Date: Tue, 31 Jan 2006 11:47:38 +0800
From: paul sung <psun@hotmail.com>
Subject: Magic 2

DISCLAIMER
==========

This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to persons living or dead is
entirely coincidental. The author asserts all legal and moral rights
(copyright (c) 2005 - psun@hotmail.com) to this work and you may not
copy it or transmit it in any way except in its entirety and with this
disclaimer. This story features descriptions of sex between males:

- if such material is prohibited in your jurisdiction, please DO NOT READ
ON,
- if you're under the legal age to read such material, please DO NOT READ
ON,
- if you don't like, or are offended by such material, please DO NOT READ
ON.

And any comments - brickbats or bouquets, send them over to
psun@hotmail.com And if you find that you like what you're reading, visit
my page at http://www.geocities.com/savante_2002

Although I might gripe a lot about the outdated stereotypes associated
with witchcraft, there are some that I could only wish were true. For
instance, it would have been great to be able to twitch my nose and have
a sumptuous, four-course meal appear before me perfectly set on the
table. That simply wasn't true however since I still had to peel, slice
and dice the essentials all by myself. And cook them. Fortunately,
although she had an unnatural obsession with greens and a healthy diet,
my mother was a wonderful cook who managed to channel most of her love of
cooking to me.

Unfortunately, witches' magic was mainly practical. Starting a blazing
inferno was simply out of the question but I could light the candles
through magic. And I could certainly raise the flames on a stove.

Judging by his enormous appetite, small salads and vegetarian lasagna
weren't going to satisfy his tastebuds. With his carnivorous genes,
Clayton leaned heavily towards protein - and lots of it. Of course with
the ravenous metabolism his genes had given him, he could swallow a
mountain of fried, fatty food and still remain as fit and slim as ever.
Damn him.

What were my real intentions for inviting him to dinner? Bringing Clayton
in was akin to opening the hen house to the wily fox and I'd been the
fool of a chicken who'd swung the door wide open. Yet something had
loosened my tongue enough to offer up an invitation. Maybe it was the
fact that after his long drive, Clayton looked tired, frustrated - and
for once, almost sweetly human despite his matinee idol looks.

Never one to tolerate waiting, the man himself stalked restlessly around
the kitchen as I stood preparing our dinner. A quick shower while I was
preparing dinner had taken the edge off somewhat - and he even managed to
be reasonably civil while I cooked his dinner. There had been one crazy
impulse to jump into the shower with him but I managed to suppress such
ignoble thoughts but it didn't stop me from imagining Clayton soaping
himself up in my bathroom. Turning myself into his lucky soap certainly
wasn't in the scope of my powers but on that day, I wished I could.
Trying to be of service, he'd offered to help earlier but seeing his
ineptitude in the kitchen was painful to say the least and I quickly
banished him to the role of eye candy which suited him far better.

Observing me from his safe perch by the kitchen window, Clayton smiled.
"I didn't know you cooked."

"You don't know many things about me." Picking up the mittens, I reached
down and pulled out the pie I'd prepared earlier. A sign of precognition
knowing he'd arrive? Alone, I certainly wouldn't have been able to finish
all this food by myself and yet, I'd prepared a veritable feast.

The small smile just curling up his sensuous lips grew wider. "I'm
certainly learning a lot about you today, ornery bugger."

It was the longest time we'd spent together without interruption since
we'd first met. Earlier, we'd had rampaging werewolves, crazed sorcerers
- and what had to be the worst, relentless media hounds who knocked on my
door day and night. There hadn't been the time to sit back and think over
our murky relationship till I'd returned to Black Falls to pick up the
threads of my old life.

Even then, his lies and deception couldn't face up to the fact that he
had endangered his own life to save mine. And the fact that he had the
most gorgeous green eyes I'd ever seen. In the light of the evidence I'd
uncovered about his past, it was difficult to see how I could still feel
this uncommonly strong attraction towards him. Some odd, indefinable
force drew us together in spite of the various reasons I had for us being
apart. So apart from avoiding Clayton as far as I could, it was obvious
that I still hadn't made up my mind which way to go in regards to Mr
Sizzling Hot Sorcerer.

