Touched

02.

The Truth

They both looked at each other, stared at each other, frozen in place. Sam expected him to be embarrassed, to turn his head away or make some funny comment—weren't Southerners supposed to be super-polite? It wasn't the first time she'd accidentally run into someone after sliding back into her human skin, and without exception, everyone laughed it off as an embarrassing distraction.

Philip didn't look away. Keeping his eyes on her, he stepped all the way into the living room, shut the door without turning around, then stepped around to the couch and sat down. "Gotta say, Samantha,

this

I did not expect." From across the room she could see his eyes moving, twitching, like he was looking her all over in the few seconds that he had the chance.

Sam swallowed, stepped inside and shut the door and locked it as well. She was supposed to act embarrassed, to run for a bedroom or somewhere with a locked door.

So why didn't she?

"I was out," she said.

He nodded, still not looking away. "Clearly."

"Running. In the woods." She reached behind her back with one arm, curling her hand around her other elbow. Her skin felt extraordinarily tight over her body, like moving too fast might make her split a seam. Her breasts ached, pierced nipples burning as she pressed her thighs tight together. Sam was cold and hot all over, like she wanted to start shivering, but if she did that she'd never stop. The lingering heat of her orgasm hadn't fully faded, and now it came roaring back—she could smell her renewed arousal.

"Well, I'd heard they did things different out in California, but I didn't realize it was

that—

"

"As a wolf." She hurried over those words, almost tripping over them, they came out so fast. The male wolf smells she'd come across in the woods were strongest near and inside the house, and there was only one explanation for that. "You know something about what that's like, don't you, Dad?"

Philip sat very still for a long moment, like he'd stopped breathing, stopped moving, even stopped blinking. When he moved again, he leaned forward with a heavy sigh, elbows on his knees. His head fell forward as he closed his eyes. "So

that's

the explanation."

Sam didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything. She did step further inside, past the dining room table. It was only several quick steps to her room, but she still stayed. "What explanation?"

"Why your mother never contacted me." He rubbed at his eyes for a moment before looking at her again. "I knew she was afraid of me when she left, but I never thought she'd go to the lengths of hiding—"

"Mom didn't know."

Now he looked confused. "Didn't know about...about you? About..." He gestured up and down her bare body. "I want to see you change. Show me," he said, sitting up straighter.

"What—right now?"

"No, hold on, let me spread out some newspaper first, and—of course, right now."

"I've never done it in the house before!" As soon as she said it, Sam felt ridiculous.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you not housebroken or something?"

Sam flipped him off, then went down to all fours again. The carpet felt even softer under her palms and the scuffed surface of her knees, and when she bent down to sniff it, she smelled cleaning chemicals, more of the tangy dirt from outside, and dust.

"What are you doing?"

Now some of the embarrassment she hadn't felt earlier started coming back. "F-fuck you! This is how I do it, okay?" She glared at him from under her eyebrows, thinking about what she must look like—ass in the air, nose to the ground.

Concentrating, she slid out of one skin and into another again, calling up her wolf instincts and the sensations she remembered from just a few minutes ago. It felt different to change in front of someone, in front of him—it felt

intimate

, the same sort of intimacy of standing in front of him in nothing but her skin from moments ago, but she didn't mind that. After her interlude in the woods, standing in front of him naked barely registered.

Moments later, she walked over to him and sat on her haunches, tail curled about her legs. She stared at him, waiting to see how he'd react.

Philip pursed his lips. "Okay, Samantha. I believe you."

Sliding back from four legs to two again, Sam gave herself another hard shake and tucked her legs to one side while looking up at her. "You're one of them too, aren't you?"

"I might be."

"No." She shook her head. "You

are.

I did my research, and it was goddamn hard to separate what's real from what isn't. I wouldn't be like this if not for you; my mother wasn't like me, I'm sure of that. It's an inherited trait, like colored eyes or baldness—no biting, no infections, just good old fashioned fucking." She wiggled her eyebrows at him.

He didn't flinch or react to her profanity. That was a point for him. "You didn't

have

to point out the bald thing," he said, running a hand over his head.

Sam smiled. "Sorry—was just the first thing that came to mind."

