One True Mate 3: Shifter's Echo

by Lisa Ladew

  Ahead of her, a semi-truck slid to the left, then righted itself. Dahlia stepped on the brakes again, watching it, her heart pounding in her chest for just a moment. When the rig continued on just fine, she took a deep breath and debated trying to pass it. No, she decided. The road was too slick. She would just stay back here like a good girl and make it home al─

  The rig swerved wildly, its front end swinging back and its rear crossing both lanes of traffic. The tiny blue sedan to Dahlia’s left had no chance, crumpling like a soda can when it impacted the forty tons of steel that hadn’t been there a moment before. Dahlia slammed on her brakes and spun her wheel, knowing in her heart she didn’t have a chance either, but unable to give in, give up, not at least try to live…

  ***

  Dahlia blinked rapidly, opening her eyes to darkness at her front and cold at her back. The scream that had escaped her lungs as only a hiss when her car had impacted the semi-truck echoed in her ears, but no other body traumas had come with it. Her muscles felt soft, not tense. Her mind wasn’t reeling with frantic, adrenaline-laden instinct. She felt normal. Maybe her throat was a little dry?

  She twirled her hands and realized she still had them. Feet? Yep, those too. Her vision came into focus and she moved her head on her neck. She was lying down in what felt like snow, staring at a dark, night sky.

  Dahlia gaped at the stars, unable to grasp what had happened. Why wasn’t she dead? Or even hurt? She hadn’t dreamed the car accident. Well, she had, but it had still happened. She turned over in the snow and pushed up onto her hands and knees, gagging, then retching violently onto the frozen white ground. The memory of the wreck came back to her, stronger, and she replayed every detail. The too-fast-to-comprehend screeching impact of metal against metal, then flesh. The numbing, searing pressure in her throat that she somehow knew was the destroyed steering column invading her.

  She sat back on her knees and cradled her head in her hands. She had died. She knew she had. Any attempt to replay the sensations and instinct that told her she had died pushed her onto her knees to retch again, so she stayed away from them. But the fact was burned into her soul. She should be dead.

  A familiar noise built up behind her and she whipped her head around, then scrambled backwards in the snow away from it. It was a car, its headlights cutting through the crisp air, cresting a hill on a road that she was sitting approximately twenty feet away from. The car rushed by her as if she wasn’t even there. Dahlia watched it go. Would she ever get in one of those again?

  She got to her feet slowly, urging her legs to work. Nausea coiled in her stomach, waiting for her to make one wrong move or think one wrong thought. She looked to the sky, turning to her left to catch a slight breeze on her face, trying to cool her burning cheeks and soothe her stomach.

  She stared at the sky for several long minutes. Blinking. Turning. Deciding. No. She wasn’t in her real world. Nor was she in her dream world anymore, the world she went to almost every night when she slept. Her dream world had been the one she’d just died in.

  Died! Dahlia turned in a circle and put her arms out, a new, peculiar emotion flooding her. Was this some sort of a message to her? If she could survive her death in her dream world, did that mean she could survive it in her real world also? She hadn’t seen this dream death coming, but she spent most of her moments in the real world looking over her shoulder for signs of the imminent death that was coming to her there. She’d known it for years. Felt it for months. This winter would be her last.

  Dahlia shook her head, her hair rustling around her face. A giggle built in her throat and a sudden euphoria made her face break into a wide, uncontrollable smile.

  Knowledge of her impending death in her real world had been crushing her, even in the world she visited every night while she slept, but now that weight was lifted somehow. Freed. She felt light, happy, joyful. Maybe she still owed a death to that world, but here and now, in this world, she was alive! Still here on earth. She looked around. Maybe on earth. It looked like earth. Same trees, same sky, same roads and cars. She lifted her head and smelled the air. It smelled like winter in Illinois; cold and clear with a hint of wood smoke. Another car sped by her, heading in the same direction as the last one, and the scent of exhaust reached her. Earth. Definitely.

  Her body shook with laughter, and a supreme joy filled her. Leftover chemicals in her blood stream from when she’d died? Who knew. “I don’t know what happened, Dahl, but it was good,” she said, the sound of her voice cutting through the quiet field surprising her. She sounded like her mother. That thought twinged her heart, but the feeling couldn’t withstand the onslaught of joy that kept coming to her in waves.

  Smiling, she stood, feeling her fingers, wiggling her toes, stuffing her hands in her pockets but not minding the cold one bit. Proof that she was alive and unhurt and still could feel. She put one foot in front of the other and began to walk just because she could. She pursed her lips and whistled as she walked, realizing after a few moments the tune was Centerfold by the J. Geils band, her mom’s favorite song when she’d been little. That thought made her laugh, then almost cry, and she had to stop whistling.

  She looked up again at the sky as her boots crunched through a thin layer of snow over the open field she was walking in. Overhead, what she supposed were constellations twinkled, but none that she recognized. Far ahead of her, she thought she saw the northern lights for a few minutes and she stopped and stared until they faded.

  She turned so she was walking backwards and eyed the groupings of stars that way. Nope. No dippers. No Orion or Gemini. A trio of lights so bright they must be planets sat next to a heavy moon. She eyed it, trying to decide if it was full or not, but couldn’t tell. It looked lumpy, maybe even lopsided, nothing like her moon did at home.

