Second Nature

by Jae

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  Second Nature

  By

  JAE

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  Copyright © 2009 By Jae

  All rights reserved. 1

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-934889-43-5

  Printed ISBN: 978-1-934889-44-2

  Audio eBook ISBN: 978-1-934889-45-9

  First Edition

  eBook Format

  November 2009

  This book is Published by

  L-Book ePublisher, LLC

  La Quinta, Ca. USA

  Email: info@ L-Book.com

  Web Site: http://L-Book.com

  Editors: Judy Underwood

  Cover Design by Sheri

  graphicartist2020@hotmail.com

  eMail: jae_s1978@yahoo.de

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  This work is copyrighted and is licensed only for use by the original purchaser and can be copied to the original purchaser's electronic device and its memory card for their personal use. Modifying or making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, without limit email, CD, DVD, memory cards, file transfer, paper print out or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Acknowledgments

  I want to thank all the wonderful people who took the time to help me with this story. Each and every one of them has been incredibly helpful and has enriched not only the story but also my life.

  First and foremost, a big thank-you to my beta reader, Pam. After six stories, working together is almost "second nature" to both of us, and I continue to enjoy it and learn from it. I can never thank you enough for your dedication, your support, and your friendship.

  A very special thank-you goes to Ruth – sounding board, plot adviser extraordinaire, and expert on cats, shape-shifters, believable world building, and great writing... even though she'll probably insist that she's not an expert, but a jack-of-all-trades. Thank you for sending feedback that was both honest and diplomatic. It was a great learning experience.

  I'd also like to thank RJ for providing me with information about "the UP," for test reading, and for her support. My best wishes for the future.

  Without Margot, this story wouldn't exist. She made me come up with the story idea for a quiz. Oh, the things I do for extra points!

  Thanks also to Astrid (and Daniela, of course), who provided zoological advice and honest feedback.

  I'm also grateful to Kristin for patiently answering my questions about prepositions and other tricky points of the English language.

  Another thank-you goes to my sister, Susanne, for helping me name the characters – it might come in handy for when you help your next client giving birth. I still think Susanne is a lovely name for a baby girl, though.

  Last but not least, a big thanks to my best friend, Marion, for making her vast knowledge of biology and shape-shifter fiction available, for being part of my "creative staff," and for breathing down my neck until the story was finished. If you didn't hate the paperwork so much, you'd make a great writer.

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  Dedication

  To all fellow writers. I've been told we're a slightly crazy, but lovable bunch.

  And to R. Families sure are complicated – not just for shape-shifters. I hope you get your happy ending too. And yes, I really put in the turtle just for you.

  Glossary

  Shape-Shifter Terms

  (in alphabetical order)

  Alai – "wanderer" – slightly disparaging term for a Kasari or Syak who lives alone and is not part of a pride or pack

  Antapi – "both" – hybrid shifter whose parents belong to different shifter subspecies

  Arkwi – "shining," "silver" – cougar shape-shifters

  Kasari – "saffron-colored" – lion shape-shifters

  Maharsi – "great seer" – dream seer

  Maki – "large" – bear shape-shifters

  Manark – "noble one" – title of a councilor of the High Council

  Natak – "lord," "master" – title of a pride regent

  Pako – "tail" – bobcat shape-shifters

  Parwese – "first" – title of the high king of the Allied Prides, regent of the Kasari

  Puwar – "fire" – tiger shape-shifters

  Rtar – "red" – fox shape-shifters

  Saru – "hunter" – a shape-shifter law enforcement unit that guards their secret existence. Saru is also the rank of simple Saru soldiers.

  Scirye – "starry" – jaguar shape-shifters

  Se-asrai – "one body" – the slightly disparaging Wrasa term for humans

  Sleme – "flame" – the name for the funeral rite (cremation) of the Wrasa

  Syak – "together" – wolf shape-shifters

  Tas – "commander" – rank of a Saru officer

  Wertsiya – "council" – the shape-shifters' High Council

  Wrasa – "living being," "creature," "men" – the species of shape-shifters

  Names and Characters

  Humans

  Marjorie "Jorie" Price – human writer

  Helen Price – Jorie's mother

  Dr. Jake Saxton – the local doctor

  Wrasa

  Puwar

  Griffin Westmore – a shape-shifter (tiger/lion shifter hybrid) and saru

  Nella Westmore – Griffin's mother

  Chiron Westmore – Griffin's younger (half) brother

  Cullen Remick – Griffin's maternal grandfather and the last dream seer

  Max Henderson – the only tiger shifter in Osgrove, owns the bed-and-breakfast

  Kasari

  Leigh Eldridge – Kylin and Griffin's half sister, a lion shifter

  Brian Eldridge – ruler of the Ottawa National Forest pride and Griffin's (biological) father

