by Dani Harper
Goddammit. He didn’t want to sit down and visit, and definitely not with this woman, as much as he liked and respected her. She wasn’t a Changeling, but the power she could wield made both Jessie, the Pack leader, and his father, Ronan, look like amateurs. Yet it wasn’t her magic that bothered him.
He wasn’t surprised she had detected him, either. He should have thought of that. She was more than able to discern a Changeling at a hundred yards even if it wasn’t in lupine form. Birkie had always claimed it was the aura that gave Changelings away, noting that wolfen beings had a halo of light around them that was distinctly blue. But that didn’t bother him either.
No, he was ill at ease because she was Evelyn’s great aunt. She’d been a frequent and favorite visitor to their home, and Evelyn adored her. He’d enjoyed her immensely too. But he wasn’t interested in a trip down memory lane, definitely didn’t want to talk about Evelyn. The fact was, she’d been alive the last time he’d spoken with Birkie.
Yet he couldn’t see any way to say no. It would be, it would be . . . rude. That was the word. And worse, it would hurt her feelings. He sank heavily onto the couch with a pair of socks and wondered at this turn of events. Yesterday he’d been a wolf minding his own wolf business. Today he was a human negotiating a maze of human considerations. He’d ignored his instincts to leave and ended up having a full-scale human conversation with Connor, who would now expect it from him. Human convention dictated that James find suitable clothing for his human form, and it had delayed him long enough to get caught in that form. Now he’d been seen. Really seen, he amended, noting that human social mores also had him covering himself—belatedly—in the presence of a woman. Human manners plus human emotion now boxed him in, prevented him from turning down Birkie’s invitation to visit over lunch.
If he could ever get the damn clothes on.
James frowned and cursed as he fought to put on socks. It required fine motor skills, a challenge for hands that had been paws for decades. He counted himself lucky that the first pair of jeans he found had fit him, and that he’d managed the button and zipper a little better this time. Shirts were another story. James had always been broader across the shoulders and chest than Connor and it took several frantic minutes to locate something large enough. He soon gave up on trying to put anything back on a hanger and simply left the discards in a pile on the floor. Given the state of the room, Connor was unlikely to notice.
The buttons were a nightmare and finally he just left the shirt open. Had to settle for sneakers to replace his boots. Luckily he and his brother wore the same size in that department, but no way in hell was James going to attempt those laces. He tucked the loose ends in roughly and made his way across the room. Ended up having to almost slide his feet to avoid losing the shoes.
God, he missed being a wolf.
Although he’d found the kitchen earlier and would have been able to locate it again by memory, this time it was easier to simply follow his nose. The scent of food, human food, was almost overpowering. And very nearly foreign. Not only was it laden with spices, but the food was cooked. It enticed and repelled at the same time.
Birkie had just added a bag of warmed buns to a table already laden with food. She waved a hand at him to sit. James pulled out a chair, feeling awkward as he slid into it. There was a plate in front of him, a knife and fork. A glass. He eyed them warily.
“I remember you used to like lasagna quite a bit, so I set this aside for you when the Watsons filled the fridge this week. It’s Bill’s own recipe. Everything they bring is packaged in individual servings of course, but the portions are large. Have to be, to feed Connor.”
James took the steaming dish from her, sniffed it carefully. The spices were heady, nearly overwhelming, but he could identify all the ingredients, pick them out from one another. Suddenly a huge and ravenous hunger made itself known, and he almost dropped the dish. Only a supreme effort kept him from burying his face in it. Quickly, James dumped the pasta on his plate and shoved his hands in his lap where Birkie wouldn’t see them clenching.
“By the way, you can relax while you’re here, son. Connor’s at his farm with Zoey. Jillian’s out on a call. She’s all the way over by Spirit River, and she’s got another call after that. We’re not going to be interrupted anytime soon.”
“Jillian—she’s okay?”
“She’s just fine. Why wouldn’t she be?”