All I knew was that my dinner would knock the man's socks off. The pie
was settling beautifully and I now had to see to the lasagna I'd heated
up from earlier. It would have been enough for an invading army but not
for Clayton. For him, I had another whole chicken roasting in the oven.
"I didn't travel for miles to get a no. I didn't come all the way here to
Black Falls to see the man who's been saying no to me since the day we
first met. Who's the ornery one now?"

Leaning back on his haunches, he smirked at me. "Hell and here I thought
you'd be impressed by my tenacity. I hear it's a good trait to have in a
boyfriend."

For the past hour, the earlier sly innuendoes had progressed to become
blatant hints. Patience wasn't one of his good traits and he was this
close to forcing a diamond ring on my finger - whether I fucking liked it
or not. "Clayton."

"John?" He replied in the same minatory tone, giving me a wicked grin and
a wink of his vividly green eyes.

Standing on her daily pulpit, Holy Aunt Hester always preached the fact
that the sorcerers were the irreclaimable sinners and after the
inquisition, the witches were supposed to repent and show them the right
way. What did it say about my vaunted witches' morality now that I wanted
to sin around with a married heterosexual sorcerer? No doubt if Miss
Hester Blackwell somehow caught wind of this sordid affair, she'd be
spinning around in her grave.

Taking a chance, he came off his perch and walked towards me, his canine
nose sniffing. "Smells good."

"It's my mom's lasagna. Won the baking award in Black Falls three years
in a row." Digging into the tray, I spooned out a bite to try. Oddly
enough, the recipe had been in my family for generations despite the fact
that there had been no Italian blood in my family - that I knew of
anyway. The closest I'd gotten to Mediterranean heat was Clayton James.

"Sweet." Almost reverently, Clayton took a deep breath as his lips moved
close to my neck. Barely inches apart, the man stood close enough that
the sheer heat from his solid body was almost palpable. "But I'm not
talking about the food."

Fatigue and frustration might have gotten him riled up earlier but he'd
certainly gotten his silver tongue back. Clayton had moves and he made
them now as those eager hands of his slipped smoothly around my waist to
draw me close. "Move aside before I..." I started the words to a spell
just as he hugged me tight from the back.

"But darling." Clayton whispered slyly to me. Before I could make a
reply, he started planting soft kisses on the back of my neck, heading
towards the edge of my jaw. "Your little spell won't work on me twice."

Given such a challenge, I tried to finish my chant only to have him spin
me around and plant a kiss on me. Warnings about fire hazards flew out my
head as he ran his wonderful lips across mine. One sizzling Clayton James
kiss and I went from outrage to outrageous. Drawn in spite of myself, my
free hand reached around his broad shoulders, drew down his powerful
flanks to that perfect ass.

As I got one hand on what had been termed the hottest ass in Demon Inc,
he let out a deep, appreciative chuckle. "Guess I don't have to say grab
my ass, huh."

It was the perfect splash of cold reality but I didn't jump away as I
should have. Slowly easing my way out of his embrace, I nudged him
meaningfully on the hard curve of his pecs. Damn they were really hard.
"Clay, you wouldn't want to pull that again. I'm cooking your dinner and
you just don't know what I could accidentally put into the soup."

"Wolfsbane again?" Clayton stepped away at the last moment, leaving me
intentionally breathless. "Poison in a witches' brew and here I thought
you hated cliches."

From the counter, I aimed a glare over my shoulder at him and flicked my
spoon at him. A hasty ramble of words came from him and the sliver of
tomato sauce hung in mid air between us. For a man who hadn't been weaned
on magic since birth, his speed and delivery was impressive to say the
least but I certainly wasn't going to tell him so. Unfair as it might
sound, magic seemed to come to him almost naturally.