  Gus Eldridge – ruler of the Ottawa National Forest pride and Griffin's father

  Sid Eldridge – Leigh and Griffin's cousin, owns a security firm

  Martha Cahill – Dr. Saxton's receptionist, member of Brian and Gus' pride

  Rhonda "Ronnie" Cahill – Leigh's childhood friend and Martha's daughter

  Tarquin – member of the Ottawa National Forest pride and Griffin's old enemy

  Patrick – member of the Ottawa National Forest pride and a police officer with the vice squad

  Syak

  Allison "Ally" DeLuca – Jorie's beta reader and a wolf shifter of the Los Angeles pack

  Ian Stewart – alpha of the Los Angeles pack

  Cedric Jennings – wolf shifter and Griffin's commanding officer

  Cyrus Jennings – Cedric's brother, died four years ago

  Gregory Jennings – Cedric's father

  Kelsey Yates – a member of Cedric Jennings' pack, also a saru

  Paul – a member of Cedric Jennings' pack

  Leonidas – a member of Cedric Jennings' pack

  Wesley – a young member of Cedric Jennings' pack

  Council members

  Jeff Madsen – council speaker and alpha of the wolf shifters

  Kylin Westmore – council member and Griffin's twin sister

  Thyra Davis – council member and bear shifter

  Kendrick Ryle – council member and coyote shifter

  Rufus Tolliver – a coyote/wolf shifter hybrid and Kylin's aide

  Other

  Quinn O'Reilly – the shape-shifting main character of Jorie's novel and a pastry chef

  Sid Walk
er – the human main character of Jorie's novel

  Peter – the owner of the fictional bakery where the tiger shifter in Jorie's story works

  Agatha – one of Jorie's cats, a long-haired Somali. Named after Agatha Christie

  Emily – one of Jorie's cats, a calico. Named after Emily Bronte and Emily Dickinson

  Will – one of Jorie's cats, a red tabby. Named after William Shakespeare

  Second Nature

  CHAPTER 1

  QUINN PROWLED through the dark forest. The moonlight didn't reach her as she slid from tree to tree, from shrub to shrub, always hiding in the shadows until she was far enough away from human campsites. She slipped her shirt over her head while she walked, impatient to get out of her clothes. Under a stooping oak tree, her shoes and pants followed until cool air brushed against her bare skin.

  Dropping to her hands and knees, she connected with the damp earth. Heat rushed through her. In an effort not to scratch her burning skin, she clenched her fists and felt lengthening nails bite into her palms. Her muscles rippled, and she gasped as pain shot through her.

  Jorie Price's fingers flitted over the keyboard, keeping pace with her character's movement through the forest. When Quinn stopped and shifted, Jorie paused with her fingers lingering over the laptop and reread what she had written — or rather rewritten. This was the third time she had changed the scene, and she still wasn't sure whether it was working.

  At first, she had portrayed the shifting process as painful. Then she had thought it made no sense that evolution would produce a skill that went hand in hand with pain and made the creature defenseless for a few minutes.

  Rewriting and describing the change as a beautiful, magical moment didn't feel right either. There's no way in hell that breaking bones, shifting muscles, and rebuilding organs wouldn't hurt.

  So now she was rewriting again. Her fingers roamed across the keyboard again until, a few sentences later, Quinn was standing in the moonlight as a majestic tiger.

  Jorie stopped and stared at the blinking cursor. How does a 140-pound woman become a 280-pound cat? Jorie was a mathematician at heart, and something wasn't adding up here. She drummed her fingers against the side of her laptop. You should have thought about it and done more research before you started writing.

  With all her other novels, she had done exactly that. Only after extensive research and careful plotting had she written the first word of the story.

  This new project was different.

  She had been so eager to write this book, to get started, that she had skipped most of her usual planning. And even some of the things that she had figured out beforehand, she had later changed because her rational mind and her instincts suddenly refused to work together and led her in two different directions.

  "How about a little help from a cat expert, Agatha?" she asked the cat that had curled up next to her on the worn, comfortable couch.

  Agatha was busy eyeing the laptop as if that would make the hated machine disappear from the favored spot on Jorie's lap. When she noticed Jorie looking at her, the cat licked her bushy tail, uncomfortable with Jorie's direct stare.

  "What about you, Emmy?" Jorie's gaze wandered to the calico ambling toward the kitchen. "Any words of advice for your favorite can opener?"

  "Meow," the cat said but didn't elaborate. She walked on, looking over her shoulder as if to make sure that Jorie would follow her into the kitchen to feed her.

  "Very helpful, thanks. And I just fed you half an hour ago, so that 'I'm starving' act is wasted on me." With a sigh, Jorie saved what she had written so far and opened her e-mail program. "Procrastinating, aren't we?" Despite the admonition, she clicked on a new e-mail from her beta reader. Maybe it would cheer her up.

  Hi, J.W.,

  Still having problems with the story? Have you thought about putting it away for a little while? I know it works for some authors. Maybe write a short story or get started on a new project. You could even start research on the sequel to AVH that you said you might write one day. It would give you time to figure out a few things about this trouble-making story.

