Touched by the Moon Pt. 08

08.

The New Dominant

To Sam's surprise, Wren and Rhett had waited the whole time she sat in her Dad's room—it was over an hour since they'd arrived. After that moment of awkwardness, the three of them started the ride away from Sanctuary.

"So what's the plan, Sam?" Wren asked from his place in the passenger seat.

She shook her head while leaning forward. "Uh-uh, not yet. First off: what's with the code language? 'Folks like us.' That doctor talked about 'non-humans.' I don't get that."

"Get what?" Wren said.

Sam remembered her dad, of what he said during their first run together. "My dad talked about 'other half-humans' one time. Is this the sort of thing he was talking about?"

Rhett snorted, filling up the cab with a thin cloud of cigarette smoke. "Shit, honey: you've got your very own homegrown fur coat, and you're surprised there's other freaky-deakies out there?" He snorted a laugh. "Be serious."

"Well..." Sam faltered and looked at Wren for help.

The mechanic spread his hands. "Sorry, Sam. Truth is truth." He went back to his phone, sending one text after another to other members of the pack.

"But...this is crazy!"

"And you're a werewolf," Wren answered, not looking up. "So'm I. So's Suz, and Bubba, and yer Pa and lotsa other folks." He set down his phone and looked over one shoulder at her. "I ain't never met a vampire, but I's seen the Warden back at Sanctuary throw out a three-hunnerd-pound fella outta the lobby with one hand. I could pro'lly bench the Warden with one-a my hands, so you know that skinny sumbitch ain't human. Neither is Doc Marcus...tho' I ain't sure what she is."

Sam was quiet for a long time. "That is a bit to take in, but...okay, I can roll with it." She looked over at Rhett, but spoke to Wren again. "What about your Dad? I keep hearing people tell me we don't bring 'normies' into this stuff." She caught Rhett's gaze in the rear-view mirror. "What's your angle?"

The sunglass-wearing man gave a toothy grin around his cigarette. "That's a bit of a story, darlin.'"

Sam sat back in her seat. "I got time."

Rhett seemed to consider that, and for the first time, she saw him set his half-finished cigarette in the ash tray. "Now see, the answer ain't so cut-'n'-dry, ya understand." He slowed the truck to a stop at a red light, leaving that hanging in the air for a moment. "You an educated woman, Samantha?"

"I've graduated high school, if that's what you mean."

He gave a slow nod. "You squeeze any ancient European History in-between yoga classes or global warmin' bull-hockey or whatever school out in California?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "Sure, I made time between underwater basket-weaving and slam poetry. What's your point?"

"Ever hear of Nemesis?"

The question was an unexpected one. "You mean like having one?"

He shook his head. "No ma'am. See, the ancient Greeks, they believed in divine justice, ya understand. Nemesis was a goddess, someone who paid out whatever a soul deserved—she doled out righteous punishment to the ones what earned it." Rhett picked his cigarette back up and took another draw. "My job ain't quite the same thing—just similar."

Sam snorted. "You're a Greek goddess?"

The old man gave a small, if good-natured smile. "Not quite. Think of it more like this: if one of you critters gets too big for yer britches—like Tennessee did, fer instance—somebody calls up yer friendly neighborhood 'Nemesis' like me and I dish out justice as it seems appropriate. If ya can't call the cops, ya call somebody like me instead."

Sam looked at Wren, and from the look on his face, it was a speech he was used to hearing. When their eyes met, he nodded.

Sam licked her lips, fighting against an instinctive sense of disbelief. "So...you're an assassin, or something."

Rhett wiggled his eyebrows. "In a manner-a speakin'," he said, before turning his eyes back to the road.

The air inside the cab suddenly became very, very quiet, save for the loud purr of the engine and Wren's tapping on his phone screen. But Sam's mind was racing, and she could start to feel the start of a plan falling into place. "Okay." She was quiet for another moment. "Then I need your help."

Rhett cracked his window, flipping the butt end of his cigarette out, and had another one lit in seconds. "Yeah? 'Bout what?" he said, looking at her in the mirror.

Even after steeling herself for what she was about to say, it sounded strange to hear the words aloud: "I'm going to kill Tennessee Watkins."

—

The sun was low in the sky by the time Rhett reached the Huddle House. The dented silver minivan Sam had spotted at the last meet was the only vehicle in the lot. "Not the most promising sign," she said, curling her nose.

"That's just Bubba," Wren said. "He owns the place. Others'll be along soon, I reckon, just you wait." He turned to look at his father. "You headin' out, Dad?"