Still the sight of the floating tomato sauce had me smiling. "Could have
frozen Allen and saved us a hell of a lot of trouble."

"Doubt my teeny weeny spell would have worked on a 300 pound werewolf."
He replied ruefully, unconsciously rubbing his newly clean-shaven jaw.
"And I doubt I could keep myself from wanting a go at him. Seriously
wanted to wreck that bastard's piss-ugly face especially after he
suckerpunched me that one time."

That certainly explained the crazed bloodlust in his eyes when he'd burst
into my house. According to the witches' Good Witch Glinda tenets taught
to me by my aunt, I was supposed to eschew all maiming, stabbing and
killing, to do my best to protect the innocents, but that one time in the
woods of Black Falls, I'd slipped, allowing Clayton to do what he did
best, and I'll be damned if I was going to be sorry for it.

"Hope your arm's feeling better."

Surprised at my mention of that harrowing day, he replied quietly. "Don't
worry about that, we heal fast enough." Lifting his left arm, he flexed
and allowed the golden-tanned, well-toned muscles to ripple tantalizingly
for a moment. I had to tell myself that the thrill of desire running down
my spine was simply admiration for a well-made machine and not pure
insane, come-fuck-me lust.

I certainly didn't fool Clayton. The sudden flare of colour in his green
eyes confirmed the fact that he did know what I was feeling and as he
stepped nearer again, I hastily turned back to the stove.

"Oh, look, the chicken's done," I exclaimed as I flipped open the oven
door. Turning around with the chicken in my hands, I found myself almost
face to face with him.

"You're done. I'm not." Batting the sauce in the air away, he tugged at
my sleeve gently, pulling me towards him. Red hot platters wouldn't hurt
him in the least but I was still tempted to give him a sting. "Look, I
know you witches love the non-confrontational, no-balls pacifist tactics
but avoiding the issue isn't going to solve anything. You know we had
something going ..."

With the chicken plate between us, I stepped up to him, my dark eyes
daring him with a challenging look. "You want confrontational?"

"Yeah?" Totally unafraid, he grinned tauntingly.

"Blasted demon whoreson. Then take this damned chicken to the fucking
dining table. Confrontational enough for you?" Smashing the tray of
chicken on his face would be fun for me but it would make the time I'd
spent preparing it a waste, and the unconventional bastard might just
lick it off his face anyway.

"You are one crazy witch." A low, appreciative laugh came from him.
Instead of harping again on the issue of our nonexistent relationship, he
received the plate with a gentle half-smile. "You know what, I could
actually get used to this."

So could I but I wasn't actually going to tell him that.

The issue of where he was going to sleep hung at the back of my mind.
Sure, I had bedrooms to spare in the house but room and board wasn't the
problem at hand. Rather than trying to avoid him, the problem was
actually keeping me from walking over to his bed, like one of those
stupid television virgins who insist on walking blindly to their doom. My
own unwavering lust notwithstanding, I also had his unnatural animal
lusts to contend with. The fact that his dirty little mind was replaying
various little sex montages was oddly disturbing to say the least, and
more than a little arousing. Perverted demon boy had obviously attributed
an unparelled flexibility to my hapless spine in his sex soaked dreams
since I seemed to submit to various back-breaking moves without
complaint.

His large, powerful hands gripped the edge of my hips, forcing me down on
the dark oak expanse of the table. The heat and the force of his erection
drew theateningly across the tight cleft of my naked buttocks and I let
out a soft, throaty moan - of pleasure or of distress I couldn't tell for
sure. As I inevitably struggled for dominance, he let out a rough, almost
guttural laugh before he leaned down on me again, his lips biting down
hard on the edge of my ear before travelling downward along the edge of
my jaw.

The vivid images planted in my head left me almost breathless, with a
heavy ache in my groin, and this time, I turned to him, a touch of barely
concealed irritation in my voice. "Not on the dining table, Clayton!"

Surprised at my sudden change of mind, he paused with the tray he was
holding. Confusion reigned in his features. "Huh. What? You want to eat
somewhere else?"

