by Sammie Joyce
“You’re not a fan of Granddad’s coffee?” I asked jokingly. She frowned slightly, a look of embarrassment coloring her face.
“I-I just didn’t want to run into any of my students,” she mumbled and I realized that she should have been at school.
She played hooky today, I realized but I didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me before. For some reason, I was amused by that. She didn’t strike me as the type who would call in sick, but given the night she’d had, she had certainly earned a mental health day. If I hadn’t slept the night before, I could only imagine what her evening had been like. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wonder what she was doing.
I cleared my throat and folded my hands neatly together over the table.
“I don’t blame you,” I offered. “It must be hard being a teacher in a small town like this. You probably don’t get any privacy.”
She gave me a look I couldn’t quite decipher but I understood it when she opened her mouth to ask the question that had been clearly weighing on her.
“How did you find me?” she demanded. I was slightly taken aback by the bluntness of her query but it was a fair question. I just didn’t know how to answer it without freaking her out.
I thought about sugar-coating it for her but that really wasn’t my way, even if I was trying to keep her calm. Her eyebrows raised speculatively as she waited for me to answer.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Ms. Doucette.”
“Margot-Celine,” she muttered automatically. “You’re not one of my students.”
I felt an unbidden shiver of delight that she would allow me to use her first name but I dismissed it. She wasn’t being friendly—she was compartmentalizing. I barely knew anything about the woman sitting in front of me but I could tell her struggle for control was very real.
“Margot-Celine,” I continued without missing a beat. “I tend to be very direct—too direct, depending on who you ask.”
“I prefer not to be lied to,” she replied flatly. “You don’t need to baby me, Mr. Locklear. You haven’t thus far.”
That stung slightly but I maintained a half-smile on my face to show I wasn’t put off by her brusque approach.
“Flint,” I sighed, wondering how she could expect me to call her by her first name and still formalize mine.
“Flint.” She paused before going on. “It may not look like it but I can handle a lot.”
I was a little stunned that she would think I’d consider her weak in any way. If anything, she’d shown nothing but courage in the face of danger. I couldn’t think of anyone who would risk their neck against a grizzly to save another person.
She cares about her students enough to endanger her life. That’s anything but being fragile.
“Oh, I can see that you don’t break easily,” I blurted out. “You’re clearly strong and resilient. I don’t think there’s much you can’t handle.”
Our eyes locked and I could almost read a challenge in her steadfast stare. There was something brazen yet timid about her, like she was a tightly coiled snake, protecting her underbelly, but could spring and strike any second.
“Well?” she insisted, a note of exasperation creeping into her voice. I stared at her blankly, already having forgotten what she asked me. Just staring at her face seemed to have an almost hypnotic effect on me.
“Hm?”
The server appeared with our coffees then and laid them on the table. Margot-Celine waited for him to leave before speaking again.
“How did you find me?” she asked for a second time and I remembered why I’d felt the need to explain my position to her. I paused, taking a sip of my hot coffee before answering, still not wanting to smack her in the face with the truth. I’d found her home with relatively no problem at all, but all that had met me there was a furious bull mastiff who was not happy to see me in the least.
I cleared my throat, knowing how my response was going to be received.
“I sniffed you out,” I replied, letting out the words before I could overthink anymore.
She tried to hide it but I saw the shudder of repulsion shoot through her and I felt a flicker of annoyance at her response.
Don’t be a fool, I snapped at myself. Of course she’s put off by such a reply. You would be too if you were in her shoes.
Still, I found myself staring down at my coffee in embarrassment. So little contact I had with the humans, so easily I forgot how they reacted to the unknown. It shouldn’t have bothered me but it did. Suddenly, I felt Margot-Celine’s hand on mine and my head jerked up, my arm instinctively pulling back as I met her compassionate eyes. My abrupt movement caused her to wrench her hand back too, and I realized she was trying to comfort me.
Double fool! I growled to myself but it was too late now. The moment had passed and I’d been the one to ruin it. Trying to salvage the uncomfortable moment between us, I gave her a wan smile.
“Maybe I can try to explain it to you,” I suggested and relief lit her face as she realized I wasn’t upset.
It’s like she’s reacting based on my reactions. I wonder why she does that.
“Tell me,” she urged, wrapping her hands around her own cup, her fingers intertwining as she looked into the dark liquid.
I thought of the legend I knew and leaned across the table, dropping my voice slightly like I was worried someone would hear us, but there were few tables in the restaurant and those that were there weren’t paying us any attention. Even if they were to hear, they would only think I was reciting Aborigine folklore. They had no idea how much of my ancestors’ stories were based on truth.
“Long, long ago,” I began, hearing the words as if my own father were reciting them in my ears, “an ancient tribe sat around a roaring fire, eating and bonding after a long hunt. A group of animals watched from the woods beyond, interested in these strange beings but afraid of the fire that burned so brightly. Even so, they approached, tentatively and with caution, their curiosity overriding their fear.”