  Dahlia turned around again, her good mood not broken at all. Her dream world had different constellations than her real world too, and people there had still called the planet Earth, the country America, and the state Illinois. Sometimes there were differences, like the fact that there were forty-nine states there, and what she knew as Nevada was called Deseret. Once she got used to them, the differences had never bothered her at all, and she’d learned the names of the constellations in the dream world without a second thought, only occasionally forgetting what was true in which world.

  Dahlia’s steps faltered as the night’s stillness was broken by the sound of two more cars coming over the ridge behind her. She stopped walking and stared at their taillights after they passed her on the long road. Since she had died in her dream world, did that mean she would never return there? Her houseplants, who would water them? And the stray cat that had been meowing on her porch the last two weeks, almost letting her touch it that very morning before she went to work, who would feed it now? What about Fern? Would she never see her best friend again?

  Dahlia moved the thoughts around in her mind, trying to wring some emotional reaction out of them, but all she could feel was joy, no matter what she thought of. She thrust her musings back to the moment of her death. Oof. Instant roiling in her gut and saliva flooding her mouth. Don’t go there. Got it.

  She started walking again, tentatively at first, realizing that although she didn’t have a destination in mind, she was heading in the same direction as the cars she had seen. One foot in front of the other. Eventually she would get somewhere.

  In front of her, she saw a statue of some sort. She stared at it for a long time in the dim light, having to get within twenty feet of it before she could tell everything she was looking at. A green and white sign that said simply, Tranquility. Behind it, a statue of a bear stood, on its hind legs, snarling into the sky. She shivered, wanting to make a note…

  Her notebook! She grabbed at her pockets, knowing she didn’t have it. For the first time, fear spiked inside her. Of course she didn’t have her purse─it had been on the seat beside her in the car─which meant she didn’t have her money, i.d., or phone, either. Which would present p
roblems soon, she knew that, but couldn’t quite care about that yet, because under the new fear, that triumphant joy was still filling her. If she could cheat death, surely she could bluff her way into a hotel for a night. Somewhere to sleep safely. She might never return to this world again, or maybe she already had a life here, like she had in her other dream world. She just needed to find it. No, that was unlikely. She’d been going to her dream world for as long as she could remember. As a child, probably even as a baby. Her family had existed in both worlds, and she’d never woken up flat on her back in the snow.

  So she didn’t have a life here, and without her notebook… she felt her palms begin to sweat just thinking about it.

  It wasn’t in any of her jean pockets. Think…when had she last written in it? After lunch, but before she left work at the ASPCA for the day. That elderly man had surrendered his ex-wife’s terrier, saying she had died and he couldn’t have dogs, so could they find the little dog a home? Dahlia had promised they would try, then watched as the man had left without a word or a smile. She had taken out her notebook to capture in words the way his left eye had twitched when he said he didn’t like the dog anyway. Had her coat been on? She ripped open her jacket zipper and reached in the left inner pocket with her right hand. Yes! She drew the small notebook out and cracked it open, unable to help herself from counting how many blank pages were at the end, even though her fingers were finally starting to feel the chill. Fourteen pages. That was pretty good. She should be able to make it through the night with fourteen pages left, as long as this world wasn’t too different. She flipped through the pages aimlessly, wanting to pluck a random captured thought from its paper home, the way she always did when she needed a touchstone.

  A doodle caught her eye. A wolf’s silhouette in stark relief against an ink moon. She ran her thumb over it and tried to remember when she’d drawn it. Looking at the pages before and after, maybe a week and a half ago. Why couldn’t she remember doing it? The wolf commanded her attention, as did the moon. The single ear jutting into the round sphere attracted her eye. She wanted to touch the fur, maybe see the fangs up close. A shiver ran up her spine and she let it, contemplating what it would be like to see a wolf in the flesh. A true wild wolf, or even a werewolf, like they’d discovered actually existed in her dream world.

  Dahlia put the thought away and flipped to the first fresh page of her notebook, pulled the tiny pen Fern had given her for her last birthday out of the spiral at the top of the notebook, and began to write. As always, the words poured through her, not out of her, so she discovered them only as they formed on the page.

  If I can survive one death, I can survive another. He said I could choose. I choose life, and that means being brave and wild, like I promised myself. Starting now.

  Dahlia stared at the words, her brows drawing together. Who was he? Everything else made sense to her, but not that part. An image flashed in her mind of Angel, back in her real world, and she smiled. She couldn’t wait to see the little bobcat kitten again.

  Brave and wild, huh? Starting now, huh? OK then. She shoved the notebook back into her pocket and put one foot in front of the other again, eager to see where the road would take her.

  Chapter 3

  Crew’s fangs elongated in his mouth as his animal fought for control. He tensed as he sensed Beckett’s animal doing the same. And then what? Would they fight? Rip and slash at each other to settle nothing?

