Greyriver Shifters

by Kristina Weaver

  I know something about that since Hannah mentioned it, but I never once thought…I’m Banner’s Fated? His…his soulmate? The knowledge winged through me with a startling amount of pleasure until I heard the rest of his words and realized that he won’t touch me again.

  They think that this poison stuff gets worse when he touches me, and from what I know about this stuff, what I surmise more than anything else because I don’t really know much, is that Banner has to touch me; it’s like a must for these guys.

  If he can’t, he’ll be hurting all the time, and that is not what I want. I want to be his happiness, not the woman who makes him fight himself constantly.

  That doesn’t sound good, and no matter how much it hurts me to think it, I know that I can’t stay here and subject Banner to this constantly. It wasn’t so bad when I wasn’t near him all the time, true, but just the thought of separating myself form him, not being here with him and seeing him regularly makes my mind bust out in a panicked frenzy that makes my breathing choppy and irregular.

  Oh God, this hurts, I think, wondering if the voice inside my head snarling at me, is part of this Fated thing. I wish I knew more. I need to know more, but before I do, I have to leave because I can’t stay here under his roof and allow him to sacrifice himself for me.

  Feeling my throat tighten, I swallow a lump of grief, for what was and probably can’t be. It hurts so bad that I think I could slap Gregor for doing this to me, but then remember that if he hadn’t I would never have come to this place.

  God, everything is so convoluted.

  Sniffing back tears because Hannah told me they can smell that kind of thing, like actual emotions, I try to think of something happy to get my mind off things a little.

  So, I think of Lync and how far he’s come in just days. He’s still very hairy, and I have the sneaking, sad suspicion that I’m not going to be able to do anything about it.

  It strikes me that if the hair is part of his partial shift thingy, then I’ll either have to get used to it, or wait until he decides he’s done being a werewolf. And yes, I said the word because Hannah isn’t in my mind right now and she can’t yell at me.

  He looks like a werewolf at any rate. I mean, he’s still cute and all, but it’s true, total movie-type werewolf. He even hunches slightly when he’s standing.

  Snorting, I accept that—for now at least—until I can fix me and find a way to get through this illness, I need to put my mind to the task of not looking at Banner as if I want to lick him like a melting, dripping soft serve ice cream cone.

  Don’t quite know how I’m supposed to do that, I’m just human after all. What is clear is that I’m going to have to quit my job. If I can find another one.

  ********************************************************************

  “I will not tolerate tardiness. You are to dress well at all times, no matter what your function is for the day, and under no circumstances are you to go near my mother’s room. The old crone seems to be on her last leg after my father was killed a while ago, and she’s not quite sane.”

  I blink, my eyes falling on Blain Seers, and can’t quite decide what to make of him. The guy is good looking in an ‘oh my God my panties should be wet kind of way’, but aren’t, just in case you’re wondering.

  He seems as if a block of ice wouldn’t melt in his mouth and for all intents and purposes he’s spent the last fifty-three minutes insulting me, telling me exactly what is wrong with me, and listing off a whole host of duties that make my mind spin.

  Also, he’s quite twitchy, his eyes darting to the door every time he hears a sound, which I am assuming because I don’t hear anything.

  “Er, that’s all fine but, well, you know about my illness, right?” I ask, trying to clarify this before he decides to give me a job.

  After I slept at Banner’s house the day I decided I needed to let him go, I told him with no room for argument that I am going home, to my cabin, because I’m an independent woman with the need to be self-sufficient.

  That did not go over well at all. In fact, he put his fist through a wall and shifted twice, totally stupefying me, before he shifted back to his skin and pleaded with me to reconsider.

  I didn’t. Not because I didn’t want to because I so did. I really, really wanted to fling myself at him and cry that I think I love him after one sex experience and I’ll die without him.

  That seemed a little much though, and to be fair, I think while I’m ill I need space and I need to give him space. I don’t want to be the reason he kills himself to deny his instinct, and I also don’t want him thinking he has to take care of me. That’s my job until I’m better.

