by Laura Taylor
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Mark stood in his workshop, screwdriver in hand, staring critically at the bookcase in front of him. It was crooked. Okay, so he wasn’t an expert at welding. He’d been working from scrap, and the pieces of metal for the frame hadn’t been the right length, the wood for the shelves was uneven, and he’d had trouble finding feet that fit. But all that aside, he should at least be able to make something that stood upright. He felt like a rank novice again, trying to piece together his first chair, angry when the legs were different thicknesses and the seat was wobbly.
He stood back and stared at the bookcase again… and felt absolutely ecstatic.
He was learning. He had design problems he didn’t know how to solve. He was being creative and challenged and frustrated for the first time in years. And the effect was exhilarating.
None of which would be evident to an outside observer, given the scowl on his face.
He became aware of the sensation of being watched and turned around, seeing Alistair standing in the doorway, leaning against the door frame with an air of nonchalance. It didn’t fool Mark for a moment. He waited, then, when Alistair didn’t speak, asked, “Something I can help you with?”
“You’ve been working on that damned thing for more than a week.”
Mark glanced back at the set of shelves. “And your point is?”
Alistair pushed off the doorframe, strolling casually across the workshop, his smart shoes tapping on the bare concrete. “What are you doing?”
“Trying something new.”
Alistair managed to look both impressed and disdainful at the same time. More silence, and Mark’s patience was wearing thin. “Is there something you need, or did you just come to complain about my work?”
Alistair turned to look him full in the face, and Mark suddenly wished he hadn’t asked. “We’re good friends, right?” he asked softly.
Mark shrugged. “I guess.”
“You guess?” Alistair let out a bitter laugh. “You guess. Yeah, I suppose so. You know what we would have been doing a year ago?”
Mark shrugged again. “Same old. I’d be building furniture. You’d be concocting some bullshit media story. The Den would be fighting the Endless War, same as it always does.”
“Wrong. You, me and Luke would have been out on the lawn, practising hand-to-hand combat with each other. We’d have been sitting in the lounge playing poker and drinking whisky. We’d have been staying outside all night in wolf form, sleeping in a pile inside a hollow log. We used to have fun together, you, me and him.” Alistair gave him a searching look. “What happened?”
Mark stared at him in disbelief. “You’re not honestly going to make me answer that, are you?”
“You used to know how to live,” Alistair continued, not flinching at the raw, tactless question. “And I got the brief impression a few months back that you hadn’t entirely lost that.”
He was referring to Dee, which made him a complete and utter bastard. Mark should have known he’d notice. Alistair was observant – one of the reasons he did his job so well – but it could also make him a thorough pain in the arse. Mark’s relationship with Dee was an ongoing sore spot, his interest in her undimmed, though he was at a loss as to how to express it without coming across as either demanding or sleazy. Dee herself had been giving him mixed messages. At times, she seemed eager and friendly, but at others, she would be quiet and withdrawn, leading Mark to conclude that she remained interested in simple friendship, but nothing more. But his hopes for a romantic relationship refused to die, and the ongoing frustration was making him tense and grumpy. “Things didn’t work out,” he said flatly.
Alistair gave him a calculating look. “Hm.” Mark held his gaze, refusing to look embarrassed or disappointed or anything else that would give him more ammunition. “So you say,” Alistair said smoothly. “But ask yourself this: How can one ever read the pages if you refuse to let them open the book?” He turned and strode away, leaving Mark staring after him in consternation.
Mark was waiting in the foyer when the van got back from its trip to the village, and he wasn’t surprised when Faeydir came bounding in the door, bouncing up and down in excitement when she saw him. Dee had told him of her deal with the wolf – a run outside and plenty of time in wolf form in exchange for the outing, and he grinned, shifting quickly as Faeydir was clearly eager to get going.
Outside, they took a fast race up to the top of the hill, Faeydir standing with her nose to the wind, revelling in the cold air on her face, then back down through the trees, a leisurely roll in the snow, a good sniff under the fallen oak tree, a vigorous dig around the base of the pines.
Faeydir had been quite insistent about spending the afternoon as a wolf, so Mark was surprised when Dee shifted, turning to stare up at the trees with a look on her face that was part contemplation, part longing.
Mark shifted beside her, then, when she didn’t say anything, he asked, “What’s up?”
“I want to climb a tree,” Dee announced, sizing up the lower branches of the nearest pine.
Mark snorted in surprise at the out-of-the-blue statement, and he glanced up at the tree. The nearest branch was too high for Dee to reach comfortably, so he said, “How about I give you a leg up?”
Dee grinned at him. “That’d be awesome.” He did, easily lifting her slight weight so she could pull herself onto the first branch, then hauling himself up after her as she began climbing.
Thick coats and gloved hands made the effort a clumsy, awkward shuffle rather than a graceful climb, but soon enough they were both up the tree, Dee picking a branch about halfway up to sit on.
Once they were both settled, squished together a little as there wasn’t a whole lot of room, Dee took a deep breath of the fresh, cold air, and let her head fall back, grinning at the sky. “Well, this is cosy,” she said with a hint of mischief.
