The Shifter's Secret Baby Girl

by T. S. Ryder

  "Cool stuff." Kristen snorted. "Like turning into a werewolf every night. Do you like being a monster?"

  He would have liked to say that they weren't monsters, but both of them knew that wasn't true. Kristen stared at her glass. Her nostrils flared, jaw clenched tight, hands balled into fists, but her narrowed eyes glimmered with tears. What could he say to make her feel better? Both of them went through times like this, but Kristen had it harder than him. Sometimes he wondered if it was because of the flashes of memories she had from before this. Before Simon Bell turned them into whatever they were now. He remembered nothing. At times, he was jealous of the bits and pieces that Kristen had. Other times, like now, he wondered if it was worth it at all. She would never say if it was her memories that pushed her into such a deep darkness, but times like this were usually linked with a new revelation.

  "Well?" she stared at him challengingly.

  "Of course not."

  Kristen nodded. "Then you'll help me."

  Everett snorted. He stood and walked to the cupboard to get a new bottle. "I like being a living monster better than a dead monster. If Bell could do this to us, then he can kill us. I'm not going anywhere near that mad scientist. He'll pull out our brains and pickle them. No, thank you. I don't like vinegar."

  He turned around to find Kristen standing right in front of him. Her fist flew, crunching into his nose before he had a chance to defend himself. It cracked again, fresh blood joining the dried stuff that was already on his lip.

  "Ow! What the hell?"

  "I never took you for a coward, Roxton."'

  Everett wiped his nose, glaring at her as a streak of blood stained his arm. "Get out."

  "You're a coward."

  "Get out, Kristen. I understand your position, but I'm not going to just stand here and let you use me as a punching bag. Get the hell out of here right now." Kristen opened her mouth again, but Everett held up his hand. It didn't matter the circumstances. There was never an excuse to punch a friend like that. He shook his head and she stepped back. "Leave. Get your head screwed on straight."

  Kristen glanced at the blood streaking his arm, then her own. She shivered slightly, then turned away. She walked off, slamming the door behind herself. Everett stared after her for some time. Should he really have sent her away? His nose was already healing. It wasn't like she had done any permanent damage . . .

  He shook his head as he sat at the table and drank another shot. That was beside the point. It didn't matter if she did permanent damage or not. It was the fact that she thought that it was acceptable to hit him for turning down her suicide mission. Especially since she already knew how he felt about Bell. No, she was out of line and he wasn't going to allow himself to be caught up in an abusive relationship. Not even with the only person in the world who knew everything about him.

  As he finished his shot, he glanced at the clock. It was nearing three in the morning. The time when the change happened whether he wanted it or not. A shiver ran down his spine, but he shoved it away. After six years, he was used to this. As long as he just accepted it, it didn't even hurt anymore.

  There was a knock on the door.

  Maybe Kirsten didn't have anywhere to go and just realized, like him, how late it was. He moved to the door – she could stay until the change had passed.

  But when he opened the door, it wasn't Kristen.

  It was a face he had never forgotten, though he tried to. Green eyes, sultry lips, curly black hair, slender nose, pale skin. His breath caught in his chest. How many times had he dreamed of her, frustrated that he couldn’t let her go? But then, she was his first – at least, the first he could remember. The first woman he'd been with after he escaped Bell and his lab.

  "Marguerite."

  Her eyes widened. "You remember?"

  The restless energy that always preceded a shift started to shiver in the pit of his stomach. He narrowed his eyes. "What are—"

  "We have to come in," she interrupted.

  Before he could tell her to go away, she had rammed her body into the door and strode in. A little girl bounded in after her. She grinned and pounced on him, snarling under her breath. Everett was so shocked that all he did was close the door after them. He extracted himself from the child's grip and thrust her at Marguerite. Her mother? They had similar facial features. But the girl was blonde.

  "What are you doing here?" His heart began to pound. The change was going to start soon. He fought against it. "Get out!"

  "It can't wait."

