Chapter
Sixteen
The doorbell rang, startling Connor into dropping
the spoon into the soup he was stirring on the stove. He hadn’t
heard a car come in the lane and none of the dogs had barked. Only
a Changeling could get to his home unannounced, and Zoey was in the
city until tomorrow. Anyone else would have given him some mental
warning. The heavy front door was wide open, letting the breeze
come through the screen door. Whoever was there could easily have
spoken to him, called out a greeting, even stuck their head inside.
Something. Connor approached the doorway cautiously, silently, and
looked out.
A man stood on the covered porch,
looking out over the yard. The twilight silhouetted him, revealing
only his shape and not his features, but it was enough. The
powerful form definitely belonged to a Macleod. He was tall, like
all of the Macleod brothers, broad of shoulder and heavily muscled.
Only one of them, however, had the white-blond hair, visible even
in the fading light, that tumbled almost to this man’s collar and
matched the pale close-cropped beard that followed his
jaw.
James.
The man whirled. He recognized his
brother and relaxed. A little.
Connor opened the door carefully,
half-wondering if he was seeing things and half-afraid of scaring
James off. Took a couple of steps outside. “You selling Girl Scout
cookies or magazine subscriptions? What the hell are you doing
ringing the doorbell like some stranger?” He searched his brother’s
face. The strong features, the intense eyes, were tempered with
both knowledge and sorrow, but it was the face Connor had carried
in his heart all these years. “God, James. I—” He couldn’t finish
for the emotions that squeezed his heart. He closed the distance
between them and seized his brother in a rough embrace.
I never thought I’d see you again, not like
this. They held each other for a long moment then stood
apart. Connor kept a hand on James’s shoulder, feeling a little
foolish yet unable to let go. “I’m glad you came.”
James shook his head. “I’m . . . I’m
not really sure what I’m doing here.”
His brother’s voice seemed a little
deeper, a little rougher, but it was the voice Connor knew. He had
to swallow hard, twice, before he could respond. “Doesn’t matter.
You can take your time, sort it out as you go along.”
James waved an arm at the yard to
change the subject. “Place looks good. Lots of
potential.”
“Place looks like hell.” Connor
snorted. “And as for potential, I’ve had it for over ten years now,
and it’s almost as run-down as when I took it over. I just don’t
get much time to work on it. A few years ago I hired people to come
in and renovate the house, but it’s a lot tougher to find someone
to renovate a farm. Maybe you can give me some advice over supper.”
He held the door open. “Zoey’s not here so I’m heating up some
soup, got a couple loaves of Bill’s cheese bread to go with it. You
coming in to eat, or are you going to stand out here on the porch
all night?”
“Guess I could help you with that
soup.”
The soup was stuck to the bottom of the
pot but luckily hadn’t burned yet. While they ate, Connor kept
looking across the table. His brother James was actually sitting in
his kitchen. It seemed normal and surreal at the same time. Connor
made small talk about the farm, about the week he’d just spent up
north with a mobile clinic, but towards the end of the meal, he
just had to ask, “What made you come here in human
skin?”
James was caught off guard by the
question, seemed almost embarrassed. “I just thought about what you
said, that’s all. Made sense to give it a try.”
“And?” Connor said
expectantly.
“There’s no ‘and.’”
Connor rolled his eyes. “Don’t bullshit
me. I just phoned Birkie a while ago to get my messages. She said
that my brother showed up today and assisted
Jillian with a patient. Maybe you could elaborate?”
“Jillian was going to get hurt. They
all were. I didn’t get a chance to think about it. I was sound
asleep in the damn loft and suddenly there was this overwhelming
sense of danger. It was like being jolted awake with a cattle prod.
I was down the ladder and in the room before I was even fully
awake.”
“Birkie mentioned it was a pretty
dangerous situation. She was trying to figure out a way to use some
of her mojo on the dog when you came in. Said she was damn glad to
see you.”
James shook his head. “Jillian was
already in harm’s way with nothing but a leather muzzle between her
and—hey, you’re not going to give her grief about this, are you?”