"And you said Esther...your mother, she never found out?"

"Are you kidding?" Sam stood up, walking over to the other seat she'd used earlier and sat down; the cushions felt even softer under her bare bottom that time. She didn't feel the slightest bit embarrassed at him seeing her completely naked, and she had no idea why—it just felt right. "Mom would've flipped her shit if I'd told her about it. She was... Well, I told you what life with her was like. Anyway, it's why I looked for you so hard, why I had to come meet you." When he didn't react, she added: "I needed to know the truth!"

"About me? Or about yourself?"

"Yes—both. So now, your turn: show me."

He raised that eyebrow again.

Sam grinned. "I showed you mine. Now you show me yours. Fair is fair."

Her dad seemed to consider that, then he slowly nodded, looking reluctant but otherwise in agreement. After a moment, he reached down and began unfastening his shoes, setting them and socks aside. He then stood upright, pulling off his shirt—she got to see his bare chest again, which was nice.

When he unfastened his belt and hooked his thumbs into the waistline of his jeans, he paused, looking her in the eye again. "You're

sure

you want me to do this?"

"What? You got to see

all

of me.

Show me

."

He shrugged and pushed his jeans down, stepping out and kicking them aside. He was an impressive specimen below the belt, she had to admit, and it looked like—

"Are you...aroused?" she said, eyes widening a little bit.

When their eyes met, he raised his shoulders in a helpless motion. "This is a bad idea," he said as he bent to reach for his jeans.

"No, no!" she said to stop him. When he paused and looked over at her, she stood up, clearing her throat. "It's okay. I don't mind. It's a little flattering, even." She was looking at him when she said it: he was uncircumcised, not too large, but still well-endowed. Sam considered herself as more "open-minded" than most, moon or no moon. She'd dated and slept with older men; there was nothing wrong with her dad being eye candy.

"It's been a long time since I had any real relationship, Samantha."

Something in his voice, some catch or verbal tic she hadn't noticed before caught her attention that time. Her voice softened. "How long, Dad? How long has it been?"

He looked embarrassed, and then angry at his embarrassment. "This isn't the sort of thing I wanted to talk about—"

"Wait." She stepped across the room. Knowing it was perhaps too much too soon, she touched his arm, looking up at him. He was a tall man, and felt as tense as a sprinter ready to spring at a starting line. "I know I'm that I'm a stranger—a month ago, you didn't know I existed. I don't have any right to ask, but I want to know. I

need

to know everything—about you, about Mom, about

what we are

. Maybe it's too soon, but if we can't trust each other to be honest, how can we trust each other at all?" His face didn't change, but the angry set to his shoulders seemed to deflate. "You can tell me. I won't laugh, won't make fun at all—promise."

He searched her face for another moment, then tossed his jeans back onto the floor. "I haven't slept with a woman since your mother left." Philip took a deep breath, then let it out. "That's the truth."

"Oh." When he opened his mouth, she waved her hands to stop him. "Not a criticism, just surprised." She didn't ask him why—it was too soon for that.

But he surprised her: "Wolves mate for life, Samantha.

I

wanted that; your mother didn't. It was her choice." He shrugged, but it was obvious that the years had left him pained, even a little angry. "I didn't think I'd have to defend that decision."

"You can if you want to," she said. "I think you dodged a bullet, to be honest."

"Why?"

"Because growing up with my mother was the worst thing that ever happened to me. She was manipulative, controlling, argued about everything and made me doubt everything about myself. For years she had me convinced that if I ever tried to find you, she'd kill herself and no one would love me ever again." Sam pressed a hand to her chest. "I

believed

she was the only person that could ever love me, and when she died, I..." She took a shivering breath. "I did some things I'm not very proud of," she added in a lower, softer tone. "And I've done some

shit,

believe me."

Philip looked down at her chest. "Yes, I think I can see a little of that already."

Sam blew out a breath and scowled at him. "

Not

what I meant."

"Right. Sorry." He sounded contrite, at least.

"I...I almost killed myself: fucked anything that moved, drank like a motherfucker, went on a rage bender. I almost drove my car off a cliff. I'm lucky I didn't do something even worse that I can remember." Sam compressed her lips tight, took a long breath. "But I still had myself—the wolf in me—and she couldn't control that. And I

knew

you were out there somewhere. I

had

to find you."

