Changeling Moon

by Dani Harper

  The puppy in her arms squeaked and nuzzled blindly. “I think he’s hungry.”

  “Then it’s his turn.” Connor held out the bottle to her.

  “I don’t know how to do this!”

  “Sure you do. Hold him like this”—he rearranged her arms a little—“and introduce him to the bottle.”

  She didn’t have to do anything more. The little creature attacked the rubber nipple with a will and began drinking greedily. She shifted a little, trying to get comfortable, and found herself leaning against Connor. It felt just right.

  Chapter Nine

  Connor checked his watch. Zoey had insisted on going home, but not before inviting him to stop by for coffee later.

  Now wasn’t exactly later—in fact, she’d barely been gone an hour—but the silver nitrate had to be applied a final time. Today. He’d already spent time making arrangements for the four puppies, and he didn’t dare risk getting caught up in his work and forgetting, or being distracted by the emergencies that were common to his practice. Connor was determined to make certain that Zoey didn’t become the very thing that had attacked her. He thought for a moment of her russet hair. She’d no doubt make a beautiful wolf, but she wouldn’t enjoy it if it was forced on her.

  Geoff Lassiter’s wife, Melly, had been well prepared for the Change. She was accustomed to her husband shifting from human to wolf, had no fear of it and was willing to join him. Okay, if the truth be told, she was itching to join him—Melly had pestered Geoff daily about it. Geoff, however, had coached her for a long time before he would grant her the single bite—just a tiny nip that barely broke the skin—that would alter her life forever. At the next full moon, Connor had watched over the pair of them in the forest, stood guard as Geoff held Melly tenderly, encouraged her, talked her through it. It was like a birth of sorts, and there had been joy when Melly at last stood on four feet, clad in rich black fur. Geoff Changed then and the pair ran and played like cubs. When Melly finally shifted back, she had been flushed and laughing, happy and filled with the deep peace that came of the very earth itself.

  There was no such peace for those who made that initial transition unaided. The very first Change was hard even on those born to it, painful yet bearable if relaxed into, embraced. Humans who found themselves Changing into something they didn’t even believe existed could die from sheer terror and shock, or be driven into insanity. The pain was often magnified beyond human endurance as they fought their own bodies. Death frequently followed.

  Connor had seen that happen only last year.

  He and Bill had been enjoying a four-footed run under the full moon when they’d heard distant screams in the river valley. There, they’d discovered a young human teenager alone in the woods, screaming in fear and pain as his body shifted and Changed, for the first time—and he’d had no idea what was happening to him. Connor and Bill had been unable to help the boy, although Connor had brought all of his psychic power to bear. There was no reaching him in this condition, no convincing him that they could help. The boy had died moments after the Change was complete.

  Folklore claimed that werewolves magically shifted back to their human form after death. It wasn’t so. Whatever you were when you died, you stayed that way. The body, even a Changeling body, had no life force, no energy to call on to do otherwise. Connor had found it particularly sad, however, that the boy had remained in death the very thing that had terrified him in the last hours of his life. Sadder still that his family would never know what had happened to him. Bill and Connor had buried the small gray wolf near Elk Point, a sacred spot, and planted wild rose bushes over the site.

  Jessie had convened the Pack, but it was a formality only. None of them would have bitten the boy. None would have risked Changing an unknowing human even to save their own lives.

  That left Bernie as the natural suspect. A lone wolf by his own choice, the old man acknowledged no leader and no law. Plus he was well-known for being both vicious and self-centered. But there was no proof, no scent left in the area after nearly a month of heavy rain. The boy could have been bitten anytime after the previous full moon. Now, after the attack on Zoey, it seemed even more likely that Bernie had been the culprit. He wouldn’t have cared what the boy suffered.

  Bernie wouldn’t care if Zoey suffered either.