  So, I put my name on the listing board in the store and got a call from one Blain Seers, a guy I really like despite his pompous attitude and insistence on calling me human—in a sneering tone.

  I walk into every situation liking people and invariably find a reason to keep liking them. For me, for Blain, it is the utter conviction I have that he needs a friend. So, I’ll be working at Banner’s twice a week, if he’ll even let me lift a finger that is, and supplement that with twice a week here for Blain.

  My weekends are my own, something I need, since I feel tired most days by three in the afternoon and I need rest. Friday though, those are exclusively Althea days because she’s reserved the right to run tests on me and keep an eye on my progress or decline.

  Alpha’s orders, I think, giggling at the new title I now have to use for Nick Silverton. Mika, his son Bear’s mate spent yesterday with me and Hannah telling me all about how she, a human, got mated to the Alpha’s son.

  I was gripped from the first word, laughing, crying, and laughing again by the time she finished and then let me hold her son—Bran. The baby is apparently only a few months old, but he’s so advanced and big I thought he was closer to one. At least I think I read somewhere that babies only walk at one.

  He’s toddling around, still a little unsteady on his feet, but at his age he should still be a muscle-free baby. It’s a little scary thinking that shifter babies develop so much faster than us humans, but I like it.

  It seems I say that a lot because I do. I like a lot of things in this place.

  “Are you hearing me!” Blain yells, cutting into my thoughts.

  “Oh sorry! I was just thinking—”

  “Don’t. Do not think, Miss Kepner. You are here to do a job because—despite the fact that you are clearly not one of us—I will give you a chance on the excellent recommendation my sister gave on your behalf.”

  His voice sounds so confident and overbearing, as if he’s doing me a favor when in reality Hannah told me he’s such a bear lately, after their father died, he’s lost all of the staff that worked for them for years.

  I feel awful for the poor guy. He must be really cut up about losing his dad if he’s still this upset.

  “Um, okay. Look Blain, I’m going to be straight with you. The way I see it, you can’t really afford to get all high and mighty with me because you have to have someone to clean up, cook, and be here at the house because you lost all of your staff,” I say honestly, keeping in a giggle when he goes still and mutters a curse.

  “Mr. Seers.”

  “Um, yeah sure. So you need me to come around twice a week because you need someone to do a general clean without hanging around—”

  “What I need is someone who will ensure the house doesn’t go to ruin and cook. I want you to make seven nights’ worth of dinners that can be frozen and I can nuke when I get home at night. It’s that simple. As for the rest, I assume that if you can do a job that no female in this town was willing to do, namely clear out Banner Kilter’s hovel you must be at least capable.”

  I giggle. I can’t help myself; it is too hilarious. This guy is so obviously still struggling with his father’s death, his mom has taken to her bed with grief, and he’s got some very important position on the council. Whatever that is.

  When Hannah first saw my ad on the board a
t the grocery store, she was annoyed, then angry, and then she accepted that I wasn’t just going to take things lying down.

  I want to work, and if Banner doesn’t let me, I can’t in all good conscience take his money. I think she finally understood that I may be a nice girl, but I’m no pushover.

  So when her brother called my number about the job, demanding references, even though we all know it’s impossible for me to have any because I’ve only been here like two weeks, she agreed to talk to Blain.

  He must not have been too put out that Hannah was probably trying to sabotage me because he texted me that I could come over for an interview.

  So here I am, and in the short time I’ve been here, it’s taken me about two seconds to know that this man needs help. It’s like my mission in life to help people.

  “Good God, you realize you just said all of that out loud, and that I don’t agree. I don’t need help! I can do anything I want—”

  “You just choose not to do your own laundry, cleaning, and cooking,” I point out, biting my lip to keep from laughing.

