I leaned over, and kissed Noah’s sweet cheek. “Well, if anything comes to you—”
“I’ll call.”
“Thanks.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve contacted the Jäger-Suchers?”
That hadn’t occurred to me.
Last summer the Jäger-Suchers, translation “Hunter- Searchers,” a Special Forces monster-hunting unit, had come to town. We wouldn’t have even known they were there, as they’d planned to slip in, shoot the werewolves, then slip out again unnoticed—their modus operandi—but things had gotten more complicated, and they’d been forced to reveal themselves.
I knew that the Jäger-Suchers had resources beyond anything a small-town sheriff might. I still didn’t want to call them when I wasn’t exactly sure if anything supernatural was going on.
“I think I’ll wait,” I said.
“Wait too long and they’ll just show up and take over.”
“Like they won’t do that anyway,” I muttered.
The Jäger-Suchers had a lot in common with the FBI when it came to sharing cases. They didn’t.
A shadow passed over the yard, and I glanced up just as a great bird seemed to sail through the rays of the sun. Something tumbled out of the sky, sifting slowly downward on the current.
Mal snatched the feather from the air before it got anywhere near the ground. “I didn’t think you had any eagles here.”
I stared at the feather, white with a dark tip. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d seen one, and now I’d seen two in as many days.
“We don’t. Not really. They live in the south, though sometimes, in the winter, they’ll travel to the mountains.”
“Mmm,” Malachi said, twirling the feather around in his nimble fingers.
“What do you think it means?” I asked.
“There’s an eagle where one isn’t supposed to be. What do you think it means, Grace?”
In the lives of most women, that would mean a bird whose sense of direction was on the fritz. In mine it meant the very real possibility of a shape-shifter.
I was going to have to call the Jäger-Suchers.
* * *
I headed to my office, trying to figure out a way to avoid the inevitable. The only thing I knew about shape-shifters was that touching some of them in human form with silver caused a nasty burn, and if you shot them with a silver bullet, whether they were on two legs or four, great balls of fire were the result.
Some of them, but not all. An unpleasant fact we’d learned the hard way last summer. Those cursed to shape-shift, rather than having been turned by another shifter, followed different rules depending upon the nature of the curse. However, it wouldn’t hurt to try the silver test; it was all that I had.
Since the only new person in town was conveniently the same person I’d seen step out of the woods after the wolf had gone in, and he was the same person who’d shown up in town wearing an eagle feather in his hair, and he was a self-admitted member of a clan of medicine men, I had a pretty good idea where to start.
“Is he an eagle or a wolf?” I murmured. Did it really matter?
What good was a were-eagle anyway? I could see the advantage of a werewolf—faster, smarter, stronger, they had the abilities of wolves, with the addition of human intelligence and a lack of human compassion. Werewolves were the perfect killing machines.
If a man became an eagle, he’d theoretically have human intelligence with the abilities of a bird. Big deal. Sure the eagle was considered a great and terrible war beast by most Native American tribes, mine included. But that basically meant eagles could kick the crap out of every other bird on the planet. Humans? Not so much. What then was the advantage?
I guess I’d just have to pin one down and ask him.
Unfortunately, it appeared that everyone else in town had the same idea—not that Walker was a werewolf or even a were-eagle, but that they wanted to meet him, talk to him, welcome him to the neighborhood. His storefront was packed.
I approached the nearest loiterer, a member of the town council and former bank president, Hoyt Abernathy. “What’s up?”
Hoyt shuffled his feet, clad as always in a pair of slippers. When Hoyt had retired from the bank, he’d made a dress-shoe bonfire and worn nothing but soft soles ever since. In my opinion, a fantastic idea.
“Folks heard about poor Ms. G.,” he said, in a voice reminiscent of Eeyore on a very rainy day. To Hoyt everything was an indication of upcoming disaster. In a lot of cases, he was right.
“And?” I asked.
“They wanted to pay their respects, thank the new doctor.”
“What did he do?”
“Helped out one of our own in her last hour of need.”
“She was already dead when he got there,” I pointed out.
Hoyt shrugged.
I scowled at the sea of people in line ahead of me. Though I wanted to march right in and toss a silver bullet at Walker’s head, I was going to have to wait.
I should probably do this in a more private place anyway. What if he exploded on Center Street? How would I explain that?
I’d do better to ask Walker over to my place tonight for a get-acquainted drink. After the kiss we’d shared, he’d probably think it an invitation, and if his reaction this morning was any indication, he’d turn me down—unless I went about asking him just right.
Sadly, since I’d been elected sheriff, I had no patience for bullshit, and I’d lost any social graces I’d once had. Although most people who knew me would argue that I’d never really had any. Maybe a note would be a better idea than letting my mouth run free.
I caught a glimpse of Walker beyond the crowd, his long dark hair a delicious contrast to his stuffy suit and tie, and the idea of my mouth running free took on a whole different meaning.
Why did I keep having these flashes of lust? The guy could be part wolf, part eagle, 100 percent monster.
Maybe that was the attraction. For years I hadn’t felt a thing beyond a passing interest in any man from Lake Bluff, the same went for any of the tourists. But Walker, with all his secrets and contradictions and baggage, fascinated me.