  Everett opened his mouth but before he could say a word, the little girl changed. Fur sprouted over her body, her teeth sharpened, and she yipped and barked as she danced around, claws scraping against the floor. He stared in shock, jaw hanging open. How was this possible?

  It wasn't until he looked up at Marguerite and found her staring wide-eyed at him. She swayed on the spot and shook her head. With a single glance down, he saw that fur had sprouted over his body.

  "Oh, no," she whispered, then slumped to the floor.

  Chapter Three – Marguerite

  Marguerite pressed a bag of peas to the back of her skull. She winced as the peas made contact with the large bruise that had formed when she hit her head on the floor the previous night. She was still surprised that Everett had let her and Elena stay the night even after she told him she was having hallucinations about him being a giant werewolf-like beast.

  She wanted to drink something. Badly. But she wasn't going to do anything that might make it worse. So far, the hallucinations were limited to very early in the morning. That was a fortunate thing. She wasn't sure what she'd do if things got even worse . . .

  Everett came into the room. He slid his cell phone into his pocket and ran a hand through his hair. It was lighter than she remembered. A sandy-brown color rather than almost black. Had he dyed it when she had seen him or was she just remembering wrong? Would Elena's hair turn to that color as she got older?

  Would she inherit her mother's mental illness?

  "We have to talk," she said as Everett poured himself a cup of coffee.

  The big, muscular man tensed, then nodded. "You're right. We do. Is Elena sleeping?"

  Marguerite nodded. "She doesn't usually get up until closer to ten. I've been wanting to wake her up earlier so she'd go to bed earlier, but every night . . . She's always up around three. Which is what I need to talk to you about. I understand that you have a life and to suddenly have a daughter in it is going to be weird enough. You don't have to keep Elena with you if you don't want – if you have friends or family that can watch her while I'm at the hospital. I just need a little help."

  "My only family is a sister who isn't really a sister," Everett interrupted. He held his cup to his lips then put it down again. His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, nostrils flaring.

  "Will she be able to—"

  "Really?"

  Marguerite wasn't certain what to say to that. He sounded accusatory and mocking all at once. She pressed her lips together, staring at him. After what had happened, he had to see why this was necessary, didn't he? He remembered her, so it wasn't like he could pretend like there was no possible way that Elena was his daughter. Although Marguerite hadn't outright said that she was . . .

  Everett plunked his coffee onto the table too hard and it splashed onto his hand. Marguerite winced, but the big man didn't seem to notice. "We're not going to talk about what happened last night?"

  She winced again and sucked in a deep breath. Of course. As much as she would have liked to be able to just pretend like nothing had happened, that she had sat quietly on the couch and said nothing while Everett and Elena ran around her little apartment, she couldn’t trust her memories. For all she knew, she could be blacking out what she might have done. After all, she hit her head and she didn't remember what happened afterward.

  "How bad was it?" she asked meekly.

  "How . . . bad?"

  Marguerite closed her eyes. She pressed her hands together an
d nodded shakily. "Did I scare Elena?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  Okay. If he was confused, then she probably hadn't done anything. She let out a relieved sigh, then wrapped her arms around her waist and opened her eyes again. Everett stared at her with a surprised expression that was almost comical excepting how serious the situation actually was. He hadn't wiped up the coffee that had spilled onto his hand.

  "I don't know exactly what happened last night," she started slowly. "But I've been having these hallucinations. I keep seeing Elena turn into this . . . this werewolf creature. Last night, I saw you turn into one, too. I don't know what's going on. I know that I need to get help before it gets worse and I hurt her. That's why I'm here. Because I don't have anybody to look after her while I'm hospitalized, and I will not have her end up in foster care. I know it's a lot to ask of a perfect stranger, but—"

  Everett held up his hand. His brow was creased. "Hallucinations?"

  "They started a couple weeks ago. It's why I tracked you down—"

  "And how did you do that?" Everett's eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. "I've been very careful with my life. I don't use social media, I'm not subscribed to any sort of magazines. Are you a cop?"

