My Partner and Me: shifters and partners, #2

By Hollis Shiloh

Being mates makes everything perfect—doesn't it?

Sean is happy with his mate, Tom. As far as he's concerned, life is golden. Except for when it isn't. Their work is dangerous. While Sean's recovering from his most recent injury, he hears a little girl in his head, calling for help. And his wolf side is acting up: too sensitive, too vulnerable. He needs Tom more than ever, especially when it means facing his family and old wounds. Even if things are never truly right for his wolf side, at least he has a mate who will never leave him…right? 

Takes place after "My Partner the Wolf"

89,000 words. Some angst. Some wolf stuff. Lots of love. Happy ending. (I promise!) 

Sexiness level: Medium-ish

• Language: English
• Publisher: Spare Words Press
• Release date: May 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524210212

Book preview

My Partner and Me

by Hollis Shiloh

I ran panting through the undergrowth, burrs catching on my fur.

Weeds whipped, catching against my face and sides.  I panted hard.  The day was hot and I'd been working hard for hours in the heat.

Behind me, Tom stumbled in the undergrowth.  I looked back, hesitating, pausing to check on my partner.

Tom waved me on, no words necessary between us.  I surged ahead, confident that he was still following and uninjured. 

We were partners, a human and a wolf shifter who worked for an experimental government agency, assisting various police precincts and government agencies when regular policemen just wouldn't do.

Me, with a wolf shifter's power and sense of smell, and the intelligence of a human—I could find and capture people.  Backed up by my trustworthy partner, Tom—who was also my mate—I got the job done.

When people needed help, they could call on me and Tom—although they had to go through the proper channels, of course, as the whole organization was still a fledgling project, more secret than not.  It was never really in the news yet, but was getting a good name where it counted.  Ralstead and Singh, our bosses (also a wolf shifter and a human), were increasing their teams all the time, carefully, pickily recruiting the best wolves and police officers and ex-special forces people they could find.

There were nearly twenty teams now, but  Tom and I still had plenty to keep us busy.

Such as tracking down a killer, like we were doing now.

The man, for some reason, had thought it was a good idea to send a bomb to his local police station, along with an incomprehensible manifesto, and then take to the woods in full camo and survivalist gear.

He'd left bombs and booby traps around to impede his capture.

It was hunting season in a highly wooded area.  His traps had already injured one hunter and two police officers.

And now Tom and I were tracking him.  We'd been on it for two days with barely a break.  I was thoroughly worn out and wanted a break from my wolf form. 

It was generally a relaxing way to live, being able to switch between human dexterity and cleverness and wolf instincts and strong senses.  But there were always issues: issues like having too-strong senses that made daily life sometimes nearly unbearable as a man.  And then there was the emotional vulnerability of my wolf form.  I needed to be reassured, needed Tom to protect me from strangers.  I didn't like it, but I'd accepted it, and Tom knew I needed a little extra protection and affection sometimes. 

I also really felt the pressure of our cases.

For instance, right now, tracking a killer, I could feel the full force of the importance of this resting firmly on my shoulders.  Tom was here, backing me up, but it all relied on my nose.  There was nothing else right now; and if I couldn't outsmart and out-smell this guy, track him down and help capture him, then he would kill people.  And those deaths would be on my shoulders, because I hadn't been clever enough and fast enough.

I stopped, hesitating, as winds tore the smell away, and I hesitated, nose quivering, whole body beginning to tremble as I tried to tell which way the scent led now.

It was an old trail, nearly cold, with a stale odor to it.  If they'd called us earlier, I'd have been able to go farther and faster.  But they'd waited so long, and there had been wind and fog and other passing creatures, and all the things that could destroy delicate scents.

I smelled deeply, deep as I could, and was almost overpowered by all the things I sensed: the birds in the trees, the hint of exhaust from the highway that had drifted here, even half a mile away, the sweaty scent of humans who had passed nearby or were following at a distance; the voles and mice living in the undergrowth, and larger creatures like a stinky little fox who hid not far away, close enough he could be watching us right now. 

There were groundhogs in abundance, and the profusion of wild green growing things that ranged from the strong, overpowering smell of pine needles to the gentler odors of thistles and sassafras trees.  Animal odors—ripe urine and decaying poop—blended with the clean smells of soil and fresh growth and the rain that was coming soon, and the air from the east where there was an industrial coffee-roasting plant (so far away the smell was weak, but still there, underneath, with Sumatra coffee beans that had been roasted a little too hard for my liking, in my human form). 