“I scared her, that’s all. Not on purpose,” he added quickly at the woman’s questioning glance. “Figured she might be mad or upset or something.”
“You startled her,” corrected Birkie. “You’ll find that Jillian Descharme doesn’t scare easily, and while she’s capable of a real good mad, she doesn’t hold onto it like some people. Interestingly, she was concerned about you.” She poured milk into both of their glasses, took something else out of the microwave. “Usually we eat off paper plates around here, but I thought you might find those a bit flimsy to practice on. So these are stoneware. Solid but not breakable.” Birkie winked at him. “Human coordination probably takes a little getting used to.”
He didn’t dare look at the lasagna on his plate, but the smell was driving him wild. He concentrated on Birkie’s words even as he began to sweat. “You always were very perceptive. And considerate.” James’ voice sounded strained even to him. He needed to eat. He had to eat. A wolf wouldn’t wait, but a human must. Would the woman ever sit down?
“And you were always very independent. You could have asked for a little help with the buttons and the shoelaces, you know.” She laughed at his scowl. “I have to say, it’s good to see you again. I’ve missed you, boy.” She gave him an airy wave with one hand while she slipped into her chair and picked up her fork. “Of course I don’t expect you to have missed me, James. Or anyone else for that matter. Being a wolf surely precludes a lot of emotions. I imagine that’s why you’ve been one for so long.”
There didn’t seem to be anything he could say to that, so he grabbed a fork too. The sensation of holding a slim metal object, the concept of using it as a tool, seemed bizarre and that annoyed him. It wasn’t as if he’d never been human before. Gritting his teeth, James gave the lasagna an experimental poke. Birkie cleared her throat, and he glanced up to see her cut the stacked pasta neatly with the side of her fork. He tried it, succeeded in dragging the first layer off his lasagna instead. On the second try, he managed to cut a forkful but it ended up on his bare chest. Finally a bite made it to his mouth.
The meal continued like that, with Birkie making conversation and James making a mess. She didn’t turn a hair when half of his milk landed in his lap, the result of accidentally trying to lap from a glass. And she completely ignored his curses and noises of supreme frustration.
James was determined to eat like a human being, to remember how. And gradually, he did. Mostly. But there was no holding back his non-human appetite. He quickly worked his way through most of the Watson’s menu. Birkie simply talked while he ate, occasionally warming up more food and placing it on the table, clearing away empty containers. She seemed to deliberately stay away from any mention of the distant past, and instead brought him up to speed on the everyday workings of the clinic, the growth of the town, the latest issues that were making headlines in the Dunvegan Herald Weekly. And gradually she segued into the daily lives of his brothers and sisters. Their human lives. Connor’s marriage, Culley’s business, Devlin’s books, Kenzie’s studies, Carlene’s children. Things he knew nothing about, and it bothered him suddenly that he didn’t.
“You know, I think you’ve gotten the hang of it, son,” Birkie said at last, as the last bun disappeared from the bag. “And I must say, you’re a lot neater at it than Connor, and believe me, I’ve seen him pack away food after a Change. I don’t know what it’s like to shapeshift, but I imagine it uses up a truckload of calories.”
James nodded. The truth was, he’d completely forgotten about that little detail. For years, he’d lived with only a wolf’s natural appetite. He
was unprepared for his stomach to turn into a snarling bottomless pit, a black hole with an appetite for entire galaxies, but knew he should have expected it. Too many Changes, not enough chow. He blamed his wolf side for that. If it had just cooperated, paid attention to wolf business instead of trailing after Jillian, then he would have hunted this week. “I guess I’d better thank you for lunch. Looks like I needed it more than I knew.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m used to Connor’s habits. He gets so involved in his work that he often forgets about eating until he’s desperate. Bill and Jessie noticed that about him years ago, that’s why they fill the fridge here every week. Then if he perishes from starvation, it won’t be on their conscience. But even with the food right here, I still have to remind him from time to time.”
