by L. E. Horn
“Great. Not even a flinch. Kid’s got a strong stomach.”
It’d been a long time since anyone had called me kid, and I had to smile. I guess, when you were a hundred years old, thirty-three seemed young.
Josh smiled at me, but I caught the worry in his eyes. When they slid to his partner and then away, I wondered if the sentiment was for me or for Chris. Why would he worry for Chris? Is there something I don’t know? I shook my head, making Josh glance my way. There was a lot I didn’t know. I remembered Chris’s comment about wulfan mating for life and thought of all the scars on his body. It couldn’t be easy loving someone who risked everything for the greater good.
Chris directed me to the table, and I sat while they bustled around the spacious kitchen. I contemplated the exotic orchid that graced the center of the table and noticed more in an elaborate plant stand in the corner. Every nook and cranny of the house had plants, and they all grew with an enthusiasm only the well tended can manage. I figured more than Josh’s thumb was green. Maybe his toes, too. Chris and Josh conjured up French toast with so much whipped cream and maple syrup I thought I’d be bouncing on a sugar high for hours. They also cooked bacon and eggs, and I groaned as they forced me to clean up another heaped plate.
Afterward, I waddled after Chris into a library with a huge area equipped with two computers and a copier/printer that looked like a robot. I collapsed into a chair in front of the long central table, wondering what was next. Keen, equally stuffed, lay on my feet.
“Okay, while we digest the goodies, we’ll work on your visualization wall.”
My what?
“Control is mind over matter,” Chris explained. I blinked and stifled a yawn. So much for the sugar high.
“Hey, wake up. This is important. Your body wants to sleep off that meal, but your mind will deny it.”
Well, your mind will deny it, I thought, as the yawn won the battle. Chris walked to a wall where a bulletin board leaned against a bookcase. “I want you to cover this with images that evoke an emotional response in you. Put the positive ones on one half and the negative ones on the other.” He waved at the printer. “You can print them off there.” He turned and headed for the door. “The Wi-Fi password is werewolf.” He fixed me with a stern stare. “Don’t make a huge mess—this is Josh’s office. He does his writing here.”
“He writes?”
“Yep. Sci-fi and some fantasy. He’s good, too.”
As his footsteps retreated down the hall, another yawn broke free. I looked at Keen. She rolled her blue eye at me and curled up into a ball.
“Some help you are,” I said.
This exercise made me uneasy. I’d been riding an emotional roller coaster ever since I met Dillon on the path that night. I believed it was all about Chloe, but now I wasn’t so sure. Is it the virus? Remembering Dillon’s rage issues, the thought scared the crap out of me.
Not all emotions are evil. Sounded like a blurb for a movie, but I decided to approach this sunny-side up. I flipped through my phone to find a good image of Keen. The first one that popped up was of Chloe and Keen in the sunlight on the trail.
Dillon’s face, suffused with hate, flashed through my brain. I stared at the picture with a stab of alarm. Can Peter keep her safe? Will Peter be safe? What if Dillon loses it?
The rage blindsided me and flooded my senses with a rush of pure adrenaline. Through a red haze, Keen jumped up and spun around to stare at me, and I realized I was growling. My hands curled into fists as I attempted to regain control. I hunched over and put my head on my arms and just breathed. Keen sniffed me cautiously as though she wasn’t sure I was still me—something I wasn’t too sure of either.
“Are you okay?”
I jumped to my feet, spinning to meet Josh’s startled gaze. At least, I think it was Josh. His long hair and smooth skin rippled with colors I’d never seen before and couldn’t begin to classify.
Josh regarded me with alarm. “Your eyes have changed. Does Chris know you can already do that?”
My eyes—changed? The shock of it snapped something within me, panic dissipating the anger, and Josh became—just Josh, with his rich-brown skin and black hair.
My body shook and I took a deep breath. “I didn’t know I could do that.”
Josh’s gaze dropped to my phone, sitting on the table. Chloe and Keen smiled up at us.
