Snatched

Chapter 1That evening, Blaze stepped off the hotel elevator in Washington, DC, and stopped dead still. Logan was in the lobby. Alone. Waiting for him. One double heartbeat. Two…bigeminy. Three…trigeminy. Lungs so tight from happiness I can’t draw my breath in all the way. He put a hand to his chest to calm his happy heart. Logan turned and saw Blaze. A slow smile spread across his face, deepening the creases on either side of his mouth that lent so much character to his lover’s sensual face. “Hi.” The greeting was low-key, but his dark eyes filled with welcome and warmth. “Hi, yourself.” There were so many things Blaze wanted to say, but his body hadn’t yet recovered from the vibrant onslaught of joy in seeing him in person tonight. A video chat on his tablet these past weeks had been raunchy and gratifying, but it wasn’t the same as the feel of Logan’s smooth skin or the heat and taste of his mouth or groin. Being attracted to and loving someone was such a mysterious thing. He’d read that scientists believed it had something to do with chemistry, but he couldn’t say. Didn’t really care. Whatever sparked it between two people, two beings, was a miracle, and one he’d honestly thought would never happen because of what he was. “Miss me?” the almost-black Native American eyes teased. Blaze groaned, hand over the booming pump in his chest. “You know damned well I did.” He started forward as if to make a move on him. Palm up to stop him, Logan drew back. “My folks should be down any second. The Lincoln Town Car the museum’s sending will arrive any minute.” Blaze stopped and gave him a smart former-SEAL salute. “Your word is my command.” He wanted to spend time just looking at Logan anyway. As artist honoree for the reception in the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian on the National Mall, Logan had dressed in an expensive black evening suit with a black tie and black dress slippers. His snowy-white shirt with black studs contrasted well with the faintly warm tint of his skin. An Indian earring of colorful beads swung from his left lobe. Before Logan’s parents appeared, Blaze’s overwhelming need to touch him caused him to lean in to at least enjoy the smell of the man’s cologne. He couldn’t stop himself from brushing his lips across his lover’s clean-shaven cheek. “Umm, how good you smell. That’s my favorite scent.” “I know. I wore it just for you.” Blaze softened his voice. “That’s just like you. Have I told you how much I care for you?” He stepped back to let his gaze rove from crown to shoe tips. “How splendid you are all dressed up, Mr. Rider. Glad you aren’t wearing one of those ridiculous bow ties. They’re always crooked.” He detected tones of happiness ringing in Logan’s laughter. “Don’t diss them. Some guys look fantastic in them.” “But not you. Never for you, my Shoshone lover.” “And, as always, you’re gorgeous enough to eat, but I’m surprised you didn’t wear your SEAL dress blues.” “Against regulations for this type of event, so I’m in the dark blue suit I wear to fancy military events for retirees. Besides, only the dress whites are comfortable and I’d stand out like a headlight. All the light tonight should be on you.” Logan traced Blaze’s jaw line with his forefinger, then touched the finger to his mouth as if to carry the essence of Blaze to his lips. “Thanks for coming. It means much to me.” “Only a full moon could have kept me away.” “I’d have made them change the date if that had happened.” Blaze was about to give in to temptation and press his lips to Logan’s mouth when the hum of the elevator reached lobby level, halted, and opened, alerting them to the arrival of the other Riders. They had flown from San Diego with Logan for the event. When they joined them, Logan introduced Blaze as they waited for their ride. “Mother, Kenu, Dad, I’d like you to meet my very good friend, Blaze Canis. He arrived today from Montana, just in time to shower and dress for the dinner. Since they don’t serve food on planes anymore, I’m sure he’s starving.” That broke the ice a little because they all smiled or laughed. “Blaze, I’d like you to meet my family.” Logan’s parents were dressed in formal evening wear, and if it hadn’t been for the vivid colors of the beaded Native earrings dripping from Mrs. Rider’s lobes, Blaze might have considered their assimilation into the Caucasian world complete. He knew they had left the reservation when Logan was a small boy, but Logan returned to the rez to live with his grandfather for his four high school years. Logan introduced Blaze to his father, whose given name was Robert. They shook hands, and Blaze said, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Rider. You have a very talented son.” The man, his face as expressive as a roof shingle, nodded but didn’t speak. He was a little shorter and broader than his son. “And my mother, Rosalie.” Logan smiled as he looked at her, his face filled with love. