Duck Duck Ghost (17 page)

“And yet, you are not talking.” Wolf tapped the table in front of Tristan, yanking his attention back into the room. “Keep going. I want to get this down while it’s fresh in your mind.”

“There isn’t much beyond that. She started screaming at him to find her doll, and he hurt everywhere. Like he’d been playing football for three days straight. That’s how he put it.” His beer was empty, and Tristan debated grabbing another one when his stomach grumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. “He ran off to help her search. I think he was scared of her. Hell,
I’m
scared of her, and I’m not sharing the ether with her.”

“So the screaming hurt?” Wolf wrote something down on the notepad he found. From what Tristan could see, it looked more like squiggles and numbers than anything legible. Catching his lover’s skeptical glance, Wolf winked. “I’m postulating frequencies. Based on what I found out from Winifred—”

“’Cause that whole thing worked out so well,” Tristan grumbled under his breath.

“Hey, I didn’t get a chance to try anything on her. I wasn’t expecting my mother to suddenly break out an exorcism. It was
supposed
to be a séance.” Another few scribbles, and the paper became a labyrinth of graphite and smears. “I think we can isolate tones and spectrums to capture activity or, hell, even maybe exorcise her. Some of your music disrupted her, so tonals work. I just don’t have enough data. We’ll need to replicate her appearance. Shit, I wished I’d had more time with Winifred.”

“That scares me. More than the ghost.” He looked around the kitchen. “Does Sey have someplace else to live? Because you guys tore the shit out of the Grange.”

“The Grange was fine.”

“That’s because it’s mostly stone. This house is wood. All you’re missing is one of straw, and you’d have a whole set,” he pointed out. “God, your mom knew what she was doing when she named you Wolf.”

“Baby, the only blowing I intend to do is you, not a house,” Wolf shot back. “Now let’s go over this again and see if you can remember anything else.”

T
HE
HOWLING
woke him.

Outside—in the dead of night—the storm screamed and wailed, tearing apart the country silence in a fit of endless rage. Tristan reached across the bed, only to find it empty and cold. His heart felt alone, as desolate as the bed next to him. Closing his eyes, Tristan let his mind drift and let the storm rage around him—to listen for the voices hidden within the tempest’s howls.

This time, he heard nothing. No one was hiding in the pitchy whine of the wind slamming into the house. No familiar voices calling out to him. Not even a whisper of an unearthly little girl with flesh scallops in place of eyes.

And he seemed to be missing the comforting breathing of the man he’d fallen for just a few weeks before.

There were no lights on in the room. Either the storm was so deep it swallowed up everything around it, or they’d lost power, because nothing shone through the dark outside, not even the spotlight set up over the barn’s double doors.

He lay a few moments longer, marinating in flashes of sparks inside of the roving clouds and listening again, satisfied there was nothing in the storm but the wind and its pounding rain.

A creak echoed softly from the direction of the bedroom door, and Tristan tensed uncontrollably for a second before chuckling to himself. The floorboards did their own random squeaking, and a dark shape approached the bed, a Wolf-shaped shadow emerging from the milky darkness.

“What are you laughing at, goof?” Wolf stripped quickly, then eased into the bed, pushing the mattress down enough to make Tristan roll into him. Their bodies rubbed together, naked skin on skin, and Tristan shivered at the damp cold of his lover’s flesh.

“I was thinking you were the ghost coming to get me. Because maybe the salt doesn’t work in the dark.” He shivered but wrapped his arms around Wolf’s chilled chest. Wolf smelled of lightning and rain, and Tristan’s fingers came away moist when he ruffled Wolf’s unruly damp hair. “Where were you? And you’re kind of soaked.”

“I heard Sey get up and went to see why. She was worried about the barn doors being locked down tight enough in the storm.” The man nuzzled against Tristan, turning until Wolf was nearly lying on top of him. “God, you feel good. It’s fucking cold out there.”

“So you went instead?” He shifted, parting his knees so Wolf’s legs could slide down between his. It didn’t take long before his cock noticed the other man’s warmth. Hell, his nipples were already pulling in tight from Wolf’s bare skin brushing over them. “You’re a good cousin.”