"Reckon I oughta, what with this little lady of yers and all-a her schemin'." Rhett turned and looked at Sam; his latest cigarette was unlit, and it bounced up and down as he talked. "Yer sure about this? Takin' a life ain't no small thing, missy—I don't recommend it."

She nodded. "I'm sure."

He nodded. "S'yer call. We'll handle payment later. In the meantime, I've got work to do, so git." He jerked a thumb towards their side of the truck, and both Sam and Wren climbed out as ordered. A moment later, the pickup pulled onto the road and rolled down the highway.

Sam took a deep breath of clean, clear air. "Your Dad smokes like a fucking chimney, Cowboy. How do you stand it?" She wrinkled her nose. "I'm going to stink for days, now."

He shrugged. "Reckon he's always done it. Ya get used to it."

"And all that stuff about being like Nemesis? Was he serious about—"

Wren raised a hand to stop her. "Sam, my daddy's been doin' that kinda thing longer'n I've been alive. I learned to accept it a long time ago."

"You seem remarkably calm about your Dad telling me he kills people for a living." Sam had to fight the urge to look around, even though the parking lot was empty and there was nothing but trees and an empty road in the immediate area.

Wren snorted. "Ain't always killin', Sam, but it ain't sunshine 'n' unicorn farts neither."

"But Phil told me you went to him for help first. Why not just ask your Dad?"

"Because he ain't one of us." Wren didn't sound happy to be discussing the matter. "Phil is."

"Why? Does that matter?"

"'Course it does." Sam could practically see the man's invisible hackles go up. "I only said somethin' when I didn't have no other choice." He took a slow, hard breath. "That's life in the goshdang jungle, Sam—Tennessee Watkins is a mean sumbitch, but he ain't the only one. People who call Pa do it when they ain't got no other choice. That's just the way things work 'round here: when shit goes down, ya don't call the cops, ya call ol' Rhett instead. Sooner I learned to accept that, sooner my life got a whole lot easier."

"Well, eventually you're going to tell me all about..." Sam waved her hands in some useless attempt to encompass everything that had been discussed. "...all of it, I guess."

"There's plenty-a shit that goes on I don't know about," Wren said. "If yer smart, you'll go for blissful ignorance, too, like I did." He led the way to the door and paused before pulling it open. "Just don't mention my dad tonight: there's some-a the other wolves what gets nervous if the subject of Pa comes up."

"Gee, can't imagine why that might be."

"Sam."

The look on his face was enough to make Sam hold up her hands. "Okay, I promise."

"Thank you," Wren said as he followed her inside.

The diner was empty, save for the overweight man Sam recognized from the Meet the previous day. He had curly, light-brown hair that matched his beard, and a sour look on his face. His printed t-shirt bore the message Southern Pride Ain't Dead Yet. "What's all this shit about, Wren?" He was seated at the bar and drinking from a brown, long-necked bottle. He gestured at Sam with it. "What's she doing here?"

Sam's eyebrows went up. "You can ask me that to my face, thanks." She could feel fear in the air, radiating from him like a space heater on a cold morning. "You're Bubba, right?"

To his credit, the man looked chagrined and sank down in his seat. "Yeah, that's me. Sorry."

Sam fought to control her own emotions, against the sense of panic and worry the man was feeling. She remembered Phil at the Meet, the way he'd stopped Wren with a word and a gesture. Instead of that, Sam stepped up to Bubba and touched his shoulder, and it felt like opening a door in her head: such a white, blinding aura of helplessness came over her that Sam nearly fell over. She grabbed the bar with her other hand and forced those feelings back—Sam thought of Wren, of her plan and the desperate need to make it succeed.

Bubba's eyes got wide; he dropped his bottle of beer to the bar, where it rattled and fell over, spilling its contents. But Sam could see a change come over him, see it in his eyes, in the way he looked at her—the fear wasn't gone, but it wasn't so overwhelming as before, either. Sam could also feel his sense of hope rekindling itself, as if he knew what she was thinking.

Being a Dominant didn't have anything to do with ordering the weaker wolves around—Sam was starting to understand that. It was about empathy, about literally feeling what they felt, even to the point of being able to manipulate their emotions. No wonder Tennessee was so good at making the wolves do what what he wanted: he could make the submissives feel whatever he wanted them to feel.

"Holy shit," Bubba whispered, swallowing. His eyes went to Wren, then back to her again. "You a Dominant, too?"