  Marguerite shook her head. For some reason, there was a small stab of disappointment that he didn't remember what she was planning on doing with her life all those years ago. But it was stupid to think he'd remember the life goals of some random girl he had a one-night fling with. A guy like him probably had more one-night stands than she did. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember what he had said he wanted to do with his life . . . Had they even talked about it?

  "I'm a psychologist. And you're listed in the phonebook."

  Everett's eyes widened fractionally before he shook his head. "Wow. Great going, Roxton. Damn phone book."

  Marguerite eyed him for a moment, uncertain. He was taking it all in very calmly. Maybe he didn't believe her. But he wasn't exhibiting any signs of distrust. More like he was hiding something. She chewed her lip for a moment before pushing on.

  "Anyway, I need to get this figured out. To have hallucinations just appear randomly like this, it's quite terrifying. I need to make sure that Elena is safe."

  "Ah, dammit." Everett ran a hand through his hair. "You give me the best excuse and . . . and I still can't take it. Bloody hell. Why couldn’t you be less concerned with your daughter, huh? Then I wouldn't have to do this."

  Marguerite was silent. What was he going on about?

  "You're not hallucinating."

  "Yes, I am."

  "No." He leaned forward. "I do turn into a werewolf every night. And I guess Elena's my daughter, and that's why she's changing."

  Marguerite shook her head.

  "I was an experiment. A scientist named Simon Bell turned me into this. I don't know why and I don't know how. That night when we met? I had just freed myself and my sister Kristen from Bell's lab. She had taken off. I didn't know where she went, and I was alone. I was scared and feeling sorry for myself and then there you were. So pretty, so excited about life . . . "

  Okay, this couldn't be happening. Was this another hallucination? Hearing him say the things that he was saying . . . was he even there? Was all of this conversation real or fake? Marguerite's stomach cramped. Her blood rushed in her ears and she wasn't sure what to think. So she just sat there, silent and wide-eyed, as he spoke.

  "You stopped me from trying to kill myself that night just by being there." His voice was thick with emotion and he glanced away. "I didn't see what I could do if I had any sort of chance at life. Not that suicide would have worked, anyway. I can be stabbed and heal within a few minutes. Broken bones take a couple hours. I'm not . . . I'm not sure if I can die."

  "Stop," Marguerite whispered. "Stop. I can't handle this . . . I'm not . . . I'm not strong enough. This isn't a joke."

  Everett nodded. "I know. It's dead serious. Kristen and I are the only two like this that I know about. And like I said, I have no idea what Bell was trying to do. Whether we're some sort of failed super soldier experiment or, maybe even worse, if we're the success stories. All I can say is that the change happens between three and five in the morning every day. During other times of the day, I can willfully change, especially if I've been hurt, but I can never stop the 3 am change. I can't get drunk. I hardly need to eat, drink or sleep, and . . . "

  He trailed off as he watched her shake her head. With a determined expression, he crossed the kitchen to grab a steak knife. Holding his palm towards her, he sliced it across his own hand. Marguerite gasped, but other than a little oozing of blood, nothing happened. When he wiped the blood off, his skin was closed and clean.

  Fake blood? Or was everything he was telling her . . . real?

  Marguerite's mind whirled. She stared in shock and confusion as he reached into a drawer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. When he lit one up, she jumped to her feet. It was like she was acting on autopilot as she rushed to him, grabbed the cigarette, and snuffed it out in an ashtray.

  "What are you doing?" Everett's brow creased.

  "I have a daughter in the next room. I'm not letting her get cancer from your second-hand smoke. I don't care if you think that you can heal from everything, I'm not going to let anybody put my little girl at risk. You have a balcony if you want to smoke you can go out there."

  Everette looked ashamed. He shrugged. "I usually do. But look, if Elena's picked up the whole werewolf change from me, then she's probably got everything that goes with it. Has she ever recovered from something mysteriously? Any injury that healed faster than expected? Or has she had an unusual appetite? I crave a lot of broccoli. Does she . . . ?"