Realizing that I was referring to something else entirely, I backpedaled
hastily. That's the problem with mind-reading, sometimes it's a little
hard trying to dissociate the dangerously erotic porn movie going on in
his imaginative head with what he was actually saying. How he could have
such lusty debauchery playing in his mind while he went on calmly around
in his work was an amazement to me. "It's nothing. The table's fine, I
just meant.."

"Ah." His dark head swung back to me and he smiled almost roguishly.
"Reading minds again? What can I say? You're pretty inspirational, babe,
and the dining table looks like it could hold up under our weight."

"Just dinner. No table sex."

"No problem." Clayton acquiesced easily. "The bed would do fine for me."

"Pervert. And stop thinking in those terms."

The roguish grin on his handsome face widened. "I can't help it. You make
me hard."

There seemed to be no decent reply for that since his words drew several
uncomfortably arousing images and I maintained my silence instead. His
deep, teasing laughter followed me all the way back to the kitchen as I
made my hasty retreat. Content to remain on his own, Clayton didn't
return to bug me and left me alone in the kitchen for some time, dreaming
up devious ways of poisoning him. There was no way in hell I'd stoop
myself to his level by playing his inane games but it was endless fun
imagining him groaning and writhing in pain on the floor from purgatives.

When I finally returned to the dining room with the final dish, I
realized that Clayton had obviously kept himself quite busy rummaging
through the cupboards. There was an ancient buffet hutch by the dining
table where my mother used to keep what we called her fancy dining stuff
and it was obvious that Clayton had managed to find her treasure trove.
Fortunately, the monumental disaster that was Hurricane Allen had swept
by the living room and the study, demolishing almost everything in its
wake but somehow managed to swerve past the dining room. Belgian lace
tablecloth lined the massive oak table, lovely Delft porcelain ware lay
neatly arranged for a cosy twosome at one end and he'd placed an iron
wrought candelabra complete with long, tapering candles in the centre. I
certainly couldn't accuse Clayton of not knowing how to set a scene.
Obviously Demon Lawyers 'R' Us had classes dealing with table dining
etiquette.

It was obvious that he was still looking for something else however and
finally perplexed, he turned to me. "Where the hell do you keep your
matches?"

"Never had any. Watch and learn." I smiled. A small, simple incantation
had the candles around the room flaring up to lend a warm glow to the
dining room. If it looked just a bit romantic, I kept that to myself
hoping that Clayton wouldn't notice too.

Trying to hide the effect would teach me to underestimate Clayton. As he
took his place at the table, there was a secret smile on his face. "The
perfect ambience."

"Gotta make a guest feel at home," I ad-libbed quickly, taking my seat
beside him. Scooting my chair to the other end of the table seemed like a
safer alternative but Clayton would certainly have a choice comment ready
for that cowardly act and I remained unhappily glued to my seat.

"Ah, the 2005 Martha Stewart Witch Guide."

I picked up my fork and waved it at him. "No jokes, you promised."

"A truce then." He laughed and then decided to start on his meal by
tucking into a piece of lasagna. Nothing like distracting the man by
waving food in front of him. Biting into his first piece, Clayton leaned
back and let loose a rapturous sigh. "Damn but you're an amazing cook.
Sweetheart, I'd marry you for that lasagna alone."

The flattering compliment on the food was welcome enough but not in the
sly way he'd said it. Amazing how he actually managed to turn compliments
on my cooking back to his single-minded, relentless mission to win me
back. Trying to keep my tone as light and breezy as possible, I just
shook my head in reply. "You're way too easy then."

There was no flippancy in his voice however when he paused to look me
straight in the eye. A gleam came into his beautiful eyes as he gave me a
half-crooked smile. "What can I say? I'm always easy when it comes to
you, John."

Letting him know that such sudden sentimentality - no doubt mellowed by
the food in his growling stomach - was turning my knees to water in
seconds and indirectly wearing down my resolve wouldn't be a prudent move
on my part. And yet when I gazed into those dark green depths, I felt
like casting all my antiquated notions into the wind and fall into his
strong, two-timing arms.