Sam nodded. "It seems that way." Then she looked down at the puddle of beer spreading across the bar. "You should probably get that."

"Shit!" Bubba leapt up, quickly running behind the bar to fetch some towels and had the mess cleaned in moments. He looked at Wren next, showing a little quirk of a smile. "She the reason for this meeting?"

Wren, who'd watched the goings-on in silence, nodded his head while he took a seat. "She's gonna kill Tenn, Bub." He looked at Sam next, a pensive look on his face. "Or so she says."

Bubba's eyes went wide. "So she says," he echoed, but where Sam could feel Wren's uncertainty still lingering, Bubba seemed thrilled, even cautiously triumphant. "Maybe we ain't all completely fucked after all." Then he patted himself in both pockets, as if searching for something. "Ya'll wanna beer or somethin'?"

"That's fine by me," Wren said.

Sam made a deliberate choice to sit beside the mechanic. "Sure, me too."

Two more bottles were opened and handed over. Sam was curious to see just who was going to show up, and who wasn't.

—

To Sam's surprise, even though it was a wolf pack full of submissives, most of them were still brave enough to show up. Some of the names she already knew—both Susie and Claudia showed up, as well as most of the men from the previous day.

In all, there were nine pack members there to finally meet Sam, face to face. She soon had names to go with faces, and made sure to shake their hands and remind them of her name, as well. Most were kind enough to say kind words about Phil, to ask her how she was holding up, and such niceties.

There was no sign of the other Dominants; Lathel and Rebecca were no-shows. As for Tennessee and his lackeys, they didn't appear, either. Not that Sam minded any of them not coming—what she had in mind didn't involve any of them anyway.

When another quarter-hour passed and no one else showed, Sam decided to make her move. Standing up, she saw every eye looking at her; the paired sensation of fear and worry still lingered in the air like smoke after a bonfire, stinging inside her nostrils. "Thanks for coming," she said, fighting past the sense of awkwardness that came from being the center of attention.

"How's your Dad?" asked Claudia.

"He's hurt." Sam kept her back straight and her face as composed as possible: if she showed fear or sorrow, it would only reflect back on them. "He's hurt pretty bad." She lightly drummed her hands atop the bar. "But the doctor at that clinic says she thinks he'll recover in time."

"How much time?" asked one of the men—his name was Brent, a baby faced blond wearing a trucker's cap, a yellow plaid shirt, steel-toes boots and a belt buckle bigger than both of Sam's fists.

Sam wasn't sure how to answer that, so she looked at the redhead. "Susie, what do you think? Or the doctor?"

Every eye swiveled to where Susie sat behind the bar, still dressed in her scrubs, holding Bubba's hand. Sam could tell she was nervous at having so many eyes on her. "Well... I think Doctor Marcus thinks it might be...a couple of weeks? Maybe?" She gave an awkward grimace—it seemed to be an educated guess to Sam, and Susie seemed to realize how it wasn't the answer everyone was hoping for.

"Fuck." Brent slammed a fist atop the table he was at. "So we're fucked then, aren't we?" The dual sensations of anger and fear coming off the man were so strong Sam could almost smell them, billowing in the air, ready to infect the whole group.

Sam could not let that happen. "No," she said. "No, we are not fucked, not like that. Tennessee hasn't won yet."

"Why not?" Claudia asked. She was afraid too, but it was buried under a veneer of self-confidence—she was testing Sam, sizing her up, waiting to see how she responded.

"Because he's not unbeatable. Nobody is. My dad beat him once, already."

"So who's gonna do it?" Claudia countered. There was new hope in the air, but it was tempered—the barest flicker of a candle's flame, waiting for the slightest breeze to blow it out.

This was the moment Sam had been waiting for. She had to answer just right—if she came off as hesitant, reluctant or uncertain, that flame would go out; if she came off as overconfident or haughty, the outcome would be the same. Instead, she looked the other woman right in the eye and answered in a cool, determined tone: "Me."

The surprise was palpable—there was a startled gasp, and disbelieving looks. Claudia seemed unconvinced. "You? Why you?"

"He hurt Phil." Sam said the words through her teeth. "Him and those bastard friends of his. Rebecca was there, too—Wren told me."

Wren nodded. "Phil called me right before it happened." There was a rumble in the air; the fear they all fed upon turned to something darker, like anger. "I saw her riding away with Dez and Jefferson from him and Sam's house."

"Shit." Claudia spat the word with bitter regret, as if she didn't want to believe it. Then she focused on Sam again. "You've seen Tenn—he's huge. You're not. How're you gonna beat him?"

