Shifter's Moon (Paranormal Shifter Romance)

by Blackstone, Riva

  “I’m his grandson,” Jake said.

  “He was a good man. Far as I know, the cabin’s just the way he left it. I think Lia checks on it every so often, you know, keep the squatters out, tidy it up now and again.”

  “I was kind of expecting it to be a dump, to be honest. Who’s Lia?”

  As if on cue Jake caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw a young woman stroll out of the garage. She was very thin and had on a similar pair of blue jumpers streaked with oil and grease. Her black curly hair was tied back and flared out like a bunched cloud behind her. He could make out the definition in the muscles of her bare arms. She gave a nod to the old mechanic who pointed absently at the busted headlight, and she strolled over, hardly acknowledging Jake.

  “Where you been? I don’t give you a whole hour for a lunch break,” the mechanic grumbled.

  “This is the first customer all day, Larry,” she shot back, and kneeled down. “Looks like a pretty clean break. I can look and see if we have some extra parts.”

  “This fella’s moving into the ol’ Windsor place,” Larry said. “Sorry I didn’t catch your name, son?”

  “It’s Jake.”

  He noticed the young woman stiffen at the mention of his grandfather’s cabin and she lifted her gaze toward him. Her small round face dipped into the small teardrop of her chin and he was surprised at the darkness of her features. Her caramel cheeks were high and sloped gently into the graceful arc of her full lips which remained firmly together. Jake felt a lump grow in his throat as the woman stared him down, and the ferocity behind her eyes had an almost animal quality to it.

  “This is Lia,” Larry said, wiping his mouth, “Listen, how ‘bout you head up to the cabin. Me and Lia’ll try and find a spare headlight in the meantime. I’m sure we have something lying around here, then we’ll come up there tomorrow some time. Whaddya say?”

  Jake nodded. “That’s fine,” he said, but his attention was centered on Lia. There was something both ominous and compelling about her. She couldn’t have been much younger than he was, but she held herself with a poise that put him off-balance.

  “Just out of curiosity, what’d you hit?” Larry inquired.

  The image of the large black wolf flashed in Jake’s mind and he rubbed at his temple again. He hadn’t realized how tired he was. All he wanted was a stiff drink and the chance to put his feet up and try to forget the past three months. “It was a wolf. Can you believe that?”

  Lia stood up, her thin frame catching the reflection of the setting sun. “You should be more careful. These roads aren’t like driving in the city, you can’t go speeding up and down them so recklessly,” she said, and there was a flat and uncompromising levelness to her tone. He couldn’t get over the darkness of her large eyes. Under her gaze he felt uncomfortably naked.

  Jake frowned. “I wasn’t speeding,” he replied defensively. “Besides, a huge mother of a wolf is the last thing I expected to see out here.”

  “You would be surprised,” Larry said, and put his hands in the pockets of his jumper. “You said you used to come here? I’m surprised you don’t know about the wolves.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The old man scratched his beard. The rusty sound of crickets coming awake in the grass began to punctuate the dying light. He seemed to be trying to remember something, or else deciding whether or not Jake deserved to hear it. Finally, he cleared this throat. “Just old legends, you know, every town has them. Goes that there used to be a family that moved here, but they weren’t quite ordinary. They were what the natives used to call shifters.”

  Jake raised his eyebrow. Lia’s gaze hadn’t drifted from his own. “You mean werewolves?”

  Larry continued, his words scratching from his throat. “Well, that’s what Europeans tend to call ‘em. But that’s a bunch of hokey. These were just ordinary folk for the most part, just so happened that every once in a while they’d head into the woods and become… something else. The legend goes that this family was being hunted. No one knew who or what was hunting them, but they’d come here looking to live in peace.”

  “So the legend goes,” Lia said. There was a mocking cadence in her voice which irritated Jake.

  “Anyway, folks round here at the time were fine with it. Considered wolves sort of a good luck charm. So, that’s pretty much it. Whenever you see a wolf round these parts, folks say it’s a spirit of that family, still watching over the town.”