“Yeah?” Even in the dark, Tristan could see Wolf’s wicked, gleaming smile. “How about a reward of some kind?”

“I’ve got some chocolate in my backpack,” he whispered. “Might not even be melted.”

“Not the kind of sweet I was hoping for,” Wolf murmured back. His fingers roamed down Tristan’s side and then slid between Tristan’s legs to ripple over his sac.

Tristan yelped, and his balls pulled in, suddenly shocked by the cold touch. His cock, once raring and on the verge of pearling, retreated as well, fleeing the scene like a mugging suspect caught with a handful of gold chains. His legs drew in automatically, pushing up to protect his crotch, and Tristan felt something soft give way under his left knee—something squishy and vulnerable.

He didn’t have to ask Wolf what he hit because Wolf made a sickening gurgle and rolled off him, taking the blankets with him.

“Fuck. Shit, I’m sorry.” Tristan sat up, shivering. Without the blankets, the cold ate its way through his skin, and he reached for the lamp on the nightstand. It took a few seconds of frantically clicking the switch before he remembered the power was out. Wolf lay on his back, knees raised and hands cupped over his crotch. “Are you okay? I am so sorry. I didn’t—”

“It’s okay. I probably deserved it,” Wolf gasped. “Damn, I hate when that happens. It’s like puking in your chest. Can you let me lie here for a bit, Thursday? I might have to cough my balls up my throat and put them back where they belong.”

“How much time do you need? A day? A month? How hard did I hit you?” From the panting and gasping coming beside him, Wolf sounded like he’d need a lifetime. “It was a knee. Not a knife.”

“Sous chefs wish they could use your knees in their kitchen.” Wolf exhaled hard, then sucked in another shuddering breath. “Okay, almost getting the feeling back in my cock.”

“Can you roll over a bit? It’s really cold.” Tristan tugged at the blankets trapped under Wolf’s weight. “Maybe you’ll feel better if you’re warmer?”

“Just keep those knees of yours under control.” Wolf whimpered dramatically but allowed Tristan to free the duvet and cover them. “Fuck kitchen knives. Your damned knees are like halberds.”

“My legs aren’t that long,” he snorted back. “Some help you’d be in battle.”

“I don’t know.” Wolf made a show of lifting up the covers to peer under them. He moved a little bit gingerly but seemed to be recovering quickly enough from what Tristan could see. “I might have to have them wrapped around me for comparison.”

“I just kneed you in the balls, and you want to have sex?”

“
I could be five days dead, and I’d want to have sex with you.” Sliding closer, Wolf wrapped his arms around Tristan’s waist and snuggled in until they were lying on their sides with their noses, chests, and cocks pressed against each other. “Of course, it would be kind of icky for you, but you love me, so I know you’d power your way through it.”

“You think I love you?”

“I know you love me,” Wolf boasted softly. “How can you not? I make you laugh.”

“So does Boris,” Tristan drawled. “When he farts in his sleep and he scares himself awake.”

Wolf tilted his head back and studied Tristan thoughtfully through the shadows. “I might do that too, but I don’t hear you laughing. You’re telling me you love the dog more? At least I don’t drink from the toilet.”

“You drink from the milk carton. That’s much worse.” He was still a bit cold to the touch, but Tristan edged in closer. “You’re too cold. My dick’s going to fall off.”

“Totally my fault. My fingers must be like popsicles.” Wolf rubbed his hands on the fitted sheet, then touched Tristan tentatively. “How’s that?”

Unlike the last time, Wolf’s fingers were warm, and Tristan nearly purred as his lover fondled him with slow, deliberate strokes. He stretched out to return the favor, but Wolf pressed his mouth onto Tristan’s and murmured a soft no.

“Let me just enjoy you. I could have fucked this up. Hell, I did fuck this up,” Wolf continued to whisper. “Then I didn’t know how to fix it.”