  There goes that expression again, as if he smells something particularly bad. Oh Blain, poor baby, you can be as mean as you want, man. This nut doesn’t crack.

  “That is—”

  “How about if I take this list.” And by that, I mean a freaking scroll like the ones they have on cartoons, about a mile long when it’s unrolled. “And we go to the kitchen where I’ll make coffee and look over it. I don’t mind hard work, but there are a few things that I might not be able to do since my doctor has me on ‘rest’ until she can make me better.”

  Not waiting for a yay or nay, I rise and walk out of the huge office, shaking my head at the luxury and size of this place. I don’t like this house. It’s way too big and looks like no one has lived in it because everything is so cold and expensive looking and the size is just so ridiculous.

  I find the kitchen, only because I take a guess that it’s in the back and stop to gape when I see that indeed, elite or just plain shifter all men are pigs.

  The counters are stacked with dishes, dirty of course. There are sugar granules and dried, sticky coffee puddles on the floor, and something doesn’t smell good.

  Sigh. I should probably start working today anyway. First thing’s first.

  Starting the coffee, I walk into the pantry and grab a box of cookies, emptying it out into a plate and setting it in the middle of the table. Once that’s done, I fill the sink with soapy water, fill the dishwasher with a load of dishes, and start wiping down the counters just to get some order.

  The handheld little dust sucker takes care of some of the sugar underfoot that crunches when I walk and a quick peek inside the fridge confirms that something died in there and I am not willing to dig to figure what it is. I grab the garbage can and start tossing the most likely looking things.

  The fact that it turns out to be take-out cartons isn’t all that surprising, but it proves to be easy, and so by the time the coffee is done, the place looks at least livable, smells better, and I can now focus on my main mission.

  Sitting down after I pour two cups of coffee and smile, waving at the plate of cookies, I start reading the list of duties. I want to laugh because this guy has very methodically detailed every single thing in a home this size that it would take no less than three people to do. Five days a week.

  “Could we possibly hurry this along! I don’t have all day, and I don’t want to sit around with the likes of you drinking coffee and eating cookies. Some of us have actual work to do,” he sneers, sliding into a seat impatiently when I just blink and look back at him.

  “Hhhmm, ‘kay, see I can come in on Tuesdays and Thursdays at seven. That is easy enough. I can make breakfasts and do all the general things like, like laundry, bathrooms, bedrooms, and a good clean in the main areas, but I can so not keep up with all this,” I admit, chewing my lip and looking back at him when he scowls and huffs.

  “Like what? That list is short as it is.”

  Don’t laugh, Cass. The man is just grumpy. He just needs some friendliness and understanding here. Maybe a haircut. Something.

  “Well, I mean to be fair I can’t work here two days a week, clean everything that needs cleaning, dust, vacuum, cook seven meals, and also polish the silver, wax the floors by hand, and still clean all the windows and ahem, various drapes and upholsteries in the house,” I say, coughing to hide a laugh when he takes a cookie without realizing it and starts nibbling on it.

  See. Guys are so easy. Just give them food and they’re putty.

  Blain frowns, clearly not impressed with my lack of ability, and flicks his wrist as if asking for the chance to glance over it. I give it over, grabbing a cookie to dunk in my coffee and hold back a moan.

  Hmmm, the expensive kind people buy for the label and not the taste. I’m going to have to bake something every now and again to prove that we ‘poor wretches’ eat well too on a budget.

  “Fine,” he says, as he sighs dramatically, shoving an entire cookie in his mouth and reaching into his inner jacket pocket for a gold pen. “I suppose I can do without the windows and upholsteries. Although God knows it should be easy enough, but seeing as you’re a weakling with medical issues, I can be decent. The floors get cleaned though. That is non-negotiable.”

  Bobbing my head, I see myself pouring store-bought cleaner on the wood, the kind that does the same job as that old stuff that takes hours to set before you can buff and hold my tongue.