I smelled an old tire that someone had dumped in the nearby stream, and cicadas and their dry husks, and the sharp smell of crickets.  An old rotting shoe had been dumped not far away, with its oddly pleasant smell of decomposing rubber, cloth, and human sweat.  In my wolf form, and even though I knew better, I wanted to chew on it.  I also wanted to eat the voles and chase the woodchucks and fox, and wanted very much to forget the responsibility on my shoulders.

Hey, bud, said my partner gently, reaching me.  He dug fingers gently into my ruff, his scrubbing deep and reassuring.

I made a sound in my throat and closed my eyes, leaning against Tom.  Tom.  Sturdy in blue jeans and confidence and smelling of his sweat, anxiety, and a special sameness that never went away: Tom-smell.  It was particularly pleasant, always comforting, because Tom was my mate.  The man made for me.  Though Tom was fully human, and could never experience the world as a wolf, he was also the man I loved with my whole heart.

When we were both humans, we made love—a lot.

It had been months now that we were together, not just sexually and as work partners, but romantically, as lovers: not a thing of convenience on either side, but a committed, growing relationship.

It had taken so long.  Sometimes it felt like a miracle. 

I let myself sink into the comfort of Tom's sturdy gentleness and his quiet, reassuring voice.  I could even tremble a little and know Tom didn't look down on me.  We were partners, and everything would be okay.  Tom would look after me and back me up.  Tommy would never leave me again.

I opened my eyes, took a deep, searching breath, and found again that stale, faint thread I had to follow.  Bypassing voles and old tires and roasting coffee, I moved forward, sniffing carefully at the weeds and grasses and other things my prey had rubbed against.

The scent was barely there, like a thing you could only see from the corner of your eyes.  If you looked at it directly, it was gone.  Yet I could follow the pattern if I sniffed carefully and let my brain fit all the pieces of it together. 

And the pattern led on.  I moved forward, careful and precise, trying to keep the big picture in my head, to follow the smells in the right direction, even though they were weak.  Concentrating on filtering out all the other smells took my full brain.  I was vaguely aware of Tom's tread following; he was no longer close enough to touch, but still reassuringly nearby.

I moved onwards.  Onwards.

My legs trembled a little from tension and exhaustion, and my mouth hung open, both panting and scenting the landscape as hard as I could.

Sean, Sean.  Tom's voice penetrated the fog of searching, and I looked back.  He'd knelt, backpack on the ground, a bottle of water in his hands.

It was glass, with a metal top.  I hate the taste of plastic.  I moved back, obediently joined Tom, and lapped the water he poured me.  Tom's hands ghosted over my ears, my ruff, intimate touches I would have allowed no other man when I was this stressed.

You're all right, hon, said Tom softly, too softly for anybody else to hear.  You're doing great.

I understood the words, but it took longer than it would've in human form.  I understood the intent more than anything: that Tom wanted to reassure me. 

I gave him a quick, wet lick and he smiled down at me, the lines around his eyes crinkling.

At that moment, I felt nothing but pure love welling up to bursting fullness in me, all for my partner.  I let the tip of my tail wag, and then moved back, bounding away, to catch the scent again.

Inside, I kept close the taste and touch and smell of my partner.  It was the only thing that would get me through this ordeal.

Maybe, if we could finish soon, we would get to go home.  And maybe Tom would spoil me rotten and let me pick what to binge-watch on Netflix.  And I would eat raw steak and we would have lots and lots of sex.

I pushed the distracting longings away and focused on the smell.

Pushing myself.  Physical endurance, tension endurance, and the very limits of my senses.

I pressed onwards.  We passed the rotting tire and headed into a dimmer, thickly wooded area, where the sun barely penetrated.  Pine needles made it hard to smell here and muffled the steps of the men behind me. 

It was just Tom, me, and four men with special training in the woods on this hunt.  We were all heavily armed—me with my teeth, the rest with long-range guns.  Some of the weapons had scopes on them, long-distance scopes for biting people from a long distance—shooting them, that is. 

I shook my head.  It was so hard to keep both worlds in my head sometimes.  The wolf side had trouble remembering and understanding how things worked.  For instance, sometimes in my wolf form, I dreamed about Tom.  Sex dreams, where Tom was also a wolf.  This made sense in my wolf form, although I'd always been too embarrassed to tell Tommy about it.  I was afraid my partner might laugh.