"You wanted to know more about me, didn't you? We never did talk about
what you saw."

Clayton said it so matter-of-factly while he bit into a chunk of chicken
that it took me a moment before I realized what he'd just told me. There
was certainly no forgetting what had happened that night but despite my
avid curiosity, I didn't want to bring it up before he was ready to tell
me anything. Gorgeous amateur sorceror transforming into a hairy,
sharp-fanged werewolf right in front of my eyes wasn't something I'd
expected of him and the image of the skin and muscle literally tearing
apart before my eyes had been etched into my memory for weeks after.

"I know what it was, Clayton, although I can't exactly claim to
understand what happened."

Almost cautiously, he slowly laid down his spoon and watched me. A shadow
of a smile crossed his handsome face as he started to speak. "Well,
actually I believe you're the second person alive who's seen it." There
was distinct flash of his green eyes, an almost imperceptible golden tint
that I'd seen that night weeks ago.

"I venture to guess my father's the other one."

"Yes." He nodded.

"Was that a veiled threat?"

He looked almost hurt for a moment. "John."

"Okay, I have to admit that was a cheap shot. I take it back."

Pleased that he'd managed to get the better of me, he spooned up some
soup and smiled beatifically at me. "You know what the bastards who call
themselves my parents called me when I was a kid? They called me El
Diable. The little fucking Devil."

"What?" I stared at him. There were times when provoked by one of my
admittedly hair-brained ideas, Aunt Hester would start preaching about
the Bible and the fate of the wicked, unrepentant sinners but even then
she would never have categorized me as the Devil himself. And certainly
not when I was a child. "Your parents called you that? Surely they didn't
mean it."

"Much as I would love to pander to your all-American Norman Rockwell
notion of family, they actually meant it." Clayton chuckled but there was
a low, hollow ring to the sound.

The way he said it left me in no doubt of the truth of the matter and yet
despite the cold, dispassionate tone he used, I realized that there was
some hurt still left. The ugly wound might have been scabbed over but my
bringing up the topic must have scraped the wound fresh again. "Clayton,
you don't have to tell me anymore."

As I tried to pick up my fork again, he reached over and held my hand,
clutching it tight enough to cause some discomfort. Sometimes he
obviously still didn't know his own preternatural strength. "John, you
wanted to know about me? If that's what it takes, I'm telling you
everything."

"Look, Clayton, I don't have to know everything and..."

"Just listen," Clayton begged, watching me intently. As he started
reciting the story, he released my hand. "Hell, Clayton isn't even really
my name. At least I don't think so. I can't remember anything from my
childhood, anything less than 7 years is a blur to me. I remember vague
faces and colours but I don't remember who they are. I don't know who my
real parents are, don't even know where the hell I came from. The Garcias
found me. Why they took me in I'll never know but I once read a note from
my real father. More a threat than anything else and obviously they bowed
down to his wishes. They fed and clothed me but that didn't mean they
loved me. I wasn't an angel, I'd admit it but they didn't help much. The
slightest wrong had Raul's large fists flying at me and the alcohol
binges made the fists come faster and harder. Maria, his wife wasn't much
better, fearful of me and cursing my name to heaven. Made crosses at me
each time she saw me, said I was tainted by the devil whatever that
meant. It took some time before I got smart enough to keep him from using
me as a punching bag and I left."

He told his story matter-of-factly as if he'd read it in a book some
years ago. A horribly twisted fairy tale that he barely recalled.
Passionless and clinical, and yet I could see the bleakness in the
suddenly dimmed green eyes as he spoke. The earlier spark of fire had
faded out of his eyes as he told me some of his experiences. There were
times when I suspected that he watered down the story a little for my
benefit, especially after seeing the growing horror in my face. No, his
past still haunted him but he obviously didn't let it overrule his
thoughts and actions.