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Canis. We always enjoy meeting Logan’s friends.” “And I’ve looked forward to this chance to meet his family. You look very nice, Mrs. Rider. I like the effect of the earrings against the dark color of your gown.” She’d seemed shy at first, just nodding at the compliment, then her eyes brightened. “Thank you. An artist advised me.” Blaze kept his laugh quiet, appreciating her humor. “Well said. Well said.” The fine Native lines of their three faces were reflected in Logan’s distinctive cheekbones and slender nose. “No wonder you’re a knockout,” Blaze whispered in his lover’s ear when no one was looking. “You have terrific genes.” Logan’s grandfather’s skin was as wrinkled as a stream bed baked beneath a desert sun during a drought. His dark suit had been fitted to his tall, slender frame, but he walked as if his black dress shoes were new and pinched his feet. Two neat braids hung down his back, revealing a choker of three strands of white porcupine quills threaded at intervals on vertical rows of black beads. His dangling earrings, quills strung between two rows of dark beads tipped by soft, baby bird feathers in gray just above his shoulders, matched. Although he spoke English, there was nothing white about this impressive man. Affection shone and danced in Logan’s eyes. “Nian Kenu, Blaze is a weapons instructor in Yellowstone Gateway, and we met when I updated my skills with handgun and rifle before my recent visit with you. I’m trying to talk him into hunting with us someday on the rez.” Kenu nodded. His handshake was firm. He stood straight, pride in his grandson gleaming in his expressive eyes and face. He carried the lines in his face with grace. Blaze’s immediate perception was that he was a man of many strengths, one of which was understanding who he was in the scheme of things. With the exception of the shoes, he thought Logan’s grandfather would not be uncomfortable among the others here even though Blaze guessed such fancy dress wouldn’t be his first choice. However, as those close-to-obsidian eyes studied him, Blaze had the instant suspicion that Kenu didn’t approve of him. Blaze had felt some stiffness from Robert, but the grandfather’s response surprised as well as unnerved him because Logan admired the man so much. Disapproval wasn’t something Blaze experienced often. If you were or had been a SEAL, most people stood in awe of you. Maybe Kenu didn’t know his SEAL history? He lost no time in chiding himself for the thought. That’s pretty shallow, Canis. SEALs may be an arrogant lot of SOBs because we’re the elite among all the elite warriors in the world, but you’re not a SEAL anymore, and Kenu is a Native who lives on the rez. No doubt he’s never heard of counter-terrorism operatives, much less the navy’s finest fighters. “My grandson must bring you for a visit,” Kenu said, and there seemed to be something more behind the invitation. Maybe he wanted a deeper look at Blaze to evaluate his credentials to be Logan’s nonnative friend? What would he think if he knew they were lovers? Blaze didn’t want to hazard a guess about that. “Thank you for the invitation. I’d like very much to visit.” He smiled and meant it. He wouldn’t let any ulterior motive for the older man’s invitation dissuade him because he wanted to get to know him anyway. If the grandfather’s attitude threatened to change Logan’s feelings for him or drive them apart in any way, he would work on changing the man’s mind. A slight rush of chilled air entered the hotel lobby when a bulky black man in a navy blue chauffer’s uniform trimmed in maroon pushed through the entrance. He was polite and all business. “The Rider family?” “Here,” Logan said, After the driver identified himself as with the NMAI, Logan led them to the town car outside, and they were delivered to the museum’s south entrance for the reception. * * * * Blaze recognized the mosaic circle in the concrete in front of that entrance as a representation of the lunar cycle. The Riders walked across it to enter the building. Blaze shivered as if a shadow had fallen across his grave. The reality of what that cycle meant in his life sent pain shooting from his chest to his toes. He hoped no one noticed how he skirted it. Despite low outdoor lights, the moon was too dark to explore the gardens after the dinner or even to see what the outside of the building looked like. The chill that entered the hotel when the door had opened followed them to their destination. He was eager to be inside where it was warmer…and away from the reminder of the cycles of the moon. The banquet room was filled with men and women in formal dress. Like Logan, his mother and grandfather were among those who wore some item signifying their Native blood, but many did not. Logan’s father was one of the latter. Blaze reminded himself, too, that not everyone here would be Indian. To Logan, he whispered, “I think we’re seeing the movers and shakers of this museum and, Native or not, they’re no doubt all stinkin’ rich.” A soft chuckle was Logan’s agreement. “I think these are our seats.” He pointed to place cards at the head table as the president of the board came to greet them. After they had satisfied their immediate need for a little food and something to drink, Blaze spoke to Robert. “What kind of work do you do, Mr. Rider?” “I’m an architect. I have my own firm.” “Ah, I see where your son gets his eye for space and structure. Is your firm in San Diego?” Mr. Rider nodded to confirm, but said nothing. Turned