The temperature was cold, but not too bad. A perfect night for a friendly frolicking toss of the old pigskin. At least, that was what Cannon thought until he heard his buddy call out.
“Watch out for the—”
But it was too late.
CRASH! BOOM! BANG!
“MOTHERFUCKINGOUCH!” Cannon roared as Tiny, their impromptu defensive linemen nailed him hard seconds before he reached the end zone.
Something popped. Something else ripped. And fuck, was that his head?
White lights exploded behind the Werewolf’s eyes as he lay in the muddy field looking up at the almost full moon.
It was pretty fucking awesome that he, along with all the other Wolf Shifters in the world, were no longer bound by the phases of the moon to control their shifts.
Thank you, Grazi, he thought, wondering if that was redundant. He wasn’t Italian, but he’d dated Italian girls, and if Cannon recalled correctly, grazie meant thanks.
Whatever. The New Jersey she-Wolf was famous in supernatural circles, especially since being named High Alpha over all Wolves. All as in ALL. Like every fucking Wolf on the planet.
“Dude? You hear me? Damn. You been makin’ that sausage chili, bro?”
“Not cool to be sniffin’ a Wolf when he’s down, playa.”
“Ughhhh.” Cannon opened his mouth to speak, but only a muffled groan came out.
“Dayum, I think we broke Cannon, bro,” one of the monsters he still played football with on weekends said to the other.
He couldn’t make out which one since all Cannon could see were blinding lights. Even if he could see them, he was not able to rightly recall their names. Blinking slowly, the lights began to dim, but not much. Barely enough for Cannon to make out their enormous fucking heads.
Their poor mothers, he thought with a shudder.
Mothers, hmmm.
Now, why did that make him so sad? Cannon blinked again bringing his hand up to cover his eyes, his stomach roiled as the memory pushed its way through. Pain and hurt welled inside of him.
The bottomless pit that was his grief seemed to exist like a gaping hole never to be filled. Even his Wolf, a brown and gray coated beast, howled at the memory of his dame.
Fuck.
That’s right. Mom is gone.
Cannon had lost his mother earlier that year because of a rather aggressive form of leukemia that had eaten away at the she-Wolf’s poor ravaged body until she could not hang on any longer. Physically, Shifters could fight almost anything.
Almost.
Fuck, he missed her. His mother had been the most important woman in his life. Cannon had no father, at least none that he spoke to. He had no mate. No pups. He was all alone.
Which was why he was in an abandoned field in the middle of the night on the Christmas Eve Eve with these knuckleheads.
“Help me up,” he growled.
“Nah, chef. You stay put.” One meaty hand pushed against Cannon’s chest, and he landed back on the cold, hard ground with a thud.
“Yeah, bro, you got your bell rung by my boy Tiny, here,” said his “bro”, whose name still escaped Cannon for the moment.
Funny, the man did not smell like a Wolf. Cannon growled deep in his throat. He knew they were his friends, but his Wolf seemed agitated that he was injured, weakened in front of them.
“That’s cause we’re Bears, man. Shit. Hey guys, let’s call an ambo!” The Bear Shifter turned to one of the other hulking males gathered around, and Cannon realized he was the only Wolf Shifter there. He was outside, in the cold, playing football at night, surrounded by a bunch of Bears. Now, why the fuck was he doing that?
“Hey, uh, guys what are we doing here, and is it significant that you’re all glowing?” Cannon asked, grinning at the silly lights and colors surrounding his bros.
“Oh man! Chef definitely has a concussion. How fucking hard did you hit him, Tiny?”
Tiny— yes, Cannon appreciated the irony given Tiny was seven and a half feet tall and had to weigh at least three hundred pounds— bent over and peered down at his fallen teammate.
The Bear Shifter frowned, rolling the prone Wolf over, which caused bile to rise in Cannon’s throat. Oh fuck, he really wished the big guy hadn’t done that.
“Um, this might have had something to do with it,” Tiny announced.
The Bear Shifter grimaced just then, tearing an enormous rock out of the ground directly beneath Cannon’s head with his behemoth-sized hand.
The offending rock was larger than the football he’d been about to toss.
Oh yeah! He was playing quarterback, like he used to back in high school. Outside in the winter, working up a sweat with these men who were— fuck, that’s right— his buddies. The two Bears really were his “bros”.
“That’ll do it,” Judd— Cannon suddenly remembered one of the other Bear’s name— muttered before he started puking.
Cannon felt like shit. Dizzy and nauseated, he was seeing two of everything, and that was when he could focus. He was still groaning and vomiting by the time the ambulance came rolling up a good fifteen minutes later due to the non-life-threatening emergency, or so they said. Their sirens were still blaring, cutting through the night like the sound of a thousand angry voices.
“Shit. Can someone turn those fucking sirens off?” Cannon growled, barely able to get up off the ground.
“I forgot how cranky you get when you’re injured, Chef,” Tiny added, the big man grinning as he lifted Cannon off the ground like a sack of potatoes.
“Take it easy,” the EMT said as Tiny lowered him onto the gurney.
“You good, Chef?”
“Fantastic,” he said through gritted teeth, trying to stem the pain rushing through his head.
“We’ll follow you to the hospital—”
“Nah, you guys go home. Your families will be worried,” Cannon said, waving them off.
His memory was back but the pain of his injury was getting worse. No sense in having them sit around the hospital when they all had homes and mates and cubs waiting for them. Not to mention cups of Christmas cheer and home cooked meals waiting to be consumed with people they loved, who loved them.
Not Cannon. He had no one and nothing waiting for him. And now, it looked like he was going to be eating cafeteria style turkey and dressing for his holiday. The idea did not sound appetizing.
“Ow!” he yelped while two EMTs wrestled him into the back of the ambulance.
“Sorry,” the one wearing an Elf’s hat replied cheerfully.
Cannon barely contained his snarl.
Merry fucking Christmas to me.