His smile was softer, more genuine somehow. "Looks like you found me."

"Yes. Now I want it to be worth something."

"But why? Why did you do all of that, all over somebody who hurt you that way?" His brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Because I had to. That's how

I

had to grieve. She was a bitch, and impossible to live with, but she raised me. She got me this far. Now I'm done grieving. I came here to meet you, to get on with my life." Sam took a deep, cleansing breath. "Now...Philip? Should I call you that?"

"Dad is okay," he said, his voice a little softer, as if she'd surprised him.

Sam smiled. "Dad, then." she said. She thought it best to keep her earlier, private fantasy to herself. "Now you need to do something because you being naked is

all

kinds of distracting."

"It's the full moon that's coming—your inhibitions get screwed up one way and down the other." He folded his pants and tossed them aside, for the moment. "You learn quickly how to repress the temptations if you know what's good for you."

Well,

that

explained her brain going all sex-crazed out in the woods; Sam kept those observations to herself, too. She touched his arm again—he was still tense, even more than before, but it was obvious he liked it. Living alone for so long with no one to touch, or feel, or even a voice to listen to: he was eating up the attention she was giving."Now...show me, Dad? Please?"

Philip leaned in closer. "You'd best be careful how you phrase that, Samantha." His voice was soft with a hint of a growl, but his smirk reached all the way up into his eyes.

Sam laughed again. "Stop stalling." She then stepped back to give him room.

His features tightened, like he was concentrating. A moment later she saw him slide too, just like she'd always imagined how it might look: his body seemed to melt, colors swirling and shifting, as he grew both shorter in size, then longer in shape. Soon he stood on four legs, taller at the shoulder then she had been, very nearly to her thighs and waist; his fur was pale, almost white, with a black streak across one eye and over one pointed ear.

"Wow," she said, her breath a choked whisper. She went down to her knees in front of him, reaching out with trembling hands, and slid spread fingers into his fur. "That's

really

you, isn't it, Dad?"

The large wolf panted at her, blinking his eyes slowly. They were blue, a deep and beautiful shade.

"This is amazing!" she said. "I can't believe—well, I

can,

but seeing it happen right in front of me is—!" Sam tried and failed to find the proper words. "Well, it's still fucking amazing." She wanted to laugh and wanted to cry at the same time. When his body began to blur and melt together she stood up and stepped back again, waiting for him to stand. Philip even gave his head and neck a hard shake, just like she did.

"You alright?" he said.

"I still can barely believe this is happening." When he reached out for her hand, she gave it to him, following him to the couch where they both sat. His hard-on had faded somewhat, which was a good thing—at least it wasn't a distraction that way. "It's been two years—

two-fucking-years—

since the first time I changed. I haven't been able to find anyone else who I could meet and talk to about it. And now!" She threw up her hands, falling back against the couch cushions with a sigh of relief. "Here we are."

"I hope this means you'll still stay," he said.

It was so unexpected that she laughed. "'Stay?' Of

course

I want to stay!" She grabbed his hands in hers and squeezed them tight. "I want you to show me everything. Teach me everything. I've got so many questions!" She jumped up. "Can we go out again? Can we go now? Can we?"

"Easy! Eeeeeeasy!" Philip didn't laugh as much as she did, but he smiled, at least. "We can go out again, sure. Ain't much out there but bugs 'n' shrubs for miles, but I don't see why we can't go take a look anyhow."

"This trip was

totally

worth it."

"Well, I'm mighty glad you think so."

After he put his discarded clothes back in his bedroom, Sam followed him outside into the back yard.

"Shouldn't you lock the door?"

"Why?" He made an exaggerated effort of looking around. "My closest neighbor is miles away. I live this far out in the country for a

reason

. Ain't nobody gonna mess with this place while we're gone, trust me."

The sun was still high overhead and there were thick clouds on the horizon, but she had all eyes for him. It felt strange to be so comfortable, but Sam felt safe with him. It was a nice feeling, one she hoped would last.

"Now, show me how you change again," he said.