Tom was a great guy, but he could be a little bit ignorant about wolf culture. 

Part of that was my fault, of course.  I'd always tried to keep the two separate so I wouldn't have to admit to Tom that I thought we were mates, at least until Tom was ready to hear it.  I'd never expected that to happen, and when it came out, things had gone badly.

But, enough of those thoughts.  Everything was going well lately in our relationship.  Tom was coming with me to visit my family soon.  I didn't want to go, but he felt like he needed to meet them.  I tried to think about how soon that would be, how many days, but I couldn't hold the idea in my wolf brain. 

Focus...the smell, I told myself.  I wouldn't be thinking so hard about Tom if I weren't so extremely stressed and pushed to the point of exhaustion.  It took so much energy to focus this hard, to have the whole weight of the investigation on my shoulders—and a very old scent, too.

Please, stop thinking about Tom.  Do your job, nose!

Sean?  Tom reached my side again and spoke cautiously and quietly.  All right?

I hesitated, licking my muzzle.  I was trembling all through my body—again.  And the pine smell was strong and I very, very much needed to lie down and rest.  Just for a few minutes.  Just to close my eyes.  My tail hung low, and I tried to remember the signal.

It was right there.  It was in my head, I just couldn't reach it.  It was easy to find when I was human, a natural motion or sound or—

A little whimper escaped me, like I was a puppy again.  I closed my eyes, wincing.  It was awful to be that vulnerable, even with only Tommy to see.

Hey, Sean.  Tom sank to the forest floor, cross-legged, and wrapped his arms around my neck, pulling me halfway into his lap.  I'm a big guy and a big wolf; I wouldn't fit on Tom's lap, no sir.  But I half fit, and I pressed against my partner, trembling, leaning against his warmth and comfort.

Even though it was a warm day and I was a bit overheated, I leaned hard against my mate, soaking in his comfort, feeling safer and saner for it.  Tom kissed my muzzle gently and said soft, soothing words that no longer registered individually, only their intent to soothe.  I let Tom comfort me, clever, gentle human hands reassuring, soft words making no sense but meaning something nonetheless.

A shot rang out.

It pierced the quiet forest sounds, a shocking loudness that sent birds scattering and screaming.

Something sharp and burning bit into my shoulder—teeth from a distance.  My humans returned fire, and Tom—no, Tom!—flung himself over me, to guard me, rolling us both into cover.

The human must have doubled back, must've waited, hidden, to see if anybody had searched him out.  Then he'd pick us off, one by one...

The gunfire was louder than the birds, and I bled hard and hot from my shoulder.  I whimpered once, then threw Tom off and rolled to my feet. 

Crouching low, I sniffed the air, hard.  The burning smell, and Tom's stressed sweat, and my own blood, were overpowering.  But I was master of smells; I pushed them aside, and the pine, and ignored my own pain, and—there.  The man was in that direction.  I could hear him, even though I couldn't yet smell him.

I gave Tom a quick, rough lick and then moved.

The wound slowed me, and I would only get slower, but there was no time for that now.  I worked my way around, moving fast and low to the ground, with all the power and determination of a wolf, even if I was a wounded one.  Tom would back me up, and if I passed out, he wouldn't let me die here.  But in the meantime, before anything else, I had to take down that guy.

The man was trying to kill with his sharp, from-a-distance biting, his hard metal smells and his stale, bad-sweaty smell.  He crouched, in camouflage, blending in too well.  He had a gun slung over his shoulder, one more in his hands, and he was firing.

I snuck up from behind him, and lunged.

It was all over in a minute.  The man screamed as my teeth bit him, as my weight knocked him down and held him there, struggling but helpless against my superior strength.

He'd probably expected a dog, and an injured dog most likely wouldn't be able to catch him like this.  The handler would've stopped it, for one.  But nobody stopped me.

I licked blood off my muzzle and finally stepped back as Tom threw cuffs on the man, swearing at him viciously.

The man's arms bled from where I'd bit him.  His blood tasted nasty, but instinct said I had to lick it off.

I didn't want to taste like the man.  I didn't want to taste anything but Tom.  I wanted Tom.  My head hurt, and my shoulder was on fire and going numb somehow at the same time, and suddenly it seemed like a good idea to lie down and fall onto my side, because everything hurt and the world was going gray.