The last words came out almost as a snarl.
Connor was surprised to see a glimpse
of the white wolf in the blatant warning that flashed across his
brother’s face, but he wasn’t intimidated. “Damn right I will.
She’s a good vet, going to be a great one, but she doesn’t have
years of experience under her belt yet. I’m her boss and the senior
vet, and that gives me the right to chew her out when
necessary.”
James got up without a word and went
back out to the porch. Connor followed.
“So, that’s quite a protective streak
you’ve got going on there, bro.”
“I know it.”
“You’re in human form because of
Jillian.” He made it a statement.
James leaned against a post. “Yeah.
Wish I could give you a more noble reason, like I want to return to
being a productive member of society, but that’s not why I Changed.
I won’t lie about that.” He turned and faced his brother. “The
truth is, being human is the only thing I can think of to do, the
only way to protect her. I can’t control the wolf, so I can’t be
the wolf.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. As long as it takes, I
guess, whatever it takes to make sure she’s safe.”
Connor thought James was mistaken about
not having a noble reason. He could hear the determination in his
brother’s voice, see the absolute commitment to this path in his
face. And just how uncomfortable this path was for him. Still,
there were a lot of loose ends to this new plan. “And when you’re
certain she’s safe, what then? You’ll just go back to being a
full-time wolf? Run on four legs for another thirty
years?”
James swore in exasperation. “For
Christ’s sake, I’ve already gotten an earful from Birkie on the
subject.” He left the porch, stalked across the yard to the nearest
corral. Rested his arms on the top rail and watched the horses
within.
Connor watched the horses too, his
horses, as their heads came up and they looked with curious eyes at
the blond stranger leaning on the fence. He chuckled as they all
trotted over to his brother. “I’ll be damned,” he said to himself.
“Animals still act like puppies around you. You haven’t lost your
touch, bro.” He watched the horses bumping each other, all trying
to nuzzle James at the same time. Even the cranky old pinto, which
didn’t like people at all as a general rule, made an exception for
him and was eagerly nosing in for a pat. “Small wonder you were
able to deal with Ruby’s monster dog.” Again he wondered if James
ever missed the land and the livestock he was so talented
with.
Connor wanted nothing more than to
leave things alone, take this time with his brother and just enjoy
being with him. But there were things his brother needed to hear,
and putting them off wouldn’t make it easier. Even to say them was
to risk alienating him. Good Christ. Why do I get
to be the one to do this? His shoulders felt heavy as he
crossed the yard to stand beside James, who waved a hand at the
horses and sent them to the other side of the corral.
“Leave it alone, Connor.”
“You have to listen.”
“I don’t have to listen to a goddamn
thing. Leave it be.”
“It’s way too late, you
know.”
“Too late for you to shut the hell
up?”
“Too late to just go back to being a
wolf. You’re so damn used to being an animal that you’ve forgotten
the complex emotional world of human relationships. Think, for God’s sake. You’re on two legs, but you’re
still acting like a wolf, focused solely on one thing and that’s
Jillian. I agree that you need to look out for her, but there’s a
whole lot more you need to consider, other people you need to think
about here.”
“I haven’t thought about anything yet.”
James faced his brother with both fury and frustration in his blue
eyes. “I’ve been human for two damn days, and I’ve already had
enough. You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know what the hell
you’re asking. I feel like my skin’s missing and all the nerves are
exposed. I just want to Change and—”
“Run away? That’s been your answer to
everything, hasn’t it?” A fist lashed out in response, but Connor
had expected it and spun neatly out of reach. Just barely. James
had always been fast. “You can’t run forever.”
