Greyriver Shifters

by Kristina Weaver

  Chapter Eight

  Cass

  I squirm, my modesty and discomfort getting stronger, as Althea ducks down between my legs where they’re up in stirrups and inserts the speculum with a practiced hand. I still flinch, despising the sensation of all that cold metal sliding into my most private areas.

  Not that I have much of a choice here. I mean, you can’t just tell the doctor that your insides feel swollen and verdant with arousal and hormones and not expect her to want to check things out.

  “Is it…? Is this because I haven’t been to the doctor in a while? I swear I am usually very up to date with pap smears. I just haven’t done it this year because I didn’t have the time. I made an appointment—”

  “This has nothing to do with that, sweetie, so calm down. It looks like you’re uh…about to ovulate. Maybe the influx of hormones and being sick all combined with the stress you’ve had lately made you feel it more than you would have usually. Anyway, you’re looking okay. A little swollen around the cervix, but that’s nothing to worry about either,” she murmurs, putting my mind at ease.

  I blow out a breath when she comes back up and tells me I can take my legs down, my teeth worrying my lips as I try to think of a non-insane way to ask her what I need to. I mean…

  Come on. Asking a doctor of modern medicine if I could get rabies from a werewolf? That is not happening. I’d be in the nut house so fast my foaming mouth wouldn’t be able to say one word.

  No, I need to be subtle about this.

  “Er, uh, the thing is, I sort of came in contact with this…dog. A wild dog. A very big, wild dog. And uh, I think, he bit me. But not like, deep, but there are scars and, it may be, that maybe I could have like, rabies? From the big dog. With big dripping teeth and some blue eyes?” I ask, the stilted way I phrased it getting a frown from her.

  “A dog?” she snorts, her mouth twitching.

  “Big. More like a…wolf?” I ask quietly, keeping my eyes fixed on her and open as I chew at my top lip.

  This sounds nuts, totally out of this world crazy, but come on, I am so not okay with walking out of here with rabies in me if I could do something about it. Although I know, and I mean, I think I remember watching a show where they said rabies isn’t curable.

  “A wolf?”

  “Er, I can’t really explain it. Just that I, well there was a, dog. In the building. I think it was a wolf. I mean, it was huge! But probably just really, well fed? It nipped me a little, just two scratches really, but it was really sore for a few days, and then it scabbed really fast. I should have gone to the hospital. Dammit. Is there any possibility that it could have infected me with, rabies?” I ask again, halting my words when her shoulders start shaking and she gasps in a breath.

  “Honey, unless that dog was foaming at the mouth and escaped from, somewhere, I’d say you’re okay.”

  “But I watch that show, you know the one where they don’t know what’s wrong with people, and I saw this girl had rabies and the doctors couldn’t find it until it was too late. I don’t want to die of rabies. It looked gross and painful. I mean, okay, she lived, but they don’t know how. She was a medical miracle. I don’t think I have enough luck to be a medical miracle. With my luck, I’ll get brain worms or something,” I say earnestly, blinking when she barks out a laugh.

  “I did some blood work, and I can guarantee you the…dog...didn’t have rabies. It would have showen up in your test results. We’re pretty thorough out here, considering how far out we are.”

  Phew! That’s one less worry, I think, sliding off the table.

  “Well, that’s great news. I don’t think I can pull off the foaming thing. It would seriously gross me out. Thanks, doc. About the whole,” I wave at my stomach vagina area and raise my brows. “Just hormones?”

  “I can guarantee it’s hormones,” she says firmly, giving me a reassuring smile. “I’m going to prescribe some more vitamins for you. Up the dosage. I want you to drink lots of water, get some rest, and take things easy, okay? You’re tired, run down, and the stress isn’t helping. If you feel sick at all, so much as a low-level headache come see me, okay?”

  “Sure thing. Er, so where do I pay? You guys take MasterCard?” I ask, worrying my lip.

