by JK Cooper
Shelby slipped behind a copse of trees, rubbing her blue coat against the smooth bark, careful to be upwind from her target as she took careful steps to the side. Kale slipped past almost silently, but not as silent as he thought. She bounded out, bounced off a large gray stone, and tapped an adorable, fuzzy ear as she soared over him, skidding across pine needles before kicking off a large pine to dart over a creek.
You’re it.
Slow down.
Never! He closed on her, but she ran straight up a tree, kicked off a branch and did a backflip over him to race off in another direction.
Well . . . that was cool. You do know we aren’t cats, right? Kale was breathing hard.
Shelby growled a chuckle. We’re not just wolves either, so I’m breaking a few molds. Catch me.
Kale was faster, which was frustrating for the first few minutes of their run, but Shelby quickly learned that she was much more agile while her smaller frame let her leap farther and higher than her new wolfy boyfriend could manage.
You know, for someone who has never been hunting, you’re good at this, Kale muttered.
Eira smiled inside her. You are not new to hunting.
Shelby couldn’t remember, but part of her seemed to. Shifting seemed to tap into a primal memory beyond her human mind. She replied to Kale along the link, but also to Eira. I think I have been hunting . . . in another life. Maybe a few.
What? Waves of confusion rolled off Kale. She could almost smell it. I’ve had these flashes of memories. You and a fire. Smoke everywhere. You walking away. Does that mean anything to you?
Maybe. Memories welled up beyond what Skotha had shown her in the warehouse of a world called Alsvoira. She saw rivers drying to dust, fires consuming forests older than time, a woman crying. Did you do that, Eira?
The wolf shook her head. No, that was all you, but I was there. We both were. That was the end of Alsvoira. Sadness radiated out of Eira and into Shelby. It then radiated out of her, crawling along the thrumming connection she had with Kale.
Shelby? Why am I feeling sadder than I’ve ever felt in my life?
Shelby bounded over a log and slid down the sandy bank of a river to hide herself for a moment. The loss of an entire world? I . . . I can’t imagine.
You will not have to imagine it. It is a part of you. Eira took back her sadness. I can never forget.
Shelby? Kale asked. You kinda went silent on me.
She realized she had been only talking to Eira for the last bit, slowing down. I’ll explain later. Need to get it all straight myself. A flicker of movement to her left made Shelby slow even more. How could Kale have gotten over the river without me noticing?
You’re it! Kale ran into her side, hard enough to knock the air out of her. Uff, sorry.
Shelby rolled along the shore, her eyes locked on the silhouette of a wolf backlit by the moon on the far shore, golden eyes watching her tumble.
Are you okay? Kale asked. You were running faster a second ago.
Shelby rolled onto her paws. We aren’t alone. She pointed with her snout, but the wolf who had been there was gone.
Kale came to her side. Shelby could sense anger, fear, protective instincts all bubbling together within him. He sniffed the air. Hunters?
No, she told him through the link. It was a wolf, but not of our pack.
A real one? Not a Lycan?
Could it have been a natural wolf? Those eyes . . . and the lingering sent . . .
Too big to be natural. Can’t you smell it?
Kale paused. Yeah, I can.
The smell faded to nothing as a breeze skidded off the stream’s surface. Kale did not feel concerned, but he was massive in Skotha’s frame. Well, he was massive anyway. She didn’t see him fearing another wolf, Lycan or not.
It’s late. Probably time to go anyway. Shelby felt a moment of guilt for being out so late when Grant would worry if he knew. She swallowed the guilt. He earned some worry.
Petulant again. Shelby wasn’t entirely sure if that came from Eira or herself. Could have been both.
Let’s go, Kale agreed.
They raced back toward where they had stashed their clothes. It was easier to follow their scent back than she thought. They’d spread it for miles. But it wasn’t the only scent. The other wolf had been following them for a while.
Her scent—it was totally a female—tasted of sagebrush, desert air, hints of rain. She had been out here for a long time. There were no remnants of civilization in the scent. No perfume, no deodorant, no toothpaste, no car exhaust, no hint of burgers or pizza. It was pure wolf and wilderness.