  “I’ve never heard that legend,” Jake said, and felt a warning chill run under his shirt. The final twitch of sun peeked between the branches of a tall fir tree behind them. “I suppose I should go and check the damage to the cabin before it gets any darker,” he joked, and Larry nodded at him with a dismissive wave.

  “It’s not damaged,” Lia said softly and he turned ashamedly.

  “I didn’t mean-… I just, I didn’t realize anyone had been taking care of it,” he said, “Larry told me that you’re sort of the unofficial grounds keeper.”

  “Yeah, well, no one else is gonna do it,” she said. She really has a tough edge to her, he thought. There was a lingering suspicion in her expression.

  “That was my off-hand terrible way of saying ‘thank you’,” he said, offering a smile.

  Her expression shifted just slightly enough to let him know she was accepting the olive branch, but she kept the stiff upper lip and nodded at him the same way Larry had. Jake grinned as she turned and strode back into the garage, her full hips swaying unconsciously with each step.

  Chapter Two

  Larry hadn’t been exaggerating the condition of the cabin, and Lia had done her best to keep it just as Jake remembered it as a child. His headlights plowed through the dark as he idled up the narrow driveway between the ghostly remains of an old fence-line. Up ahead the cabin’s elegant timber frame seemed to rise against the backdrop of night sky like a singular black pillar. To the east a small river emptied into a large pond, and as he climbed up the old weathered steps to the front door he could make out the haunting cry of a loon on its surface.

  Inside the cabin smelled like smoke and dried fruit, and a wave of memories swept over Jake. He had never been particularly close with his grandfather, and yet the memories he had of the old geezer were fond. He’d been a bit rough around the edges, but Jake figured that was the old man’s way of trying to teach him independence. He walked to the fireplace and found some logs and kindling already waiting for him. Arranging the wood in a tent shape like his grandfather had taught him, he had a fire going in the old stone hearth in no time, and a solemn glow seemed to settle on the furniture.

  “Guess I owe you one, gramps,” Jake said, stretching the knots in his back from the long drive up, and wandered into the kitchen. When he saw the liquor cabinet tucked in against the far wall he selected a strong whiskey and poured himself a glass. “Now I really owe you one,” he said, raising the glass and settling down in the big chair in the living room.

  He let out a long sigh and took a gulp. The noxious alcohol flowed down his throat and he coughed at the burn. He felt the immediate numbness of it entering his blood, and welcomed the feeling of disconnection. His brain felt like a muddy river bottom that had been kicked up, and he closed his eyes, trying to settle it.

  Bad things always came in two, wasn’t that the saying? He poured himself another glass and downed it, feeling himself stray into thoughts he wanted to avoid. Alissa, why can’t I stop thinking about you? She had hurt him deeply, and yet his mind kept wandering back to her like a wounded dog that wasn’t smart enough to know when to break loose.

  The flames tickling the logs in the fireplace seemed to taunt him. He stood up, feeling his legs quiver with the drunkenness, and stumbled to the molded plastic suitcase he’d dropped at the doorway. He picked it up and set it up on the cherry wood desk that faced out the window at the dark disc of the pond. The latches on each side clicked and he peeled off the plastic top to reveal a typewriter, its alphabet faded and dis
crete on a row of a black keys. The typewriter had been his grandfather’s too, so there was a certain ironic resolution that it had found its way back here.

  Jake slipped a piece of clean white paper into the feed at the top and balanced his fingers on the keys. For long minutes he stared at the white sheet, trying to will the words to come. I really am a shit writer, he thought, leaning back in the chair at last and taking another swig of the whiskey.

  His last two novels had been rejected out of hand, and his editor had been on his case for the past week before he’d reached the breaking point and decided to flee. His thoughts were a traffic jam- too many vehicles, too much noise, too much smog.

  “Who am I kidding?” he blurted. His voice seemed to lodge in the tall beams of the rafters above him and stay there. He stood up, felt his vision easing with the solid brick of the whiskey.

