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Chapter Seventeen

Friday July 18, 2008

11:04pm

Again, they were bundled together within the glow of the television--the house quiet beyond the fringe of artificial luminance, the house forgotten beyond the stinging scent of perfume and the sensation of one body 'gainst another. Too many things he was becoming too accustomed to. Short claws and the heel of a paw stroked at his thigh, pushed tantalizingly, terrifyingly close. That the touch and voice which seduced his senses belonged to his mother was something Tyson could almost ignore--

"My trip is next week."

Looking down at the shepherd tucked underneath his arm, Tyson cocked his brow, asked, "To Grandpa's?"

Patricia nodded.

She had visited her widowered father in Maxine, Indiana every summer since her mother's death, and she had made the drive alone every summer.

"Want to come with?"

The weight of intent within that short, simple question hung over Tyson, and the muted television's silence grew suddenly loud.

"You don't have to go," Patricia added.

Cold, canny--her dark eyes pressed.

Tyson bit idly at his lip.

A week of togetherness--alone. An invitation to depths well beyond the fingers reaching on the fringes of darkness, well beyond the shadows of temptation cast across his conscience--an invitation to depths pitch black, unforgivable, inescapable.

"I'll go," said Tyson, his haste a low growl, and his mother's paw giddily grazed his muzzle.

"Good. I already booked our hotel."

"Hotel?"

Tyson almost squirmed as he said it.

His mother smirked, cradled his muzzle on the palm of her paw and then spoke to a third shepherd.

"Home early."

Tyson jumped, snapped his head and body from his mother's touch as Bella emerged from the darkness--from nowhere--and briskly bypassed the television and couch, her gait markedly straight and her scent lacking its usual Friday zest as she veered for the hall to the bedrooms. Bella said nothing, and exited the scene as quickly as she had appeared.

* * *

Saturday July 19, 2008

5:08pm

Light of sun and electricity had reclaimed the corners of the TV room when Tyson scrolled through thumbnail images and text, wanting only to kill time before supper and take his mind off of things--something made impossible by the all-black shepherd who hovered over his back.

"Why the hell are you going with her?" asked Bella, scowling and crossing her arms.

Tyson shrugged his shoulders, clicked on the least-interesting-looking car video he could find, but his sister didn't budge. She had been badgering him all afternoon with snarky remarks and scrutiny.

Bella's voice grew only more unsatisfied as she spoke over the computer's speakers. "And you're going? Why the fuck would you want to? Weren't you all pissed about your ex?"

"Goddamn, you're annoying," Tyson grunted, rolling his eyes.

Sensing irritation, an opportunistic grin sprung onto Bella's black muzzle. "Aww," she cooed, "You are still sad about your MILF."

"Let's not talk about this."

"Is Mommy gonna kiss all your boo-boos and make you feel better?"

The computer's mouse might have snapped in Tyson's grip.

"I just don't get it," Bella carried on, oblivious to her brother's glare, "why she's only asking you to go. I mean, sure, I can understand if she doesn't want me to go. I wouldn't go anyway, but not Nessa? Not even Dad? That's so fucking weird."

Tyson's jaws were clenched too tight for words.

Bella ate in her room and left with friends following supper. Tyson had never felt so relieved. Once finished with his own dinner plate, the young shepherd went to the garage to play around his 944's undercarriage. He needed the smell of oil, the feel of cold steel. Working on the car had always taken Tyson's mind off things, and while pulling the jack stands, wiping down his greasy paws he moved with a whistle and an easy nod to his step.

He was on the narrow stairwell between the garage and the dining room, a dull and secluded hall, when he smelt perfume and looked up to see his mother's smirk.

"Car trouble?" asked Patricia.

"No. Just wanted to look at a few things," Tyson said, and he stopped a step short of his mother.

"Well, if you need something to look at--"

Short claws scratched at soft, steel-gray fabric, rose to dig at a scooped neckline, digging more black fur into open view for but a second. Just enough to stir Tyson's pulse, to erase all doubt, all second guessing.

Fuck it, he thought, and his paws fastened round the black shepherd's slender waist.

The possessive grip loosened a moan from Patricia's throat. "Oh, Ty," she shivered, eyes sparkling. "I can't wait."

That night, in the blackness of his room, Tyson decisively spilled his lust.