One of the Feral. Kale’s link felt like a whisper.
Shelby barely heard him. The scent had grown stronger and she’d seen a dusty brown coat fly between two trees to their right. She’s here.
Shelby and Kale skidded to a halt as the wolf stepped out from behind a thick oak, slowly stalking out into the open with ears twitching.
Do you know her? Shelby asked Eira.
I do not recognize her, but she is old. She has to be from Alsvoira. Do you not feel it?
Shelby did. An ancientness clung to the wolf with a palpable weight while a keen intelligence and ageless wisdom lurked behind ambergris eyes. An Immortal Wolf. Yes.
The wild wolf bowed. Sorry to intrude. I did not expect to see Eira and Skotha this night and had to follow. You are early.
You know us? Shelby asked.
Yellow-gray eyes met hers. How could I not recognize the savior of the five races? She nodded in deference and then looked at Kale. Or the wolf who fought for the Goddess and the last one through the portal? I watched a thousand branching possibilities in the crystal, a thousand ways this could all go terribly wrong. Our meeting so early is an ominous omen.
So early? Shelby thought.
Eira shivered. I believe her name is Iorna.
You do know her? Shelby asked, just to Eira.
No, but I knew of her. A Mystic, tasked by the Goddess to see and memorize future events in this world. How is she one of the Feral?
Kale stepped forward. Iorna shrunk back, eyes darting wildly.
Stop, you’re scaring her, but Shelby’s warning came too late. Iorna turned and darted off into the night, easily as fast as Kale and nearly as agile as Shelby. They both knew following her would have proved exhaustive. And they had school in the morning.
That was weird. Kale picked his way back toward his clothes at a slower rate, his head swiveling often to look at any rustling branch or perceived movement.
I’ve never met one of the Feral. Shelby didn’t know exactly what she’d expected. She was less . . . feral than I thought one would be.
She’s the third I’ve ever run into. They are all odd in their own way. Some are wilder and some are plain pleasant and conversational.
Oh, such an expert after three.
Kale chuckled. My mom would have statistics for you of how many natural born versus turned go Feral. I don’t even pretend to be an expert.
I thought it was something they chose.
Kale shrugged through the bond. That was an odd sensation. Some do.
The momentary fear of being followed had worn off, now that she knew they were not in any real danger. Iorna seemed mostly harmless, despite her talk of ominous omens. Shelby felt like running again. She brushed up against Kale. You’re it. She ran.
He followed.
Ten minutes later, he finally caught her again, tackling her to the soft sandy floor beneath the tree where her clothes waited. She laughed as they rolled together.
You’re it, he said softly, in that deep voice that could melt her.
Only because I stopped to get my clothes. Cheater!
Excuses, excuses.
Perhaps. Now go away so I can put them on.
He slunk away, fake sulking. She grinned at his dark muscular form in the moonlight. Like a statue of a Greek god made into a wolf.
She had barely slipped into her shirt and pulled on her shoes after
shifting when he tackled her again, this time in his human form. “You’re still it.”
How had he dressed so fast? He could have at least left his shirt off. So inconsiderate. She laughed and punched his chest. “Definitely a cheater!”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she stopped his complaints by smothering his mouth with kisses. The warm connection they shared hummed louder and hotter. It took minutes for her to come up for air again. “Whoa. It’s way too easy to lose myself in you.”
“I feel the same. Skotha is like a happy puppy too.” He made a face. “And now he’s mad at me for telling you that.”
Shelby grinned. “Eira thinks it’s adorable, so he can rest easy.” She winced as he ran a hand down her side.
He lifted his hand a breath from her. “How are the wounds?”
She pulled her shirt up just a little to show off the scars. An angry line of puffy pink skin ran along her hip, another on the top of her shoulder as well as her shoulder blade. “Healing faster than they would if I was purely human, but not as quickly as I’d become accustomed to.”
