Gracie - Sherry Foster Page 0,5

with the wolf, why didn’t other clothes? He had even asked that question but Hendrix had only shrugged. Seemed that was a question even the shifters didn’t have an answer for. Things like this were what made his mind insist he was not in a coma. Even a drug induced coma would not present other men in boxers. His mind would have the clothing shifting with the man, or wolf, or whatever these people wanted to be called.

Drug induced coma or new reality, in the long run it didn’t matter. Things would be as they would be. He would either die while his body slumbered in a coma, he would wake from his coma, or his mind would eventually accept this was his new reality. A reality mixed with shifters, witches who were not at all witches but aliens, and aliens who did not pretend to be anything but what they were, sort of. If one discounted the fact the aliens hid their nature from the humans on the world and went about as though they were indeed, as others on the planet. Jeffery rubbed his temples as a headache threatened. He found himself rubbing his temples more these last few days than he could ever remember doing in the past. Heaving a large sigh he opened the back door and stepped outside, Hendrix followed him. And what anyone would think of two males standing so close together with one in his boxers if they could see them wasn’t a thought Jeffery wanted to entertain.

He saw, from the corner of his vision, Hendrix’s head tilt up and he could hear the indrawn breath as the shifter sifted the air for any smells which would alert them to a presence around the house. For his part he used his training to search for anything out of place in the surroundings or any movement that could not be explained by wind. He had studied the area both during the day and at night, familiarizing himself with the shape of the trees, the feel of the area, the sound of the area. His hearing, sight, and smell were not equal to a shifter, but his training for something out of place was the same as his partner. His ability to evaluate his environment and find anything that didn’t belong was a valuable asset he used to ensure his partner’s safety.

Turning his head slightly he saw Hendrix had his eyes closed, doing just as he himself had done, using his ears to hear anything out of place. Jeffery turned his head toward the forest to search again for anything out of place, using only his eyes as he stilled his body and slowed his breathing allowing sound to more easily filter through to Hendrix. If unusual sounds existed in the night air his partner would find the noise. After a couple of minutes Hendrix opened his eyes stepped further into the yard behind the house.

A moment later a wolf stood in the place of Hendrix. If the hand Jeffery raised trembled slightly no one seeing could have blamed his as he uttered the words he uttered each time. “Safe hunting.” The wolf gave no notice of having heard him, it never acknowledged him. This lack of courteous did not offend Jeffery. He would rather be ignored than have the attention of the wolf. He watched as the wolf loped into the forest and wondered, as he did each time, whether the wolf hunted at night or used his time in other pursuits. What those pursuits could be Jeffery didn’t know. He had asked, exactly once, what it was Hendrix did as a wolf on the nights he went out. The answer he received was far from satisfying. So far from satisfying as to be labeled terrifying. Hendrix had snarled at him. The first he had heard a wolf snarl issued from the lips of one who walked as a human. The hair on the back of his neck had risen but he had stood his ground.

Oh Hendrix had snarled at him when he had first arrived, but those snarls were human in sound, nothing like what had issued from his throat the night Jeffery asked him where he roamed and what he did. That snarl caused many hours of missed sleep and ensured he never questioned his partner again about the wolf. Had it been Samson who roamed the night as a wolf he wouldn’t have hesitated to ask. And Samson, well he hadn’t