  What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

  “Oh great! I’m so glad you’re a nice guy. I was worried that I wouldn’t get this job, and well, I kinda have to stick around town now that I have this…condition. So! Tell me about yourself,” I trill, now that the interview is over and I have better things to think about.

  Like making a new friend. It shouldn’t be all that hard. Poor Blain seems like he really needs one.

  “I’m your boss,” he mutters, staring at me strangely.

  “Uh huh?”

  He blinks, shaking his head with a frown and curls his mouth when I smile and look back at him expectantly.

  “That’s it. I’m your boss. That is all you need to know. I will pay your salary, keep the food on your table, ensure that you have, ahem, time to go for your medical things, although God knows why you humans bother when your lives are filled with disease and stupidity anyway,” he says with a snort, shaking his head.

  I sigh, like just let out air in a whoosh of dismay, and shake my own head.

  “I am human, and my life was not filled with disease until I met a shifter and he tried to get it on with me against my will. Now I have some essence stuff in my blood, and I get all wonky every now and again. So really, all in all, it’s not me who’s diseased, it’s the guy who chomped me,” I point out, making him pause and consider my words.

  “I’ll give you that, but what about the weakness. You’re also weak,” he sniffs, giving me a not so complimentary once over.

  I can deal! I’ll just be so super nice, so he won’t help but like me. I have that effect on people. Mom used to say that I’m like the spotlight no one can shut off, the one that shines into your yard at all times of the day.

  Don’t know what that meant, but I like being associated with light. Light means happy.

  “Aw come on now, Blay. I mean, I did used to have a membership at gym and I even got in a few weights.”

  “That’s not what I me—”

  “And I used to run track! Before I got boobs. When girls get boobs, it’s like their hormones put cement in the muscles. Aaaanyway, that’s neither here nor there really! I’m just so glad you’re being so super nice to give me this job. I’ll make dinner and put it in the warmer for you, sort of give you a bonus day if you will just to prove that I can do this. You’re so kind doing this for me, and really, I am just grateful you turned out to be a good guy, not one of those creeps who want someone dressed in one of those weird French maid outfits who dusts. I like your suit
? Is it dry clean only?” I ask, using my prattling to distract him long enough that he eats the entire plate of cookies without thought.

  He just blinks, staring at me as if I’m a zoo attraction, and then looks up at the ceiling as if searching for patience. It’s okay. Hannah says her and me, we grow on people. Like fungus. I like mushrooms.

  “God help me, you prattle incessantly. Yes, this suit is dry clean only, and I swear on my mother’s life.” He stops and snickers as if he just thought about something funny. “If you ruin so much as a thread on any of them, I will make you pay for it. Even considering my generosity on the wages I’ll pay you, it will still take you years to pay it off.”

  “Oh don’t worry! I saw the drycleaners in town, so that’s a load off on the laundry. And you are generous,” I assure him, trying not to look at him directly when I tell this lie.

  Are all rich people cheap? I wonder, thinking of the salary Banner offered right off the bat in comparison to what this guy thinks is generous. Oh, my Banner, such a good man.

  Why, if I was willing to just take his money and not do the work to earn it, I’d be able to buy a car in a few months. He says it’s that high because he needs a saint to put up with his mess in the first place and all of them are dead, or so he thought before he found me.

  Honestly, I think I found him, but I refrained from pointing that out because I was just so glad he started speaking to me again after the huge argument we had about me getting another job.

  “You’re doing it again! I’m talking and you’re day dreaming like a thoughtless twit!” Blain growls.

  Ooookay. Note to self, spoilt little rich boys do not like being ignored. Got it.

  “Sorry. I do that sometimes on account of my disease. I keep telling everyone I must have brain worms because of the rabies that shifter gave me, but they insist he couldn’t have rabies.”

  “Well of course not! Don’t be an idiot. We’re a superior species, not animals! We don’t get rabies or any sort of disease,” he says dismissively, sipping at his coffee with a subconscious hum of pleasure.