That a so-called Emergency Rescue Shelter Station had been close by Ezra's crash site had been pure dumb luck, especially since the storm was almost upon them. Getting the limp, unresponsive fox into it was almost easy compared to finding him. Chris inspected the ERSS, discovered it neatly stocked with whatever people in emergency situations might need for a night or two, and nodded to himself. Shelters like this one were spread all over a Territory. They were maintained by the Territory's regulators in cooperation with the hunters and trappers that frequented the areas. It was mostly Vin who checked in on the shelters on a regular basis and he knew their location by heart, could find them blindfolded in a hail storm, and he was meticulous when it came to keeping them functional and well-stocked.
They had enough food, had warmth and electricity from a generator, and even if it was small, the space was enough for two people to share. There was even a radio, which was absolutely useless at the moment. The interference was too strong.
JD might have been able to make it work to a degree. Chris had no idea how the younger wolf did it, but he could cobble together tech that worked out here that not even scientists, who should be more knowledgeable with their own gear, could. He simply had a knack, which was only met by Ezra's own talent in that regard.
Letting those two loose on their gear was… always interesting. The sheriff station had some pretty unconventional tech stuff, absolutely non-regulation, but Chris easily overlooked it.
It worked.
That was all he needed to know.
That Ezra was just as tech savy had been a surprise and hadn't come out till the day he had watched the con man deftly put together a comm device with spare parts and whatnot, connected it to a survey probe, of all things, and had managed to get a signal out for help.
Chris knew he would never stop being surprised at the well of talent of this man.
Vin slinked in, eyes roaming over the interior, then met those of his leader.
"I'll make my way back," he announced. "Let the others know."
"Be careful," Chris only said. He knew it was futile to convince the tracker to wait out the storm with him and Ezra.
Vin knew Four Corners Territory like the back of his hand, and nature held no terror for him. Even in a category five storm like this one was turning out to be soon.
"Take care of him."
He would.
The black wolf shifted and looked at the small, gray fox, the wings hanging limply over the flanks, and he shook his head.
Ezra Standish.
Crossbreed.
Ornery son-of-a-bitch was a crossbreed! No wonder he was such a hard to pin character, so elusive, never closer than he had to be within the team, but still part of them in an integral way. Hiding and then again, not. There had been no deception in their personal relationship, in the way Ezra had fit into his life, into his very soul.
"Chris," Vin rumbled.
He met the large cat's eyes. "He's Ezra," he told his second-in-command firmly. "Always has been, always will be. Changes nothing."
It was what he had said before, in so many words, and it was still the truth.
"He hid for a reason, cowboy."
"I know."
Did he? Did he really know why Ezra had kept this from them?
Yes, he thought slowly. He did. He couldn't understand it, but he did know. Weird as it sounded.
Lore about crossbreeds could be found everywhere. Most of it outrageous, outlandish, downright laughable and farfetched. But it was a reason for them to hide and run whenever discovery was probable. It was the main reason why crossbreeds didn't reveal their true nature.
Vin watched him knowingly.
Had his friend been aware of Ezra's secret? Probably not, but he had suspected it.
"Be careful," the tracker said.
He almost laughed. Just almost. "Go," Larabee ordered. "Before the storm catches you. Let the others know and tell them it's an order: no one is to come out here before this is over. You'll have your hands full with looters and whatever crazy idiot is trying to get himself killed in this."
Vin nodded, then he was gone. Chris secured the outer and the inner doors with their respective latches, then checked every opening. The ERSS was solidly built into the mountain, almost right into a cave, and it was heavily protected against storm, flood and even mountain slides. The category five wouldn't bring down the mountain, but it would batter against the stone and steel.
Already he could hear the howls catching in the narrow canyon, the gusts of wind beating against the rocky walls, battering the trees, and he caught the the distant rumbles.
Ezra was oblivious to it all.
Chris regarded the fox. He had a light gray, almost dusty coat, darker than mere white, lighter than any gray Chris had ever seen. The back of his ears was a darker gray, the only color change in the whole coat. The coloring was almost exotic and despite the fact that he was covered in blood and grime, beautiful. He marveled at the rather large, strong wings, equally shaded in light gray. Larabee knelt down to run a careful caress over the closest. It was mostly undamaged, with just a few overstressed muscles, but that couldn't be said about the other. There were broken and torn out feather, blood clinging to the remaining ones, to the skin. There was no break, but it was heavily abraded and he might just have twisted it enough to hurt for a while.