  Oh grow up! You don’t have a job yet, and you’re lucky to have a free place to live. Just use the cards and worry about everything else later. If worse comes to worst, you can always go to the cops and tell them some freak is stalking you. It wouldn’t be a lie. He is a freak.

  Phew, I feel better now.

  “Your money is no good here. No, don’t argue. I’m just glad you’re okay. Remember what I said though.”

  “If I feel at all sick, I need to come back. Got it,” I say, saluting her before leaving her office behind me.

  It’s only after dressing in the clothes I came in with and promising yet again to come back for a check-up in a week that I wonder how I can feel this great after being convinced I was dying.

  Must be a really nasty strain of the flu.

  “You look better, but I still think you should stay with us for a few more days,” Hannah gripes when we walk out to Logan’s truck and he helps us both in.

  Logan grunts, nodding his head, but I shake mine, determined to get myself sorted before I get too comfortable with a big house that has maids and cooks and everything that a girl like me does not want or need. It is convenient though.

  “No way. I’m feeling great, and I want to get that place sorted out so I can focus on that interview. Are you ever going to tell me about it and where it is?” I ask, chuckling when she grunts.

  Logan starts the truck, his own chuckle joining mine, and before I know it we’re back at their place and Hannah is helping me inside like I’m frail or something.

  “Hey, pregnant lady, isn’t it me who’s supposed to be helping you?” I laugh, pulling away gently while Logan grabs our coats and waves for us to go upstairs.

  “Oh pfft, I’m healthy as a horse. Some days I feel like I could lift a car,” she trills.

  Logan just snorts, shaking his head with an eye roll and helps me grab a few bags that Hannah insists on packing. Once that’s done, I feel a little sad and maybe a touch apprehensive about living out in the woods all by myself.

  That lasts only as long as it takes to get back in the truck and drive over because the minute I see the cabin I feel like I’m home. Strange yet true.

  “You shouldn’t be alone.”

  “Han, honestly I will be just fine,” I insist, stepping inside with Logan following with the bags.

  He goes off to the bedroom to put them away, and I turn to Hannah and smile.

  “This place is great. I have my cards, which I promise to use now that I’m not running anymore, and I have the cell phone I saw Logan slip into my bags,” I say ruefully, giggling when she blushes.

  “I need a way to call you. I usually just…anyway, I’ll be watching you, lady. You take it easy.”

  “Can’t. Now tell me about this job,” I insist, pursing my lips when she groans.

  “God, I hate that you’re this stubborn. It seriously screws with my plans. Fine. I’ll text you the directions and the time to show up. I still don’t think I should let you do it though. You need to rest and—”

  “What I need is time to build a new life and not run from things anymore. I can survive some lingering flu, Hannah. What I can’t do is sit around and let you baby me. I need to be strong if…if Gregor finds me,” I say, hoping that I’m doing the right thing.

  Running away and hiding behind others is not going to solve this for me. Maybe I should think about going into Whitefish and reporting it. Maybe get a restraining order.

  But that would be like telling him where I am, I muse, pushing the anxiety the thought brings down where I can’t feel it.

  “I at least want to take you to get food. Shit, Logan! We need to go to the store. I forgot this shithole isn’t stocked!” Hannah yells.

  Logan walks back out of the bedr
oom with an indulgent smile and turns to grin at me.

  “I am doing that alone! I’m going to the store, and I’ll do my own thing. I’m not an invalid.”

  “Sweetheart, don’t fight her on this. You’re just wasting your breath. Just do what I do and go with it. It saves time, patience, and a lot of anger on her part. Trust me, you don’t want her pouting.”

  I acquiesce without argument because he’s right. I’ve only known this woman for mere days, but I know her well from all the time we spend together, and she likes getting her way. Correction, she always gets her way because she doesn’t stop until she does.

  “Fine. But I am buying my own food,” I tell them, narrowing my eyes.

  “Fine! Come on, Lo. Let’s go shop the shit out of this store.”