Tom was swearing at me now, angry, frightened words, his eyes huge and dark with fear as he pressed against the wound, tried to stop the welling blood.  It hurt—everything hurt—but I just wagged my tail gently and looked up at my partner, before my eyes closed slowly.

#

I dreamed.

It was a long dream, walking through mist, in the half darkness, not going anywhere in particular.  I was looking for something, but it didn't matter, there was no hurry.  It was a boring dream but a peaceful one, and somehow I didn't feel tired of it.  I rested in the dream, and walked. 

After while, another wolf joined me.  The wolf had dark fur and bright, warm blue eyes.  It was my mate; I knew this wolf well.  My mate smiled at me, and we fell into step together.  Tails wagged gently, and we licked each other's muzzles in greeting.  After while, we lay down together and slept.  We woke up, had sex, slept some more. 

I was content.  But there was still mist, and somehow we needed to keep walking.  I felt my mate pressed against my side, keeping me safe. 

I wasn't lonely.  I didn't need words.  I felt okay, warm, quiet, but still there was mist...and I needed to go forward.  There was something ahead, something I needed to see.  My mate was with me, and it was all right, but we were on a trip together, and it had become important.

I didn't know where we were going, just that we had to go there.

After a while, a very long time, it seemed to become lighter.  I could see better, though there was still nothing to see.  The ground was like the ground between winter and spring, barren, empty of green things.  The air was cool and dry, and tasted of antiseptic, somehow.

Sometimes I heard the gentle puff-thump of machinery, like air and beeping.  We walked on.  My mate stopped and licked his muzzle, his eyes big and sad, asking a question.

The question was almost a plea.  A why, and a please, and something else, almost agony.  I blinked, shocked.

And then my mate disappeared.

I stared around, frightened for the first time, not wanting to be alone.

Still the mist called me towards the brightness.  There was something ahead, something important I needed to see.

I moved towards it, trembling a little now, paws hesitant, licking my muzzle in fear.  My shoulder hurt.  There had been no pain before, but now there was pain.  This world felt less substantial, less safe.

A small child was ahead.  A little girl.  She sat on a lump of dirt—no, a large gray rock.  She wore a clean white dress, and she was waiting for me.

I looked up into her gray eyes.  She was young and round-cheeked, still a young human pup.  She reached forward, dug her fingers into my fur.

Come and find me, she said, each word clear and distinct even in my wolf form.  Please find me.

#

I woke up.

Machinery beeped and pulsed around me, and the room smelled strongly of hospital.  Everything was too bright, too white, not a natural thing in sight, except—Tom.

Tommy? I asked, my voice a weak croak, my throat dry.

I tried to reach for him, was surprised by how little my arm moved.  Pain shot through me, emanating from my shoulder.

The dream was still vivid in my mind, and before that—before that, there was the forest, and my wolf form, and being shot.

Tom, I croaked again, and he jerked bolt upright, blinking hard.

His eyes were red-rimmed.  He looked vulnerable and scared and a little desperate.  When he saw me looking at him, a big smile spread on his face.

Sean, he said, and the way he said my name, it suffused me with warmth, as though I was the most important person in his world.

His saying my name that way—it had confused me for a long time.  I'd thought he loved me long before he did—or at least before he could acknowledge it.  Now it was mutual, or at least closer to being mutual, and I could revel in it all the fucking day long.

I reached out, and he caught my hand, squeezing, his eyes wet.  He bit his lip.  You...thirsty, bud?

I nodded.

He got me water, didn't take his eyes off me.

Close one, huh?  He had to clear his throat—then blow his nose.  His eyes still shone with tears. 

I could smell, past the annoying hospital odors, that he hadn't bathed recently, that his sweat was stressed and he hadn't eaten in a while.  He'd had some coffee recently, and spilled some on himself, but it was bad coffee.  His eyes held misery behind the relief and happiness to see me. 

He'd suffered.

How long? I asked.  I had to clear my throat and say it again, it came out so weak.

Three days.  You scared me, bud.

Sorry, Tommy.

I squeezed his hand.  He squeezed back, hard.

I had to sleep some more, then.

#

I was stuck in the hospital for another couple of days recovering.

Tom was gentle and careful of me, almost too careful. 

The bullet had nicked an artery and I'd nearly bled out.  Ralstead and Singh had some words to say to me about that—about thinking I was invincible in my wolf form.  About how I should've stayed with Tom and let him take care of me, give me first aid and everything, instead of trying to tackle the guy.