James chuckled at that and startled himself. Both the sound and the ticklish sensation it gave the back of his throat were strange. When was the last time he’d laughed or smiled or done anything of the sort? When was the last time he sat at the table with a friend? He tried to fend off those thoughts and caught only the tail end of something Birkie was saying.
“. . . and besides, all this practice will come in handy when you ask Jillian to go to dinner with you.”
A fork clattered to the floor, and he stared at her. “What?”
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. You like her, don’t you?”
“Dammit, Birkie—” he began, but she raised a hand.
“First off, let me assume you’re embarrassed and uncomfortable because I’m Evelyn’s great aunt. Don’t be. I loved Evie like a daughter. More importantly, I know that you loved her. My dear boy, no one could have seen you with her and not known that. We all grieved when she died and her baby with her, grieved when we thought we lost you as well. But you survived. What about your life?”
“My life is fine.” His words were tight, almost bitten off.
“Your wolf’s life is fine, hon,” she corrected. “Your own is a little lopsided.”
“It’s the way it has to be.”
“It’s the way you think it has to be.”
“I said I’m fine.”
She rolled her eyes then. “There’s no point in being defensive with me, James. You know I see far too much for that.”
He knew, all right, and scowled at the truth of it. Birkie could see his human skin, and likely every single thought that lay beneath it as well. There just had to be some way out of this conversation. “Look, I really don’t want to talk about it right now.” Or ever.
“I’m certain that you don’t, and normally I wouldn’t press you. But there’s more than just you involved. I happen to like Jillian very much, and I’m concerned for her as well.”
“I’m not interested in Jillian,” he roared.
She didn’t even blink at his outburst. “And that’s why you’ve been following her around? Because you’re not interested?”
“You don’t understand. The goddamn wolf is following Jillian. And I don’t know why. I don’t know what it wants, so now I’m following her too, hoping to figure it out.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and suddenly felt very tired. “And that sounded crazy even to me.”
“You’ve met Jillian before.”
“Yes—at least I think so—but I can’t remember her exactly and the wolf won’t tell me a damn thing. And if you need more details on that situation, ask Connor. I’m not up to explaining it all over again.”
The older woman sat back then, folded her arms in front of her and studied him intently for a long moment. “Maybe your wolf will explain it.”
“What—” The hair on the back of James’s neck prickled, as the atmosphere in the room shifted, changed. A phantom taste burst on his tongue and the scent of it filled his senses: evergreen, wild rose, buffalo berry, bindweed, milk thistle, a bouquet from the very heart of the forest. Deep within him, the wolf stirred, restless and alert.
Birkie spoke then—he could see her lips moving—yet as much as he strained, he could hear nothing. It took some moments before he realized the wolf was responding to her, while he himself had been firmly shut out of the conversation. James struggled to regain control, his frustration escalating until finally his temper exploded. He shoved the wolf out of the way, shoved it deep into some inner compartment and slammed the door.
Birkie found herself face-to-face with a very angry man.
Chapter Twelve
“What the hell are you doing?” James growled at Birkie. Sparks of iridescent green flashed in his blue eyes, a sure sign of an enraged Changeling. “Why are you talking to the damn wolf instead of me?”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t flicker an eyelash, but regarded him gravely. “You heard nothing?”
“Not a goddamn word and you know it.”
“No.” She shook her head, surprise evident in her face. “I didn’t know it. I knew there was some schism between you and your inner wolf, but I didn’t know it was like this. I’ve never seen this before, and I’ve studied Changelings for a very long time.”
He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to regain control of himself. “I’ve had enough of the wolf taking over whenever the hell it feels like it.”
“I imagine so. And I have an idea as to what the problem may be. A Changeling’s human side is in control no matter what form he’s in. That’s the rule. But you know from Changeling history that there are a couple of exceptions to that rule. Important exceptions.”
The anger began to ebb. James took a deep breath, then another. Considered. The wolf could rise involuntarily in any Changeling to ensure their survival. The wolf might also come out to defend a mate. “I don’t get it. Those situations don’t apply to me, not now.”
