The stranger glowered at me. Jacob whimpered. The van door creaked back open and exuded a wave of electric fur.
But Benjie was the one who pushed between me and the angry stranger. “What? No,” he contradicted. “We’re not leaving. Skidmark, what gives?”
Skidmark? This didn’t seem to be a good time to start flinging insults.
Only, it was a nickname rather than an insult. And Benjie’s tack worked where mine had failed.
“Weasley?” The guy—Sam?—dropped Jacob’s hand and turned to face Benjie. For one long moment, he perused the tall redhead through eyes so narrowed I was surprised he could see anything...
...Then the pair were slapping backs and bumping chests in a stereotypical tough-guy hug.
So Benjie really did have an in at this gathering. The scent of fur receded and I took advantage of the pause to rush through a reminder of the lecture I’d given my students an hour earlier. “If we stay,” I told them in a whisper, “you need to be aware that petroglyphs are part of these people’s spirituality. Pretend you’re walking through a church. Keep your voices down. Be polite. Respect whatever you see here.”
Wide-eyed, the young people nodded while werewolves downgraded their stances from intense to alert on either side of me. The man who Benjie had referred to as Skidmark laughed as he caught the tail end of my advice.
“You want to see the rock?” Sam gestured amiably, as if I’d asked for a tour of his garden. “Come on, then. No photographs, but you can see it. Then we can all chow down.”
Chapter 18
I couldn’t believe our goal was going to be achieved so easily. Still, I didn’t hesitate to follow as Sam skirted around the edge of a gathering—all young people in their teens and early twenties, eating, drinking, dancing, and singing at the top of their lungs.
“The older crowd won’t be here for a couple of hours,” our guide explained as we left the tumult and began picking our way uphill through a boulder field. There was a well-trodden path here that felt strangely familiar, and as I peered upward I understood why.
This was the same rock ledge to which the cave girl had been dragged in my vision less than a day earlier...or several millennia in the past, depending on how you looked at time. We didn’t stop, however, when we came up to the spot where a bonfire had burned in my memory.
Instead, we wound left around the base of a cliff until drumming faded into a second heartbeat. At exactly the point where I had to beg my wolf’s assistance to pick up the percussion, we slipped beneath a smaller ledge where a man-high boulder stood blocking our path.
“We’re almost there,” our guide explained as he turned sideways and slid through a gap so unassuming I hadn’t even noticed it. One by one, students and werewolves followed, passing through the small opening and gasping as they emerged on the other side.
Then it was my turn. My hand brushed against smooth stone as I wiggled through the crack between cliff and boulder. The rock was warmer than I would have expected, awareness that was unscientific but quite tangible tingling against my skin.
Then I was the one spellbound by the sheer magnificence of layered artwork. Lines had been chipped into this boulder for dozens of centuries. Spirals and figures, overlapping and fading. Some were so fresh they might have been made yesterday. Others were so eroded I could only guess at their original shapes.
I reached out to touch the closest pattern before realizing I was disobeying the exact rules I’d made for my students. “Sorry,” I said, turning to face our guide. “I got excited....”
“The old man would be honored by your interest,” Sam said, reaching out and touching the rock my finger had fluttered over. For the first time, I noticed that he was wearing the same loop of twisted fibers I’d seen in my dream a week earlier. Had his grandfather released the mask into the stream, calling me halfway across the country so I could see this?
Sam was oblivious to my musing. “Grandad believed this place was powerful,” he continued. “He kept trying to find someone to follow in his footsteps as the tribe’s spiritual leader. And I agree, this place has major cultural implications. Still, it’s just a carved stone. What our tribe needs is cold, hard cash.”
“You sound like a banker.” The words came out before I could guard against them. To my surprise, Sam laughed rather than taking offense.
“Guilty as charged. I’m giving the old man his party, then I’m heading back to LA to help my people in the best way I know how to—by bringing in an income from the outside world.”