  And so he would do everything in his power to prevent it, Connor thought as he parked his car outside Zoey’s apartment building. He reached into his coat pocket and held the small clear, glass bottle of silver nitrate like a talisman as he climbed the stairs to Zoey’s apartment, trying to shake off the melancholy that had enveloped him. He knocked. A window at the end of the hallway let the early morning sun flood in, but it suddenly seemed to pale when Zoey opened the door.

  Her russet hair spilled over her shoulders in tousled waves, her amber eyes seemed a little tired but were as arresting as ever. She was in her bathrobe again, and the dark blue plush only enhanced her fairness. He didn’t see any flannel pajamas this time, however, and Connor’s mouth dried without warning. A mere flip of his finger would undo the tie—would it also unveil her soft skin and its unique coloration? Frame the lush curves of her body in the color of the night sky. . . .

  She smiled up at him. “I didn’t think you’d need coffee so soon. I just got out of the shower.”

  Suddenly he remembered to breathe, and then his brain kicked in. “I wanted to check on that leg of yours before I get started on another day. Lowen mentioned you might need the dressings changed.” Connor managed a smile and rubbed at the stubble on his jaw, wishing he had thought to shave. Wishing, too, that he could stop thinking about that damn little tie on her robe. “Hope I don’t look too scary.”

  “You do but I’m very brave.” She led the way to the living room. He was surprised to find the television on at such an early hour. As if she’d read his mind, Zoey waved a hand at the TV screen. “You’re just in time to join me for cartoons. Everyone thinks a reporter should watch the news first thing, but trust me, cartoons are the only way to start the day. Oh, and you have to eat sugar-frosted cereal while you watch or you don’t get the full experience.”

  Connor accepted a bowl of Cocoa Crunchies with a chuckle. As a Changeling, he could scent the chemical signatures of food coloring and preservatives, but mentally shrugged it off. Calories are calories and God knows I could use more of them these days.

  Zoey settled onto the couch beside him. They lounged companionably, feet on the coffee table, talking while the cartoons provided a carefree backdrop.

  Connor decided to venture a question. “You mentioned last night that you hadn’t been sleeping well. I was wondering if there was a reason?”

  “Just some dreams,” she said, flipping channels with the remote. “Why?”

  “Well, it’s not every day a person gets attacked by a wolf. I was just wondering if you were having nightmares, anxiety attacks, anything out of the ordinary.”

  She settled on a channel and picked up her own bowl of cereal. “You mean something like post-traumatic stress. I confess to having had a few nightmares about wolves. It isn’t fun but it’s to be expected, you know? But last night’s dream was different. Another wolf showed up, not the same one that bit me. This wolf was bigger and it was silver with black markings. Kind of pretty really.”

  “Black markings?” His throat constricted suddenly.

  “Sort of like a black blanket over his back. I’ve seen lots of photos of wolves, but nothing like it. Of course things tend to be a little weird in dreams. Probably comes of eating too late at night.”

  “I hope you weren’t eating these things.” Connor’s head was already ringing a little from the quantity of sugar. Or maybe it was because Zoey had seen a saddleback wolf in her dream. He knew better than to believe in coincidence, but what could it mean?

  “Nope, pizza.”

  “What?”

  “You were hoping I didn’t eat Cocoa Crunchies before bed. It was cold pizza. It was so damn real . .
. but of course it wasn’t.”

  “The pizza wasn’t real?” He teased her, a little anxious to steer the subject away from dreams and wolves.

  “No, I meant the dream,” she laughed. “Look, don’t mess with my head this morning, okay? I’m tired and easily confused.”

  “I doubt that you get confused very often. You’re pretty smart.”

  “Ha. You haven’t seen me try to balance my checkbook.”

  “So you’re better with words than with numbers. So what? My mother used to say that everyone’s good at something. I’m a much better vet, thank God, than I am a farmer.”

  “My publisher mentioned that you now own a farm that his cousin used to have.”

  “Well, he’s half right. I own the farm and I live there. Other than that, I don’t do any farming to speak of.”

  “Because you’re so busy?”

  He snorted at that. “More because Jim begged me not to. I seem to have a condition known as black thumb.”