“I’ll bet they do, just not the way you might think. Believe it or not, the wolf is on your side. It’s looking out for you, protecting you. Ensuring your survival.”
“But that makes no sense. I’m not in any danger. I have survived.”
“Depends on how you define survival. How a wolf defines survival.”
James shook his head. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
“Evelyn died. It was horrible, it was unfair, it was wrong, but it happened. You were mortally wounded. What was your first impulse when you realized she was gone?”
He was silent, though he knew it would do him no good.
“You wanted to follow her, didn’t you? Of course you did, that’s a natural impulse. But what did the wolf do?”
Ah, damn. James sat heavily and stared at the floor. “It took over.”
“It had to, to save your life. Believe me, I know. When the Pack found you, Jessie called me to come and help if I could. I saw what had happened to you, James. You were hit by a shotgun, twice, at fairly close range.” Her voice was grim, but she stood beside him, put a gentle hand on his shoulder, the shoulder that had been wounded. “It’s a miracle you didn’t die outright. And if you’d remained in human form, you would have died for sure. Your wolf knew that.
“Changing in that condition could have killed you too, of course, but your wolf is very strong, you’re very strong. You got through it and the shift stopped a lot of the bleeding, bought you some time until we could work on you.”
He sat quietly for several moments, staring off into the past and absently running his fingers over the places where the wounds had been. Finally, he looked up at her. “I didn’t know that. I don’t remember much after the Change, but I guess I should say thanks.” He sighed. “But I’m not wounded, and I’m not in danger now. I’m trying to see it, Birkie, but I just can’t make any connection between that situation and this.”
“You’re not thinking like a wild wolf, a real wolf, especially an alpha wolf. What does a wild alpha wolf do if it loses its mate? Does it spend the rest of its life alone?”
Apprehension prickled the hair on the back of his neck. “It’s not the same, Birkie.”
“The wolf will mourn his mate, but then he’ll go on with his life. Survival mean
s going on with your life in all ways.”
“It doesn’t apply here.” Suddenly he realized where she was going with this, and his voice took on a warning note. “Birkie—”
She ignored him. “The wolf finds another mate because he isn’t designed to be alone. Your wolf has found one. I should say you’ve found one, but only your lupine side seems to have recognized her.”
“No.” He got up, backed up, knocked over the chair. Pointed at her and shook his head. “No. Don’t tell me that, goddammit! You’ve got it all wrong.” Dishes clattered noisily to the floor as he backed into the counter.
“Why do you think the wolf is so focused on Jillian? Why do you think it took steps to find her and ensure her survival years ago, just as it’s working to ensure yours now?”
“Jesus Murphy, Birkie!” Was the woman deaf? “How many times do I have to say I’m not interested in Jillian? And I’m especially not interested in having my wolf side pick out women for me.”
“You’re not interested or you don’t want to be interested?”
“I can’t be interested, goddammit!”
“Son.” She caught his gaze and held it. “I know you miss Evelyn, and part of you is always going to miss her. But surely you know that she wouldn’t want you to spend your entire life mourning her and never moving on.”
Her eyes were unwavering, the soul within them ancient. He felt like an unruly child and it pissed him off even further. Still, he fought to stay in control, to be civil. “I know you’re trying to help, Birkie,” he said through gritted teeth, “but you don’t understand.”
“What I understand, son, is that you’ve already spent thirty years alone. And I understand that you fully intend to spend the next thirty like that too.”
He moved toward the door but she was in front of it. “You don’t get it. I can’t be with anyone. Not Jillian, not anybody. I can’t do that to someone again.”
“Do what, James?” she asked quietly.
Pain hoarsened his voice, wrenched the words from him. “Evelyn’s dead because of me. Didn’t you know that, Birkie, didn’t you see that in your goddamn crystal ball? It’s my fault. Some bastard killed her because she married a Changeling.”
