered that all of Daphne's sons were classified as bears, wolves, or hares. The first set served as warriors and guardians, the latter as information-gatherers and assassins. The latter were nothing but prey to her, nevermind that her blood coursed through their veins.

The mother of the family who'd taken him in trembled under the wolf's cold, blue gaze. She took a half step towards the kitchen door, probably without even thinking about it. When that made her unwanted guest's lip curl, she stopped. "N-no. Just mistaken."

If he moved quickly enough, he could take the man down before he laid a finger on her. Probably. The room was small, and the wolf was standing close to her. Besides, if he did that, it would only be a matter of time before more trouble for her and her family arrived. Not an option he'd exercise unless he absolutely had to, then.

She brushed a lock of pale blonde hair back from her face and drew herself up to her modest height. "I've never met anyone matching that description," she said, the quiver in her voice almost under control. "I wish I could help. But I can't."

"Hmmph," the man said.

A tense moment passed as he debated whether to take her at her word or not. Then another. And another. Frank thought he saw some tension go out of the man's broad shoulders. The hand that had been drifting towards the knife rack fell back to his hip.

Then suddenly he lashed out, grabbing her by her slender throat.

"Tell me the fucking truth, bitch," he snarled.

Frank shifted from his natural form into that of a nightmare beast. If the wintry bastard didn't let her go, he'd find out what a wolf really was, and why mortals feared them so. But first, Frank had to be sure that he was witnessing more than a shakedown. Only a fool would dare shed the blood of Daphne herself lightly.

Fortunately for everyone involved, the fingers clenched tight around her neck loosened, allowing her to gasp for air. "Have. You. Seen. Him?"

"No, I swear," she said, starting to cry.

False though her words might be, those tears were anything but. That made Frank wish he could crush the guy's head like a rotten pumpkin between his powerful jaws. But he was learning, of necessity, to control his emotions. To be as calculating as the economist he'd once aspired to become, and as cold as Winter.

"Would you tell me if you had?"

"Of course I would! I'd never hide anything from the queen."

The wolf grunted. "When was the last time you paid your queen tribute?"

That was what they called it when a family sacrificed a son or daughter to Daphne, condemning them to a horrible death. Those who played by the rules, kept their heads down, and spoke not a word of protest against their bloodthirsty queen, were generally left alone. Almost allowed to live normal lives. Until they weren't. At any moment, for any reason, or perhaps none at all, Daphne might demand that they pay tribute. Which everyone always did, without question, Frank had learned. Not because they accepted the practice, but because they all knew that if they didn't, the entire family would be slaughtered. As many had in the early years of Lady Winter's rule.

"Not even a year ago," she said, staring at her feet.

"I think it might be time for another."

The mother raised her chin, pleading in her eyes but not on her lips. She dared not beg. That would only earn her a broken lip or bloody nose. After a long moment, in which no mercy was granted, she nodded. "Anything to please Her Greatness."

If he killed the man, her whole family would die.

If he killed the man, her whole family would die.

If he killed the man, her whole family would die.

Frank had to repeat it a dozen times before his anger eased enough for him to return to his usual form. The day would come when he'd make Daphne herself, not the least of her sons, answer for all the lives she'd ruined and all the blood she'd spilled. But he had to bide his time. He'd only get to take one swing at her, and he had to be sure it connected.

"While we're at it, I think you better please me," he said.

The woman stared back at him with horror in her eyes. But only for a few moments. Before he could offer any sort of encouragement, she lowered herself to her haunched, pulled his cock out of his leather pants, and went to work pleasuring him with her mouth.

Wet noises filled the tiny little kitchen, made all the more vulgar by her lack of enthusiasm. The wolf offered neither praise nor criticism. He spoke not a word. Just held her hair, tight, and grunted occasionally as he pumped his hips back and forth.

Not long after she started debasing herself, one of her sons came home.

"Mom? What's going on?" the young man asked as he pulled his coat off.

"Sit down and shut up," the wolf barked.

Of course, her son did so. Because that was how things worked in Winter. The poor boy was forced to watch as his mother fellated a man who had very likely just condemned him death, and for no other reason than because he could. That the youth was not yet aware that either he or his brother would be dead by the end of the week only made it worse, so far as Frank was concerned. He looked appropriately uncomfortable, but not nearly as depressed as he'd be if he knew the full extent of it.

After she finished suffering the indignity, and Daphne's mongrel departed without speaking a word, Frank too stepped quietly out of the small cottage. The woman and her son deserved to be alone for a while.