As he came to the end of the story, Clayton released my hand, letting it
go and I flexed my fingers to test the joints. It didn't surprise me now
that Allen's head had snapped just as easily under those powerful hands.
"Sorry for that. It actually took me a while before I got out from them.
Who knows, I must have felt some sort of gratitude for the bastards but I
just couldn't stand being knocked about anymore one day so I left. Just
took the little that I had and ran. Barely in my teens still, a scrawny
lil kid even then and didn't even know where the hell I was going.
Changed the name my parents had give me, tried to be someone else. Thank
God your father found me."

A rich, successful Cabal CEO based in New York just walking by the
streets of Miami to find a wandering street kid by luck? Such a
providential move certainly warranted suspicion. Knowing my father's
foresight and calculated strategies, he'd probably been keeping an eye on
the promising Clayton for several months before making his move. Keeping
that thought to myself however, I only shook my head with sympathy.
"Clayton, I can't imagine what you went through then."

"That's all in the past now." He smiled easier now, a more genuine smile
now that he had unburdened himself. "Look, I don't want your pity. I just
want you to know where I'm coming from. Perhaps you never wanted to hear
this from me before but.."

Even without scanning his thoughts, I sensed he was moments away from
declaring himself and I reached up my hand to stop him. "Don't, Clayton."

Quick as a snake, he reached out for my hand and brought it down to the
table again, holding it tight in his hand. Although he relaxed his hold a
little in deference to my weark, inferior self, it was turning out to be
a habit. "Stopping me from saying it doesn't make it any less true. I'm
telling you all this because I'm in love with you."

"You've known me barely two months or so," I said calmly even though my
treacherous heart had given a quick leap at the meaningful words. Since
he was the more volatile of the both of us - and there were already early
signs of his temper appearing on the scene, it was left to me to keep a
rational mind. Sure, kissing him would certainly soothe the wild beast
and contain the problem but I didn't plan to start such a disturbing
trend in our twisted relationship. Unless I had no choice of course. It
seemed to be ironic that I'd spent years looking for that special someone
and now that I had found a spectacularly gorgeous stud who loved me, I
could only resort to kissing him as a last resort. As he showed no signs
of blowing up yet, there didn't seem to be any need to do so.

"And half the time, I was trying to escape from vengeful werewolves in
search of a main course and oily mafioso bothers who want me to join the
dark side." Speaking of such incidences as if it was commonplace would be
ludicrous just six months back and I realized how far my life had
changed. Back then, I didn't have sexy sorcerers who turned into raging
wild beasts once a week over for dinner no matter how luscious they might
look in tight jeans. "And you were the perfect combination of both."

"Ouch." Lifting his hand in a quick salute to my jab, Clayton smiled
ruefully. The vivid green was back in his eyes, gleaming and so green a
shade to seem almost inhuman, as he'd shed his vulnerable, confiding side
as easily as he'd left his humanity behind when he'd changed. "No, I'm
not denying that less than two months is hardly time enough to make a
lifetime commitment but well, I don't know how it is but I knew you were
the one the moment I saw you walk out of the door."

"It was the adrenaline and the heat of the moment..." My heart stuttered
from what he'd said and I found my tongue finally giving up. How the hell
do you deal with such simple sincerity. He could have prettied it up with
sweet words and poetry - I'd certainly seen him in action with that
treacherous silver tongue at work - but he didn't try all those practised
moves on me. I started to stand but he caught my hand in his. I would
have known better than to have tried breaking free. With that strength,
it would be a cinch for him to snap my wrist with just a squeeze.

"You can explain it all away but it doesn't change what I feel.
Belittling my feelings for you hurts. It hurts, John."

Who knew those unnaturally green eyes could hold so much grief. Legend
had it that wolves mated for life and I felt my heart stop for a moment.
"Clayton."

"John, why are you fighting this?"