I paused to take a breath, ensuring that Margot-Celine was still with me. She nodded eagerly, apparently already enthralled with my tale.
“When they dared near the tribe of people, the animal shaman, a caribou, spoke to the group and explained what it was they wanted.”
Margot-Celine’s eyes widened and I paused for effect until she finally asked the question I hoped she would.
“What did they want?” she breathed. I smiled to myself and lowered my gaze.
“The animals were limited in their abilities, only able to do what nature had bestowed upon them. They were in awe of the humans and what they could do, and the shaman asked the leader of this tribe if he would be interested in combining their talents to make greater beasts. This would benefit everyone in their own way: the animals would know what it was like to be human and the humans would have the incredible abilities of some of the greatest predators in the wild.”
“And they agreed,” Margot-Celine said excitedly.
“Of course,” I replied, smiling at the way she inhaled the story. “The human shaman and caribou worked tirelessly to create talismans that would enable the humans to shift into animals under the right circumstances, and for generations to come, the offspring of this tribe would be able to do the same.”
“What circumstances?” she asked.
“Every circumstance was different and needed to be guided, with the touchstone by the shaman,” I explained, impressed that she was taking the stories to heart. Most people dismissed the legends as jokes but it was impossible to do when there was so much in the history that indicated it had happened.
Margot-Celine cocked her head to the side, her auburn waves falling charmingly over the smooth skin of her cheek as she regarded me.
“Your ancestors?” she guessed and I nodded.
“We’ve been shifters for generations,” I replied. “As you saw.”
I was reluctant to bring up what had happened but it seemed important that she understand.
“But you can become an eagle or a bear!” she said, suddenly remembering everything. I again bobbed my head in agreement.
“I’m very lucky that way. My mother was a bear, my father an eagle. I am in possession of both abilities.”
She sat back abruptly as if the weight of the story was too much to bear and regarded me with something I didn’t quite understand.
“What?” I asked urgently, not wanting her to hide her questions. I wanted to be open with her and I wanted her to be open with me too. Secrecy wasn’t going to get us anywhere.
“It sounds like a fantasy book,” she said, shaking her head, and I grinned.
“It does, I know,” I agreed. “Maybe that’s why most sightings of us have been discounted so readily. No one can believe we exist.”
“So which are you?” she asked slowly. I blinked in confusion.
“I can be both,” I replied, not fully understanding what she wanted to know. She shook her head.
“I mean…” she trailed off for a moment, gnawing on her lower lip, and it was my turn to tilt my head. “I mean, are you human or are you an animal?”
The question stunned me and this time, it was me who sank back into my chair to ponder the answer.
I wasn’t sure I knew it.
10
Margot-Celine
I watched Flint’s shoulders fall back and I thought that maybe I’d asked the wrong thing. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop with him, the same way it had with Rene. One word, one gesture could set him off and somehow, I kept putting Flint in the same category even though I knew I was being irrational. What he’d said to me in the library still echoed in my ears.
“Contrary to our initial meeting, I’m really not the kind of man who hurts women. I was just as startled as you were and I reacted to protect, just like you did. It was wrong of me but I had no way of knowing if you were a threat to me. Can you try and understand that? You were trying to protect Lowell and I was trying to protect myself.”
I did understand that and yet…
“No one has ever asked me that before,” he confessed, bringing me back to the restaurant to stare at him pensively. “I mean, I’ve never really given it any real thought of my own either. I’m both, undoubtedly. I never lose my humanity, even when I’m soaring above the pines or fishing in my grizzly form. The only time I begin to forget who I am as a human is when I’m in fight-or-flight mode.”
Instantly, I was brought back to being pinned against the tree, watching his eyes flash maliciously at me. He must have read the change in my expression because he went on quickly.
“Again, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding between us, Margot-Celine. I was trying to protect myself and my tribe.”
I nodded quickly, swallowing the lump in my throat. He’d apologized as much as he could and I could either accept it or continue to dwell on what had happened. I didn’t want to keep going back to that memory but it was hard to shake.
“It’s been my life’s work to keep our kind safe,” Flint went on. “And any time there’s been a threat to us, anytime anyone has ever found out about us, well, it hasn’t typically ended well.”
“That’s fair,” I heard myself say and I realized I truly did understand his need to protect his clan.
“It’s been a very rough few months for us,” he explained and I eyed him questioningly.
“How so?”
He sighed and lowered his eyes.
“I’m probably speaking out of school—no pun intended—but my son bringing Lowell around didn’t do much for morale, and then she brought her friend Kea and a new kind of shifter to the fold…”
“Emmett,” I volunteered without thinking. Flint’s eyes widened.
“Oh, so you know Emmett is a shifter too.”
I nodded, pulling in the corners of my mouth. Maybe I knew too much now. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything at all. I wanted so badly to believe Flint’s sincerity but how could I?
“It just seems like more and more people are learning about us and that inevitably means that the villagers will come with their torches and pitchforks to hunt and kill us before pillaging the land we’ve worked so hard to conserve.”
