Chapter
Eight
The days were steadily lengthening toward full
summer. The sun took its time settling into the west, and for a
while, day and night held hands in an orange glow. Finally darkness
fell over the North Star Animal Hospital, but to James’s surprise,
the woman wasn’t there. The white wolf paced around the building,
casting for her scent. He placed his paws on the windowsill of her
apartment and pressed his nose to the screen. Probably got called out; she’s a vet, she could be delivering a
calf or something. Still, he was disappointed—and angry with
himself for feeling that way. It shouldn’t
matter. But it did. Especially when he hadn’t intended to
come here, wasn’t going to go anywhere near Jillian Descharme ever
again.
The wolf had other ideas, however,
resisting that plan every step of the way until James seriously
feared for his sanity. He’d tried to submerge himself beneath the
animal persona soon after leaving Jillian’s apartment, but it
wouldn’t work. Days later it still wouldn’t work. James was stuck
with his human thoughts and human feelings in a lupine body. And it
was getting damned uncomfortable. There was no respite from the
tumult in his head and the memories that sliced his heart and
twisted his gut. Even sleep didn’t bring him any peace. With human
awareness came human dreams. His dreams were filled with nightmare
images of Evelyn calling to him for help, of Evelyn dying, of
Evelyn dead. Then Evelyn’s face would be replaced with Jillian’s.
Wounded and dying because of him. His fault, all his
fault.
In his waking hours, he was trying to
figure out the peculiar tie he had to Jillian. The only thing he
was sure of was that whatever connection she had with him was with
the wolf, not the man. That was made plain the night he was in her
room. Had some part of him wanted her to wake up, to see him, see
his human self? There’d been no recognition in her eyes, however.
It had disappointed him, when he didn’t want to care at all, and
later it had kindled a hot anger within, as if he was jealous of
his own wolf nature. Still, it looked like he wasn’t going to get
an ounce of peace until he resolved this issue. Was there something
he needed to know? Something he needed to do? Something she could
do for him? He had no inkling, none at all. And so here he was, and
here he would wait until the woman came back. What then, he didn’t
know—but he sure didn’t have any other ideas.
The bales were still stacked in the
side yard. The white wolf had no trouble making his way up them and
leaping into the loft. He would wait here. It was quiet, and he
would spend the time thinking. Trying to remember something,
anything. As if he hadn’t already spent most of the entire week
doing exactly that.
Hours passed. No memories came to him,
no new information sprang to mind, but one single thought did
occur—when he was in human form in Jillian’s apartment he had
remembered her name. Would he remember more, then, if he were
human? Would his wolfen side ration out a little more information
to him? Maybe that was the key.
James called the Change. Standing on
two legs didn’t feel quite so awkward this time—at least he didn’t
fall on his ass—but he sat quickly on a bale just in case. For a
long while he simply watched the moon climb across the sky, reach
the highest point of its arched path, then begin its downward
slide. His eyelids drooped. Human form brought human needs.
Changing used a great deal of energy, and James had had very little
sleep in days. It wouldn’t hurt to catch a quick nap. He was
confident that his lupine senses would wake him the moment Jillian
drove up. Wading through the sweet-smelling straw, he found a
particularly thick pile and stretched out on it. But he didn’t
glide into the light sleep of the wolf. Instead, James fell
headlong into slumber as only a human can, slept deep as a man
sleeps, and dreamed as a man dreams.
Century-old spruce trees rose black
against a deep blue velvet sky. Stars circled in a slow dance
overhead. The white wolf padded along a game trail, high along the
ridge of dark hills to the west. An old elk had been through here
just an hour ago, but the musky scent failed to hold the predator’s
interest. Something was wrong. Something.
Suddenly the wolf stopped and lifted his head, looked down over the
sweep of land below, where a silvered river wound its way to a
distant cluster of lights that looked like numberless stars piled
on the ground. There. It was there. Something wrong, close to the
river. Something.
The wolf hesitated a moment. It went
against every instinct. He never wandered near human settlements,
certainly never close to a city. But there was a need, an urgency
to head for the river valley in the very heart of all those lights.
Now. It was important. Vital. Now, now, now. And so he ran. Built for speed, the
wolf’s body ate up the miles, yet it wasn’t fast enough, he knew it
wasn’t fast enough. He pushed himself to the limits then, to speeds
that only Changelings could attain.
The city rose glittering on either side
of the river, the buildings towering over the tallest trees of this
forested valley. The white wolf followed the riverbank into a maze
of mulched walking trails that wound through dense brush. The
sharpness of fear and the reek of violence were on the breeze. And
the metallic tang of blood, human blood. Without a pause, the wolf
wheeled onto one trail in particular and ran full out. And found a
group of men standing over the fallen figure of a small blond
woman. One was raising a metal pipe high over his head. . .
.
