Changing Hearts

by Marilu Mann

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Changing Hearts

  ISBN 9781419913020

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Changing Hearts Copyright © 2008 Marilu Mann

  Edited by Briana St. James.

  Photography and cover art by Les Byerley.

  Electronic book Publication November 2008

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  CHANGING HEARTS

  Marilu Mann

  Dedication

  To loved ones on both sides of the veil. To friends who have shown us unfailing, unflinching and unflagging support every step of the way, we salute you. You know who you are! To our readers who keep asking for more, thank you! We write because of you.

  Acknowledgements

  With gratitude to FTHRW, FF&P, PI & Nythearn. Y’all keep the wheels turning and the enthusiasm high. To the citizens of the great state of Louisiana, particularly those in and around New Orleans—Laissez les bons temps rouler!

  Author Note

  The author acknowledges taking a little liberty with some of the geography of the great state of Louisiana…y’all can put it back where it was when we’re done.

  Chapter One

  He had to get away. If he didn’t, they’d kill him.

  Slade dragged himself to his knees. Everyone’s attention was focused away from him. Now or never, get moving. He willed himself to ignore the pain radiating throughout his body.

  Heading for the wooded area surrounding the compound seemed his safest bet. He’d change direction soon, but for now this felt right. Slade glanced back as he reached the relative safety of the woods. Still too much confusion, too much noise, they hadn’t noticed he’d left yet. They would though and they’d be tracking him.

  Pain and nausea doubled him over. He emptied his stomach, covering the mess with leaves and dirt. No sense leaving more of a scent trail than necessary for anyone to follow.

  Gaining his feet again, he forced himself to continue, moving as fast as he could. He hit the edge of the bayou with a stifled groan. Falling more than stepping into the water, he felt the sting of cuts and scrapes on his body. Still, the warm water revived him somewhat.

  He shook hair and water out of his face, then wiped away blood and sweat with one hand. The other one felt broken. He flexed the injured hand slightly. Yep, definitely broken. That and the ribs were the most painful injuries, the others were just nuisance ones. He’d survive. He’d been beaten worse than this and he’d made it.

  North, got to head north. They won’t look for me this way. He set his mind and his feet on a northward trail.

  Slade ran through the brackish water that reached his knees. He knew he was running out of steam. He also knew that he couldn’t stop. Stopping too soon meant they might catch his scent—catch him.

  The hunter had become the hunted. Pack law didn’t offer any leeway. Killing his second-in-command, though necessary, had effectively exiled him from any Pack. It didn’t matter that there’d been no benefit of formal challenge. It didn’t matter that his second, along with his former lover, had betrayed him, poisoned him. All that mattered was that he’d abandoned his Pack without leadership.

  He was alone now.

  Again.

  Slade stumbled, going down hard. With a mental curse, he bared his teeth at the culprit, a damn cypress knee. They stuck up out of the bayou in various places, just waiting to put a hole in a boat or hide a snake. He raised himself out of the water as he listened for pursuers. No sounds came from the south except a bull alligator roaring. That gator was just making himself known, there wasn’t any threat in it.

  He cocked an ear to the other directions, even though he knew his trackers would be from New Orleans. A few voices laughing from the east and the faint trace of wood smoke in the air brought to mind good old boys drinking around a fire. No harm from any other direction, if his ears didn’t lie.

  The bayou here didn’t run that deep, but he knew that if he went farther toward the middle he’d probably drown. The moss-covered trees loomed overhead, blotting out most of the light.

  The sun climbed and still he ran, walked, moved north. He stopped to throw up a second time as the silver worked through his system. He fell again. It felt as though he’d been running for a lifetime, but he’d learned a long time ago that whining only got you more grief. He’d taught that to his Pack as well. Never give up. With that firmly in mind, Slade managed to get to his feet again. Moving forward sucked, but he wouldn’t stop now.

  When a chill hit him in the evening, he knew he felt the onset of shock. The outside temperature had to be somewhere in the eighties. If his sense of direction hadn’t failed him, he had to be getting closer to LaPlace.

  Slade stumbled again, but this time he kept his feet under him. The urge to rest gave way to the need to stop and change. Better to be safe than sorry, so he scanned the area one more time by scent.

  He couldn’t smell anything close to him other than the water and his own sweat and blood. Slade looked around again, using the rest of his senses. He could sense people near, but the diluted scent told him they weren’t close enough to bother him. He turned his ears toward them. All he could hear were faint shifting noises and deep breathing. They were sleeping.

  No shifters followed him right now. Maybe they thought him dead. That gave him pause. If that held true, then the Pack would never seek him out. He might actually get lucky on this. Then he laughed. He hadn’t been that kind of lucky since the age of six. However, he would be dead if he didn’t change soon. He refused to give in to the need to just lie down and let the silver finish him off.