Since Ezra had apparently crashed into a tree and fallen to the ground, it was a miracle he hadn't done a lot more damage. Exploring each wing briefly, Chris surmised that they were a lot stronger than they looked, muscled and capable of more than mere glides. These were wings that had been used in the past, exercised.
The more problematic injuries were the deep incisions in Ezra's side. Four, to be precise. From sharp, knife-like claws. They hadn't hit bone, but they had sliced through muscles and tendons.
Chris felt a momentary spike of anger, then squelched it. There would be a time in the near future to confront Josiah, to take this the official way if Ezra decided to press charges – which Larabee highly doubted. Right now he would have to treat the serious injury and keep his companion warm and safe.
Efficiently cleaning out the blood and debris elicited small whimpers, but the crossbreed never woke. He had to cut the soft fur, now clumped with blood, away from the wound and used a few deft stitches to hold the torn skin together. Chris bandaged it all, then gathered the small form and deposited him on the only bed. Shifting, the wolf curled around the fox, nosing a little against the limp head, then licked gently over one dark ear.
Chris huffed softly to himself as he caught up to his own actions.
Another gust rattled against the shelter station and he settled in for a long night.
X X X X
Ezra made soft, whimpering noises in his uneasy sleep and Chris curled more around the smaller form, the light gray of Ezra's coat contrasting the midnight black of Chris' own coloring. He had always been a contrast to the pack leader, be it in his human form or his shifted one. They had been so different from the start and still there was something that connected both men. Chris had felt it form, slowly, over the time they had banded together to help the mountain village against the raiders to the moment Travis had asked them to stay on as this Territory's official regulators.
Well, in Ezra's case there had been a little bit of bullying and a promised pardon involved, but Standish could still have said no and taken his chances.
He hadn't.
Larabee had done it simply because… there had been nothing else for him but the pain and the bottom of a bottle that would kill him one day. He was scarred and damaged and broken in places. There were shields around his soul, keeping him safe, isolated, away from the pain of his loss from so many years ago. Sarah and Adam's deaths had shattered something inside him. His dreams had been destroyed, his life had ended.
The new pack had mended him as much as he had given them their own stabilities. The pack supported each other unconsciously, learned about the individual members, and they became stronger.
Ezra… Ezra had stood out. In so many good and bad, annoying and also reassuring ways. He was what they needed, what the situation required, but in the beginning he always moved at the fringe of the group. The cocky, self-assured man was just a façade. Underneath were layers and layers that Larabee had tried to untangle.
There was compassion. There was empathy. There was a conscience. There was also an entrepreneurial spirit that sometimes had him stray from the straight and narrow path, but never too far. He tested the waters, especially with Chris, and Chris… Chris loved it.
Ezra was a riddle, but sometimes, for brief moments, he was so clear to read, the wolf had no problem seeing him as he was.
And what Ezra was… it was attractive. Not just the handsome outside, but also that strength underneath the deceptive exterior.
So Chris kept looking for more. He kept reading the file Travis had given him on the other man, as if he would be able to glean even more from the lines than before. With each revelation, with each time they worked together and he discovered something new and surprising about the other shifter, Chris knew he was getting closer and closer. Too close.
Until he was too entangled.
And in the year to follow the formation of the Territory's new regulators, the connection between the two men had strengthened through the pack until there had been no denying it anymore.
Chris Larabee had found something more in Ezra Standish, the wily red fox.
Red.
Ezra's usual color when he shifted. The few times he actually did, Chris reminded himself. Where the wolves freely ran whenever they could, usually joined by Vin, sometimes by the two bears, Ezra chose not to be his shifter self most of the time.
"Most uncivilized," he had always remarked.
As for the fox shape, he had given Chris a trademark smirk when he had shifted for the very first time, the glossy coat gleaming in the sun.
"Did you expect anything else?"
No, actually he hadn't. The red fox suited the gambler, thief and con man. It suited the undercover operative of the Larabee pack, the man of a dozen different faces and even more talents. Ezra P. Standish was a man of incredible talent, who always had an ace up his sleeve, who went in and out of tight places, dangerous or near-impossible situations, and Chris had never questioned it.
Maybe he should have.