“Ahh.” A combination of affirmation and exhalation, the sound indicated an understanding of sorts. I guessed that Josh knew something about what happened at Peter’s. “Looks as though that picture could be used on both sides of your board.”
“Yeah.” Still fighting to slow my breathing, I cued it up and hit print, and the machine obediently printed two copies. I pinned them up.
Josh observed the process. “The ones we love motivate and guide us,” he said. After glancing at Keen, he added, “I can see why Chris’s willing to take a chance on you. You have a connection to other living things, which bodes well for your future as a wulfleng.”
Willing to take a chance on me? What does that mean? Chris had obviously been out of the wulfleng business. “Would he have helped me, if Peter hadn’t asked?”
Josh’s eyes darkened as his brows drew down. “I don’t know,” he admitted, hesitating before continuing. “He hasn’t taken on a project in a while. The last one didn’t go well, and he blamed himself. He’s sent at least two on to an enforcer in Regina.”
Josh saw my expression and hastened to explain. “Alec wasn’t honest with Chris. He made it through the change, but in the end, Chris had to put him down. But it wasn’t Chris’s fault.”
“What happened?”
He hesitated again. “Ask Chris. He might tell you if he thinks it will help with your training. He doesn’t want to talk to me about it, but it eats at him.”
My pulse raced—did I want to know why Alec had to die? What if that happens to me?
“I’ll leave you to your project,” Josh said. His expression indicated that he regretted telling me about Alec, but a part of me wished to decipher the shadows in Chris’s eyes. It would help me understand the man.
I needed to do that if he was going to get me through this.
9
By the time Chris showed up two hours later, I had quite the display. And I’d almost lost it a handful of times.
In terms of evoking responses, the board clearly succeeded. Keen was now lying by the far wall, watching me. Her nose kept twitching—as if my scent changed by the minute.
I hadn’t intended to delve so deep, but Josh’s comment about honesty had struck home. If Chris were willing to go out on a limb for me, I owed him that much. I’d mostly used photos, and I’d drawn things when I didn’t have a picture of them. Dillon in wulf form featured in a prominent manner—I’d found a large sheet of paper and sketched him straight on, dark eyes glowering from lowered brows. After watching Chris transform, the sketch had fine detail that made it almost growl.
I had also included a sketch of Chloe as a human, her eyes unfocused, head turned to stare over her shoulder. And one of Peter, sitting on his deck with a beer in his hand. I’d filled the good side with so many drawings and photos I had to move the partition over, leaving only a third for the bad things. Of course, Keen appeared everywhere, but so did images of my coworkers and favorite clients. I even added Humphrey for pure hilarity, and Fang, the donkey, with his silly long ears. It had taken me a few moments to decide where he’d go.
The bad side featured the extra-large sketch of Dillon. I’d considered stopping there, but I remembered what Josh had told me about Alec. I didn’t know for sure what had happened with Chris’s last wulfleng project. But if I was truthful, I would have to admit I possessed more darkness within than just Dillon.
Once I’d filled the board with images, I perused the bookshelf. It was bursting with science fiction and fantasy books, many old favorites, but a lot of new stuff too. I found Josh’s on the upper shelf—he’d written over thirty of them, and I was surprised to recogn
ize a few. I was standing at the bookshelf when Chris walked into the library.
His eyes absorbed me, the book in my hand, my expression, the neat and tidy desk, and the cluttered board in one smooth sweep.
“Told you he was good,” he said, gesturing to the book. His eyes gravitated to the sketches placed around Dillon’s snarling form: the little boy being yanked from a still-smoking car crash; a fight scene featuring three against one; a small figure sitting in a waiting room chair; and finally, a child looking out a car window as he was driven away from a family standing by the curb. I’d had a hard time drawing these—examples throughout my life of why people couldn’t be trusted.
I put the book back and moved to settle in the chair. As I stared at the drawings from my youth, I recognized the irony. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. If I don’t trust, I can’t be trusted. A vicious cycle. That damned board was my heart and soul, laid out for all to see.