out he was a tough dinner companion to engage in conversation, and Blaze soon gave up. A little wine might loosen up Robert, but he had turned over his glass so it would not be filled. A waiter removed it and offered tea or coffee. He took coffee, so Blaze requested that, too. Either Robert didn’t like red wine, was allergic to the grapes in it, or had a problem with alcohol. From what Blaze understood, Natives had a much higher rate of that than others. It had something to do with the recent discovery of a gene that protected people from developing dependency, and too many Native Americans they’d studied lacked it. If Robert was afflicted this way, fear of it might explain why Logan almost never drank anything alcoholic. Has Logan perhaps struggled with a drinking problem? I should ask him. Logan’s hair hung in one neat braid down his spine, so clean it gleamed under the light of the room’s chandelier. That and his bright, beaded earring were tonight’s only two acknowledgements of his high degree of blood heritage. To Blaze, they symbolized the two worlds Logan handled with such ease, and he hoped he could learn to handle being an alpha wolf and human. Having to shift was difficult enough. Pack leader would be…was…almost unbearable. He sighed, and Logan glanced at him, shoulders lifted in a query as to what bothered him. He smiled and shook his head, signaling not to worry. It was true that he was fine, but that symbol of the movement of the Earth around the moon at the entrance had triggered unhappy memories of when he’d first discovered his dual nature. He’d known he was different even as a small boy. As puberty loomed, he realized he liked boys better than girls, and by his twelfth birthday, he knew for sure…he was gay. He trusted his parents enough to tell them, and they assured him it was normal for some people. But when he shifted into a gray wolf for the first time soon after, he’d wanted to kill himself. Lacking the courage for it, he ran away. The quick-thinking love and tracking skills of his alpha parents averted that disaster. Tears streaming down his once-again human face, his throat raw from screaming, he kicked his father’s shins and pounded his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you just smother me when I was born?” His mother stood aside, her hands on her temples as if to hold her head together, face streaming with tears, a study in unendurable pain. It was his father—taller and heavier than Blaze, whose powerful arms and legs restrained his kicks and blows—who held him as he sobbed, who spoke of love and his duty as a son not to break his mother’s heart by thinking of harming himself. His mother’s words stumbled through her tears. “Of course we wouldn’t have smothered you at birth! I’m sorry this hurts you so much, Blaze. We didn’t tell you because we didn’t know if you would be like us. We shifted much, much younger than you have, and so we assumed you never would. Because we were little, it wasn’t the shock to us that it is to you.” His father’s quiet voice did not invite rebuttal. “Know this…we have loved you even when you told us your sexual nature differed from ours. Even when sadness claimed us because you will never become alpha after us, we loved you.” “And we always will.” His beautiful mother buried her face in her hands, and her pain penetrated Blaze’s. His father nodded. “We will always love you.” And hugged him even tighter. Subdued yet rebellious, Blaze cowered when they introduced him to the Yellowstone pack. The magnitude of what it meant to have a double nature shredded the muscles of his heart, and when he saw his father’s role and what it meant to be an alpha, it was like someone had punched his gut with a sledgehammer. They introduced Blaze to the pack. He refused to lift his head. They hunted elk. He cowered and hid. Snarling and threatening, his father found him. With muzzle and sharp teeth, he drove him out and prodded him into his first hunt. Gradually, painfully, the life of a shifter became second nature to him. In human form, Blaze added new terms to his moon vocabulary—waning gibbous, waxing gibbous, quarter, half, three-quarters, and full. Each was determined by the movement of the Earth around the moon and how much of the sun’s light was between them. In time, Blaze came to understand the depth of his parent’s feelings for him and he loved them fiercely in return, but he left home as soon as he could, determined to live his own life. He vowed he would never be pack leader. While they were alive, he avoided visiting them near the time of a shift. He also refused to meet the pack members in their human form. As a SEAL counter-terrorism officer on secret missions around the world, he learned to control his shifting. Unless the mission required it—or he just wanted to run and howl—he did not change, no matter how strong the pull of the moon might be. His teammates never knew he was gay, much less that he might shift into a wild animal every twenty-nine and a half days. It was to save Logan’s life that he’d been forced by circumstance to become the alpha of his late parents’ pack. Love for the Shoshone had given him no choice at all. “Never say never.” Wasn’t that the saying? If so, he knew it was true.