Touched

06.

The Confrontation

Sam learned two things that evening: sex with another shapeshifter was better than she could've guessed, and its aftermath was

rather

messy. It wasn't the sort of discovery she wanted, but some lessons have a way of showing up without advance warning.

As soon as Wren's knot shrank enough to slide free, Sam had to

go

. "Up, up, up!" she said, shoving both lover and blanket to one side as she rolled off the bed and bolted for the door with all of the grace and exuberance of a bloated penguin.

Wren sat up to watch her go. "What are you doing?"

"Trying not to make a

mess

!" she called back, waddling out as quick as she could, not even bothering to shut the door behind her.

Somehow

Sam got to restroom without leaving an excessive mess all over her bed or the carpet; Phil could've been standing outside her bedroom door with a camera in his hand and she wouldn't have cared.

Not even bothering to think about other options, Sam hopped into the shower and gave herself a thorough rinsing. "Shit—good sex is supposed to be messy, but

damn

." It made her self-conscious, and a touch annoyed at him for causing the mess in the first place...but then, she'd come onto

him,

after all. How was she supposed to realize he was going to cum that much? And would it be that way

every

time?

As she finished, Sam looked up and saw him standing in the bathroom doorway, having retrieved his boxers but otherwise looking relaxed and in no hurry to dress any further. "Enjoying the show?" she asked, not bothering to cover up or shut the shower door—he'd already seen everything, ao what good was hiding now?

Wren gave a little smile. "Yes ma'am."

"You're older than me, Cowboy—I don't think I deserve all those 'ma'am's' yet."

"

Every

woman deserves a ma'am," he said, almost sounding offended. "My Grandma'd skin me alive if I didn't say it."

"Uh-huh." Cutting off the water, Sam grabbed a towel and tucked it around herself. "You'd better get dressed and go—my Dad could be back any minute."

"You think so?" She could tell he was disappointed, but he didn't argue, either.

"You want to risk it?" Sam gave him a long look, eyebrow up. "

I

wouldn't, not after that lecture he gave everybody at the Meet tonight."

"You're pro'lly right." He hurried back to the bedroom and began to dress. Now it was Sam's turn to stand in the doorway and watch him, and she could admit to a pang of disappointment herself—the sex

had

been good, after all. It was way too early to think about asking him to stay, even if Phil hadn't been an issue, which he most

definitely

was. Still, Sam could even admit she wanted Wren to stay, at least a little bit.

Once he dressed, Sam did the same, pulling on a pair of old sweats and a T-shirt she'd inherited from one of her Mom's old boyfriends, a red soccer jersey with white stripes across the shoulders. "You ready to go?"

"B-but—will I see you again?" he asked as she herded him to the door.

"You know how to get here?" Sam gave him another long look, since they both knew what the answer was.

"Yes ma'am, obviously."

"Well, you'd just better come back and see me again, hadn't you?"

He grinned. "Reckon I will, then."

"Good." It wasn't like Sam to start making plans this early in, but hey, he was cute.

And

the sex was good, something she kept going back to.

Sam pulled open the door, and found her Dad standing on the other side.

For a moment, nobody moved, or spoke, or hardly seemed to breathe. Sam could tell by Phil's face that he

knew

, even if he didn't say a thing. Hell, she'd only known her father for a little while, but of all the things he'd struck her as,

idiot

wasn't one of them,

"Wren." Phil gave the other man a small nod. "Ya'll heading home now?"

"Ah... yes sir. Was

just

leaving." Wren was fighting every instinct in him to not blush, it seemed; Sam could see his jaw muscles tightening, grinding his teeth together. The blond man looked at Sam and straightened. "Appreciate you letting me take you home, Sam." He even smiled.

Sam fought to not melt a little bit, but it was harder than she thought; Wren likely wouldn't have appreciated her calling him adorable, but that word

did

cross her mind. "Have a good night, Wren," she said, smiling back.

"I will. G'night Sam. Phil, sir." Wren managed not to break out into a run to his truck, and a few moments later, it billowed black fumes again as he made the turnaround before rolling down to the street and puttering away.