  He wandered to the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. His jaw was squarely formed and there was a rustic handsomeness to his features which he’d always taken for granted. He rubbed at the two day old stubble that was growing in along his cheeks and wondered if he’d have the energy to shave at all while he was up here. Maybe that was the problem. He felt tired of it all. Exhausted.

  He stood up and straightened his back. His naked broad chest seemed to bend the light around it, and he took some solace in the fact that he was still strong and healthy enough to take some pride in his appearance. He hated gyms, but he’d been going to a rock-climbing gym for the past eight months, and he was impressed by the definition it had given his muscles. The whipcord of his shoulders stood out in the dim glow of the single incandescent light. He flicked off the light and staggered back to the big chair.

  The fire was almost dead by now, the bright coals closing their eyes in the ash. He kneaded his face and let out another weary groan, trying to relieve some of the tension that had built up in every part of his body.

  He gave the typewriter in the corner a disdainful glance and leaned back, letting the whiskey work its way deeper into his nerves.

  ***

  That night he dreamed about the large black wolf he’d almost hit on the road. He was standing at the edge of the pond that bordered the cabin, and it was that surreal time of day before twilight gives way to night. Everything seemed to shimmer with its own internal glow, and he moved slowly into the water, felt the cold chill of it needle into his feet and he gasped.

  At the far end of the pond the black wolf seemed to emerge from the shadows of its depths and stood there, ballasted on the surface of the water, its unblinking yellow eyes like cinders. Jake felt a pang of panic, the sudden urgency of needing to run, to escape. But he was paralyzed and could only stare, submerged in the lilypads to his ankles, as the wolf lumbered toward him silently and deliberately, its black fur seeming to invent the very stars that appeared above them, forming their own shapes in the sky at will.

  Jake tried to cry out, but his voice had been swapped for silence, and he could only wait for the dark lupine specter to hover above him, its menacing gaze trapping his. It was almost seductive, as if the wolf in his dream were in fact waiting for him.

  Chapter Three

  Knock, knock. Jake woke abruptly to the violent rapping of someone knocking on the front door of his cabin. For a moment he thought he was still dreaming, and then it came again, harder. He opened his eyes blearily and tried to focus. It felt like there was a rubber band between both his ears that had been twisted too tightly, and he rubbed his temples. He let out a groan and tried to lean forward, knocking over the empty whiskey bottle by his feet.

  “Alright, alright, just give me a sec,” he hollered at the door.

  He sluggishly rose to his feet and felt the full force of the hangover bear down on him like a bird of prey. Serves me right, he thought, and stumbled toward the door. He grabbed his discarded shirt by the door and clumsily pulled it over his arms and opened the door.

  He was surprised to see Lia standing there. Her eyes widened for a split second as she regarded him. His hair was a ragged mess and his eyes were puffy, and she wrinkled her nose at him.

  “Rough night?” she asked.

  “It was like most,” he said, giving her a fake saccharine smile, “what’s up? I don’t think I need a maid.”

  Lia recoiled and raised her eyebrows at him. “Excuse me?”

  “No, no, I mean… ‘cause you were taking care of the place… and…not like, I don’t mean you-” he stumbled. God, you’re such an idiot, Jake. “I’m sorry, can I uh…what are you doing here? Do you want some coffee, I can… I can put on some coffee.”

  The woman gave him a disgusted look and raised her left hand that had a red dented tool box in it. Jake realized she was in the same blue-grey mechanic jumper, and the skin-tight white tank-top underneath seemed to emphasize the thin muscular frame underneath. “I’m here to fix your car, remember?”

  He nodded, and squeezed the bridge of his temple. “Right, shit. Yeah, I remember, I’m sorry. Uh, it’s… it’s just parked in the driveway,” he said.

  Without another word she turned and skipped down the stairs toward the decrepit automobile. Her hair was tied back again and the flared out end of it bobbed with each step. Jake curled his mouth into a grimace. The sun was just spilling over the treeline behind the cabin like a runny egg, and he winced and felt his stomach grumble. Such an idiot, Jake, he reiterated, and retreated back into the cabin.

  ***

  “You’re not a vegan or anything, are you?”