  Beckett was Crew’s best friend in this world, but he didn’t understand what it felt like to know you were going to lose the only thing that mattered. Crew’s mom was gone. His dad was gone. His brothers were scattered around the country working their own jobs, virtual strangers to him. Crew wanted a mate as badly as the rest of them did, and although all the females were constantly in danger, no one else would have to face what Crew was facing… the knowledge that he had doomed his female to death before he’d ever met her. He’d been the one who’d sought out Khain on a mental plane, certain he was a match for the demon in a battle of wits. But he’d been so very wrong.

  Crew snarled, gripping the darts still in his hand, waiting for Beckett to make a move. Beckett’s eyes flashed, but instead of shifting, he sagged back against the wall, putting his hands up in a gesture of supplication.

  Crew’s anger seeped out of him. He dropped his darts on the floor and staggered to his couch, weariness flooding him, even though he’d just woken up. “Fuck,” he said as his ass hit the cushions. He scrubbed his face with both hands while Beckett made his way to the leather chair opposite him.

  “Dude,” Beckett said.

  “Dude,” Crew agreed. Right back to where they’d started.

  “So tell me about it.”

  Crew lifted his head and looked at Beckett questioningly.

  Beckett nodded. “Your dream world. Is it a good place? Better than here?”

  Crew barked out a disdainful laugh. “I wouldn’t say better. It’s… different.”

  “Where is it?”

  Crew shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “But it’s real, right? Like I could go there?”

  Crew leaned against the back of the couch, fighting the anger that flared inside him at the question, trying to put himself in Beckett’s shoes. It was hard to believe in something you’d never seen, felt, or experienced. “Yeah, it’s real. Ask the dragon. He travels to different worlds all the time. I don’t know if it’s on another plane of existence or what. There are so many theories, and most of them are put forward by humans who haven’t ever been to another world. Sometimes I read novels that make me believe the author might have found their way to another world, even if only in their dreams, but I’ve never found one who would admit it.”

  “Could I go there?”

  Crew stared at the wall over Beckett’s head, not sure how much he should say. It’s time to quit lying or hiding. Just spill the truth. “You’re already there.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, you, Mac, a few of the patrol officers. I don’t know if everyone from here is there and I just haven’t met them, or if only a few people are in both worlds.”

  Beckett whistled. “Spook.”

  Crew shot straight up, leaning forward, his gaze locking onto Beckett. “What?”

  Beckett held up his hands. “I said spooky. It’s creepy to think we are all living lives in another world.”

  Crew leaned back again and blew out a breath. “Sorry. I just…” He shook his head. “Mac calls me Spook over there and I always get freaked out when there are correlations between the worlds. It’s like déjà vu, but it makes me sick to my stomach.”

  Beckett cursed. “That’s Mac, an asshole in every world.”

  “Actually, he’s not. You are, though.”

  Beckett gave him a look that said he didn’t believe it.

  Crew nodded hesitantly. “Mac calls you Becky.”

  Beckett snarled. “You aren’t convincing me he’s not a dick there.”

  “Seriously, he’s not. You are.” Crew looked toward the closed door that led into the hallway, uncomfortable at sharing so much, but excited that someone was finally taking his other life seriously. Finally believing it. “Some other people call you Becky, too, but Mac’s the only one who has the guts to do it to your face. You and your mom run the Human Eradication League and you aren’t exactly forgiving when someone gets in your way. Me and Mac are part of the Human Rights League and you hate us for it.”

  Crew waited for Beckett’s outrage at his other self, nodding when Beckett’s mouth dropped open, but not sure what to think when Beckett finally spoke.

  “My mother’s alive?”

  Ah fuck. “Yeah, sorry. All the females are alive over there.”

  “Khain didn’t…”

  Crew shook his head. “Khain doesn’t exist in that world. And there’s no police. Wolf shifters fight against each other, more often than not.”

  Beckett was still stuck on his family. “My dad? Is he alive?”

/>   Crew winced. “Sorry, I don’t know. We aren’t friends.”

  Beckett deflated a bit, seeming to ponder the information, then he looked up again. “You sure it’s actually me? Or like my double?”

  “Your name is Beckett Oswego. You look just like you. Your mom’s name is Moegan. You two are incredibly close.”

  Beckett shook his head and looked away. Crew looked the opposite way, not wanting to impose on his friend’s grief.

  Beckett stood and paced the room, stepping over and around books and files. “I’m a dick and Mac’s not? I’m eradicating humans? What would make our personalities so different from world to world?”

  Crew wondered about the implications of telling Beckett these things, like he always second-guessed himself these days, but it was too late to pull back now. “I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with the females living. And it’s different over there. Savage. A totally different way of life. I saw a mating dispute end once with the female grabbing the back of her male’s head and ripping his trachea open with her fangs, then screaming at him while he shifted to try to heal himself.”

  Beckett stopped pacing and looked back to Crew, eyes wide.

  “Seriously, dude, her fangs were so long I thought she was a vampire at first, but then I learned that females can half shift over there more easily than males can, and some of them have even perfected manipulating the shift so they can go farther in one body part than they normally would. Think saber-toothed tiger.”

  “Vampires? Why would Rhen make vampires?”

  Crew snapped his fingers at Beckett. “You’re not getting it, wolf. There’s no Rhen over there. She doesn’t exist.”