“SO, YEAH....” SAM CLEARED his throat. “Feel free to touch it. That’s what it’s here for. My grandfather would have told you it’s alive and meant to be used.”
Patricia met my gaze, raising her eyebrows in question. After a moment, I nodded. If our guide said it was kosher, who was I to reject this amazing opportunity?
I hadn’t really expected the younger members of my party to understand the wonder of this carved boulder. After all, they hadn’t spent decades studying the past. But Jacob’s usually twitchy hands were quiet as they inched toward the surface. Both Emily and Noah’s eyes widened so far I could see more archaeology in their futures. And Patricia started jotting down notes in the little book I knew she kept for show-stopping fiction ideas.
One by one, we found a spot and took advantage of Sam’s invitation. Cautious fingers slid across pale indentations the way a connoisseur might sip a hundred-year-old vintage. Even if the road trip ended right now, from an academic perspective it had already been a success.
Of course, I wasn’t just here as a teacher. And my wolf, for once, was the one to keep us focused.
Here. Feel. Together, we scrambled atop a knee-high rock so we could peer more closely at the boulder’s upper edges. In the nearest corner, an elongated shape resembled a crocodile. But this was one of the oldest carvings present. Who would have known about crocodiles in prehistoric, land-locked Yellowstone?
Feel, my wolf repeated. Obediently, I reached up to make contact...then flinched as the air immediately chilled.
Ice materialized on top of the boulder. Blinking a snowflake out of our eyes, the cave girl and I together chipped fresh lines into the rock face. The tail was furry. The ears—visible now—were pointed.
“This is it. The charging point for the statue,” I murmured. Then I nearly lost my balance as the present overlaid the past.
Here and now, I could barely make out the shape of the animal. Yet I understood the lines represented a wolf rather than a crocodile.
Blink, past. Blink, present.
One final blink into the past, then the cave girl was blowing away rock fragments to complete our boulder-face etching. Reaching into a pouch and pulling out a hand-sized sculpture, we pressed the three-dimensional rendition of a puppy’s lupine nature up against the indentation that perfectly matched it in size and shape.
Stone against stone, the cave girl’s sculpture pulsed with power. This was the step in the ceremony I’d been missing....
Blink. Back in the present, my fingers found Benjie’s soapstone in my pocket. Was it my imagination, or was the chunk of formerly inert rock already warmer than it had been?
Chapter 19
The forest enfolded us, and its inhabitants were no less welcoming. That inclusion would last until sunset, they’d informed us, at which point we were to lock ourselves away in two bunkhouses while private petroglyph-related ceremonies were performed by those in the know.
For now, though, our motley crew had been seamlessly folded into the Bearclaw funeral. “Want any more?” a young woman asked as she passed by with a steaming kettle of the best soup I’d enjoyed in months. Behind her, Jacob banged his palms against a hide-stretched drum while Emily, Noah, and Patricia undulated to the rhythm. Given the dozens of other drummers and dancers, their youthful energy blended right in.
“No, but thank you. It was delicious.” I smiled combined thanks and dismissal while peering out into the crowd in search of the rest of my party. The a
dult contingent wasn’t immediately apparent, but I had confidence that they’d be able to stay out of trouble. Which meant I just had to scratch one last investigative itch, then I could finally relax....
Not relax, my wolf countered. Hunt.
If you let me finish this, soon you can hunt all you want to, I reminded her as I stood and angled toward the trail exiting the clearing. My thesis was sound, but I could feel the wolf mustering her counterargument anyway. So I sped up my footsteps, hoping to finish this project before she began to physically resist.
I won that round, reaching the van before she could protest, and the vehicle was both locked and empty unlike in my dream/not-dream. Pulling the spare keys out of my pocket and opening the rear compartment, I leaned down to inhale a huge whiff of scents so complex I couldn’t begin to disassemble them. So much for determining whether someone really had gone through my papers two nights before.
“What are we hunting?”
Claw’s abrupt presence should have scared me. Instead, being followed by an alpha werewolf felt fitting. Like running with pack mates. My wolf hummed happiness as Claw nudged into our personal space.