I scribbled a note, then waded through the crowd making official noises. Unfortunately, by the time I got to the front of the line, everyone had gone silent, wondering why I was here. Walker was no help; he merely contemplated me with a slight curve to his lips and a lift of his brow.
“I... uh—” Hell. I couldn’t exactly hand him the note like a ten-year-old with a crush on the new kid, and I couldn’t ask him over to my place tonight without the same problem.
“Thank you for your help today.” I held out my hand. He took it, and I pressed the note into his palm.
Not even a flicker passed over his face when the paper transferred between us. No doubt he’d had this happen to him before, which only embarrassed me more.
“You’re welcome.” He released my hand and casually put his into the pocket of his pants.
I turned away, nodding at the townsfolk, noticing people from every walk of life—old, young, rich, poor, white, black, and Indian—although the majority had to be twenty-something single women. A new man in town, they couldn’t help themselves. They probably thought I couldn’t, either.
I was not a desperate old maid hitting on the new young stud. I wasn’t. I’d invited him to my house to figure out what he was.
Man or beast? Human or monster? What if he came to my place in animal form?
I gave a mental shrug. That would only make it easier to shoot him. Because, despite my tough exterior, my determination to keep Lake Bluff safe from anything that might threaten it, I still wasn’t certain I could put a silver bullet into a man just to be sure.
The rest of the day was full of both the mundane tasks of a small-town sheriff and the atypical happenings that came with tourists and the aftermath of a terrible storm.
I mediated a dispute between two neighbors over dog poop—they both had dogs; how did they know that each other’s pe
t was pooping in the opposite yard, and what possible difference could it make?
I had a case of shoplifting (local kid), a case of bullying (a tourist), and four calls from former residents whose loved ones weren’t answering their phones after the storm.
I arrived home with an hour to spare before the appointed time with Walker—if he showed up. No messages on my machine telling me anything one way or another.
I was hot and sticky, compliments of a scalding day in Georgia and a lack of air-conditioning in my dad’s old pickup. I smelled bad courtesy of both, as well as the little girl from Michigan who’d gotten lost, eaten too much ice cream, cried bloody murder, then upchucked on the front of my uniform.
The shower was heaven. I washed twice with scented soap and worked conditioner into my hair all the way to the ends; then I stood under the lukewarm spray and let my blood settle.
I opted for a loose white cotton skirt that fell to my ankles and an equally lightweight fuchsia top. I didn’t bother with shoes—not after a day in cop boots. I had just enough time to walk to the water and stick in my feet. I saw no reason to drag along my gun; the sun was still up, although I did tuck a bit of silver into my pocket for later. I planned an impromptu shape-shifter test.
As soon as I left the yard and the trees closed in behind me, I took a deep breath full of the scent of grass, leaves, and sun. I loved Lake Bluff, but here in the shadow of the mountains was where I truly lived.
Tiny animals scuttled in the bushes. Birds rustled in the trees. A snake slithered through the fallen leaves, hurrying away from me as fast as it could.
I reached the creek, lifted my skirt, and stepped in. The chill of the water on my tired feet was bliss. I wished I could throw off all my clothes and sink in as I had last night.
At the creek I felt the closest to E-li-si. When I went to the water, I could almost hear her speak. Under the moon and the stars, I missed her the least.
The sun tipped toward the horizon. Soon shadows would spread from the mountains through the trees, dappling everything with the approaching coolness of night. Dusk was my favorite time of the day. If I didn’t spend it here at the water, I usually spent it on my porch just watching the evening come.
I glanced at my watch. Best be on the porch tonight. Best to get out of the woods before the sun died and the really dangerous things began to roam.
I turned.
Like that wolf.
Chapter 9
The animal tilted its head, growled, and I took a step backward; my foot slipped on a flat slick rock, and I nearly fell.
The wolf gave a sharp yip, but it didn’t attack, just continued to stare at me, half in and half out of the underbrush.
I couldn’t run, couldn’t hide. The only weapon I had was the silver bullet. Fat lot of good it would do me without a gun. I could toss the bit of metal at a person, and if they caught it and smoke began to pour from their hand, they were a shifter. However, the wolf was a little short on fingers for that test.
I hadn’t thought I needed a gun before sundown. Frowning, I glanced at the sky, then back at the wolf. What the—? The sun was still up, and while I knew there were monsters that walked in the daytime, werewolves weren’t one of them.
I peered at the wolf more closely. Black with silver threads in its fur. Long, spindly legs. Dark, dark eyes, with not a hint of white.
Just a wolf.
I sighed with relief, although there was still the issue of a wild animal choosing to come near me—not something a healthy wild animal would do—and the strangeness of this thing being here in the first place.
“Nice doggy.”
The wolf snorted. I could swear the animal understood me.
“I don’t suppose you want to turn tail and run away from the big bad sheriff.”
The wolf blinked once but didn’t move.
“That’s what I figured.”
I cast my gaze around for some kind of weapon. Plenty of big rocks, but I’d never been much of a softball player. To hit the thing, I’d have to get much closer than I wanted to.