  “Your hired man said that? But I hear you’re fantastic with animals. How can a healer not do well with plants too?”

  “My family asks the very same question, but not so nicely. So I stick with being a vet. Speaking of which, how about putting your foot up on the coffee table and letting me take a look at those dressings?”

  To his surprise, she obliged at once. “I was just thinking about calling the doctor this morning—the bite looks worse today.” Her robe fell back to her hip on one side, exposing a long and shapely leg, beautifully freckled with gold. The bandaged calf didn’t spoil the view a bit, and all Connor could think was that he’d asked for it. He swallowed hard and set to work, trying to keep his eyes on the task at hand. Once he’d unwrapped the gauze, however, he had no trouble focusing. He let out a long low whistle at the color of her calf. The tiny white butterfly bandages that held the deeper punctures closed nearly glowed in sheer contrast.

  Zoey leaned forward, resting her hand on his shoulder. “See what I mean? It didn’t look this bad yesterday. Is it okay? It’s not infected is it?”

  “No, no, it’s all right. This is just the bruising that’s finally come to the surface. It’s a little swollen but the wounds are clean.” He examined it carefully. There didn’t seem to be a square inch of skin between her knee and her toes that wasn’t somewhere between pale lavender-blue and the bright color of grapes.

  “It can’t be all right! For God’s sake, it’s purple all over.”

  “And you’re likely to see a whole rainbow of colors as time goes on. I admit, it’s pretty spectacular, but it’s not surprising. A wolf can have a bite pressure of 1,500 or more pounds per square inch, a lot more than even a very large dog. There’s more trauma to the skin and muscle than just the bite wounds.” But not as much as there could have been. Connor repressed a shudder as he carefully sponged the silver nitrate over each and every puncture.

  “What is that, distilled water?”

  “Antibacterial.” Close enough. It would act as one, even though that wasn’t the real reason he was using it.

  “I wonder if the cops would believe me if they saw this now,” she mused.

  “Probably not. They’re not exactly trained to know the difference between a dog attack and a wolf attack. You can’t blame them for thinking it was a dog that chewed on you.” He pulled a fresh roll of gauze from his pocket and began to wrap her calf. “I’m amazed you’re walking on this, you know. It looks pretty painful.”

  “It’s not too bad. It’s achy and the skin feels a little tight. It gets painful if I’m walking on it too much, and I know I’ve overdone it more than once.”

  “Maybe you should take it easy for a couple of days, stay off it as much as you can. Elevate your leg and put some ice on it to get the swelling down.”

  “That’s exactly what the doctor said.”

  “You should listen to him. Lowen’s one of the best.” He finished the dressing and she flexed her toes experimentally.

  “So are you, apparently. It feels pretty good, doc.”

  Connor just shook his head. Wolves had 42 teeth. So did Changelings, and Bernie had applied more than half of his teeth to Zoey’s calf. She was far tougher than she looked. Most people would have been unable to walk with such an injury. And most people wouldn’t have her resilient spirit either—

  “So do you have to work at the clinic today?” she asked.

  “Hmm? Not till later, thank God. My brothers conspired with my assistants to cancel everything for the morning. Can’t do that very often though—the practice has grown a lot over the last few years. I need to start looking for another vet.”

  “My cousin’s a vet. Just graduated a couple years ago.”

  “If he’s not attached to a practice, have him send me a résumé.” Connor looked around, studying the surroundings for the first time. “So you don’t have any pets?”

  “Not at present, although I seem to have decided on a certain puppy I met last night,” she laughed. “Actually, I’ve wanted a pet for a long time but it’s been hard to make the decision. My new pet is going to have such a tough act to follow. I had this big orange tomcat named Fester when I was growing up—well, technically, he had been my mom’s cat until I came along. After that, though, he was all mine. I didn’t have any brothers or sisters, and there weren’t any kids my age in our neighborhood, so I grew up playing with Fester. He was such a good sport. I dressed him up and took him for rides in my doll buggy and my bike carrier. I remember playing doctor and bandaging him up with toilet paper. I must have used the entire roll because he looked like a mummy when I was done, with only his eyes peeking out. And he just sat there and waited until I decided he was all better and took it off him. He was so patient that way. Fester slept on my bed every night, and I used to read stories to him—I swear he liked it.”