Jillian fully expected to enjoy having
supper with Birkie and Zoey, and she wasn’t disappointed. Birkie’s
bright and blunt personality would add spice to any meal, and
Zoey’s tales of local news reporting gone awry had them in stitches
frequently. But it was a flat-out surprise to all of them when they
stayed up almost all night, talking and laughing like high school
students, making popcorn and watching the silliest movies they
could find.
There were other surprises too. After
Zoey had finally pleaded exhaustion and left, Birkie had led
Jillian to the enclosed porch off the kitchen to show off her
hobby. There, rows upon rows of pots under greenhouse lights held a
myriad of plants and vines. The air was thick with their fragrance.
Bunches of herbs hung upside-down, drying in the dining room. An
entire wall boasted shelves of carefully labeled jars, while
another wall held a vast collection of books on plants and herbs.
Jillian was astounded.
“Learned this stuff from my
grandmother,” said Birkie. “Been studying everything and anything I
could get my hands on ever since. Gotten pretty damn good at it
too.” The woman deftly put together a selection of teas and
capsules for the young vet. “All natural, I promise. About as
harmful as the basil on your pizza. These are to help you relax,
help you sleep, and help you stay asleep.
These ones here are to build up the blood—you’re looking downright
peaked, girl. I’ll jot it all down for you so you remember what to
take when. But this thing here is to keep away bad
dreams.”
Jillian glanced over at the carefully
crafted circle of rawhide and feathers on the seat of the truck
next to her. Birkie seemed to put as much stock in the dream
catcher as in the supplements, and instructed her to hang it over
her bed. “I know you can find these things at just about every
craft sale in the country these days. Even saw some Asian knockoffs
at the Bargain Mart the other day. But this one is different—been
working on it all week, ever since you first mentioned having
dreams and since I noticed you looking so tired. Made it out of
natural materials, added some particular crystals and stones so
it’s full of positive energies. It’s designed especially for you,
hon, that’s why it’s bound to work for you.” Jillian wasn’t sure
about that, but it was pretty to look at. She didn’t have any
decorations in her apartment yet, and she was touched that Birkie
would go to so much trouble for her. She accepted the gift with a
thankful hug.
Jillian yawned as she pressed the
automatic door opener in the truck and drove into the clinic’s back
bay. She yawned again as she parked and gathered up her treasures.
She was intent on heading to her apartment when a movement high
above her, a small flicker of something pale, caught her eye. She
stared up at the loft. Of course its door was open—the air was
welcome in the clinic at this time of year—but Jillian couldn’t see
a thing beyond the yawning doorframe. It was ‘black as the inside
of a cow,’ an apt phrase she’d picked up from the local farmers.
She strained to listen but could detect no sound.
An owl? Or maybe a bat. Whatever it
was, she’d probably disturbed it when the lights went on. She
crossed the concrete floor, slapped off the light switch, paused in
the darkness, and waited for her eyes to get used to it. She was
tired but owls were her favorite bird. Maybe she’d get a rare peek
at one if she could be quiet enough. It was too late in the season
for a Snowy, so perhaps it was a Great Gray. Or even a Horned.
Excited by the possibilities, Jillian set her things on the floor
and carefully climbed the ladder into the loft.
She had to stand still for a while
until her eyes adjusted again. There was light coming in the far
end from the open window, a mixed palette of cold white light from
the waxing moon, warm yellow light from the sodium lamps in the
parking lot, and the pale watery light of the eastern horizon.
Shadows resolved themselves into shapes, the sharp-edged blocks of
neatly stacked bales and vast heaps and hills of loose straw and
hay. Wisps were stirred by a warm breeze from the window, bringing
the scent of sun-dried fields to her senses.
A movement beside her caught her eye,
and she jumped in spite of herself. She realized it was just an old
lab coat hung on a nail, watched as the air billowed it slightly,
and was disappointed. Was that what she had spotted from
downstairs? She began wading carefully through the deep straw as
she searched the rafters above for any sign of life.
She was nearly to the window when she
stumbled over something solid. She flung her hands out to save
herself and came in contact with warm skin. There was no time to
jump back. A large man, powerfully muscled and bare-chested, burst
up from the straw and grabbed her. With a yell worthy of an Amazon,
Jillian Descharme fought like a woman possessed.
“Jesus! Hey!” James was trying not to
hurt her, but he would deflect one punch only to have her small
fist drill him somewhere else. One blow landed sharply between his
ribs, distracted him long enough for her to knee him solidly. His
breath exploded out of his lungs, but he wasn’t as disabled as a
human would have been. In one rapid movement, James wrapped his
arms around his assailant and rolled on top of her.
“Let me up, let me go!” Jillian found
herself completely pinned. His arms were like massive cables, and
she couldn’t do a damn thing against the combination of his weight
and muscle. Not from this position. She couldn’t even head-butt
him. Flashback images pounded in her head, terror that her worst
nightmare was happening all over again. Heart hammering, her voice
rose in pitch in spite of her efforts to sound authoritative. “Let
go of me this minute!”