  The shame on his face turned hopeful. Something tightened in Marguerite's chest as she looked at him. This wasn't the response she had been expecting when she decided to come here. She had thought she was going to have to cajole and convince him to accept his daughter into his life. But now . . . he looked almost excited about the prospect.

  It was good, wasn't it? Because either he was telling the truth and she needed answers about what was happening to her daughter, or her psychosis were getting worse and she needed to be hospitalized right away.

  "I can't remember a time when Elena's ever gotten hurt. No bruises, even. She's a tough girl."

  "Has she ever gotten sick?"

  Marguerite shook her head. “She has a strong immune system.”

  Everett gave her a pointed look and she pushed past him to the cupboard where he had put the alcohol in last night. Pure grade vodka. She wrinkled her nose. Nope, not going there. She'd probably give herself alcohol poisoning with one glass.

  "So what does this mean?" she asked.

  "I don't know."

  Marguerite turned toward him. "My life changed for the better when I had Elena. I changed for the better. I saw everything in a different light. Having her is what made me who I am today. If something happened to her . . . ." It felt like she couldn't breathe. "So, what? What does this mean? What is she? What are you? What is going to happen? Will you suddenly self-combust? Will you—"

  "I don't know." Everett grasped her hands in his. "Listen, I left Simon Bell's lab and never looked back. I don't need answers. I've been this way for six years. We change and then we're human again. It's just something that we live with. If you love your daughter, you will accept her now, just like before."

  Marguerite didn't reply. Accept her, yes. But this wasn't like being gay or transgender or anything like that. This was her daughter changing into a werewolf every night and having no idea what was causing it or what the mental and physical effects were. Not knowing if it was going to shorten or lengthen her life.

  She needed answers. She needed to know what was happening to her baby and she needed to be able to protect her.

  Chapter Four – Everett

  He woke to sounds in the kitchen. Normally, he would have thought that this meant Kristen had decided to break in and make herself at hom
e. His sister couldn’t hold down a job and often came to crash with him when she couldn’t afford a place to live or food.

  Lately, however, the noise in the morning had been a commonplace thing. Marguerite and Elena had moved in with him. Given what was happening, it felt like the only decent thing to do. Give them a place to live and be safe while they figured this out.

  Marguerite was handling it all much better than he had expected. She didn’t freak out, and even if she looked a bit scared when the change happened, she still held and cuddled Elena until she fell asleep.

  More clanging from the kitchen. Everett rolled out of bed and threw some clothes on before heading out. He yawned as he entered the kitchen but stopped when he saw what Marguerite was wearing. Cute little booty shorts and a tank top, the kind that had a bow in the center of her cleavage. Her very deep cleavage. His gaze focused in there for a moment until she made a coughing noise.

  Everett’s head snapped up, heat rushing to his face. Marguerite was red as well, and she moved to a chair and pulled on a silk robe.

  “I’m making pancakes and I didn’t want to get it dirty.”

  Everett pointed at a drawer. “I’ve got an apron in there.”

  “One that I am never going to let Elena see.”

  “Why not? She’s not naked – she’s wearing a bikini.”

  Marguerite rolled her eyes. “With giant boobs that her top barely covers. I don’t need my daughter to see an oversexualized depiction of women when this is all still very new and confusing.”

  “Ah.” Everett couldn’t help but smirk. “That’s why you’re making breakfast in lingerie.”

  Marguerite’s face reddened even more. She opened her mouth, but before she said anything, a sleepy voice spoke from behind him.

  “What’s lawn-jerry?” Elena wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug and yawned.

  He hadn’t realized that she was awake. Now it was his turn to stutter, embarrassed and uncertain of what to say. It was hard enough curbing his swearing around Elena. There was so much more he had to watch around her. Having a kid around was hard, even though he loved the way she laughed when he swung her around or the image of her and Marguerite sitting on the sofa reading a story.