“Someone going through my files who shouldn’t have been maybe,” I answered, accepting the simple pleasure of Claw’s torso brushing against my hip as he bent in closer to mimic my assessment. Somewhere in the last twenty-four hours of enforced proximity, I’d lost track of the self-preservation instinct that had prompted me to avoid him. When my wolf leaned into his presence, I didn’t force her to retreat.
“No clue,” Claw said after a moment. His nose, like mine, must have been flummoxed by the complexity. Was it likely that...?
But my analytical brain hiccuped as he turned to face me. Warm breath flitted across my forehead. For one millisecond, my wolf and I were united in our amorous impulse.
Our chin angled as we stood on tiptoes. Unfortunately, Claw was so tall, we couldn’t reach his lips without assistance. And he made no move to bend down and meet us halfway.
Instead—“Pack bonds,” Claw murmured. “Mate bonds. You want to divorce your wolf. This would make that a thousand times more difficult.”
Cold air spiraled between us, traveling up from nearby snow patches or perhaps emanating outward from my belly. “Right.” I pressed my heels back into the ground despite my wolf’s shrill protest. “And you’re not interested in dating a human.”
“Did I say that?” So much heat flared in Claw’s eyes that I expected snow to melt off the ground between us. Then he swooped in and claimed me, stealing that forbidden kiss.
HIS ARMS, MY ARMS. My wolf’s body, his wolf’s body. All four of us intermingled, a thrumming of drumbeats created from jointly beating hearts.
Then Claw turned his head away and time restarted. “Not what I meant to do,” he growled, steadying me as I sagged toward the bumper. “I meant to use words.” He huffed out a muttered expletive, his fingers curling into fists.
“Words?” was all I could manage, but Claw seemed to understand my question. He sank down until we both perched on the lip of the rear compartment, his warmth caressing me even though we no longer touched.
He exhaled and I inhaled. My wolf thrust her nose so hard against the inside of my skin I thought she might burst through it.
Only when my hand fell to the spot in question, fingers tangling around a glowing tendril of connection that arrowed out of me and into Claw, did he elaborate. “I’m in this,” he rumbled. “Human, wolf, unicorn. I want you. I know how to be patient.”
“You’re not angry that I don’t want to be a wolf any longer?” The animal in question whimpered, but Claw merely shook his head.
“Your choice, not mine.” He cleared his throat, his usual terseness eroding as our gazes collided. “You have a pack already. Students, co-workers.” He shrugged. “I understand. The two worlds don’t easily mesh.”
My fingers drifted down the skein of glowing threads until I tapped against his fingers. His palm turned upward so mine could settle into it.
Our connection felt right in a way nothing had in a very long time. And now that I understood he accepted me wholeheartedly even without a wolf inside me, he became impossible to resist.
Impossible to resist in the long run...but I understood his message. It would be better for all of us to put on the brakes until Val adopted my lupine half.
As if responding to my thought, my wolf was the one to wriggle away from Claw and sidetrack us with a soft, sad query. Hunt? She wasn’t an idiot. She understood that the bond Claw and I were building would be lost to her once she hopped out of my body and into his sister’s.
We shouldn’t be gone long. I answered. The students. Our curfew....
One hour, she pleaded before following up with a whine so pitiful I couldn’t deny her request.
I glanced over at Claw, expecting either incomprehension or a frown of rejection. But he’d followed our conversation through that unknowable werewolf connection. Now, he simply nodded.
“Let’s shift and run.”
I LEFT MY CLOTHES AND glasses in the van then released the iron grip I’d held on humanity. Instantly, the wolf erupted. Tail, snout, claws—freedom. Furry, we turned our nose toward the mountains and ran without waiting for Claw to shift.
The snow was a lupine highway. Human, I’d broken through when I attempted to step off the established pathways. Wolf, we spread our toes into snowshoes and sprinted across the smooth expanse.