Father and daughter looked at one another for a long moment. At first it seemed that neither of them wanted to say anything: she turned and walked back into the living room, tying her hair up with a cheap hair scrunchie she kept for lounging around before bed; he stepped inside and shut the door, locking it, putting his helmet and other riding gear away. "He have any trouble getting you home?"

"No. It was fine."

"Good."

"Where did you go?

"Just meeting an old friend, someone to talk to about this whole Tennessee clusterfuck."

Oh. She's forgotten about that. "Think they'll help?"

"I reckon so."

"Good. That's...that's good."

Near-tangible awkwardness filled up the room like a miasma.

"You locked up when you got home?" he asked.

"Yep." She nodded. "Just like you said." For lack of anything else to do, she went to the back door and checked it again. "See?"

"Mm-hm." Phil stepped over to the couch and took a seat. "Sam."

"Mm?"

It seemed as if he opened his mouth two or three times, always closing it again, and taking a long breath before trying again. Finally, he sat back with a sigh. "We can talk about what just happened without us pretending you're still a child or that I'm some kind of idiot, right?"

Sam thought his tone to be very,

very

cautious, but she could respect that, considering she was tempted to do the same thing. "Yes, we can." Taking a seat in her usual place, Sam folded her hands in her lap. "What do you want to talk about?"

"That I want you to be careful."

"With having sex?"

"

No

—that's why I said you aren't a child." Philip rubbed the back of his neck. "I meant with Wren. And with yourself—you're a goddamn bull in a China shop and you've ain't barely even learned how to

walk

yet."

Sam drew a leg up and set her chin on it. "What do you mean?" She watched him lean forward, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled in front of him. Sam could tell he was trying to sort his thoughts, so much so that another awkward silence began to fill the air. "Just

say

it, Dad, it's fine."

"I mean that if you're not careful, you could talk that boy into doing almost

anything

, and not only will he do it, Wren'll be swallowing a whole second helping without bothering to ask

if

he wants it, or

if

he was ever hungry to begin with." Faced with Sam's puzzled look, Phil scrubbed his face with both hands. "There's a full moon coming. I

warned

you about the pack,

told

you that most of them were submissive-types—did you think Wren was just magically immune from all that?"

"But..." Sam sat up straight in her seat, feeling a sudden flutter in her chest and a sinking feeling in her stomach. "But I-I thought, when I saw him stand up to you, and with Tennessee back at the Meet—"

"What, Sam?" The weight of her father's state was increasingly heavy as the seconds ticked by. "Between Wren getting swept up in Rebecca's and Lathel's nonsense, you having to keep him from attacking Tennessee—you

probably

saved his life doing that, I'll grant you—and then whatever did or didn't happen here tonight before I got home, what

else

could he be?" Phil didn't sound angry, he sounded intense, trying to make her understand. But then, he suddenly appeared to change subjects: "Sam, why do you think I said what I said at the Meet? Honest 'n' true, why do I give two shits about who fucks who? Why?"

Sam licked her lips and thought back to her father's lecture; even in her memory, the heat of his stare was almost enough to singe her. "Because...we shouldn't mix personal relationships with...pack stuff? Maybe?" She could tell it was the wrong answer before she even finished.

"Because the submissive members of the pack

deserve

to have control over themselves, over their own lives and their own bodies. When Tennessee was in control, that was a

fantasy...

Susie, the redhead? The one who's so scattered she can't even control her own changing? She got passed around more than a case of beer at a tailgate. Bubba's had eyes for that girl for a long time, and him trying to look out for her was probably the only thing keeping Suz from jumping in front of a freight train some days."

Phil sighed. "Claudia didn't get it as bad, but only because she stood up for herself and got a reputation for being too difficult to deal with. Rebecca got passed around too, only she

enjoyed

it, most of the time. And if the menfolk participated, it wasn't always because they were willing, it's because Tennessee likes to

watch

."

"So why didn't anyone

do

something?" Sam asked, feeling a little defensive. "You were in the pack too, weren't you? And what about everyone else? What about all the other Dominants?"

He shook his head. "Ain't that easy, Sam. I wasn't in the pack—I kept to myself most of these years on purpose. Wren's Daddy and I are friends, so Wren figured out what I was; when Wren finally felt desperate enough, he asked me for help, and Lord only knows how long it took him to build up the courage to do

that

much." Phil pressed his lips to a tight, thin line and ran his fingers through his hair. "Tennessee Watkins did a number on near everyone in that pack. When he finally got himself almost killed and kicked out, a few others went with him because they were too scared to face the rest for all they did wrong without Tenn backing them up."