“So you made up a ghost story at your cousin’s?” Wolf’s fingernails scraped over his taint and hole, drawing out a gasp from Tristan. His brain bubbled at the sensations coursing through his body. “Kinda slick on your…. Shit, I can’t think when you do that, Wolf.”

“Sometimes, Mr. Pryce, you think too much.” Wolf’s mouth left his to travel down to his chest, stopping there only long enough to nip at one of Tristan’s nipples. “Stay right there. I brought—”

“Taking a chance you were going to get lucky, Dr. Kincaid? Even when you knew I was pissed off?” The man’s weight was gone, and the mattress buckled a bit as Wolf got off the bed. “Kinda cocky.”

“I was hoping,” Wolf corrected from across the room. He must have hit his toes or leg because he let out a short curse when he thumped into something. “Shit, where did I put the lube?”

“Got some in my duffel. On the chair.” Tristan pushed himself onto his elbows. “Over there.”

“Yeah, I know where the chair is. It just jumped out and bit me,” Wolf grumbled. “Wow, what the hell did you bring here? Looks like you bought out a sex shop.”

Muttering into the darkness, Tristan shot back, “Fuck you. I didn’t know what to get.”

They’d not been fighting when Tristan ordered lubricant and condoms from an online store. Too embarrassed to ask Wolf about what to get, he clicked on anything that looked interesting. What he’d gotten seemed more like a how-to manual from a scientist bent on populating a new world than sex aids for a newly minted gay man. Still, he remembered how he’d dumped the entire box when he was trying to figure out what to pack while Wolf waited for him in the Grange’s lobby.

It seemed like a lifetime ago. An entire emotional universe ago. Their seesaw relationship was tilting back up, but how long would it be before he came crashing back down again, hitting the ground hard enough to drive splinters into his tender soul?

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Wolf said as he climbed back on the bed. “Stop. Thinking. Thursday. Or better yet, tell me what’s got your brain firing on all cylinders. Because there’s smoke coming off of those slick gears in that head of yours.”

“Suppose we fuck this up again?” Tristan let Wolf pull him into a hug, and something plastic rolled against Tristan’s arm as he tightened his embrace around Wolf’s torso. “One of the things… what is that? Lube? It just hit me. It’s huge. Did you bring a dildo? I sure as shit didn’t order one.”

“Forget about that. Let’s talk about us—fucking this up, okay?” The cold had returned, but it was held back by Wolf’s heat and the soft cotton duvet he’d thrown over them both. “We’re both going to mess up. Hell, I’m going to say it’ll be eighty-twenty, with me fucking up 80 percent of the time, and you’ll probably growl and snap at me because you’re working, and I’m getting in your shit.”

“You do get annoying.” Tristan spat a piece of his own blond hair out of his mouth. “And you chew on my pencils.”

“You’ve got some great-tasting pencils.” Wolf sniffed imperiously. “All hard and sweet, dangling erotically from your—”

“Pencils. Not dick.”

“Fingers,” Wolf finished. “I like watching you play the pencils.”

“Well, stop biting them. It fucks them up, and they feel weird when I use them.”

Tristan didn’t think Wolf needed to know it was because the bite marks made him think of other things Wolf’s teeth were good for. The man’s ego was inflated enough as it was.

“Duly noted,” Wolf said gravely. “No biting pencils. Only Tristan. Tell me what’s really bugging you. Deep down inside. And don’t tell me nothing. Just because you’ve never had anyone to talk to before doesn’t mean you don’t have me to listen to you now.”

He lay there, breathing and listening to Wolf’s body move and shift. Since he’d first seen Wolf stroll into the Grange as if he owned the ghost-infested mansion, Tristan knew his life would change because
that
man had walked into it. He just didn’t realize how much it would—or how much he’d need the man lying next to him. Tristan couldn’t come up with anyone he’d spent more time with than Wolf. Even now, with the possibility of Ophelia Sunday helping him at the Grange for extended periods of time, Tristan was scared—frightened of stepping out into the world and finding Wolf was no longer by his side.

“You make me stronger,” Tristan admitted. “Kind of. No, you do. I like having you with me. Even when you piss me the fuck off.”