"It hurts even more that you're using all your charm to persuade me to
stay so that you'll get a leg up in the Cabal." I'd never been at my best
caught in a corner. It came sputtering out before I could stop myself.
Many times before, I'd come close to revealing what I'd seen and heard
and yet in respect and appreciation for what he'd done for me, I'd kept
it silent till now.

"What th-" It was as if I'd turned and slapped him hard as he recoiled
from my accusation. "That's what you think of me? You think I'm a fucking
toad-eating asshole who'd stoop to such low tactics? I can do better than
fucking the boss' son." The apparent grief melted away as his green eyes
flashed an early warning.

Since I'd already gotten this far, I didn't see any reason to keep what I
knew a secret. "Look, I saw you in the living room talking to my father.
You don't have to carry on this charade any longer than you have to, my
father thinks the world of you and..."

To prove his point, he practically leapt over the table as he loomed
threateningly over me. Any other witch would have cowered under that
stare but the foolhardy witch that I am, I retained my position, refusing
to budge an inch. "I knew that, heard you coming in from a mile away.
Such a clever little eavesdropper! Perhaps you should have stayed longer
to hear the rest of it. Or perhaps you'd rather read my mind and find out
for yourself." The hell-raising fury he was famous for was evident now,
rising in palpable waves from his body. "What's wrong with wanting you to
stay with the Cabal? I wanted you close to me and that's one of the few
ways I could see to keep you near. The other was tying you up and tossing
you into my car but that wouldn't have gone down so well with your
father. You certainly wouldn't have stayed for me, you were so damned
insistent on returning to Black Falls and your damned so-called life."

"I don't want.."

Clayton didn't allow me a chance to explain myself but cut me off with a
rude grunt. "I'm not finished, John. You might have heard me promising
your dad to find a way. What the hell's wrong with that? Your father
saved me when I was lost. I'd do anything for him and having you back in
the family was one of the few things he'd wanted for so long. Was it
wrong for me to get that for him?"

I stared at him. His seething anger drew a spark of my own and I started
getting angry in spite of my self.

"Answer me, John. Look at me. Why should I bother lying to you? Sure I
had other motives for wanting you to stay but that doesn't mean I love
you any less."

Finally it was time to show my trump card and goaded by his belligerence,
I decided to confront him with it. "Clayton, look, I saw the picture of
the boy in your office. Don't even try to deny that he's your son."

"I won't deny that."

And he didn't need to. When I'd looked into the photo, I knew I'd seen
love. The little boy's face was unmistakeable, the perfect miniature of
his father who held him close. Those wicked green eyes, the rough shag of
glossy black curls, the impish smile.

He remained quiet for a moment and I stood up, slowly gathering the
plates in silence.

As I came back from the kitchen with the tableloth, he was still sitting
there watching the table in silent, rapt contemplation. Turning to go, he
caught my hand and urged me to sit. "John, you've got it all wrong. Take
a seat, please."

Anger would have raised my hackles but I was certainly no proof to the
entreating look on his face. "Tell me."

"I was going to explain it to you earlier but... hell, how do I say this
but yes, he is my son. Let me give you the short summary on this. I was
married before. It was years ago, I'd tried... hell, I know I love men
now but back then, I'd hoped that all those dirty thoughts and ideas
would fade away if I just got married." Clayton laughed quietly, shaking
his head in remembrance. "Had all these hot guys doing all sorts of dirty
things in my head. Almost went crazy thinking that the Garcias were right
and I was tainted by the Devil. Your father would have helped me then but
I had to get away, be by myself for a while. In that time, I met a woman.
Just a slip of a girl actually, her name was Luisa. We were happy
together, she loved me... gave me a son. It didn't last for long since
she died from... an accident two years after we'd met."

An accident? There was something more that he wasn't saying about his
wife but I figured that he would tell me in time so I kept quiet. "You've
given me a lot to think about."