It was, actually. The branches shielded them from the wind, the snow dulling any sounds, and for the moment, they were tucked away in their own little world. Dee was swinging one leg back and forth, a slow, lazy rhythm that brushed her calf against Mark’s with each pass, and he automatically tried to wriggle away slightly to give her more room, searching for some simple comment to make, maybe on the weather, or a passing remark on how long it had been since he’d climbed a tree.
But before he could open his mouth, Dee shifted her grip on the branch, rearranging her hand so that her fingers rested over his, and Mark paused, reconsidering the situation.
Alistair was right, he realised. He’d been putting up walls around himself for the last three months, unwilling to let Dee get close enough to hurt him – on the excuse that she seemed to want to keep her distance, regardless.
Now, though, since it had been pointed out to him, he realised that this was a scene that had played out a dozen or more times in the past weeks. Dee would probe a little, try to get him to open up about something or other, or perhaps try a little subtle flirting, but he would shut her down, then blame her for being distant in the ensuing days after firmly rejecting her attempts at getting closer.
But up here, their bodies were pressed together, thighs touching, Mark’s arm halfway around Dee as he held onto a branch to keep his balance, and he considered the idea that this wasn’t quite so accidental as he had assumed.
Or perhaps it had started out accidental, he thought, as Dee fidgeted in a way that just happened to press her closer against him, but it was rapidly becoming much more interesting than a simple quest for a little adventure.
Dee was feeling rather warm, and only half of it was due to the exertion of the climb. Mark smelled heavenly sitting so close to her, and she wished she knew what to say that would allow her to test out his current feelings without embarrassing either of them. But flirting had never been her strong suit.
Mark’s hand curled up and around her own, his gloved fingers stroking hers gently, and that got Dee’s attention. Maybe all was not lost, after all?
&n
bsp; She risked a glance over at him, pleased and embarrassed when she caught him looking at her with a warm, hopeful expression, before they both quickly looked away.
“It’s warmer up here than I thought it would be,” Mark said, moving his leg a fraction closer to hers, and this was more familiar territory for Dee – shy, fumbling attempts at flirting as each party tried to work out how the other was feeling.
“I guess the wolves have the right idea about this,” she said, making her own attempt at flirting back. “Cuddling up close to keep each other warm.”
“It has its benefits,” Mark replied. Dee glanced at him again, this time letting her gaze linger a little. They were like teenagers on a first date, and Dee let out the smile that was tugging at her lips.
On the branch above them, a squirrel suddenly burst out of its hiding place, dashing up the tree and dropping thick dollops of snow all over Dee in the process. She laughed, as a clump landed on her nose, but before she could reach up to remove it, Mark had moved first, gently wiping it away, then brushing some more out of her hair. His hand lingered, stroked a gentle line down her face. He had the sort of look that said he was about to say something, so Dee jumped in first.
“Yes,” she said suddenly, and Mark looked at her quizzically.
“What?”
“Whatever you’re about to ask,” Dee clarified. “I’m pretty sure the answer’s going to be yes.”
That made him laugh, and then harder when Dee overbalanced, grabbing onto his shoulder to keep from falling.
And then, with no warning whatsoever, he leaned in and kissed her.
When he pulled back, Dee looked up at him in surprise. “What was that?” she asked softly.
“Well, you said the answer was yes.”
Dee let out a chuckle. “Oh. Well, in that case, maybe I should have said yes sooner.”
Mark grinned. “The fault is mine,” he said, leaning towards her again. “I shouldn’t have waited so long to ask.”
Back at the house, and back in wolf form, Faeydir licked Mark on the muzzle as they reached the front door. He wagged his tail and barked a goodbye, heading for his workshop, while Faeydir went inside. The first port of call was the kitchen, where there was a particularly interesting lamb bone in the fridge, but she didn’t get more than halfway across the foyer before Caroline pulled her up.
“I need to talk to Dee,” she announced. “In the sitting room.” Faeydir bared one long canine tooth very briefly – not a threat or a challenge, just a comment that she wasn’t happy with the request, and then she compliantly followed Caroline, shifting as they reached the sofa so that Dee could sit down, confused about the sudden meeting.
“We need to talk about today’s outing,” Caroline said, and Dee was a little surprised at the need for such an urgent debrief. Faeydir had behaved well, nothing had gone wrong, so what was the problem? “First of all, how are you feeling?” Caroline asked. “Three months is a long time to be cooped up in the estate. And sometimes getting out for a bit just makes the cabin fever worse.”
“Cabin fever isn’t the problem,” Dee replied, resigning herself to sitting through the interrogation, while Faeydir waited impatiently to be back in wolf form. “Going out was fun, but it was exhausting. I have to be aware of Faeydir constantly, of what she wants, and what she can see and hear that I can’t. She’s willing to cooperate, but she lacks the impulse control to really be trustworthy. A five-year-old child can do the right thing ninety per cent of the time, but they can still run out into the traffic without warning, you know?”
“Hm.” Caroline didn’t look too put out by the report. But then again, she didn’t look particularly happy either. “And how did Faeydir feel about it?”
