that. More nuts than usual. Of course, that’s what friends were for, wasn’t it? To tell you when you were headed over the edge?
Either that or hold your hand and take the leap with you. Sanity’s overrated, anyhow. Jazzy heard footsteps and the rustle of clothing. She lifted her elbow from her eyes enough to see who all was wandering by. Matt flopped down on the grass next to Nicky and Beth. It looked like the rest of the guys were hanging out as usual, down here at the memorial garden instead of their old turf over on Stanyan.
The crowd there was just too edgy, always looking for trouble. She used to fit in with them. Not anymore. Now she preferred hanging with the pack: Deacon, Matt, Nicky, and Beth.
And Logan. She couldn’t forget Logan.
They fit together almost like family. Like a pack. Logan was the one who started it when he called them a mangy pack of wolves, said they had a feral kind of connection. Jazzy liked that. She could handle being called mangy as long as she got the feeling of being connected to someone.
It was a long time coming.
Maybe that’s why she’d been dreaming of wolves and sex. Face it, anything that had to do with Logan was enough to make her horny.
She sat up and yawned, leaned over and picked a long strand of the grayish green grass that grew in clumps around the memorial garden. She ran it between her fingers and popped the thick stalk between her teeth. It was such a beautiful day. Perfect for hanging with her buds, nibbling on sweet grass, and watching the jet trails in the clear, blue sky.
She slanted another look toward Logan. He leaned against one of the slabs of granite that made up the heart of the memorial garden. With his face and all its sharp angles and planes lifted to the warming rays of the sun, he almost looked like a part of the stone. Damn, she could watch him all day. That long, lean body of his moved with a rhythm all its own. He gave her a hot, liquid tingle deep in her gut. Logan was way special.
He was tough, too. And really strong. Older than the rest of them. Kind of scary sometimes, with his head shaved halfway and all the tats. His body was a veritable canvas, covered in some absolutely rad artwork.
Nicky’d said even Logan’s cock was covered in tattoos. Now that was something she’d like to see.
Sometime.
Of course, Matt had whispered to her one day that Nicky had studs in his dick, something he called a Jacob’s Ladder. Little barbells running from the tip to his balls. She couldn’t care less about Nicky’s dick, but she couldn’t help but wonder about the tats on Logan’s.
Was he hard when the guy did it? How much did it hurt? She had a little tat of a flower on her ankle and it hurt like hell to get that one. She couldn’t imagine sitting still while some guy stuck needles and dye there!
What was it with guys and their parts?
Jazzy turned away from Logan, flopped back down in the grass, and closed her eyes. She scratched at her itchy arms and wished she could just eat Logan up—after she got a look at his dick, of course. That wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t like it when anyone tried to get close, and checking out those tats would mean she’d gotten way too up close and personal.
“Jazzy? You got any of that cream?”
She blinked and there was Nicky, kneeling so close he blocked out her sunlight. “Your skin itching again?” She sat up and dug into her jeans pocket for the tube of skin cream she’d gotten a couple days ago.
“Feels like I’m ready to crawl right out of it. Just pop myself free of this bod and turn into”—he bared his teeth and growled—“a wolf!” He laughed and took the tube, squeezed a little lotion into his palm. “Sounds good in theory.”
Nicky was such a sweetheart. Tall and slim, yet so gentle and quiet with dark eyes and olive skin. She wondered if he might be Indian, or maybe even Middle Eastern. His skin was almost as dark as hers, but right now his arms were covered with red streaks where he’d scratched himself raw.
Just like hers.
Nicky sighed as he slapped the lotion over his long arms. “I feel like a dork using your girly stuff.”
Beth flopped down on the grass next to Jazzy and laughed. “That’s because you are a dork.” She swung her dark hair back over her shoulder and tilted her chin. Nicky snorted and jabbed her with his shoulder. She bumped him back and took the tube from Nicky’s outstretched hand. “I need it, too.”
Jazzy noticed Beth didn’t really look Nicky in the eye. If she did, he’d know for sure how much she loved him. Jazzy knew, but only because she’d guessed. Beth never said a word about her feelings. She was afraid to, Jazzy was sure of that. Beth was really shy, not anything like Jazzy. She kept her chin tucked close to her chest and squeezed a thick spurt of white cream into her hand. Then she handed the tube back to Jazzy. “I wonder if we’re allergic to something around here? Your arms are all red, too.”
Jazzy chewed at the stalk of grass. She shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing here but grass and trees.”
“Hey.”
Jazzy swung around at the sound of Logan’s deep voice.
“Holy shit. Check this out.”
When she looked in the direction he nodded, Jazzy felt her skin go cold. Beside her, Nicky went very still but he radiated an almost palpable tension. Jazzy grabbed his forearm. He shrugged her away. She turned him loose and watched the drama unfold.
Montana was nice, but it really felt good to be back in the city. Tala picked up her pace as she headed down Stanyan to Haight, where she planned to cut through the park to check on Keisha’s memorial garden. She’d promised, after all.
As if she’d had a choice?
That thought alone was enough to make her smile.
Are the plants doing okay? Is the rock work still in place? Please, don’t let there be graffiti…like that’s all Keisha had to worry about. Still, Keisha had won a national prize and the chance to design the garden, and it was lovely. Planted entirely with grasses native to the Himalayan steppe…amazing, the varieties she’d chosen.
The same mix of grasses the Chanku needed to shift.
Only Keisha hadn’t yet known of her Chanku heritage. That alone had made her choices special.
Tala reached the corner of Haight and Stanyan. The usual group of homeless youth whistled and made lewd comments. No big deal. She smiled and waved when she walked past the half dozen young men lounging around the street corner.
At another time, she might have been terrified by the suggestive leers and off-color comments, given her small stature and female gender. Since she’d become Chanku, it took an awful lot to frighten her.
Still, it never hurt to be cautious. She held her head up and kept walking. The sun passed behind a small wisp of fog. Tala shivered. Moments later, as she drew near Keisha’s garden, she caught the sound of footsteps behind her. Memories of the recent attack here in the park were way too fresh to ignore. Luc, the leader of the San Francisco pack, had assured all of them that the wanted posters were off the Internet and for the moment, at least, no one seemed to be hunting Chanku, but…
Tala