I knew they were right.  I also knew I'd probably do it again.  Following instinct isn't always the right path, but it's what I do in wolf form.  I think they understood that, too, so they didn't scold me too hard.

Tom acted broken, though.  Completely broken by this, by me.  He was so cherishing and frightened.

He'd spent days thinking he would lose me, while I wandered in mist.

I wanted to say sorry, to apologize for putting him through that, but somehow I didn't have the words.  So I held him.  When the nurses weren't around, I made room carefully on the bed, and he crawled up beside me, and I held him gently, stroking his hair.

He cried.  Not so you could've heard it, but enough that I could feel his shoulders shaking and smell the salty stuff on his face.  He was so scared of losing me, and I didn't know how to fix it.

He was so concerned about my recovery he wouldn't even give me a quick hand job in the hospital, because it might sap my strength or rip my stitches.

I think I can control myself better than that, babe, I replied, but he just shook his head, blushing a little.

I'll take care of myself and make you watch, I warned him.

Oh god.  He covered his face in his hands, looking down.

You are so hot when you blush, I teased.  My voice still sounded weak, but I already felt more like myself.

I pushed aside my covers, reached up under my hospital gown, and carefully pushed it aside.  I took hold of myself.

He was totally peeking. 

I grinned.

Stop, they'll see, he said, sounding a bit short of breath, kind of desperate.  I could smell he was turned on, so I just laughed and kept going.

Oh yeah, baby, I said in a campy porn voice, all deep and hot. 

He laughed, helpless and embarrassed and turned on. 

You know you want some of this.  I was still weak, but it made me hot and bothered, seeing him react to me. 

All at once he scrambled forward, face flaming, eyes desperate and a little scared.  He made a sound in his throat and took me into his mouth.

I'm a big guy, and Tom's never been the greatest with blow jobs.  It's just not his thing; I think it has to do with gag reflexes.  Me, I can take his cock down my throat any day and love it, the more often the better.  I just love the taste of my mate.  But Tommy, it chokes him; he's not a big fan.  He likes to do plenty of other things with my dick, though; don't think I'm complaining.

But just now, he took me in, and surprisingly deep.  My eyes opened wide.  Shit, this was—

His mouth was velvet and warm, and so loving.  I gasped a little, my hips bucking.  I put a trembling hand on the back of his head, resting it there gently.  His hair felt nice beneath my hand, like soft silky fur.  I stroked gently, as he did things with his tongue—

Tom, I said in a breathless little gasp.

He did some more things. 

He even fucking swallowed.

#

I don't think I'm well yet.

Tom gave me a look.

It had been weeks since the shooting.  I was totally well.

No, seriously, there's like, pain.  I grabbed my shoulder and winced with exaggerated agony. 

He rolled his eyes.  His brows were beginning to squint up and furrow with anxiety, though.  He was as nervous about meeting my family as I was about him meeting my old pack.

So, it's a long story.  Basically: I turned out to be gay, I wasn't welcome and got kicked out, I struck out on my own, I was miserable for a long time, and then I started working for Ralstead and Singh—and got partnered with Tom, my mate.

It took a while before he was willing to accept that, but whatever, we were good now.  Except apparently he was terrified about meeting my folks.  Even though he was the one who wanted to go see them.

He'd already met my cousin, Tony.  But he certainly hadn't had to worry about all of them at once—including the less accepting relatives, who didn't totally like gay mates, much less human ones.  That was two strikes against him right there, which was unfair. 

I had severe doubts about seeing the folks at all, but apparently things had changed enough back home that people wanted to repair old wounds, rebuild old bridges, all those fucking things.  And Tom really, really wanted to meet my family, enough that he was quietly hurt and withdrawn when I told him no.

Tom's not usually like that.  He'll tell me exactly how he feels.  He only ever clams up and keeps it in if it's pretty damned serious.  Well, that's how he got when I told him in no uncertain terms I didn't want him meeting my family. I didn't want to deal with it.  He didn't say anything else on the topic, but he was hurt.  I could feel it, all the time, like he thought I didn't trust him.

And knowing Tom, he'd start to think about the past and get depressed and feel like he'd let me down so many times that of course I didn't trust him—and all that self-defeating bullshit he does where he blames himself for every fucking thing in the world.

It wasn't that I didn't want him