Winter chill meant our coat embraced us. Muscles worked with no apparent effort. For one split second, I reconsidered divorcing my wolf.
Raising our head to the sky, we howled the joyful pain of parting. Then, behind us, a familiar voice spiraled up to wind around ours.
Claw, rapidly approaching. He curved in to meet us. Furry bodies collided, not warlike but playful. End over end, I tumbled across the snow crust. Losing track of the future, I fell into the now.
Two abreast, we galloped toward sharp-pointed mountains. Adena soared overhead while the human chatter of the funeral faded into distant memory. Snow dropped from spruce needles. Bird song was the only melody.
Scents sharpened, leaving me guessing at unfamiliar odors. Elk, beaver, bison maybe? The wide range of potential prey was heady, but my wolf didn’t attempt to pick out a target. Instead, her nose dropped to test a stain of yellow on the snowy surface.
Urine. Lupine.
For the first time since shifting, I struggled to regain control. Danger, careful. This wasn’t the time to dive into a territorial dispute.
Wild wolves, Claw added, tapping our shoulder with his to capture my wolf’s attention. Be gracious. We are guests in their territory.
Somewhere so far away we felt it more than heard it, a canine howled. Not a werewolf, merely a wolf.
Now it was my beast’s turn to hover, indecisive. Her yearning lingered like the memory of strawberries.
My wolf craved her true nature. To be completely accepted in a pack of like-minded beings. How could I argue when I worked toward the reverse?
I tensed, preparing myself for internal battle. But we’d each accepted known losses when we made our bargain. Perhaps that’s why my wolf conceded with unusual grace.
One last whine as she gazed toward the mountains. Then, turning back the way we’d come, we galloped down the hill.
Chapter 20
At fifty-eight-and-a-half minutes after donning our fur, the thrum of drumbeats vibrated through our paw pads. At fifty-nine minutes, we curved up to the outside of the funeral gathering without any nudging on my part.
If the partnership with my wolf had been this easy previously, I might not have sought to expel my animal half. As it was, the taste of strawberries infused us as we peered out from beneath a low-hanging conifer and into the party we’d left behind.
The students were right where we’d left them. The girls and Noah relaxed beneath sleeping bags drawn up over their legs while Jacob continued drumming. The best part? Nobody appeared to have imbibed
any illegal substances while we were away.
It was time to shift and join them, but something kept me at a distance. What was missing? What was...?
Harry. When we left, I’d assumed the Changed shifter was hanging around the werewolf contingent. But Claw was here beside me while Harry was notably absent. Where was Harry now when the chill of evening licked at my lupine nostrils, pebbling nearby human skin?
My recent run had emboldened the threads of pack bond in my belly. All it took was a little focus to find Harry’s tether arrowing away to the left...directly toward the petroglyph. I was running before I even finished the thought.
What’s wrong? Claw demanded. Or, no, that was his wolf, the query emerging in the form of wordless feelings.
I sent back a jumbled explanation in a similar manner. Harry holding van keys. My papers exposed while the van stood open. A formerly surly shifter’s recent politeness...a ploy to make me drop my guard?
Because the petroglyph I’d sought—and found—was priceless. It would take effort, but a treasure hunter might carve its surface up into sections, cart the fragments off to sell on the dark web. Add in the appropriate mystical mumbo jumbo and the fragments would bring in more than the price of a high-end vehicle....
“Not Harry.” Claw disagreed, using human words for clarity. “Patricia gave us a spare set of van keys when we marked the vehicle. They were in my possession that first night.”
Despite his explanation, he still paced me step for step as I left the path and angled up the hillside. His words might have made rational sense, but I was beyond puzzle-piecing. Instead, my belly told me there was something illicit happening at the petroglyph. I intended to stop it before it got out of hand.
My wolf was more than willing. Soon, we left the easy ground, looping up over the hillside so we could pin Harry up against the boulder. If he’d already damaged the petroglyph, I wasn’t so sure I could stop my wolf from revenging herself upon Harry’s person. I wasn’t so sure I’d even try.
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