The last sketch on the “bad” side of the board was of Keen before I got her, abandoned as a puppy along the highway. I pictured her darting between cars, looking for the familiar face that had left her there to die. That one was the hardest to draw—it made me so angry that I’d run to the washroom and dunked my head in cold water. When I looked in the mirror, I saw solid irises with only the corners showing white. Instead of my usual mishmash of color, they’d turned a vivid, emerald green.
It freaked me out.
Now, as I sat watching Chris, the man who’d decided to help me through, I wondered what he made of it.
“Foster care?”
“Yes. From the age of six. I only remember my parents in flashes, mostly around my birthday or Christmas.”
He didn’t look at me but kept his gaze on the board. I had a feeling, though, that he didn’t miss much. “Does it still evoke strong reactions?”
I huffed out a breath and nodded. Speaking of it was beyond me. “According to my ex-girlfriend, I have commitment issues.” I shrugged. “She wasn’t wrong. But I don’t resent growing up that way because it made me resilient. Those pictures remind me of that.”
Now Chris did look at me. “Very introspective of you. It’s not easy appreciating how adversity can be our friend.” His gaze moved to the image of the puppy among the cars. “Is that your dog?”
“Someone abandoned her on the highway. A woman found her running between vehicles.” I swallowed, hearing the anger in my voice.
Chris glanced my way. “Look at me, Liam.”
I did, knowing with a sick twist of my stomach what he’d see. He didn’t comment on my eyes, though. Instead, he said, “That makes you angry. What that person did to your dog.”
“Any dog. Any animal.” My voice sounded hoarse. “Humans can be cruel.”
He nodded again, looking to the drawing of Dillon. “You did a good rendering of him. Captured the anger well. Why does he bother you? Because he bit you?”
“I got in the way. He attacked Keen.” I scrubbed a hand through my hair. “In fairness, she lunged at him first because she was trying to protect me.”
“So you’re not angry at him for biting you, and you understand why he went for Keen.” Chris fingered his chin, his eyes sliding to the final picture on that side of the board, the duplicate of which was also on the good side. “Chloe.”
“She blames herself for Dillon. But he’s obsessed with her, and he pinned her on the ground while in wulfleng form.” I knew my eyes must be blazing, because I shook, the rage was so strong. “He’s dangerous, and she still thinks he’s her friend.”
I didn’t see him move, but suddenly Chris crouched before me and grabbed my hand. To my horror, the flesh moved like a thousand crawling ants, reshaping with tearing pain into the distinctive toe pads, my fingernails warping into claws. Beside me, Keen backed away, whining.
No, it’s too soon; I’m not ready. I began to panic, and Chris shifted his hold to my arms.
“Liam, listen to me. I want you to focus on the images on the good side of the board. See the pictures of Keen playing? Of Peter on the porch? Think of your work and the animals you help.”
I struggled through a red haze, my eyes drawn to a photo of Keen as a puppy, rolling in something disgusting that had taken me hours to get out of her thick fur. The memory took solid form in my mind, and others rose: her growing up, coming to work with me, meeting Peter for the first time. All good memories, and I sensed the rage receding. When I looked at my hands, they’d returned to normal. Keen slipped up to me, licking my arm until I dropped fingers into her fur.
“Christ, I was changing.” I closed my eyes as the panic threatened to resurface. “How is that possible?”
“To tell you the truth, I have no idea,” Chris said. He released my arms, and frowned at me, his mouth twisting. “When Josh told me your eyes had changed, I thought he must have imagined things, but he was right. I’ve never had someone start so soon.” He sighed, glancing at the board. “Well, the good news is that the visuals work for you, perhaps a little too well.” He met my eyes. “The bad news is we have to get you set up in the cage. And we have to accelerate your training, to make sure you’re ready.”
So this isn’t normal. My heart pounded, but I had to know. “Chris, what happened with Alec?”
You had to be watching for it to see the flinch.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. Josh is just worried about you.”
One side of Chris’s mouth twitched upward. “Josh is always worried about me.” He sighed. “To be honest, it isn’t like I haven’t given him plenty of reasons over the years.”