"I already fought him once." Sam kept her voice in control, kept trying to keep their fear down—if her emotions were in control, theirs would be too, Sam was sure of it. She could see that it was true: in spite of their surprise, there weren't any wild outbursts, shouting or panicked questions. "I got away. If I plan it right this time...I'll beat him." She said it in a low, firm voice, staring Claudia down.

The other woman flinched first and looked away.

Sam could've left it there, but it didn't feel like the right place to end things. She was risking her life for these people—not just to get revenge for the attack on her father, not just because she thought Tennessee deserved to be beaten, but because of these strangers.

They needed to matter to her. She didn't want them to be strangers. Sam needed them to be more.

"Hey." A silence had fallen over the little diner, but then every eye looked at Sam when she spoke again, breaking the stillness. "This...is a Meet, right?"

The small crowd shared glances. Most gave reluctant nods.

"Then let's treat it like one." Sam ignored the tightening feeling in her gut and, without asking permission, she pulled her shirt off over her head.

"Um, Sam... Phil said he didn't want us doin' none-a that," Bubba said, sounding uncomfortable.

"Well Phil isn't here, is he?" Sam said. She didn't smirk at the man, but she mock him, either. "Anybody who wants to leave, can leave. Anybody who wants to stay..." She dropped her shirt to the floor. "...can stay."

If Wren's stories were true, Tennessee had turned this group into his own pet orgy anytime it satisfied him. Sam didn't know why, but she didn't think that going from one extreme to the other, as her father had tried, was the best choice, either. They weren't human, but they weren't wolves, either. They were in-between, creatures not of one world or the other. Emotions seemed to be the key to how submissives and Dominants interacted with one another. So, Sam wanted to see just how strong those emotional interactions could be.

As an icebreaker, it wasn't exactly orthodox, but it did have an effect: everyone stood up and began to disrobe, pushing chairs and other items aside in their haste. It wasn't at all like the first time Sam visited the diner, where some people took the time to make neat piles of their things—shirts, pants, socks and underthings were discarded and tossed aside with abandon, as if it became a race to see who could finish first.

Sam wasn't the first to strip to her skin, but once she had, she put the next step of her plan into action. She was tense and excited, her naked skin covered in goose flesh, while a hot ball of heated energy burst to life in her belly. It was easy to sense the men's arousal, since it overpowered the fear they'd been feeling ever since arriving. She needed a way to use that, to channel it into something positive, something she could keep them focused on over the fear.

Sam leaned over, wrapping her fingers around Wren's handsome face and kissed him long and hard. The sound of him taking a long, deep breath through flared nostrils was as loud as a gunshot in the diner. Sam kept one hand balled up tight in Wren's thick hair as she broke the kiss, sliding her tongue across his opened mouth; her lover's eyes were shining up at her, and his pale face was flush as he took deep, hard breaths.

Looking over at Bubba again, Sam saw red headed Susie standing next to him, pert and pretty, waifish and small compared her larger partner. Looking at Bubba first then to Susie, Sam smirked and winked. "You just gonna stand there and watch?" She felt the other girl's mix of anxiety and eagerness to please so strongly it was a wonder that Susie didn't burst into flames.

The air was thick with repressed excitement, waiting for something to let it loose. Susie was so on-edge that a strong breeze could've toppled her over. All Sam had to do was reach out with one hand, slide a fingertip down the redhead's cheek and help that excitement break loose. Again, there was immediate effect as Susie's fervor took over: the girl spun her rotund lover around and pinned him back against the bar, kissing him with hard, hungry excitement.

That restrained energy in the air burst like a lightning bolt. The rest of the group began to crowd around the bar, hands roaming, mouths panting for breath. Several men pushed Claudia onto a stool next to where Sam was ready to straddle Wren—one man began kissing the brunette on the mouth, while another knelt down between her legs and began feasting upon her warm slit, tongue sliding across her flesh.

Sam wrapped a hand around Wren's cock and found him hard and ready, silk-wrapped steel that flexed in her fingers. She hiked up one leg and rose over him, kissing him again with all every bit of need and desire that was swelling in her pounding heart. Then she slid down onto his shaft, finding herself slick and ready as she moaned into his mouth, and earned a long groan in return. Sam could feel other hands on her ochre flesh, sliding into her hair, coiling around her neck. Someone urged her hand down and wrapped her fingers around another eager, needy cock; a second was pressing tight against her ass, while his breath was hot in her ear.