Running Wild

with selling the place,” his father stated, after a dismissive glance at the kitchen and the coffee mugs. “Not everyone likes farm work.”
Uh, yeah. “Look, let me grab a quick shower, and I’ll give you a tour of the place.” Despite appearances, Seamus had been cleaning up the area, and he wanted to show his dad the barn and the garden. Show that he had been working during his time here, not just lolling about.
“Pete called,” his mother sang out.
That pulled Seamus up short. “Pete?”
“Your friend.”
Ex-boyfriend , but Seamus let it pass. Weird how he’d thought of Pete the other day. Why would Pete call them? He’d gotten along fine with his parents, but they’d hardly become chummy during the time he and Pete dated, or spent a lot of time together. However, Pete was charming, Seamus would grant him that.
“Pete was looking for you. I gave him your address, and he might come out and visit this weekend.”
“ What? ” Sure he and Pete had parted on okay terms, and Pete was the one boyfriend he’d brought home to meet the parents. But they’d broken up more than two years ago, and Seamus didn’t want another unexpected drop-in. He was getting enough of that these days as it was.
“I thought you liked Pete,” his mother said reprovingly.
Liked being the operative word, Seamus wanted to point out, but decided this conversation was something to avoid, not continue, so he ducked into the shower.
    Ri kept walking, angry at Seamus but more angry at himself. What the hell was he doing? He’d longed for the day when all human ties would be cut and he could become horse all the time, completely discard his troublesome human side. That being the only way to survive. Perhaps Zach had already gone that route, leaving him and Grandfather far behind.
    But no, instead of mourning Grandfather and moving on, he was like a fucking ghost, tied to this farm and haunting that nice young man, Seamus, who did normal things like have parents visit him.
    Ri was pretty out of it, but even he knew it was normal to have parents visit. Not everyone’s parents treated you like a science experiment.
Of course, not everyone’s parents had been blessed with the freak show of twin horse shifters.
Why wasn’t he shifting, why wasn’t he running on four legs? It was what he always did, had always done. Yet his body rebelled at the very thought of turning back to horse. He walked and walked and walked, mind churning, human muscles desperate for exercise—or so it felt.
At some point Ri had to shift to eat. The shift was difficult given he was already hungry, and then he had to spend the next few hours grazing in order to get enough food into him, which was boring.
Boring. It was a big fear of his, as his future opened up before him. The loneliness and boredom, the aimlessness. His grandfather had tied him to this farm, yes, but that had grounded him too, especially these last two purposeful years when he’d been taking care of the old man. That purpose had been a kind of relief from his earlier years, despite the pain of watching his grandfather’s decline.
Now Ri was floundering. If he’d been like Zach, damaged and angry and scared and furious—and sixteen—he could have run off and never looked back. But he was too old for that. Horses ran, that’s what they did, that’s one of the many reasons they didn’t survive. But horses also developed territorial instincts. Despite his best efforts, Ri had developed his.
He decided, if nothing else, he’d do a full sweep, search out any traces of werewolves in the area. They’d left six years ago, after he’d killed one and the other had fled, never to return. He’d been surprised at first by their complete absence, because that pack had had it in for him, that pack should have returned to hunt him. And they never did.
Over time, he’d begun to relax his vigil, but he still needed to be careful. Because the way he’d been behaving in recent years, it would be too easy for any werewolf to identify the farm as his home. Just as Ri had protected Grandfather from werewolf interest, so he would protect Seamus from those same predators who would have killed him that night seven years ago.
    Two days and counting. Seamus had gone from being worried about Ri— whose last name he didn’t know, was it Smithson?—to feeling fed up. He hoped never to set eyes on the man again. He really did. He wanted to clean this place out and sell it.
    Or not sell it. Though he