“Bored,” Dee said succinctly. “She couldn’t smell anything well enough for it to be interesting, she doesn’t understand – or want to understand – why humans do half the things they do, and she didn’t see the point of looking at all the meat in the shelves if she doesn’t get to either eat or bury any of it.”
“What about the dog?”
“She doesn’t understand why a puppy would want to live with humans when it could live with wolves.”
“It wasn’t a puppy. It was a domestic dog.”
Dee shrugged, trying not to look petulant about it. “I’m just telling you what Faeydir thinks. In her eyes, it was a wolf puppy who would have been better off coming with us.” She paused, then went on. “Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you about that. Why are there no children in the Den?” she said awkwardly. “Puppies, I mean. There are no puppies, which means no children. I was just… wondering.”
There were all manner of answers Dee had been expecting – the dangers of being hunted by the Noturatii, the shortage of women, the antisocial nature of many of the shifters due to their questionable backgrounds. But what Caroline said came straight out of left field. “Shifters can’t have children.”
“What?”
“It’s physically impossible. We reproduce by converting humans. We can’t have children of our own.”
Dee gaped at her as her mind worked to get a handle on that, and she must have looked rather horrified at the bare, blunt statement, because Caroline gave her a look that went at least part way towards sympathy. “This is something that’s addressed with recruits before they’re converted,” she said with a touch of impatience. “Which is just another reason why your conversion was done badly.”
“Yes, I do tend to think that being kidnapped and tortured is a bad way to start a new life,” Dee snapped, a surge of anger bursting up at the woman’s endless insensitivity. “Let me remind you that I never chose any of this, not the two personalities in one body, not being dragged off to your estate – oh, sorry, rescued by yours truly – not being caught up in a war with government agents who actually seem to be on the sane end of things by thinking that people who turn into animals is a bad idea. So forgive me if I have questions about things that are indelicate, and if I act a little shocked when I get answers I didn’t expect!”
No children, Dee thought numbly, feeling the sudden urge to cry. She would never have children. She’d wanted two, a girl and a boy, and before her kidnapping had so completely altered her life, she’d been certain it was only a matter of time before she found the right man, settled down and started decorating a nursery with butterflies and kittens.
Caroline seemed at a loss for words. “Ah. Well, I’m… Um… Perhaps now isn’t the best time,” she said awkwardly, seeming both baffled by Dee’s shock at the news and embarrassed by the way the conversation had gone. “I’ll, uh… I’ll let you think about that for a while. Perhaps we can talk about your outing later.” She quietly left the room, leaving Dee staring after her in quiet dejection.
Later that evening, Dee sat on the couch in the upstairs lounge, Skip beside her, Heron seated in an armchair nearby. They’d found her in the sitting room earlier, still slumped dejectedly on the sofa. After a few probing questions, Heron had ushered her upstairs and placed a glass of vodka and tonic in her hand, and they’d sat down to talk things through.
“Not to dismiss your concerns,” Heron was saying, “but the cold truth is that this very rarely comes up around here. Most of the women in Il Trosa have no desire for children. I’m not defending Caroline,” she went on, as Dee looked up unhappily. “She could certainly have been more tactful about it. But it’s something we just don’t have to deal with very often.”
“So no one else here wants children?” Dee asked, knowing that the answer was going to be no, but curious about the reasons why.
“No,” Heron said gently. “Raniesha couldn’t handle the responsibility – she’s said as much herself.”
“And could you imagine Caroline as your mother?” Skip interrupted with a sardonic laugh. “Any child of hers would be likely to hurl themselves off the rooftop. And Heron’s too old.”
Dee looked startled at what could have been quite a rude statement, but Heron just laughed, no d
oubt used to Skip’s occasional tactlessness.
“And you don’t?” she asked of Skip, only to receive a tense silence from both women. Skip had that hunted look she sometimes got when anyone asked about her teddy bears or her jewellery or accidently touched her without warning. “I wouldn’t want to inflict childhood on anyone,” she said grimly, but it was the look on Heron’s face that stopped Dee from probing any further. This was clearly not an appropriate topic of conversation for the girl.
“What about you?” she said, turning to Heron next. “You never wanted any when you were younger?”
A wistful look came over Heron’s face, and Dee almost regretted having asked.
“There was a time when I would have considered it,” Heron said softly. “But that ship sailed a long time ago. There have been enough children passing through the Den to keep me from feeling I was missing out.”
“Wait,” Dee said, confused now. “What children? How-?”
“Ah, see, it’s not all as clear cut as it sounds,” Skip interrupted. “I mean, no, we can’t have natural children, but sometimes the Council will let couples adopt.”
“There are three children in the Italian Den,” Heron filled in, “and two more in Germany. It comes with complications-”
“As everything in this lifestyle does,” Skip interjected.
“-one of which is that the children must become shifters when they come of age. It can be quite a stressful time for their parents. Even for a child raised within Il Trosa, there’s no guarantee they’ll be able to merge with their wolf, and… well, you can probably imagine what it would be like as a parent, to see your child going rogue and being put down.”
“Fuck.” The bad news just kept on coming.
“But adoption is a realistic possibility,” Heron repeated firmly. “Something to keep in mind down the track, if you decide to go that way.”