  And that is how I learn that Hannah Kilter doesn’t know a thing about food in its natural state. The only stuff she recognizes consists of fruits and vegetables, something that tells me Hannah’s diet used to be mainly salads and fruit.

  Poor baby. No wonder she looks at a muffin like it’s the next coming.

  By the time I have a full cart, enough to see me through a month at least, I am laughing so hard I can hardly stand up. She’s arguing with Logan, having discovered the Holy Grail of aisles, the place where they stock chocolate, and she’s clinging to seven bars of chocolate like her life depends on it.

  Logan however is having none of that and is staunchly waving around a granola bar that she grabs and hurls across the store with disgust.

  I keep my head down, silently handing the cashier my card and almost run from the store once I’m cashed out to the sounds of wheedling, whining, and then a temper tantrum that sees both of them strolling out of the store with Hannah sucking on a Mars bar while Logan pouts and blushes.

  “She won, huh?”

  “She always wins,” he grates, grinning when she moans and rolls her eyes back in pleasure.

  I giggle, helping Logan load the bags in the back, and laugh myself sick on the ride to my house, especially when she groans and promises to reward him later for being such a good sport.

  It takes me five minutes of arguing after Logan unloads the truck and leaves the bags on the counter to convince Hannah that I won’t die in my sleep in the middle of the night, and then I am all alone.

  Blessedly alone.

  Unpacking the bags takes me a while because I have to clean the cabinets and the fridge that hasn’t been used in ages, but by the time that’s done and I’m sipping on a cup of instant coffee I feel…blessed.

  I’m still terrified that the card transaction will have Gregor on my doorstep in a matter of hours, irrational I know, but this right here, it’s me. I love people and friends and getting to know everyone, but I need alone time to just process sometimes and right now that is what I am going to do.

  Stepping through the back door, I get comfortable on the porch swing and look out at the fading light, the bare trees that will bud soon, and the backyard that needs a good raking.

  I survey what—for all intents and purposes—is now my own little kingdom and find it funny that just a few weeks ago that all I thought I needed was my car, gas, and the will to escape.

  The truth is, I am a homebody. Something that used to drive my feminist mother crazy. I enjoy cooking and decorating and making things comfortable and happy to look at.

  I like having a nest, a place where I or anyone I love, can call home, where it’s relaxed and safe and homey. Considering my own life has been anything but lately, I am disgustingly grateful for taking a wrong turn and running out of gas, or chances are I would have rode right passed Greyriver and onto a life filled with fear and emptiness.

  Being here, even not feeling all that great as I do it, I’m just happy that I finally found a place where I can settle and just be. Before Mom died, I had just graduated and was thinking about going to college and living at home.

  It wasn’t ideal because I knew that Mom was of the opinion that I was now an adult and should be wholly responsible for myself. Not that she didn’t love me, she did, but I always had the impression that falling pregnant and having me was a mistake she’d reverse if she could.

  I don’t know much about my father except to say that Mom once told me he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and if he’d not been gone the morning she woke up after….well, she would have liked to get to know him.

  I probably look more like him than I do Mom since my mother had darker brown hair and grey eyes, not blue.

  Snorting, I ask myself why I am suddenly bothering with all that, concluding that I find myself in a place where I never thought I would. Free. Unlike Mom, who had a responsibility, the only person I have to think of is myself, and the truth is, I don’t like it.

  I don’t want to be alone anymore.

  I want to have a life where I have family and joy and maybe a few of those seven kids. I want a husband who will look at me the way Logan looks at Hannah.

  Part of me wants that with Banner. Weird, mortifying to admit that I see myself with the guy, when the truth is he probably doesn’t even see me most of the time. Correction, I have now met him three times and every single time he could hardly wait to get out of there and away from me.

  Like at the hospital, once I left the doctor’s exam room and we declared me all good, he practically sprinted out of there, as if Lucifer was offering him a prostate exam.

  Not that I minded much. I was just this side of drooling all over the poor man, as usual. Why can’t I just be normal around him? God, it is so embarrassing that every single time I see him my body goes left, my mind goes right, and what’s left in between is senseless arousal and a vagina that obviously will not stop and read the memo.