  His lips curled up in what might have been a snarl but could have been a laugh. Weak would never be a word used to describe him. Weak was letting someone like his ex gain control, letting a female call the shots. That had never happened to him and it never would. None of his lovers had ever been more than a casual sex partner. No female called him mate—he didn’t get that close. Why take a mate when you might have to leave again?

  Shifters, like wolves, mated for life. So far he hadn’t found anyone he wanted that much. Hadn’t found anyone he’d willingly cede control to. He hadn’t found any one place he could truly call home.

  Slade tried to take a deep breath. The pain brought him to his knees. It was harder to get back up this time. Giving in at last, he threw his head back on a harsh gasp that echoed from the trees surrounding him.

  He moved out of the water to the marshy ground that served as a bank for the bayou. Kneeling down, he let the loamy earth absorb the shock. It hurt. God, it hurt. There was no help for it. He had to change.

  Slade took several shallow breaths as he felt the change beginning. The crack
ing of a branch to his right caused him to whip around. The pain from his sudden movement shot through him like an electric charge.

  Bones realigned, skin flowed, warm hair enfolded his body. The dank bayou night became a smorgasbord of smells. His vision took on such clarity that he could see the turtles sleeping just beneath the water. No longer a man, he was an animal.

  His change to wolf form complete, he fell to the ground into the welcoming darkness of unconsciousness.

  * * * * *

  The boards on the porch felt rough under her bare feet, but she didn’t worry about splinters. Something out there needed her. Joie Sue Landry wrapped the lightweight shawl tighter around her shoulders for comfort. The night, though still humid, seemed quieter than usual.

  Even the katydids weren’t singing. She paused before stepping off the relative safety of her stoop. That meant whatever it was it had to be big. The last time it had been a gator. What could it be this time?

  The uncanny call sounded loud and strong in her head. It wasn’t a voice, exactly, more like a murmur of sound, a whisper. To deny what she heard would have guaranteed a migraine. Moving down the cypress steps, she began to make her way cautiously to the water’s edge. Oppressive heat clung near the bank of the bayou and only the mosquitoes’ buzzing broke the quiet of the night.

  A sound of something in pain nearby caused her to falter. A branch cracked under her bare foot. Joie stood on the edge of the bayou with her mouth hanging open. No way had she just seen a naked man on his hands and knees at the edge of the water.

  Hurt men didn’t call to her the way the wild things did. Where an animal lay on his side now was just where she thought she’d seen the man. As she drew closer, she saw a wolf. She shook her head. Foolish! It must have been a trick of the light.

  Joie approached cautiously. If that wolf got up, she could be in trouble. The only movement she saw was the steady rise and fall of its side—a good sign.

  She reached the side of the massive wolf only to realize it was unconscious. Joie didn’t waste time worrying about how it got to the swamp. She just knew she had to help the creature.

  Tearing a strip off her nightgown, Joie fastened a makeshift muzzle for the wolf. It wouldn’t be the first piece of clothing that had been sacrificed for another, and she didn’t want to lose a hand or have to undergo rabies treatments.

  When the muzzle was secured, she spared a moment to simply stare. As one who could spend hours in front of the tiger cage at the zoo, she felt fascination for such an obvious predator. There was danger here, but still, the feeling of being this close to such a strong animal mesmerized her.

  She started to assess his injuries. Her hands slid gently through the thick fur, finding two, if not three, broken ribs, as well as old breaks that had healed. The right front paw looked as if something had tried to rip it off. Flaps of skin hanging from his side gave mute evidence to the fact that he had been in a fight for his life. She wondered what had attacked him. She’d bet on another wolf.

  This animal needed treatment as soon as possible. The possibility of internal injuries existed, although Joie’s instincts told her there were none. Now that she knew how and where he lay, she thought about her Tante Kay. She knew that her godmother would arrive soon. Somehow Tante always knew when Joie needed her. While she waited, she watched the wolf.

  Thinking only of comforting him, she stroked his head and neck, marveling again at the softness of his fur. Movement behind her alerted her to the welcome arrival of Tante Kay.

  “What you got there, child? You think it wise to be pettin’ it like some ole hound dog?” Tante Kay lifted the flashlight she carried higher. Joie watched the elderly woman’s bright green eyes take in the scene.

  “A wolf. He’s pretty badly hurt.” Joie ran her hand over his side as she looked at Tante Kay.

  Tante Kay shifted slightly. Her lips pursed as she tapped them with one wrinkled finger. “There’s something not right with this wolf. I can’t put my finger on it, but this one…he’ll bear close watchin’. I’m glad you tied his mouth shut. I knew almost losing a finger to that gator would teach you, cher.”

  Joie smiled sheepishly as she looked at the scar she still bore on her index finger. “Yes, ma’am, I think I learned my lesson with that one. How are we going to get him back to the cabin?”

  “Don’t you worry none, cher. I brought us a good wool blanket. I just knew it was gonna be a big one. We’ll do him just like we did that bear cub.”