“Silver always takes longer.” He ran a finger over the puckered skin and then his head dipped as he kissed several of the vestiges of that terrible night.
She arched her back as his lips touched her skin, tickling her slightly and sending warm lightning through her chest. “That should speed up the healing.” She pushed his head away, sighing playfully. “I’m going to be soooo tired tomorrow.”
He smiled. “Super healing applies to that too. You won’t be that tired.”
“In that case . . .” She tugged her shirt down and curled her fingers into his hair at the same time and pulled him close. “Might as well make the most of it.”
His lips met hers again. They tingled with her desire. Tracing her hands beneath his shirt, she lightly ran her nails up his spine. He shuddered, and moved to her neck, dusting her skin with his magic lips so teasingly. She slid a hand around to his chest and instinctively clutched his firm pecs, digging in her—he laughed. What the . . . he laughed?
“Excuse you?” she said, a bit breathless. “I was in the middle of something.”
“It tickled.”
“It . . . tickled . . . what tickled?”
Even in the moonlight, she could see him blush.
“My, uh . . . nipples.”
Shelby blinked, then smiled disbelievingly. “You have ticklish nips? Oh, there has to be a name for that.”
“Nope, there doesn’t.”
“Ticknips.” She pursed her lips, then grinned. “Tipples.”
“Not tipples. Never tipples.”
Shelby nodded slowly. “Oh, yeah. Definitely tipples.”
Kale sighed with an embarrassed smile. “I hate you, Brooks.”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
“Promise not to touch my tipples?”
She pulled him down and whispered in his ear. “Not on your life.”
The porch light was on when Shelby got home. A swarm of gnats clung to the screens that enclosed the porch, trying to get as close to the light as possible. Was it on when I left? Is Grant up? Yeah, he was definitely “Grant” right now, not “dad.”
A light was also on inside the kitchen. He was probably getting a late-night snack or checking the perimeter. She’d locked her bedroom door from the inside before sneaking out the French doors that led to the balcony, so he probably thought she was still home. Probably.
Shelby rubbed her lips while she contemplated her entry point to the house, the kisses still fresh enough to feel. My chin is so going to be raw tomorrow.
There’s no way I can go in the front door with the light on. He’ll bust me for sure. He may even accidentally shoot me with all that’s happened. Grant had been cleaning his guns each night since the Hunter raid. It was usually a weekly occurrence. She wouldn’t blame her father for firing at someone coming in his house unannounced at three in the morning when he thought his daughter was asleep upstairs.
That thought gave her a moment of guilt over her treatment of him. He’s so protective of me. Always has been. And he had to step into all the roles when mom died. That memory banished her guilt. A death he was partly responsible for. If he had been honest, maybe it could have been prevented.
The back door is locked, and I don’t have the key. Of course she didn’t have the keys. Keys rattle. I could make my way back up to the roof, but it was so much easier getting down. Just a short hop. Up would mean scaling an ancient oak, shimmying along a branch, and jumping over a gap that made her nervous.
Funny that I would be scared to make that leap after somersaulting across creeks and over rocks a half-hour ago. Can’t shift though. Shredded clothes were pretty damning evidence. Not to mention the lack of fingers while I scramble across the roof. And I’d end up naked for any peeping neighbors to see as I pull open my window. But of course, Grant would never buy a house that allowed neighbors to see into their property. The trees shielded them from all but the most dedicated of peepers.
Shelby could feel the amusement coming from Eira, but she wasn’t commenting.
What are you being too polite to say?
Amber eyes locked on her from within. There are levels between what you are and what I am, Thyra. I still think you should just talk to your father. Grant would welcome a chance to explain his truth and he would listen to yours. But, if you are determined to avoid the poor man, you do have options.
Shelby stared at her roofline, letting what Eira had said seep in. You don’t know him. He isn’t your dad. Dinner had been a nightmare of angry glares and sullen silences, punctuated by occasional awkward small talk.
I do know him, and he feels more like a father to me than you know, Eira said. I have observed him your entire life.