Sam turned around, grinning at him from over one shoulder. "You just want to see me with my ass up again."

"No, dear, although I'm sure plenty of boys have commented on how nice an ass you have." He gave her a dark look, but there was a quirk at the corner of his mouth. "Now: s

how me

," he repeated, his voice a little bit deeper and dominant.

Sam did as she was told. Taking her time, she bent down to the ground, got into all fours, then lowered her face and nose down to the ground. "Your dirt smells

wrong

," Sam said, taking in a deep breath. The grass was dark and stiff, and it prickled against her breasts and tingling nipples. "Like it's sour, or something."

"It's the clay," he said, clearing his throat. "There's a lot of iron oxide in it—you'll have to get used to it. They probably don't have that out West where you grew up."

"Interesting." Sam slid out of her bare skin and into her fur again; so much sliding was going to make her tired, but she was too excited at having a real "expert" with her to care about that. When she stood up, she turned around and found him already changed, seated and waiting for her.

It struck Sam just how much she could understand by the pose he took: since he was taller, he leaned over her in an assertive manner, his eyes focused on her, head pointed downwards, rising up onto all fours. She knew—without knowing

how

she knew—that he was now in charge of her as the dominant member of the pair; she was expected to show subservience, and recognize his authority.

Sam didn't really think about these things, she just

knew

them, in the same way that she knew to move onto her all fours and then roll onto her back, showing off her dark neck and underbelly—she did what he expected of her. Sam also reached up and nudged her paws under his chin, because even though she was smaller, she wasn't going to be a

total

pushover.

Philip led the way, heading off in a different direction of her earlier run, and she followed him. He had longer legs, but she kept up with eager speed and excitement, wondering just where he was taking her. Before long the house and the road were out of sight and they were up into the hills, far from any signs of civilization. It was impossible to get away from people where she'd lived with her mother, but in minutes the two wolves were so remote that the forest might as well have been growing another world.

The large white wolf stopped, bounding up with spry steps onto a thick slab of shining white stone. He melted and in moments he was sitting on its edge, his bare legs dangling down. "You're quick for being so small," he told her, looking down at her. "You've had some practice."

Sam took a moment to slide back into her skin again. It was enough of an effort now that she was panting when she sat on a thick bed of brown and green pine needles at his feet. "It took me almost a year to learn how to change on my own," she said, looking up at him. "I still can't control it when the full moon comes."

"That's how it works: you're stronger when the moon is full, but you can't control the change as easily." He made a flipping motion with both hands. "Reverse is true at the new moon, too. Our entire lives are controlled by it—nothing we can do but grit our teeth and deal with it."

By that time Sam caught her breath, and carefully moved up to the rock he sat on. Setting her hands on the lip of it between his legs, she looked at him, and deliberately kept her eyes off of the flesh and black curls between his legs. "What else does it control?"

"Well..." He had a thoughtful look on his face.

"Hunger?" She let him ponder that for a second. "Desire, maybe?" Pushing up with both hands, Sam lifted herself up to his level, face to face, brown eyes to blue. "That's what the moon does to

me

—and it's a full moon soon."

"Samantha—"

"

That's

why you were still in bed this morning, wasn't it? You had to change last night, too—like me."

He nodded.

"At first, I used to run myself to exhaustion to burn off the urges—the

need

." She crawled up onto the stone's edge, enough that she had to slide back to give her room. "It's how you stay fit, how you keep the desires away. I'm right, aren't I?"

He was leaning back on his hands—vulnerable, exposed. Sam was so close to him now that she wanted to reach out and touch him, run her hands all over his body. He just looked so

good

.

"But what if...what if you had

another

outlet?" Sam lowered her eyelashes, leaning in closer, letting him feel her warm breath across his lap. "Another way to handle things? Or...another

o—

"

"Samantha." Philip licked his lips and took a heavy breath. "I know what you're doing. Don't."

His hesitation stopped her immediately. Sam took a breath, closed her eyes and gave a full-body shudder. She looked up into his eyes again. "

Fuck

. I'm sorry, Dad," she said. The humming in her veins, the moon-lust she'd been savoring—it lessened by a whisker, just enough to clear her head. "I didn't mean to—"