EDDIE
Sometime later,I gain control back over my bear. Shifting at the same place as my clothes, I quickly dress, waiting for Willow’s bear to get back. I hear a louder than normal branch snap, and I whip around to see Willow’s bear. Seeing her bear coming at me at such a fast pace should scare the hell out of me in human form, but I’m hyped with happiness from the shift. She could maul me and run me over, and I don’t think I’d ever be mad. She runs, and in only a way a bear can, gently wraps me in her arms. I give the bear a couple of pats, letting her sniff my human form. Once she is done, she backs off with a lick to the side of my head. The force pushing me back. Willow’s human body quickly takes the bear’s place with a deep blush and a small smile.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop her. She can move as fast as her thoughts. If not faster.” As much as I know my bear will take that lick personally, there is no need to apologize. I’d love for her to lick me again, and I’m sure Willow already knows that.
“I’m glad she licked me instead of biting off my head. I must have passed her test.”
“That you did.” Willow giggles. She dresses in her blouse and skirt again. She walks up to me with her hands wrapped around herself, tucked under her breasts. “Thanks for shifting with me. She likes company, but now that I’m not around family anymore...” she drifts off with a shrug.
“Your company will always be welcomed here, Willow,” I say, taking her hand from around her waist and intertwining our fingers. “I wanna show you something.”
Her hand is soft in mine, and it’s perfect, almost like her hand would lock into place in my hand—a spot carved by the Moon Goddess herself. Her light smile and wobbly walk in her heels over the grass make me fall for her all over again. “A personal project I’ve been working on is a community house for shifters who experience a heat to have space away from other shifters during their heat. My goal is to make it comfortable and livable. To test it out, Jackson and I have been working on building one here.”
“Jackson? How does he help? I know you are an architect, but...”
“Jackson works in construction; he literally builds houses for a living. I design it, he puts it together. That’s how we first met. We were on a project together—those new pup cafés all over Michigan? That was us,” I explain. We met three years ago, and we clicked. We hung out for days, weeks, and then one day he introduced me to Dylan, and though I’m sure I annoyed the shit out of him, we clicked too. Soon after, he asked if I wanted to join his Pack, and I took a chance and said yes. I shared my dream of this house with them, and Jackson’s been as dedicated to it as I have been. Jackson is always thinking of the future, and I wanted the dream I’ve had since I was a kid to come into fruition. We didn’t have members who experience a heat in the Pack at the time, but we want to be ready for when new members joined: female, male, or anyone in between.
“Can I see it?”
Can I see it? Is what Willow asked, but all I can hear is,Can I see the bare bones of the project you’ve been working on your entire life?She wants to see it. She wants to dive into my heart and soul that is sitting about half a mile out from here in the middle of construction. I’m suddenly shy about it; I can feel the weight of the blush on my cheeks. It’s like I am about to bare my heart to her more than I already have.
“Of course you can see it,” I mutter, pulling her to walk closer to me. We started construction on this house after we “finished” the main house, before all the additions were considered. We walk in a somewhat comfortable silence—besides my panicking and wondering what condition we left the house in—as the house comes into view. Willow matches my steps and follows my pace, which is slow as shit.
“Are the heels I’m wearing construction site appropriate?” Willow asks, as we step up to the heat house. “I can hardly walk in this grass, let alone around construction.”
“Come here,” I say quickly, turning around and letting her hand go. I wrap an arm around the back of her legs and hoist her up over my shoulder. She squeals and shimmies on my shoulder, but I’m not letting her go. Just like her hand, her weight fits perfectly on my broad shoulders and, more importantly, in my arms.
“Eddie, you could’ve asked!” she yells, her hand giving a weak pound on my back.
“We’ll get there faster this way.” Plus, I love the way she feels in my arms way too much to put her down now. She is fluffy and warm and perfect, and, goddess, I’ma hate when I have to put her back down.
“Eddie, I would’ve fit better on your back, not your shoulder,” she says. I sense her brain running on overdrive trying to come up with a reason why I picked her up this way, but the reason issimple: I want to. I want to slow my steps down so I can hold her longer, but I know her smart ass would notice and demand for me to put her down. “I see the house now. Put me down.”
“If I have to,” I say, slowly putting her down on the small front porch of the first heat house in existence.
“Most of the hardcore construction is done thanks to Jackson. He’s wicked fast at building shit.”
“But the design was all you?” she asks with her wide, wondering eyes. I smile and the nerves in my chest settle down.
“Yeah, it was all me.” Pride spreads in place of the nerves, and I’m glad she’s the first one to see this project of ours. “The floors are solid and finished. You should be fine in your heels.”
“Oh,” she says, walking around the empty space. Willow’s big auburn hair contrasts against the white unfinished drywalls. She’s a light in this dull room, and I can’t help but stare at her as she walks through the halls between the rooms of the first floor. There is a living room, a small kitchen with enough space for precooked foods and snacks. Heats are only something I know from the perspective of a child, and my mom was always too weak to cook during hers. I had to make sure she ate, and even when I cooked food, she didn’t want anything elaborate, mumbling it was too much for her sensitive senses. Not that I could make anything elaborate as a kid anyway, but anything more than a ham sandwich was too much for her.
“Not an open concept? I’m surprised. The main house is an open concept dream,” Willow comments as we move room to room.
“The idea is to be able to fit multiple people here as they go through their heats. So, all the walls are needed and are extra insulated to keep the hormones and scents contained and away from the main house. There won’t be any attracting or tempting anyone as long as it’s two miles away. One less thing a person in heat has to worry about,” I explain as a small smile touches mylips. I’m proud of how far the house is coming along. I hope it will be ready for when Dylan and Flora went into heat. A nice, safe space to go through their heat. Theirs shouldn’t be painful like my mom’s were, since Dylan would be there to help Flora through it.
Since this is for the Pack’s use, I don’t expect it to be used by multiple people at one time. Once we build these in the shifter communities, I want anyone to be able to use it regardless of if someone is already there.
“How do you know it needs to be two miles away?” she asks, pure wonder in her eyes. No calculation, no doubt, just curiosity. I appreciate that more than she knows. It’s funny, the one-time I don’t feel like I have to dive into my life story, is the one time I want to.
“My mom went through heats growing up, as your mom probably did too. My mom had to go through them alone. I’d have to get away from all the suffocating scents and painful cries from the cramps the body caused in response to her not being able to mate during that time. One day, I’d had enough and ran. I didn’t stop running until I couldn’t smell her sour scent or hear her wails, and that was two miles away.”
“Yeah, as kids, we could always tell when my mom’s heat was coming. Her scent turned sour, and the smell would hurt our noses. Isn’t it crazy how biology can make one scent smell different to two people? My dad never knew her scent turned sour; in fact, he would become overly possessive over her when her scent changed. All us kids could think was, when was the last time she took a shower?” As adults, a person’s heat would smell enticing and addicting, but as kids, the smell was sour and nasty. Willow’s memory sounds more peaceful, and as much as I know about her family, I still wish I had a family memory like that. Even if my dad is a piece of shit.
“Your dad wasn’t around? Other family you could stay with?” Willow asks as she leans against the small kitchen counter. She is in my space now. Her scent consumes me, and I know I’ll spill anything she asks me at this point. She is Willow Buttercup, the one woman who could probably ask me anything and get an answer. Even ones I hate talking about.
“He... he wasn’t my mom’s mate. They chose wrong, and it wasn’t meant to be. He left, knowing he had left behind a child. He left.”
