The clouds drifted, allowing the silver moonlight to wash over his upper body. As I took in his striking face, two conflicting emotions hit me and left me frozen.
He was a werewolf. I’d nearly forgotten about werewolves. I hadn’t even needed Wendell to tell me what the large man in Mascarada had been. It had been written all over him. I’d felt his hatred of my demon blood without him having to say a word to me. Wendell had said werewolves weren’t overly fond of demons. Not that he was able to tell me any other species that felt differently.
The other thing that struck me was this man’s similarity to Wrell. They could have been twins. At the least, brothers. Same warrior-like handsome face, same nearly shaved dark hair. The only difference was this guy had a good growth of stubble over his jaw, and Wrell had always been smooth. That, and the eyes that looked at me now were fully black, or at least seemed that way in the dim light—I couldn’t make out the irises at all. I heard, rather than felt, my quick intake of breath. Tears burned at the corners of my eyes.
“Whoa. You okay?” The man held both hands partway in the air, as if proving he meant no harm.
I nodded and continued to gape at him. My God, he really was Wrell come back to life and in human form. While a little stronger than it had been in the restaurant, my voice still wheezed painfully. “I’m fine. You just look like… What do you want?”
He didn’t answer for a moment, glancing out at the sea, maybe trying to discover what I’d been staring at. When he looked back at me, his voice was even softer than it had been before, almost a deep, warm sigh. “You mind if I sit down?”
I looked down stupidly at the patch of sand beside me that he’d motioned toward. “Uhm, sure.” It sounded more like a question than an answer.
He closed the distance between us in two long steps and sat down uncommonly close. Not touching me, but close enough that to do so would be effortless. As he sat, the tide came up and rushed over my feet. He pulled up his legs, keeping out of the water’s reach.
“I don’t like water.”
His statement broke my trance, and I expelled a crack of a laugh. “Then why are you at the beach?”
He shrugged, not answering, the large muscles of his shoulders bunching under his white T-shirt. “I’ve been following you for a bit.”
The confession should have made me wary, but the blunt honesty of it had the opposite effect. “Why?”
His dark eyes darted away, the shy expression out of place on a werewolf. “You’re like me.”
I matched his candor. “No, I’m not a werewolf.”
He looked back at me, a humorous grin lighting his face. “Yeah, I know. You’re a demon.”
Okay, then. That was easy enough. “I thought werewolves didn’t like demons.”
“They don’t. Not too many species do, that I know of.”
“You’re kinda blunt.”
His smile grew shy once more. “Yeah, sorry. Saves time.”
“Not a bad thing. If werewolves don’t like me, what are you doing here? What do you want with me?”
He focused again on the sea as he replied, “You’re like me.”
His meaning hit me. Once it did, I realized it should have been my first thought, not declaring his species. I had been under the water too long if I was unaware of his obvious meaning. Before, just the way he’d been standing so close, looking down at me, would have been enough to make me realize I was about to have a great night. I hadn’t been Sonia’s best friend for nothing. She was even more direct than this guy. “Oh. You’re gay.”
He nodded, still turned toward me. His tone remained soft, but I was pretty sure I detected sadness behind the words. “Yeah. I’m gay.”
Shame filled me as my arousal spiked. Having never heard Wrell’s voice, it was easy to slip into the fantasy that this body double was truly him, and saying the words I’d fantasized about.
When I didn’t answer—was incapable of answering—he turned to look at me once more. “You are too, right? I was certain.”
I laughed. “I’m that obvious, huh?”
“No. But being a gay werewolf isn’t exactly the hip thing to be. We’re not like demons, where anything goes. I’ve learned to be certain of the signs before I make any assumptions.”
Again the wave of sadness wafted from him. He was as beautiful as Wrell had been, but he had a brokenness that Wrell hadn’t possessed, despite the battles he’d faced. This man also appeared older than Wrell, or at least looked that way. I would have guessed him to be late thirties, early forties. A male in his prime, but the aura of sadness could have added to the appearance of his age.
“So, me being gay trumps that I’m a demon, huh?”
I expected him to balk at this, but true to the direct approach he was taking, he nodded in affirmation. “Yeah, it does. From watching you, I can tell you’re far enough removed down the line that you’re not wandering around looking for someone to torture and maim.”