  Hang in there, and let me know what you decide.

  Ally

  That was unusual. In the three years that they had worked together, Ally had never made any suggestions on what to write. Seems she's not as comfortable with this new kind of story as she said. She wants me to return to my previous genre.

  Normally, putting the story aside for a while and focusing on something else would have been good advice. Not this time. Writing this story was important to her, not just on a professional level but on a purely personal level too.

  "No admitting defeat," she murmured and reopened the file.

  Her cell phone rang before she had written even a single word.

  Jorie groaned. "I knew I should have turned it off." She set the laptop on the coffee table and got up from the couch before Agatha could settle down on her lap. Barefoot, she padded into the bedroom, where she'd left the phone.

  "Hi, Mom," she said. Looking at the display wasn't necessary. Only her mother and her agent had her cell phone number, and since Peter had dropped her when she had refused to give up on her new novel, that left one option.

  "Jorie, how are you, darling?" Her mother's warm voice came through the receiver.

  I have a headache as if I'm about to give birth to Athena; my nightmares haven't let me sleep through the night in weeks, and I have a serious case of writer's block, she thought. Aloud she said, "I'm fine, Mom."

  "Are you getting enough sleep?" her mother asked. They always went through the same questions, and Jorie always gave the same answers, yet her mother never stopped worrying about her.

  "Yes, Mom," Jorie said dutifully. "Must be all that fresh air out here."

  "Good. And have you met someone?"

  Jorie sighed and looked out her bedroom window, taking in the forest at the edge of the small town. Osgrove wasn't exactly a favorite hangout for most people her age. "I'm not here to meet someone. I'm here to write, Mom." It wasn't that she hated people or wasn't good with them; she just wasn't interested in being around them for more than a few hours. The solitude of being a writer suited her. She had some contact with other people — her beta reader, her editor, some readers and fellow writers — but it was limited and on her terms.

  "I know, but..."

  "I'm fine, Mom," Jorie said again. "Listen, I have to get back to my writing. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" She wasn't in the mood to answer more of her mother's worried questions about the way she lived her life. Guilt scratched at the edges of her consciousness, but she pushed it away and ended the call.

  Back in the living room, the screen saver had come on. A small, red cartoon cat was chasing a ball of wool all over the laptop's screen. "That's how I feel," Jorie said and lifted the notebook back onto her lap. "Chasing the elusive ball of wool, but never quite catching it." She stroked her fingers over the touch pad and watched as the red kitten was replaced with the text of her story. "Just write. Don't think."

  Her fingers found their places on the well-worn keyboard, and she started to write.

  CHAPTER 2

  GRIFFIN WESTMORE prowled through the forest. Sunlight danced around her as she slid from tree to tree, from shrub to shrub. Under a stooping oak tree, she paused. Her nostrils quivered. She drank in the scents of the forest.

  Blood. Deer blood.

  Griffin licked her lips. She could almost taste the coppery tang, feel her canines sink deep into soft flesh, hear the snap of the deer's neck. Strong legs carried her toward the source of the scent before Griffin was fully aware of it. Her pulse quickened. The beast within rattled at the cage of her self-control. The muscles in her back and thighs quivered. She was ready to pounce.

  No. She stopped herself. You're not here to enjoy the pleasure of a hunt. With the iron fist of a lion tamer, she forced her instincts back under control. Maybe tomorrow. Today, she had been sent out to look for signs of a much smaller predator —
Ouachita National Forest's bobcats. While adult bobcats had little to fear from other animals, they sometimes fell prey to hunters and collisions with cars, so the Forest Service liked to keep track of their numbers.

  Hunting wasn't the only problem, though. Griffin could understand the passionate rush of a good hunt. What she couldn't understand was the human need for conquering and destroying nature instead of living in harmony with it. Sometimes, human greed knew no bounds. Their paved roads cut off the bobcats' escape routes; their tourist attractions replaced the den sites, and their buildings and parking lots destroyed the dense cover the bobcats needed to hunt and rest.

  She adjusted her backpack, forcing down her annoyance at having it restrict the movement of her broad shoulders. It made her feel strapped down, trapped like an animal in a snare, even though it was featherlight, at least for her.

  Her nose led her through a group of pine trees. The crisp, spicy scent of the pines tangled with the aroma of blood, creating a heady fragrance that no human perfumer could duplicate — or if they did, no one but a Wrasa would want to buy it.

  Birds fell silent as she passed beneath them, recognizing her as a predator. The woodpecker overhead stopped hammering away at a red cedar.

  The only sound in the forest was the crunching of her booted feet over the leaves. It sounded unbearably loud to her sensitive ears. The brogans and uniform of a forest ranger were part of her job, part of her life masquerading as human, but Griffin much preferred running barefoot, with loose silk and warm cashmere caressing her skin — or better yet, with just her own fur between her and the forest.