"Like Dez and Jeff?"

He frowned. "Now how did you hear about

them

?"

"They stopped by when you were out," she said, briefly giving a rundown of her interaction with the two bikers. "They kept making pig noises at Wren and tried to scare me." She snorted.

"What'd they want?"

"They said Tennessee wants you to leave town."

Phil snorted. "'Course he does. Fat bastard thinks he can threaten me into giving up."

"Well

I

threatened to call the cops and that ran them off."

"Mm." He looked troubled. "Best you be careful at how often you threaten to do something like that, Sam. Our kind generally tries to handle our own disputes without involving the authorities—that sort of thing tends to get

messy

real quick."

Sam shrugged. "I didn't care about that. You were gone and I needed something to get them to leave. Dez got all angry, but my threat scared him off."

"Sounds like he wanted to scare

you

off instead."

"Probably, not that it worked."

Phil's frown turned to a pleased smile. "Now

that

don't surprise me one bit."

Sam was certainly surprised. "Why?"

He started unlacing his riding boots. "You're still learning, Sam, still finding your own way, but you survived two whole years all on your own. You managed to find me,

and

you had enough gumption to stand up to Tennessee-Goddamn-Watkins—to the bastard's

face

, no less—without backing down. You're a Dominant, through and through. What're some small time ass-kissers like Dez and Jefferson gonna do to scare you? They're Tenn's errand boys for a reason."

"Oh." Sam felt a little better, even relieved, and relaxed in her seat. "I didn't think about it that way." She paused for a moment. "Are you going to do what they want? Just...run off?"

"Not a chance in hell." Her dad laid his head back on the couch and sighed. "I keep saying I didn't want to be pack leader—I ain't ever volunteered for the job, and almost told them no when they asked me to anyway. But now, like it or not, I'm

responsible

for them. We ain't humans, but we ain't true wolves, either: I can't just wash my hands of them when it suits me. Like it or not, they're

mine

now." Phil sat back up, picked up his boots and stood, then walked over to offer her a hand. "Sam." His voice was softer then, as he looked her in the eyes. "I know we ain't had much time to sniff each other out yet, so I'm just trying to offer friendly advice—take it or leave it, your call."

Sam didn't flinch or back down, but he wasn't threatening her, either. She was beginning to suspect her sensitivity to such things was more than just good intuition—whatever being a "Dominant" entailed, it likely had something to that. "Alright, Dad, what is it?"

"Just the same thing I already said: be careful. About everything, if you can manage that. You've been here for just a couple days now; give yourself some time to learn the lay of the land and where things stand before you act. And my fight is

mine

—I ain't expecting you to do anything you don't want to do," He smiled and stepped back. "You strike me as an independent sort, which ain't

all

bad, mind you...but if you're not careful, trouble ain't gonna be far behind."

"This is a...pep talk, isn't it?" Sam said with a smirk. "One of those 'daddy-daughter' things I've heard so much about."

"The first of many, I hope." Phil carried his boots towards his bedroom, only stopping to look back in the doorway. "And be careful of how much the moon gets to you too, Sam—we don't get human diseases, but pups

ain't

a disease, last time I checked."

Sam's good mood instantly deflated. "Okay, we are

so

not pep-talking about that."

"Are you not aware at how wolves and canines mate? Or did you, ah, think that Wren's bait-and-tackle was about something else, maybe?"

"Oh my God, Dad—just

stop

, please!" Sam covered her face with both hands and groaned. "Go to bed!"

Phil gave a dark little chuckle. "Good night, Samantha." He smirked and shut his door.

Sam stalked back to her bedroom and did the same. The moon

definitely

had lost any other power it might've had on her then, if only because she wanted to gouge out any memory of her father using the word

pups

unironically.

—

The next day, Sam tried sleeping in, even made it to mid-morning, but found the effort more taxing than she'd expected. She was completely without duties or responsibilities, but this pack business had fallen into her lap and it refused to leave her alone.