The follow-up blow connected solidly
and split Connor’s lip. With a growl that was more animal than
human, he ducked his head and charged James. They grappled like
boxers, like bears. Connor got a hand free and hammered his
brother’s ribs. James hooked a right into Connor’s chin and
followed it with an uppercut, staggering him. Before Connor could
regain his balance, James tackled him, taking them both between the
fence rails and into the corral. There they rolled together in the
dirt, wrestling, punching, swearing. Connor was strong, but he’d
never had his brother’s skill as a fighter. In moments, James had
straddled Connor and punched him solidly twice more. But just as
James was drawing his fist back for a third time, a flash of light
and a sudden explosion of electricity knocked him flying
backward.
He came to about a dozen feet away,
lying flat on his back in the dirt. A crackle of sparks still
played in the air around him. James shook his head and blinked,
hard, to clear his vision. And saw a very large wolf sitting beside
him, watching him. The grinning animal was silver with a blanket of
black over his shoulders—and James knew there was only one
Changeling with that rare saddleback pattern. “No fair Changing in
the middle of a fight, you cheating bastard.” He said it without
heat, however. Whatever anger he’d had before had been effectively
blown away. Changing in close proximity to anyone wasn’t
recommended. It took energy to become the wolf, and an experienced
Changeling automatically drew it not only from his own reserves but
also from the earth, the air. The static build-up was immense.
James remembered when he’d first learned that.
“Seems to me you pulled that little
stunt when we were kids too.” He’d been sitting on Connor then as
well, and punching him in the face—God, were they ten? Twelve?—and
Connor had Changed. The blast of static had thrown James a good
twenty feet in a flurry of blue sparks.
Still seems to be the
only way I can beat you. You didn’t fly so far this time, though.
Must have gained a few pounds.
“Get your smart ass over here and help
me up, why don’t you?” James struggled to his knees and just stayed
there for a few moments. He was winded and a headache was starting
to pound in the back of his head. At least he was still breathing.
If he’d been human instead of Changeling, his heart might have
stopped and he wouldn’t be breathing at all.
A large hand appeared in his field of
vision. James gripped it and let Connor pull him to his feet. “What
the hell were we arguing about again?” He made his way to a fence
post and gripped it hard to steady himself.
“I was telling you to quit running
away.”
“And I was telling you to back off,
goddammit. I need a chance to think.”
“You’d better think, and think hard,
bro. You’ve been gone for thirty years.
Three decades. Just how do you think the family is going to
respond? Hell, how do you think Mom and Dad would react if they
knew you were here, like this? Walking around in human
form?”
James’s irritation drained away
abruptly. “What, our folks don’t want me back?”
“No, James, they do want you back. You don’t know how bad they want you
back. They pray for it every day, every single day. They’ll welcome
you with open arms, just like all the rest of us will, believe me.
What I’m saying is, don’t fool around with their
hearts.”
“What are you talking about? You make
it sound like I plan to hurt them or something.”
“You’re planning to be human for a
little while, then disappear again. How do you think they’ll feel?
You can’t just pop in and out of people’s lives. It’s not right.”
Connor ran a hand over his face and jammed it back in his pocket.
“Good Christ, James, you’ve been dead. Maybe
not physically, but for all intents and purposes, as far as your
family is concerned, you’ve been dead for three decades. You can’t
come back from the dead and then disappear again.”
Tentatively James let go of the fence
post and straightened, stretched. He felt as if he’d been beaten
with a sack of hammers. “Maybe I’d just better stay dead
then.”
“It’s a little late for that. Think you
can go back to being a wolf now and that’ll fix everything? Because
it sure as hell won’t. Birkie’s already seen you. Jillian’s seen
you. They know the family, they know the Watsons. Put it
together.”
Realization dawned. “The rest of the
family is going to find out I was in human form,” he said slowly as
all the implications began to sink in. “I should never have
Changed. I should have stayed a wolf,” he said, half to himself. “I
should Change back now, before things get any more
tangled.”
“Which brings us right back to my
original point, that it’s way too late for that. The family, the
Pack, our friends—hell, even Zoey will be devastated that she
didn’t get to see you and I—shit, James, I don’t want you to go.”
He paced and waved a hand as he struggled for words. “Look, you did
what you had to do to survive when Evelyn died. You Changed and you
stayed a wolf for a long time. I get that, I understand that,
James. I didn’t blame you for it, I never blamed you.