Maybe he should have questioned his easy acceptance that this was… Ezra. He had chalked it up to the man's colorful past, his upbringing and so-called training. He was whatever they needed him to be on the job, infiltrating gangs, winning people's trust easily, stringing a mark along…
And he had become something different to Chris. Larabee should have seen past that, too. How it had been more than just stress relief. How it was far from casual for him. How he, the man who had been rumored to most likely court Mary Travis, had been far from interested in the young widow with her son. She was nice on the eye, but he had never fancied something else.
Yeah, the pull to Ezra should have been a first clue.
Now here they were, the gray fox with a set of wings, and the pack leader. A crossbreed and a purebred.
Another pained whimper, followed by weak twitches had Chris focus on his patient again. "Easy, Ezra. I've got you," he said, voice a dark, rough rumble.
For a moment the green eyes opened, reflecting the fever racing through him, bright and filled with confusion. Such a contrast in the lightly colored face, still so familiar. The fever was a sure-fire sign that the shifter was fighting the injury, his metabolism kicked up in high gear. It was also reassuring Larabee that nature was running its course, that Ezra would be fine.
"I've gotcha, Ez," Chris repeated soothingly.
The glazed eyes slid shut and he whined, wings quivering.
"Why did you never tell me?" he said softly, tugging at one ear with gentle teeth like a reprimand. Then he licked over the velvety surface. "You keep so many secrets. I don't mind. I never did, really. I knew what I was getting into with you. Right from the start. The Judge warned me, but I knew. Maybe it was instinct. Wolves are pretty good at that, but still you fooled me. All of us, actually. You amazing, stupid, crazy man."
Larabee knew he had had his doubts in the beginning, even if instinct had told him to give the other man a second chance. His desertion in the eyes of overwhelming odds, their certain death, hadn't really been so unexpected. Standish had struck Chris as a survivor. You didn't survive by running toward death.
But the con man had come around, had come back, and he had turned the tables in the pack's favor.
Trusting him after that had been a slow but steep learning curve. Chris believed in second chances. He had followed this feeling inside him, something that had never led him the wrong way. The elusive thief with a criminal record that could fill books had become pack. Chris Larabee had accepted him, faults and all, learning more and more to listen to his primal instincts, not fall for the smoke and mirror routines, to see past the masks.
It had been a sometimes slow process. Very slow. Because Ezra was stubborn and never made things easy. But he was there for them, for all of them, when it mattered. No ulterior motives in the end. As outrageous as some of his cons had been, as crazy as his stunts had sounded, he had never failed.
It had been an amazing journey, an even more amazing discovery to find out who was underneath all the lies and deceit.
He had fallen for this. He had given in to his shifter side, had trusted this enigmatic man with something only Sarah had ever been gifted with, and the result had been astounding.
Mine, Chris thought before he could catch himself.
Those were strong emotions. As strong as they had been with Sarah. Sarah had been human, not a single shifter in her family, and she had accepted that her husband wasn't completely human. They had found something, something common, an emotion that connected them. He had loved his wife, and her death, the death of his son, had torn him apart.
Wolves weren't prone to suicide. Chris Larabee wasn't a coward who took the easy way out. It had taken a long time to heal the wounds. Years had passed with nothing but anger, pain and devastation as his only emotions.
Until Four Corners.
Until meeting Vin. Finding Buck again. Meeting Nathan and Josiah, helping JD, and finally… Ezra. All of them forming a pack.
The new pack had helped, had knitted the fragments of his soul back together. Ezra… had started something else. A new road he had been reluctant to travel, but finally he had, allowing instinct to override reason.
One step after another.
Now here they were. Here he was.
In the middle of a category five, with an injured Ezra Standish. The man who had a different meaning for him than mere pack mate.
Not at the end of that particular road, Chris mused. Not by a long shot.
"There's so much more to you," he murmured.
Like the wings. Those wonderful, amazing, fascinating wings. They were functional, could lift him, made him capable of flying. And they were still there, despite the fact that he didn't need them right now. It was something like a first clue, but Chris didn't really want to ponder it.
Right now he wanted Ezra to heal, get better, then they would talk.
Listening to the steady breaths, Chris rested his head near the feathered wings, felt them tickled his nose. He inhaled their unique scent, Ezra's scent, which was currently overlaid by blood and medication.
Closeness, pack closeness, helped the healing. While shifters had a sped-up metabolism with superior healing capabilities, being with pack helped members. That, and sleep.
Mine, he thought again as he closed his eyes. Only mine.
tbc...