He ignored her as he tried to orient
himself, calm his animal nature—and give his balls a chance to quit
throbbing. “Be quiet for a minute. Let me
wake up.” He took a few breaths, then rolled to one side to look at
her.
As she felt his body weight shift, she
gathered herself to fight or flee—but froze instead when she saw
the Viking eyes, vivid blue even in the pale half light. “You! It’s
you! You’re . . . but you can’t be.” She fell silent, confused and
scared. Really scared now. Reality had just
taken an abrupt holiday.
James had no trouble reading the
expression on her face. “Goddammit, quit looking at me like that.
I’m not going to hurt you. And you’re not crazy, so you can quit
wondering about that too.” It couldn’t possibly be a good idea, but
he felt he had to give her the truth, felt she deserved that.
“Yeah, I was the guy in your room that night. Easy, there. I
said you’re safe.” Mostly safe. She was
struggling again and the feel of her lithe body beneath his gave
him ideas he’d rather not have right now. . . .
Jillian could neither free herself nor
punch him again and was forced to relent. It was too much like
trying to budge a tree. “Bastard!” she spat out at last, frustrated
and furious in spite of her terror. “You bastard! What do you
want?”
“Not a damn thing. As soon as you quit
trying to kill me, I’m going to let go of you.”
“But . . . but you were in my
room.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the
time. You were having a bad dream, and I came into your room to see
if I could help.” Okay, not exactly but close enough. And he’d just
leave out that little part about Changing from wolf to man. And the
fact that he had been in the clinic before. There were limits to
the good that honesty could do. “I probably ended up scaring you
worse than the nightmare you were having. If it’s any consolation,
you scared the hell out of me just now, so we’re
even.”
Scared him? “You
grabbed me.”
“Reflex. I was sound asleep and you
fell on me.” He could scarcely believe he’d been that deeply
asleep, surprised that he had slept at all. Why hadn’t his wolfen
senses warned him of her approach?
Indignation flashed like heat lightning
across her features. “Why the hell are you sleeping up here—what
are you, homeless or drunk or something? Does Connor know about
this? Are you on drugs? Just who the hell are you?”
He nearly winced at the onslaught of
questions. “I don’t happen to have a place of my own just now. And
yes, Connor knows I’m here.” Against his better judgment, he
admitted, “I’m his brother, James.”
Connor’s brother? She knew her mouth
was open but couldn’t seem to close it. She thought her boss had
only two brothers—Culley and Devlin. The
twins stopped by the clinic often. Like Connor, they were tall,
wide-shouldered. All three had thick wavy hair that was nearly
black. Connor’s eyes were pale gray. The twins’ hazel eyes wavered
between gray, blue, and green. She stared at the man who loomed
over her. Studied the angles of his face, the strong jaw that was
accented rather than hidden by the close beard, the line of his
brow. Tried to look at the shape of the eyes instead of their hue.
And finally saw through the warrior image and the fair coloring to
the family resemblance beneath. It was there, powerful and plain.
He was a Macleod.
And he was true to his word. James
Macleod released her carefully and sat back. She jumped to her
feet, muscles bunched to sprint to the door—but something about him
made her pause. Something in his eyes that she recognized, as like
recognizes like. This man knew a lot about pain. “So, are you okay
up here?” she heard herself say. “Do you need
anything?”
It was his turn to be surprised. “I’m
fine.” He remembered his human manners, dusted them off and added,
“Thanks.”
“Well, I imagine you already know the
staff kitchen’s pretty well stocked. The Watsons just filled the
fridge yesterday or the day before.” She looked around, wondered if
he needed a blanket or something. Her eyes kept coming back to his
broad chest, his muscled arms. There was something wild about him,
primal. Adding to that impression was the fact that his ragged
shirt had taken the worst of the struggle and much of it was
hanging in tatters. So why the hell was she standing here worrying
about a weird stranger instead of running for her life? “I guess
Connor’s already told you he has spare clothes in his office and
probably anything else you need.”
He nodded as if that were true.
Actually he didn’t have a clue what was in Connor’s office and
didn’t care, but he couldn’t say that.
“I’ll see you around
then.”
No, you won’t.
“Sure, doc. See you.” He watched her leave and was surprised that
he didn’t really want her to go. He’d like to hear her voice some
more, watch her face, see the flashes in those sea-green eyes. And
he’d like to touch her again, hold her again—not out of surprise or
reflex this time, but deliberately. Awake and aware, to just pull
her body, warm and supple, against his, to run his hands gently
over those soft curves . . . and maybe feel her arms slide around
him, hold him. . . .
Great, just great.
Jesus Murphy! He rubbed his hands over his face and swore
again. His human form had gained him no new information at all.
Instead it had brought him a brand new problem. He was seriously
attracted to Dr. Jillian Descharme.