A pang of regret shot through me. I knew his fears were very real but I also felt like the public should know about them. Maybe Flint wasn’t dangerous, but what if the others were?
I shoved the thought aside for the time being, knowing that it wasn’t my decision to make. If what he was saying was true and I unleashed the secret on the public, any death of the shifters would be on my hands.
I didn’t realize I was lost completely in my own thoughts for a couple of minutes until Flint made a subtle noise and my eyes darted toward him.
“Can I trust you not to say anything?” he asked quietly. I nodded, even though I hadn’t decided yet. I knew I wouldn’t do anything immediately anyway, and if I did, I vowed to give him forewarning. I wouldn’t just spring the townsfolk on his clan.
Not that I know where to find them anyway. And who would believe you if you told anyone? They’ll think you’re a crazed spinster, losing her mind up here in the mountains.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that Flint had nothing to worry about.
“I won’t say anything,” I agreed.
The relief radiated off him toward me in waves and I knew I’d made the right decision. He eyed me almost shyly and again leaned forward like he was telling me a secret.
“Would you like to see me shift again?” he asked quietly. I gasped and sat back, shaking my head at the bold suggestion. He seemed a little hurt and I struggled to compose myself.
“I-I’m just not ready for that, Flint,” I managed to sputter.
“I get it,” he told me, turning to grab a napkin off the table. He gestured at the server, who ambled forward, seeming bored.
“Can I borrow your pen?” Flint asked. I watched curiously as he scrawled his number onto the napkin and I had to swallow a smile. Anyone else would have asked for my cell to airdrop the information but Flint was from another generation, another time. He was old-school and I found that fact wildly endearing. This was not a man I met on a dating app.
Not that you’re meeting any men on a dating app! I scolded myself, feeling a hot flush tinge my cheeks as he slid the number across the table.
“This is just in case you are ready some day,” he told me softly. “No rush and no pressure, Margot-Celine.”
I met his eyes and he gave me another quick smile, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes.
He’s worried I won’t use it.
The thought warmed me. How long had it been since any man had cared if I called him or not? Certainly, I’d never had a man like Flint Locklear care.
I again had to push these unbidden, romantic ideas out of my head. I wasn’t on a date here, no matter how it felt. Flint Locklear was not even human… was he?
I loathed the rush of confusion that threatened to choke me and I studied the numbers on the white cocktail napkin, only to avoid meeting his eyes.
Through my peripheral vision, I saw him down the rest of his coffee, unspeaking, before signaling the waiter for the check.
Slowly, I raised my head to look at him again, something else occurring to me.
“Wait!” I cried out before I could stop myself. With knitted brows, he studied me impassively.
“What exactly should I be waiting for?”
He was trying to keep his tone light but I could hear the hard note underneath. I’d hurt his feelings, even if he was doing a good job of hiding it.
“W-where is your son’s mother?” I blurted out and I watched Flint’s face shadow.
I shouldn’t have asked that. That’s none of my business.
I fully expected him to echo my own thoughts but to my surprise, he turned back to me and shook his head.
“She died when Davis was a toddler. Killed by a hunter when she was doing nothing but running through the woods in her bear form. It’s one of the
reasons I always worried so much about Davis doing it…”
He stopped speaking and I realized that emotion had choked him up.
Compassion sprang through me and I rose, trembling at the information I’d gathered in such a short time.
No wonder he’s so mistrusting of humans. He thinks we’re all a threat to him.
“It’s okay,” I told him through tears of my own. “Your secret is safe with me. I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone, I swear.”
Gratefully, he met my eyes, also ambling to his feet, and I realized he had misunderstood my standing as an invitation. Suddenly, I was in his arms, feeling the tone of his muscles against my body. Instantly, I stiffened inside the hug even though the strength of his arms made me heady. It was nothing more than a friendly embrace and yet it sent spirals of fear through my body.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, immediately dropping me as he sensed me tensing up. I could see the contrition in his face and I instantly felt guilty.
He has nothing to be sorry for this time.
I shook my head, noting that we were still very close, his blue-gray eyes boring into me as he tried to regain eye contact.
“Margot-Celine,” he murmured. “What can I do to prove that I’m not the big, bad wolf to you?”
The words only made me more stressed and I felt my heart beginning to pound in my chest. Slowly, I pulled away and he let me, but when we parted, I found myself feeling regretful that I wasn’t in his arms.
Would you make up your mind? I yelled at myself but I knew it wasn’t so simple. Nothing about this was.
“I should be going,” I muttered, reaching for my own parka and purse. I went to take money out of my wallet for the coffee but Flint waved a hand.
“My treat. It was the least I could do after scaring you.”
Again, I was in a mental fight, wanting to pay my own way but knowing he wasn’t footing the bill because he expected something from me.
“Any chance you like the opera?”
That was by far the most shocking question I’d been asked in the past twenty-four hours.
“I love the opera!” I gushed, unable to stop the words from spilling from my lips.