"John. Before you came into my life, I'd already sworn that I'd try to
keep you by your father's side, by force if you will but once I saw you,
everything changed." He looked straight at me, almost daring me to look
away. "They say wolves mate for life, John. I really tried my best to
love Luisa, she was lovely and sweet and yet, I couldn't return her love
in kind. I thought it was a flaw in me, a fucking deficiency planted by
my upbringing. But when I saw you, I knew then why I couldn't love Luisa.
I was waiting for you, my mate and she wasn't the one. I swear I wanted
to tell you all this before but then you left in such a hurry."

Once he'd explained it all, it all made perfect sense and tied up all the
loose ends about Clayton that I'd wondered about.A red flush of shame
burned my cheeks as I wondered what had made me leap to those terrible
conclusions in the beginning. There was still the werewolf mystery that
bugged me but since it was still obviously a source of pain for him, I
decided not to dredge it up yet. The combination of werewolf genes and
sorcerous powers were unique, and he was certainly the first such
supernatural I'd seen. Some secrets however were best left buried. "I'd
made my own conclusions about you by then, Clayton, not all of them good.
And I found myself still liking you despite all the evidence in front of
me."

"Irresistible, eh." He couldn't hide the grin of satisfaction on his
face.

"Conceited jerk." I chuckled. "It wasn't exactly running away. I just
wanted some space, wanted to get some distance between us to think."

"I honestly wanted to tell you about Sam, my son, but I found that I
couldn't. To just dump you with all the information about my life when
we'd just met seemed a little too much. And you've got to admit that we
didn't exactly have the time to hash things out."

I replied almost flippantly. "Well, a crazed werewolf was after me. Not
exactly the time for tea and chit-chat."

"And we know how you witches love the herbal tea."

"Hey, don't knock it."

"And now? Where do we stand?" Clayton said softly.

It was a loaded question indeed. After what he'd just revealed, the
insane, insensible urge to leap impulsively into his strong arms was
there, stronger than ever, but so was the cautious witch side of myself
that remained irrationally wary of him. "We'll see how it goes. Let's
just say your chances are very good." Deciding to give my conscience a
rest for the day, I took his hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Evidently, it was more than enough and he flashed a warm, grateful smile
in return. "What if I still wanted to stay here in Black Falls?"

That was even better than he'd expected and he grinned with satisfaction.
"Well, take a look here." Getting out of the chair to rummage in his bags
in the living room, he searched for a minute or two as I watched him.
Damn, he was one extremely fine looking man, all hard muscle and
testosterone, masculine curves and planes that was showcased perfectly by
the simple jeans and shirt that he wore.

Thoroughly aware of the greedy looks he was getting, Clayton glanced over
with a devilish smile and winked his green eye at me. "Hot stuff!" As I
maintained my dignified silence, he let out a low chuckle and continued
his search. Returning to me with an envelope in hand, he handed it to me,
urging me to open it.

"This can't be another join the Mafia newsletter?" When he shook his dark
head, his eyes dancing with wicked mischief, I finally relented and
opened the envelope. It was the deed to the land behind my homestead.
Slowly placing the documents down on the table, I lifted up my gaze to
meet his. "You bought all this land?"

His explanation was simple enough and he shrugged as he gave me an
answer. "Sweetheart, a wolf needs a place to run. Can't very well run in
circles around your small house. That would make me look like a damned
fool."

Clayton James shifting to Black Falls was akin to Carrie Bradshaw moving
to the deepest interiors of Utah to take up knitting. Almost incredulous,
I stared at him wondering whether it was one of his hoaxes. "You're
moving to Black Falls? You're not serious?"

"You're not the only stubborn bastard here. It took me damn near three
days to acquire the land deeds but yeah, if that's what you want. Staying
out here would be good for me. Beats the hell out of driving out of the
city to change. Doesn't mean I like it - and I'll still try to talk you
into staying in New York."

"Clayton James ruralizing? Repairing fences and sheds? Driving a pickup
truck to the neighbourhood store and the weekly crafts fairs?" It was
difficult to imagine. Slick city kid spending a simple life in Black
Falls?

He winced. "Please. Don't remind me."

I laughed, gave in to my earlier impulse and kissed him.