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©® KAYCEE** Pseudonym 2012

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2

"Nothing sweetie," Gran smiled sweetly to Kyle, "Jesse and I were just teasing each other." Kyle rolled his eyes, "That is nothing new Ms. Meriweather."

Gran eyed him hard and then with a smirk beckoned him over. Crooking her finger for him to lean down, she reached up to pinch Kyle's cheek chastised him, "And how many times am I going to tell you young man that you're to call me Althea or Gran?"

"OW! Yes'm," he laughed rubbing reddened spot near his left dimple as she released him.

How do I describe Kyle? Pinning him down is something of a feat considering his features. I've known him for so long and yet he's still Kyle. He was my first and only crush/love and has always been my best friend. The sad part of it, he doesn't even know my true feelings for him. To describe Kyle, well... Kyle is huge! He stands 6'2" with dark brown hair that he keeps cut very short on the sides and spikier on top. His eyes are the most marvelous mixture of blue and green that reminds you of the Pacific that roars below. His smile lights up the room as it reaches from dimple to dimple. Lately he'd taken to sporting this sexy little chin strap goatee that accentuated his strong and determined chin. He is more than the term 'fit'. He's a specimen out of every work out magazine that has ever been printed. None of it from drugs or 'muscle formulas', etc; Ok, I take that back, he will drink those protein drinks while working or working out. However, his form was natural. Growing up here and the work he did around the area and his home, surfing and the little workouts he liked to tuck in here and there.

Ok, before you get the idea that I've been skeeving on him for years. Dreaming? Yes. Skeeving? No! In all our years being best friends I have never seen him nude. That in itself was amazing when I think back to it. Even when we stayed over at each other's homes, we'd always slip to the bathroom to change. We never had PE together throughout high school either. It always happened that if we did, his schedule would get changed based on another class he needed to take.

I've seen him only with his shirt off, shorts or board short or in his boxers. That was the most skin I saw; never, ever naked. I think I would have gotten a nose bleed if I had!

I, on the other hand, was the flip side. If Kyle was big and buff, then the term 'polar opposite' couldn't be more truthful or accurate. I am short but at 5'7", I at least towered over my 5'5" Grandmother. She was the only one even my Mom was taller. I got short changed from Gran's side of the family.

I am skinny, wiry and my musculature was strong but nowhere near 'buff'. I was just lean. My simple black, longish, hair hangs over my ears a bit, to where I am constantly pushing it back to keep it from tickling the inside of my ear. My body came with my genetics and I pretty much keep it that way from surfing and cross country running.

I have two things going for me though. One, my ass! You could bounce a quarter off of it if you wanted. It's firm and yet, roundish. Not like some big bubble butt but actually looks pretty damn sweet in a pair of tight jeans or a pair of board shorts. The second are my eyes. The only things that I am thankful for from that SOB sperm donor. They are very deep azure blue. My eyes are the first thing that gets me noticed in a crowd and always ends up being commented about.

"You're staying for supper," Gran indicated towards the kitchen sink to wash up.

"I don't want to be any bother..." he started but trailed off as Gran dismissed him with a wave of her hand on her way back to the living room.

I had returned to the chicken to remove the ones that were done and put in the last pieces while Kyle washed his hands in the sink.

"I don't want to be a bother," mocking him as I dropped the last of the chicken in the deep fryer. Seconds later he was wrapping his huge arm around my neck like a choke hold and giving me a noogie. "Bite me!" he laughed.

"Please," I said shoving him away, more from the fact that I was getting hard from his smell then him messing with my hair, "If I did, then you'd know it and it'd leave a mark!"

"Besides," I added, "You know damn well that you were going to be eating with us after finishing up the yard today.

"You think so?" he softly murmured.

"Think what?" I asked looking at him and the slight smirk he had on his face.

"Nothing," pausing as he pulled one of the kitchen chairs out and turned it around, straddling it.

I shrugged my shoulders as I started getting the salad ready.

He was quite. Hell the kitchen was almost dead silent except for me cutting the tomatoes. I stopped in mid cut realizing that he was staring at my back. I could feel his eyes on me, watching me. "What?" I asked turning around brandishing one of the good Sankotu knives.

"Whoa!" Kyle said putting his hands up. "Easy there pup!"

Looking down and realizing that I had one hell of a sharp object in my hand, I used it for effect, "Ok, but unless you want me to change you from a 'rooster' to a 'hen' by removing your 'cock'," pausing to let it sink in, "then what's got you staring at me?"

"Who says I was staring at you?" he asked with one smart assed grin.

My response was only raising my left eyebrow.

"I hate how you can do that," he laughed. "You and that eyebrow thing, plus you and your Grandmother knowing that I'm doing something even with your backs are turned. Hell, your Mom did the same thing. It's fucking creepy!"

"All the better to keep your freakishly huge body in line," returning to finish the tomatoes before pulling out an onion. "You want onion in the salad and onion gravy tonight?" I asked looking back over my shoulder to catch him running the tip of his tongue over his top lip.

He didn't even notice me for a moment. "Um, what?" he asked coming out of his trance.

Now it was my turn to lose my train of thought. The sight of him doing that made me struggle internally and inside my boxer briefs. "I," pausing to swallow, "...I wanted to know if you wanted onion in the salad and onion gravy tonight?"

"Yeah, sure. You know I like your onion gravy," noting his voice dropped slightly and sounded throaty.

"Are you feeling alright?"

He jumped up out of the chair and pushed it back to the table, "Me? Oh yeah I'm fine," while trying to clear his throat. "I just have a little tickle," moving over to the sink to get some water.