  Mercy, but if he would cave, I think, sipping my coffee as fantasies bombard me. If he’d cave, I could totally—

  The ringing of a phone pierces my thoughts, and I roll my eyes, putting the cup down to go to the bedroom and dig through the bags for the pink phone that Logan was not at all subtle about putting in there.

  I make my way outside again before answering, snagging a box of cookies on the way out before sitting back down with coffee and treat.

  “Hello?”

  “Okay, so this is the thing, the job I got you is a given. You’re to go to the address I texted just before I called and just start working. The door will be open, so don’t bother knocking, okay? Just go in and get to it,” Hannah says by way of greeting.

  “Okaaay. Any idea what I should be doing when I get there?” I ask.

  “Oh honey, you’ll know. Trust me on that. So anyway, how goes the freedom? You bored yet? I could come over and get you and we can watch Survivor together, the blonde one is so getting voted out tonight. She’s way too nice to win this thing.”

  I’ve known Hannah for four days now, well officially, and it’s her “expert” opinion that Survivor should have a cannibalism clause that allows for survival of the fittest. In other words, if you get hungry and “Joe” isn’t of much use to the tribe, he’s done. Well done.

  I can’t watch that show with her, not with her “oh, she looks like she’s a barbecue sauce kinda girl” narrative. I’m all for joking around. I just don’t think Hannah is joking around.

  Remind me never to get stuck on a deserted island with her, would you?

  “I’m fine, I promise. I’m having coffee and cookies on the back porch, and I’m contemplating whether gardening is even possible around here.”

  “Don’t garden! It’s exercise. You’re part of my Exercise Is Unhealthy Club. Even Beeber thinks it’s unnatural.”

  I snort, wanting to meet this woman. This Beeber that everyone else calls Barbie. I want to know for sure if the way Hannah praises her is real. For now, I kinda like being part of the No Exercise Club even if I’m the only member who can’t afford to take out a membership.

  “I should rake.”

  “Pfft! I’ll get Logan to do it for you. He loves all that male stuff,” she says breezil
y.

  I chuckle when I hear a masculine grumble of disagreement and laugh outright when she apologizes and moans moments later.

  “I’m going now, stalker. I’ll call tomorrow after work.”

  “Don’t run, Cass!” she yells before I can disconnect.

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t…run. Just give it a chance. Promise?”

  “Why would I—?”

  “Just promise,” she demands on a breathy sigh.

  I seriously do not want to listen to her having sex, so I promise her with ten metaphorical fingers on the Bible and hang up as fast as my ears can tolerate.

  Then I laugh because, hell, I need to get laid if I feel this pathetic knowing my pregnant friend is getting some.

  “Seriously need to meet a guy and have sex.”

  The growl I hear stalls me, and I look around for the source of the sound, even looking at the sky to see if a storm is approaching. Nothing.

  “Chill Cass, it’s just your imagination,” I mutter though I get up, grab my cup and cookies, and hightail it inside.

  No joke, but I’m still tripping off Gregor’s growling and just the thought of—

  He can’t even be here, you ninny. You just used your card like twenty minutes ago. Besides he’s not a super-spy stalker; he probably can’t even trace you, you paranoid freak.

  Feeling a lot less anxious, I run a bath, pout about the lack of a shower, and spend the next thirty minutes soaking in bubbles while telling myself tomorrow will go well.

  Things are looking up, Cass. Up.

  Chapter Nine

  Cass

  “Oh, sweet God.”

  Things are definitely not up, I think, as I step through the door of the huge house I searched an hour for, relying on Hannah’s directions after I got lost twice and ended up back at my cabin.

  I called her in a tizzy, and she drew out a map and texted it to me. And now here I am. My jaw drops when I approached the place because it is huge.

  Homey in this weird way, but huuuge. The minute I step through the door though I lose all hope of loving the place when I witness what can only be described as sloth and wallowing in utter filth.