Shelby blushed at her presumption as she focused on the other part of Eira’s revelation. Levels between . . . You mean half shift?
Or less than half. Start small and adjust. Your body will remember how to use the spaces between, if you let it, even if you cannot recall your prior experimentation.
Shelby allowed the transition to begin but forced it to happen slower than usual. Her mouth elongated, claws sprouted from fingernails, her legs elongated slightly, muscles grew stronger, instincts became more pronounced. Her body wanted to finish the transformation.
“This feels good,” her voice came out half her normal voice and half low growl, even as a whisper. “That’s freaky cool.”
Too fast and too far. Slow down, Thyra.
Her shirt and shoes grew tight. Stiches tore somewhere. Crap. I just bought this shirt!
She halted the transition and backed it off just a bit.
Here goes everything.
She jumped, flying past where she had intended to land. Gymnast instincts kicked in, mingling with those of her wolf side. She flipped, landed in a roll, and came to a stop with one claw embedded in a shingle. She’d made more noise than she’d hoped, but not more than a spray of pinecones or a few agitated squirrels might.
Another light came on downstairs anyway, the yellow glow painting the lawn in three illuminated strips. A silhouette appeared at the edge of one. A bolt slid out of a lock. Grant was coming outside. Awesome work, Shelby.
She scrambled to her window, shifting back to a human girl before her palms slapped against the frame of her window. Why hadn’t she just gone for the balcony? That was a longer leap and would have likely made more noise. She slid the window up and dove inside, just as a spear of light swung over the roof.
“Who’s there?” He paused, obviously using the silence to make anyone who might be there uncomfortable. Shelby knew all too well how he could use silence as a psychological weapon. Then she heard the clicks of a pistol’s slide being racked and a round being chambered. Shelby could tell which gun it was from the dull clank of the metal. Glock 17. Predictable. She didn’t know why even that irritated her.
“Don’t think I won’t use silver rounds, Kale, if you’re trying to be one of th
ose boys who climbs to the princess’s tower when the dragon has her locked inside.” He gave another long pause. “Shelby?”
She waited for the light to pass by her still open window before she risked a peek over the sill. He had his flashlight hand resting on his wrist just behind one of his pistols. She could smell the gun oil. He had been cleaning.
She ducked back down as he made another sweep with his tactical light. She rolled quietly to her bed, crawled up, pulled her shoes off, and slid under the covers just before a knock at her door.
“Shel? You asleep?”
“Mmmmmm?” She did her best to try to sound like he’d just roused her from the deepest of slumbers. “What? What time is it?”
“Three twenty-seven.”
It occurred to Shelby that her dad coming to her door at such an hour would normally only happen in an emergency. She had more acting to do. “What’s happening? Are we in trouble?” She hopped out of bed, bare feet slapping against the wood.
“No, no! Calm down. We’re fine.” He sighed deeply his relief. “Just heard a noise and got jumpy. Go back to bed.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, it looks all clear.”
“Okay.” She plopped down on her bed, letting him hear the squeak of springs. “Goodnight . . . again.”
He chuckled. “Sorry. Goodnight again.”
She let out her own long sigh of relief as his footsteps took him away from her door. That was close.
She was almost asleep for real when a second knock came.
“Hmmmmm?” She wasn’t acting any longer.
“You may want to close your window. You could catch a cold. I worry.”
“I know.” She also knew there was little chance of catching a cold this time of year. He was worried about exactly what he’d been calling out to the roof. Hunters and boyfriends . . . and his daughter growing up.
Agent Bryanne Desmond stared at the report that sat on the desk of her dank cubicle in Langley. Her padded chair—the cheap leather on the arms frayed with wear—creaked as she leaned back. She tapped her lower lip with a blue Bic pen as she read the report, the chewed cap resembling dried gum. They always kicked these types of cases down to the CIA’s basement, of course. Yes, the basement. So cliché. The report was from Ava, her counterpart at MI5. Sharing was nice in theory, but sometimes it meant someone, not necessarily Ava, was rolling crap across borders and downhill, the mound growing with each roll.