  Joie nodded as Tante Kay set the flashlight aside. Together they maneuvered the wolf onto the blanket. Joie lifted a portion of the wolf while her godmother pulled the fabric under. It wasn’t fast, but it was the best they could do. Joie guessed his weight at nearly two hundred pounds. That had to be larger than any wolf she’d ever seen or heard of before. Once they had him firmly on the blanket, they began the slow walk back, dragging him along.

  “Hooo, cher! This is one heavy wolf. Solid built.”

  Joie nodded her agreement, but didn’t waste breath. It took every muscle in her body to move the beast mere inches at a time. The five-minute walk back to the cabin took nearly thirty minutes. The wolf whimpered from time to time, but didn’t open his eyes. By the time they reached the porch, sweat drenched both women.

  They couldn’t take a break now. Joie went to her shed for herbs while Tante Kay disappeared inside only to reappear with hot water and bandages. Tante bathed the bloodied flaps of skin, then Joie sprinkled on an antiseptic powder before stitching it all back together. They did the same for his paw, only Joie splinted the broken bones. His ribs she wasn’t sure about.

  Would he leave the bandages on long enough to let them heal? She could only hope so. Most animals would worry at something like that until they got it off. The wolf stirred beneath her as she finished the last wrap.

  “There now, sugar. Everything’s going to be all right. You’re safe.” She fell into a soothing singsong voice, hoping to relax him.

  * * * * *

  The sound of a soft voice reached him through the darkness of his own brain. The tones reminded him of a time so far in his past that it surprised him to remember it. His mother had once calmed him with similar sounds when he’d broken his arm.

  Slade opened his eyes to mere slits as he listened to the voice that belonged to a sweet-smelling female. His mother had never smelled this good.

  Extending his senses a bit, he realized that his wolf form still held. Something wrapped his midsection almost uncomfortably tightly, but he knew that it would offer necessary support for his ribs. His side ached where he’d been ripped into, but a minute twitch of the area assured him it had been cared for as well. He didn’t bother checking out his paw, he knew that would follow suit. Then he tried to open his mouth slightly. Something held his jaws shut.

  Panic started to fill his mind, but the hands on his body reassured him. He knew by her voice and her actions that she meant him no harm. Lilacs, she smells like sweet lilacs. Now where did that come from, Slade? Get your mind back on what’s happening. He focused on the voice again to get his mind off the constraining thing around his mouth. He hated being tied like this. In fact, under certain circumstances, he preferred to do the tying.

  “The only thing I learned in Atlanta, Tante, is that I’m happiest without people. I’ve found that animals never stop loving you back. Well, and you, Tante, you’ve never stopped loving me.” The woman shrugged slightly as she leaned over him to finish binding his ribs. Slade could feel his heartbeat increase at the press of her soft breasts against his side.

  Joie ran her hand along the wolf’s side. His thick fur felt softer than it looked. He breathed easier now. In fact, the pattern of his breathing would have made her think him awake if his eyes weren’t closed. She glanced down. Was that a glint she saw from under his lids? She shook her head.

  Wild animals didn’t have the kind of control necessary to feign unconsciousness. She wondered what had forced this immense creature into the swamps. Wolves we
ren’t native to Louisiana.

  Tante Kay laughed. “You’re my petit chaton sauvage, my little wildcat. You got the call, same as me. I used to spend hours by myself on the pirogue, just poling up and down the bayou. Remember, you gonna be a traiteuse. The outside, they call us faith healers, but it’s much more than that. What good is a well body if your mind isn’t well? It’s about using what the land gives, and what Notre Bon Dieu, the good Lord himself, gives.”

  Joie nodded as her godmother talked. The bayou ran strong in her blood too. She’d tried to get away from it, running away from the place she felt she’d never quite fit.

  The death of Joie’s parents right after her sixteenth birthday enabled her to spend the last two years of high school living—some might have said hiding—with Tante Kay. She’d gone to school in town, retreating to the cabin every day. Even with those two precious years of freedom, she’d still been eager to leave all of this behind, hitting the road for Atlanta the day she graduated.

  Atlanta had not been a good move for her. Oh, she’d found a job and a man who said he wanted to marry her easily enough, but the bayou seemed to be the only place free of emotional manipulation.

  When she remembered what had been asked of her—to abort the child she’d longed for… And then the pain of the loss, both mental and physical, while her so-called fiancé had been out partying with friends. She shrugged off the old memories and looked down at the wolf. An electric shock zinged her when her eyes met his. He hadn’t moved at all. What kind of wolf is this? His warm amber eyes focused on her face with single-minded intent.

  Slade looked at her now with open curiosity. What kind of woman is she? She had taken him somewhere and tended his wounds as though he was her family pet. Now she met his gaze as though it were common to have a wolf in her home. Antiseptic smell made his nose wrinkle, but he sniffed again anyway. Underlying it all, her scent. He’d never known lilacs could be so inviting. She turned her attention back to the other woman.