He glanced at me, and his jaw tightened. “All right. Because it will worry you if I don’t, I’ll tell you Alec’s story.” He stood and walked around to sit at his desk, as though he needed both the distance and the physical shield. Then he placed his elbows on the surface and spoke in a detached tone. “Alec didn’t change early, if that’s what you’re thinking. He was textbook, full-infection wulfleng, which was likely why I missed it.” His mouth pulled straight. “He passed the training with flying colors, not a hitch or hiccup. He seemed so balanced. We had problems finding his anger triggers. I worried that he wouldn’t have enough emotion to carry him through the shift.” He fell silent, his brows shadowing his eyes. “We all use emotion to take us through, even the experienced wulfan. Anger works best—it’s easiest to evoke and lasts the longest. The trick is once the change is over, to let go of the fury. Or the wulf takes control.”
Chris turned his head to look out the large window beside him. “The first moon came, and Alec changed without a problem—into a damned good-looking wulfleng. I taught him how to move and run with his new body; he adjusted so well that after a week, I let him go home. I had no idea he was a ticking time bomb.”
Watching him, I realized Chris had a tell when he was stressed—the skin around his eyes tightened, and if you looked closely, the eyelids trembled ever so slightly.
With a deep breath, he continued. “After he left here, he lived in an apartment in Winnipeg. His life came together, and he’d make the trip out here a few times a month to run with us. Everything was fine for the first three months.” He paused again, his eyes unfocused. “Along with enhanced vision and strength, wulfleng acquire sharp hearing. You know what the walls are like in some apartments.” He looked at me. “One night, he heard the man a few doors over abusing his young son.”
My expression must have portrayed my disgust.
“Yeah. Well, Alec broke through the door. I think by the time he killed the father, he was full wulfleng—anyway, clearly the wulf was in control. He left the son unharmed and jumped through the third-story window. It was only pure luck that the only witness was a traumatized seven-year-old.”
He shook his head. “If Alec had regained control, I could have helped him. This isn’t Texas, and I would have given him a chance to explain. But something inside him had snapped. I got wind of what had happened from the city enforcers, so I tracked Alec through Winnipeg and wes
t of the city. He left a trail that was hard to miss: a dead homeless man, a stray dog, and six sheep. Killing without purpose, he attacked anything he bumped into. I found him cowering in an abandoned building.” Chris paused, and I almost stopped him. I could piece together what had gone down, and I didn’t want to hear it. But I remembered Josh saying that Chris needed to talk and figured I could stand it. The man didn’t have to be helping me.
Chris rubbed a hand over his face. “I remember his expression, the madness in his eyes. I shifted to human and tried talking to him. I thought me being human would help him come back.” He looked straight at me. “I’ll never know why he attacked. Maybe he retained enough sense to remember what he’d done and didn’t want to live with murdering two humans. Maybe his own memories had shattered his mind.” He shook his head. “I didn’t see it coming. I trusted him. Even though I can shift like lightning, and I did, he almost tore me in two. Josh thinks Alec meant to kill and missed, but I think he had sufficient opportunity, if he’d truly wanted to. As it was, he slit me wide open before I put him down.”
I remembered the long claw marks across his body and shuddered. No wonder Josh worried. It wasn’t an uprising that almost killed Chris—it was one of his own.
“Good thing I’d told Jason where I was. He runs the Manitoba enforcers,” Chris continued, sounding grim. “He found me unconscious, in wulfan form, bleeding to death. It was touch and go for a while. I couldn’t shift back to human for a week. I needed the wulf’s strength, shifting to human would have finished me.”
Chris’s eyes swung to me, and the shadows had returned. But he wanted me to hear this. “After Alec died, Jason did some digging. He discovered Alec had been sexually abused as a young boy, by an uncle. His aunt—she was the one Jason spoke with—walked in on it one night. She stopped the abuse, but the uncle was never prosecuted. Cancer took him a few years after.” Chris scrubbed a hand through his hair, a gesture I now associated with frustration. “Alec must have buried the memories deep, because they didn’t emerge during the training. Not a glimmer, or I would have seen it.”