  Lia swiveled around on her knees. Jake had cleaned himself up and was wearing a fresh T-shirt, but still had that tired hangover look to him, except somehow he’d managed to put a charming spin on it. In one hand he was balancing a plate of bacon and sliced Havarti cheese. In the other hand he held a steaming mason jar of dark coffee.

  She stood up and wiped her hands on the back of her coveralls and nodded at the fixed headlight. “You’re lucky you have such terrible taste in vehicles. Larry has a whole garage of extra parts, he could probably build you a new car and it’d be better than this one,” she said distractedly, and her eyes wandered across the plate of food he’d brought out.

  Jake grinned and gave a shrug as he sat down on the grass and put the plate and coffee down beside him. “The old girl and I have had some good adventures, she’s never steered me wrong.”

  “Not yet,” Lia said, and sat down on the grass beside him, “and no, I’m not vegetarian.”

  Jake smiled as she fished several pieces of bacon from the plate. “Good. I would have been secretly disappointed if you were.”

  “You still stink like whiskey,” she said.

  “And you have a mouth.”

  “It’s your fault. I just call them like I see them.”

  “Dare I ask what you see?” he replied sardonically.

  “I see….” Lia stopped mid-sentence and shrugged, and reached for another piece of bacon.

  He rubbed his head. “You are definitely right about it being my fault though.”

  “Rough night?” she repeated, but this time she let a little devilish smirk escape her lips. She’s just teasing me now, Jake realized.

  “You’re kind of the prying type, aren’t you?”

  “That’s what my folks used to say,”

  Jake noticed the antique Triumph motorcycle parked behind his car. “I take it that’s yours?”

  “What, you got something against chicks riding bikes?”

  “Not at all, I always thought women should ride motorcycles more often. Besides, kind of suits you, don’t you think?” he said, and offered her the coffee.

  She took the mason jar with a raised eyebrow and downed a gulp of the steaming fluid, much to Jake’s surprise. “What the hell did you do? Just dump coffee ground in hot water?” she exclaimed, handing the mason jar back and wrinkling her lips. She spit violently at her feet.

  “It’s bachelor coffee, whaddya want?”

  “Nice dishes,” she said, wiping her mouth. Very lady-
like, Jake mused.

  “Gramps didn’t leave a lot behind,” he said, “anyway, how much do I owe you for the headlight?”

  “$100 sound fair?”

  “I don’t really know. Is it?”

  Lia’s face tightened and he found himself gazing into the dark round circles of her pupils again. There was something entrancing about her stare, almost as if he was being drawn by some imaginary force around their black orbs. The eyes may have been windows to the soul, but hers were one-way mirrors. She could peer out and see him, but they didn’t permit anyone else to look back through them.

  “Just drop by Larry’s when you get the chance and pay him,” she said, shrugging, and turned away.

  “Will do. Are you off today then?”

  She fiddled with the elastic around her hair. “I don’t work today, I just came by as a favor to Larry,” she said. “Thanks for the bacon and coffee. You should probably get something healthier.”

  “And you need to work on your bedside manner,” he snapped back. His head was still pounding, and the impertinence of the young woman was beginning to test the limits of his patience.

  Lia stopped almost as if he’d hit a nerve, and he felt a certain pride and victory when she turned around, her eyes once again full of a contained fury. He raised an eyebrow and held up the mason jar with a patronizing grin.

  She glowered and muttered something under her breath as she plopped a white old-fashioned bowler type helmet on her small head and threw one leg over the motorcycle. He noticed she was wearing a sturdy pair of hiking boots encrusted with mud, and her heel kicked down on the ignition lever.

  Krrrr-chhhk. Krrrr-chkk. Jake stood up and watched as she bit her lip and tried again. The engine of the bike made another crackling sound and he jumped when he heard it backfire. A round plume of black smoke hiccupped out of the exhaust and he smelled the burning aroma of oil. Lia swore and slammed her palm down hard on the handle-bar, but kept her gaze focused on the chassis. She tried once more, and the engine let out a grating clunk.