  “I’ll bet you miss him.”

  “Every day. I’d just graduated high school and was getting ready for college in the fall—I was so worried about having to leave him behind. Then I got up one morning, and he was on my bed next to me just like always. But he didn’t wake up.”

  “That must have been really hard.”

  “Yeah, it was. I cried for days. But he was twenty years old—what could I expect? And actually, I’m glad it happened before I left, that I was there.”

  “You must have taken really good care of him. Twenty is a ripe old age for a cat. I’ve met only one that’s lived longer. His name is Poodle.”

  “His name is what?”

  “No kidding, it’s Poodle.” Connor told her about the ancient Siamese cat and his equally ancient owner, Mrs. Enid Malkinson. “They even look alike—they both have these watery blue eyes that are just a little bit crossed.”

  “Oh come on, you’re making that up!”

  He put his hand over his heart. “I swear it’s true. I’ll introduce you. I think they’ve lived so long because there’s a kind of symbiotic relationship between the two of them. Poodle seems to thrive on finding trouble. And Enid seems to thrive on every little drama in her cat’s life. Not that she wants anything to happen to him,” he explained. “Far from it. But she has no family to talk about, so every little adventure Poodle has provides exciting news that she can share. Trust me, nearly everyone in town, whether they’re interested or not, is well informed about that cat’s current health.”

  “I’m surprised I haven’t heard about him. Maybe I should pay a visit to Mrs. Malkinson and see if I can do a story about Poodle.”

  “Really? She’d be thrilled, but a cat’s not exactly front-page news. How would you make a story out of it?”

  “The first rule of journalism is that everything’s a story. And besides, people love to read about animals. You said the cat was older than Fester was, right?”

  “Yeah, Enid claims he’s thirty and I don’t think that’s too far off. I’ll see if Birkie can find some old records at the clinic that would give us a better estimate.”

  “Well, that’s worth an articl
e right there, don’t you think? You’re right, it’s not front-page news but an unusually long-lived cat could make a nice little feature story. I can look up what the world record is, add that in for interest. And you could give me a couple of quotes about the care of geriatric pets or something. It would be great.”

  Connor looked at Zoey’s animated face. “I know someone else who’s great,” he murmured as he leaned into her and gently brushed her smiling mouth with his lips. Asking, just asking.

  She answered. Her lips were tentative for only a moment, then her hands reached up to tangle in his hair. She met him kiss for kiss, gentle and sweet, demanding and bold. It was a heady mixture and Connor rapidly discovered that a simple taste wasn’t going to be enough. He leaned further, instinctively using his weight to gently urge her into a reclining position. She resisted for a moment as if considering, then drew him down with her onto the plush couch.

  Connor trailed his fingers along her throat, following them with soft openmouthed kisses. Nuzzled along her sensitive collarbone as he pushed the robe from her right shoulder. A jolt of electricity shot through him as he realized she had nothing on under the robe. Nothing but more of those glorious golden freckles. His body hardened instantly and he nearly groaned aloud.

  Instead, he brushed his lips over the smooth skin, relishing the taste, the scent of her. Breathed her in, pulled her essence into his lungs and held it there near his heart. Kissed his way back to the little hollow at the base of her throat. Slid the material from her left shoulder, nuzzled and kissed the newly exposed skin. The tie that held her robe together slipped, spilling her soft rounded breast into Connor’s hand. He palmed the delicate weight of it, brushing his thumb lightly over the nipple as he again sought her full lips. God, he wanted her, wanted all of her, here and now—

  Without warning, the wolf within him surged forward. Connor reacted at once, pulling back from Zoey so fast that he ended up on the floor. He sat there, stunned and breathing hard. What the hell?