I spied a long branch—thick enough to do some damage—and slowly lowered myself until I could pick it up. The beast’s upper lip curled.
“I won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt me,” I said.
The animal charged.
Despite my lack of talent with a ball and bat, I hauled back and swung away. Not only did the branch pass right through the wolf, but the wolf passed right through me also.
For an instant I stood there gaping, shivering at the sudden chill; then I spun. The animal sat placidly behind me, tongue lolling. I couldn’t see the grass through its body, nor the creek on the other side. The wolf seemed solid.
I poked at it with the stick. The end swept right through its body. The animal lifted a paw and swatted at the branch, leg swooshing from one side of the stick to the other with no resistance.
“What are you?”
The wolf cocked its head, staring at something behind me.
“I know that trick,” I said. “I turn, and you jump me.” Or maybe I should say jump through me.
“Can we have a drink first?”
I spun despite my resolve not to. Ian Walker stood at the edge of the trees.
“I was talking to—” I glanced at the wolf, which was, of course, gone. I didn’t bother to check for tracks. Been there, done that, saw the movie.
“I... uh—” That seemed to be the extent of my conversation around this man.
“Did the wolf come back?”
I glanced his way; he nodded at the club. I dropped it to the ground. “Did you see anything?”
“No. But you obviously did.”
“Maybe.” I looked around the empty clearing. “Then again, maybe not.”
“You want to explain that?”
“Not really.”
He lifted one arm, which held a six-pack, and the other, which held a bottle of wine. “I didn’t know what you liked.”
“Thanks. But I invited you.”
“My mother taught me never to arrive at anyone’s home empty-handed.”
“We can go back—”
“No. I mean, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to sit here. I don’t get much chance to go to the water.”
I started at the term, but why shouldn’t he know it? Despite his light eyes and skin, he was Cherokee, too. Or so he said.
Walker leaned over and set the beer and the wine in the creek, then sat on the grass and took off his shoes. He’d changed from the suit he’d worn in town to a pair of jeans and a blue button-down shirt. The color only served to make his eyes glow eerily golden in the fading light.
The sharp crunch of a beer can being opened made me jump. Walker held one out to me. “I didn’t bring a corkscrew,” he said. “Or a glass.”
“This is fine.” I took the beer but hesitated at sitting next to him. I’d asked him here to see if he was a shape-shifter. I needed to do what I’d planned before I got too close.
“I—uh—found this,” I said, and before I could change my mind, tossed the bullet at his head.
He snatched the lump of silver out of the air before it hit him between the eyes. After shooting me a puzzled glance, he opened his palm and stared at the metal. No smoke rose from his burning flesh.
Yippee.
“Strange bullet,” he mused. “You find this out here?”
“Yeah,” I lied.
He put it into his pocket and took a swig of beer. “Thanks.”
I hadn’t meant for him to keep the bullet, but I guess it didn’t really matter. I had a hundred more just the same.
“You going to have a seat?” He tilted his head. “Or make me get a crick in my neck talking to you.”
“Sure. I mean no.” What was it about this guy that turned me into a gibbering idiot? I began to sit next to him, and he jumped to his feet.
“Wait.” He yanked off his shirt and spread it on the ground. “You can’t sit here in a white skirt.”
&n
bsp; I tried not to stare at his chest, but it was a really great chest. Ridges and dips, smooth, flawless, the dark circles of his nipples like melted caramel against the paler skin. I fought back a groan—two years of celibacy—then took a quick sip of beer to stop the drool from running down my chin.
“Grace?” He patted his shirt, which was far too close to him for my comfort.
I set my beer down, then pulled the shirt farther away under the guise of smoothing it. However, when I sat, he merely scooted closer, tilting his can toward me. “Cheers,” he said.
I grabbed mine, clinking it against his a little too hard, so that beer sloshed onto my wrist. I licked it off, caught him watching my mouth, and stopped. Silence that wasn’t really silence descended. In it I heard all sorts of things.
Want me. Kiss me. Do me.
“I was surprised you came,” I blurted, then bit my lip at the dual meaning to the sentence. Why did everything have to remind me of sex around him?
Luckily, he didn’t have the same problem, because he answered with an easy curve to his lips. “If you didn’t think I’d show, why did you ask?”
I’d asked Walker here to test him for shape-shifting, but I couldn’t exactly say that. “I—I’m not sure.”
“Are you uncomfortable?”
“What?” Yes. “Why?”
“The wolf. We’d discussed it being rabid.”
Oh, the wolf. Right.
“I don’t think it is.” I wasn’t sure what the beast was, but “rabid” wasn’t on the list anymore.
“They say the wolf is a messenger from the spirit world.”
I started again, sloshing beer, again. This time I left the spill where it was. “Why would you bring that up?”
“A wolf that appears and disappears in a place no wolf should be. Don’t tell me you hadn’t thought of it yourself.”
I hadn’t. Until now.
The wolf wasn’t a shifter—or at least not any kind of shifter I knew about—so maybe it was a messenger. Since I was the only one who’d seen the thing, I had to think the message was for me.
“What do you know about messenger wolves?” I asked.
Thunder Moon Page 6