Sam knew she didn't have to care about the pack. What she wasn't sure about was why she found herself caring about them anyway. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, she fought and failed to shrug the matter off—no matter how she tried, she couldn't push away the events of the previous day. Tennessee Watkins wasn't all that different from any of the other bullies she'd run into growing up, just bigger and a whole lot more interested in running—or ruining—people's lives. Sam very much didn't

want

to care about the fate of a bunch of strangers, most of whom she hadn't met and didn't even know, but the harder she tried, the angrier she got.

In the back of her mind, the moon was a constant, looming presence—just because she couldn't see it didn't mean that Sam couldn't

feel

it. Its energy vibrated in her bones and slithered under her skin; her heart was pounding. The world

looked

different, as if the colors of her room were more deeply saturated. Sam loved and hated the moon and what it did to her—she felt wild, unrestrained and free to do whatever she pleased.

On the other hand, she'd masturbated to the fantasy of her Dad just a day or two ago. So, there was that.

All in all, it was a bit of a toss-up.

Sam finally got up. The rain of the previous day had moved on, but the window glass was cold against her fingertips—winter was, at last, starting to take hold. Nevertheless, Sam got undressed, stripping out of her sleepwear right down to her bare skin. She crossed the living room and gave her Dad's door a knock before opening it.

Phil was sitting at an office desk in the corner of the bedroom, typing away at whatever project he was working on. He spun in his chair and his eyes widened at her nudity, but not as much as she expected. "Sam?"

"I'm going out," she said, nodding her head towards the back door.

His earlier surprise instantly vanished. She didn't have to explain what she meant; he just understood. "Everything alright?"

"Not really. Just...need to go out, burn off some energy, be alone for awhile. I didn't want you to worry." She forced a smile, albeit a small one.

"Thank you, Sam, appreciate you thinking of me. Be careful, alright?"

"I will. Thanks, Dad." Shutting the door again, Sam strode to the back of the house, opened that door and felt her skin blossom in goose flesh as the late-morning chill hit her right in the face. Suppressing a shiver, Sam closed the back door, stepped into the prickly grass and went to all fours. Sliding into her fur coat was a startling sensation as the chill in the air vanished, save for the way it tasted slightly different in her tongue when she breathed it in.

Sam took one last look at the house, then turned and sprinted for the trees. She had no real direction or plan in mind for where she was going—she didn't have a car or any sort of transportation, just energy to burn and a need to feel the wind in her face. The ground behind her father's house rose sharply, leading her up a large hill through the trees, but when she reached the top of it, she couldn't spot Phil's house through the trees. It was the farthest away that Sam had ever been on her own. But she didn't hesitate, and kept running as she descended to the hill's other side, letting her instinct take her wherever it wanted to go.

Sam knew she shouldn't care about Wren, about Lathel, or Susie or Claudia, or whoever the heck Bubba was. She shouldn't care about any of them—those weren't malicious or angry feelings on her part, it was the simplest logic that the wolf and the woman could both agree on. It also didn't sound to Sam like her father wanted to interfere, and yet he'd stayed out late to "talk to" someone about the problem—considering that his last attempt to handle it had involved silver buckshot and shooting Tennessee in the face, she could only imagine what else he had in mind. Phil was involving himself because he

did

care. But should she?

The ground flew by under Sam's feet. The human half of her knew that some wolves could run up to 50 miles in a single day in search of food. Sam wasn't interested in filling her stomach, although she supposed she was hungry enough; she'd skipped breakfast, and was starting to regret that decision.

The moon kept calling to her, a siren's song in the back of her mind. It felt safe enough to listen to it in the middle of nowhere, far from anywhere—or anyone—that could lure her into temptation. She wanted blood, violence, sex and fluid. She wanted a hard dick in her cunt and a pair of hands to hold, to ride atop a lover until he was spent and heaving for breath. Not having it was almost sweeter somehow; craving something she couldn't have made Sam's desire even

stronger

.

Sam came to a stop and checked her surroundings. The sky was clear and cool, pale blue with long wisps of thin, silvery clouds. The trees around her were clear-cut in a wide strip stretching through the woods, making room for a long row of electrical towers that stretched on and on in both directions. She heard the sound of vehicles from a nearby interstate further to towards east, but Sam was distracted when she smelled a familiar hint of something—