The Sheriff and the Shifter, out now!

[dessalux]

Sheriff Ray Prescott knows just about everybody in his small town. He knows quite a bit about twenty-year-old Tom London, the only survivor of a fire that killed his family three years ago. Ray knows that Tom is more than he appears, but when Ray stops to pick Tom up after his car breaks down, he realizes that Tom is also just what he appears: a lonely young man in need of someone to look after him. Ray is happy to oblige, if Tom is willing to trust him to give him what he needs...

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Sheriff RayPrescott was soaked through after spending twenty minutes out in the late March downpour, sorting out a car accident. He made it barely half a mile down the road before he spotted a familiar dark blue Mustang pulled over on the opposite shoulder. The hood was up, and the car's owner was leaning under it. If Ray knew a thing about body language, he'd guess that boy was looking at the engine without a damn clue of what to do about it.

Ray pulled across the empty road and parked on the shoulder, headlights illuminating the shape of Tom London in a soaking wet t-shirt and tight jeans, hands braced at the top of the Mustang's grille. Ray just sat for a minute, waiting to see if the kid would look back to see who'd pulled up behind him, or at least pretend to be fiddling with something, but Tom didn't budge. Ray's curiosity got the better of his hopeless wish not to get any wetter tonight, and he reached for his radio and called dispatch. "Show me out of the car again, Donna. Half mile east of Greentree. Tom London's Mustang is broken down on the westbound side."

"Ten four, Sheriff," Donna replied, primly correct in her radio protocol in a way that made Ray suspect he'd be getting a lecture about correct dispatch procedures again soon. Donna was a little slip of a thing, half his age, with a lot of firm ideas about bringing their small-town sheriff's department into the modern age of policing. 

Ray shook his head, grabbed his hat, and stepped back out into the rain.

Ray took a long look at Tom as he walked up. His t-shirt was nearly transparent, clinging to surprisingly broad shoulders and a firmly muscled back that tapered down to narrow hips. Living out in the woods over the winter had been good for him in at least one way, apparently. The boy was really growing up.

"Car trouble, son?" Ray asked, as he came around to Tom's side.

Tom's head jerked up, his eyes wide and catching the little light there was in an uncanny way. They were a startling pale amber color, just like his mother's, surrounded with long black eyelashes. Tom's black hair was flattened with the rain, and his face was pale, though showing a hint of five o'clock shadow on his pale cheeks. Ray's hand curled against the impulse to touch Tom there, to test the texture of it; not here, not now. Not with Tom looking back at him all wide-eyed and startled.

Ray really shouldn't have been able to sneak up on the boy, no matter how loud the rain was. He didn't know everything about the Londons or Tom, but he knew that much.

Tom looked back down under the Mustang's hood, frowning a little as he nodded. "Belt gave out," he said, just loudly enough to be heard above the rain pinging against the car's hood. He caught the frayed end of the culprit belt, tugging on it a little in illustration.

"Right," Ray said. "You're gonna need a tow, then. Come on out of this rain, I'll call Pete to come and get her."

Tom nodded again, frowning and still not looking up, and Ray gave in to the impulse to reach out. He set his hand on the bare nape of the boy's neck--the pale skin there was chilled from the rain--and gave him a little shake.

"Come on, son. Sheriff's orders."

Ray saw the little sag of Tom's shoulders--not defeat, he thought, but a second's relief of tension. It felt like a glimpse of something secret, although a secret as badly-kept as many of them were when it came to Tom; it sent a curl of heat through Ray, made his fingers tighten a little harder. He saw Tom swallow, his head bowing, and then the boy forced himself upright, turning into Ray's grip rather than away.

Ray had to keep him at arm's length, though, at least for now, at least out here in the rain. He stepped back, dropping his hand, and led the way back to his cruiser, not letting himself look back to be sure Tom was following. Tom was right there, though, sliding in on the passenger side almost as soon as Ray was in the driver's seat.

Tom looked smaller in the car, dripping wet with his clothes clinging to him, too-tight jeans he was on the verge of growing out of under that flimsy shirt. He didn't shiver, but he wrapped his arms around himself and huddled down in his seat, head bowed like he was just asking for
Ray's hand back.