"So," moving over by me, "what can I do to help?"

"You?" I asked aghast putting down the knife, "You want to help?"

"Yeah. So?"

"You who vowed years ago to find a woman to do all the work for you in the kitchen so that you didn't have to cook or touch one dish?" I reiterated his speech from when he was thirteen.

Shoving me with his arm, "Fuck you! I was a little punk teenager who thought a woman's place was in the kitchen thanks to that idiot Uncle of mine. You know damn well that the moment I opened my mouth and let that drop out that my Mom was all over me!"

I laughed remembering the highly charged 'discussion' after his Mother had asked him to help with dinner and he yelled from the living room "That's women's work."

His Mom was standing over him with her arms crossed and a look that could have curdled cream. I never saw him run so fast in his life. His Dad sat in his recliner laughing hysterically until his Mom smacked him on the back of the head. That incident generated a rather long, and thorough, discussion on the changes of gender roles. Then when he admitted that he'd gotten his information from his Uncle, her brother, who lived a mile away there was an impromptu trip.

After being ratted out by his nephew, his Uncle Dave, who was 17 at the time, spent the next few nights learning to cook dinner for the family with his nephew's help. It was that or he was threatened with a Gender Studies class at the local community college. After that incident, neither of them showed one ounce of chauvinism around his Mom.

"Seriously?" I asked looking at him, "You really want to help?" He nodded.

"Ok," I replied nodding over to the cabinets. "You know where everything is, so set the dining table for the two of us. Gran's going to watch one of her cop shows in the living room. I'll bring dinner to her so she can prop up her ankle."

He worked on getting things ready at the table and I finished up the meal and brought it out to Gran.

"Thanks sweetie," as she leaned in and gave me a kiss. "You two eating in the kitchen?" she asked with a smile and a whisper.

"What?" knowing full well what that grin of hers meant. She only looked at me with a soft smile.

I sighed and kneeled next to her to keep my voice low, "Never going to happen, Gran. He's straight. He's my best friend and... and..." I trailed off trying to think about everything against us. She continued to look at me. "And," I paused remembering the last thing, "He's mortal."

I started to choke up at that last thought; the knowledge that he soon would begin aging at what was normal for him. I would watch him grow old and eventually leave this world while I, aging slower, would still look nearly the same age as I am now. It grabbed at my chest and threatened to choke the life out of me.

Our kind did shuffle off from this plane but usually not for hundreds of years. The oldest warlock to live was 956 years when he left. When I say 'left', I mean we leave. We do not really die. Our bodies return to the magical energy that inhabits us and becomes part of the magic of the next generation of witches, and warlocks. It's similar to reincarnation. The only difference was that it coalesces into magical ether and there changes. It is combined. All the energy of all the lives is mixed, parted out and then reformed into the new being that is born.

It's the one reason why witches and warlocks usually stayed away from developing deep relationships with mortals. Many just kept to themselves or limited their relationships to just business, thus keeping from making attachments; an example being my Mother becoming a plastic surgeon. She could associate with mortals, assist them but still disassociate with them by keeping it simple and clinical. However, even she would have favorites as well.

We were generally required by covenant to not alter the lives and lifespan of mortals. It did happen though. There usually was a big brouhaha and then things would settle down. It usually happened when someone fell in love. True love would supposedly win out but not without many issues.

"Anyway," I reminded her, "we've got enough trouble with those feral wolves roaming the area or did you forget that discussion you had with the counsel?"

"You're changing the subject," Gran said while mixing her potatoes with the gravy.

"Yes," I nodded, "Yes, I am. Now," looking at her with resolve, "what are we going to do with those feral werewolves that popped up in Los Padres?"

"Well," after swallowing some of the potatoes and starting to cut into one of the chicken breasts, "if my ankle were better then I'd be walking through the forest trying to find them or at least the lycan that's changing the humans and leaving them. The ones that I was able to find and assist are doing well. They needed training and a pack or at least someone to train them to handle their changes and needs. It's a difficult thing to go through the change and with no one helping them. Fortunately, Blake has been good about taking in the strays and assist them in learning what it means to become part of our world with most have settled down and into their new lives."

"There have been an unfortunate few that have remained feral too long and lost their humanity," she said sighing, "and I've had to return them to the eternal ether." I nodded.

It was difficult to take a life but our family had been the one's chosen to keep the line of lycanthropy in check for well over a millennia. The 'red capes', as we were known, traveled far and wide to ensure that any lycan born of a feral bite was treated well and found peace and adjustment into their new lives. Some, like those in the earlier centuries, were created from men less than honourable; thieves, brigands, murders and worse. These were the ones we hunted down and dispatched.

We still had to 'remove' these individuals on occasion, when there was a need. Humanity had changed much in the past 300 years but there were still the few that required our attention. It was humanity's change, growth and technological advancement that made it less and less common for a rogue to appear since most lycans had integrated into society.

Lycans are unique. They are from the time of beginning, like that of vampires, and have existed for so long that no one really knows if they are or were born of magic. The live, love, prosper and have families like anyone else but for their one unique trait, that of transformation into a power that rivals even the most powerful of witches or warlocks. Fortunately, they are the most human. They retain the humanity and combine it with the strength, honour and gallantry of the wolf. They are highly respected when not feral. Even the most powerful lycan fears a feral. It is one step away of changing their lives for the worse.

My thoughts are interrupted by a deep voice from the kitchen door, "Hey! Are we going to eat?"

I heard his stomach growl but for a moment... just a moment.