“But then the years went by and you
were still a wolf. Decades went by, and that’s what I have trouble
understanding. Even for a Changeling, thirty years is one hell of a
long time.”
“It didn’t feel like a long
time.”
“Not to you. Not to you, but you ought
to feel it from this side. From the side of all the people you left
behind to miss you. Christ, you’re my brother, James, and I miss
you every damn day of my life.”
Douglas set the grocery bags on the
kitchen table, a shapeless heap of red and white plastic. There was
milk and other things that should go in the refrigerator, but they
could wait. What he wanted, needed, was in the brown paper bag. He
looked around, checked the coffeemaker, smelled it. The coffee had
been on too long, at that stage where it was just this side of
syrup, but at least it hadn’t burnt. It would be strong, but maybe
he needed it strong today. He poured two thirds of a cup, then drew
the black-labeled bottle from the bag, topped up his cup with the
amber liquid and drank it down greedily.
Better. Douglas
felt his jangled nerves settle as the warmth spread through him.
Filled the cup again, half and half this time. Why
won’t she leave things alone? He liked the lady vet but she
just had to bring up the goddamn white wolf. Okay, okay, so he’d
panicked and lied when there was no real reason to lie. She was
right, there were real wolves in the region. Lots of them, in fact.
He wished that what Dr. Descharme suggested was true, that years
ago Roderick Harrison had seen a genuine wolf or two or twenty that
now inspired delusions of werewolves in his confused
mind.
If wishes were
horses . . . What he wished for most was that he hadn’t seen
the white wolf for himself. He wished he had never seen it become a
tall blond man in the blink of an eye, or witnessed him discovering
the woman on the floor. Douglas especially wished he had never
heard that inhuman howl of unspeakable anguish. He had awakened
twice this week in a sweat, with the howl ringing in his ears.
Always, for the first few heart-pounding seconds at least, he was
certain it was real and not in a dream. He poured another cup,
mostly whiskey this time.
Werewolves. His father had never
mentioned the subject again, at least not in his son’s hearing. But
the old man had still gone out at night, alone, sometimes. He
always took his guns. He invited Douglas once, but he stayed in bed
under the blankets with his eyes squeezed tight and pretended to be
asleep. His father had made a disgusted noise and never asked him
again. Thank God. Being an accessory to one murder was enough. Two,
said the little voice inside. Two murders, it was a
double-murder. She was pregnant, just like Rosa. You watched your
father do it, Dougie, watched him shoot her, kill her and her
unborn child and you did nothing.
He drank the cup quickly, hoping to
drown out that little voice, but he kept thinking about Dr.
Descharme’s questions. Come to think of it, his father never said
much about how he found out about the werewolves, only that he’d
seen them often. Knew their habits, knew their secrets. But how?
How did he know so much about them? And did he learn it before or
after they killed his wife?
Filled with liquid courage, Douglas
headed for his father’s room. He stood in the doorway and watched
his father snore. The old man had been wild for the rest of the
night after the lady vet had driven away. But when morning came, he
was remarkably clear-headed. He’d dressed, eaten, then saddled his
horse. He rode out and checked over the livestock, inspected the
fences, as if there wasn’t a single thing wrong with him and never
had been. Douglas wouldn’t let him drive no matter what, not even
an ATV in the pasture—and God, he hated the fights they had over
that—but his dad’s favorite horse was a sensible old mare who
didn’t put up with any nonsense. If his dad slipped into an
Alzheimer’s fog, the horse seemed to know. She simply brought him
back to the house and stood there, waiting for someone to come out
and get him.
Usually when Roderick Harrison had good
days, he didn’t have good nights. At best he would thrash in uneasy
dreams, murmur unintelligible words. Sometimes he would wake up
screaming that the wolf was coming, that the white devil was going
to get him. Douglas would have to comfort his father like a small
child.
But not lately. Last night the old man
had slept peacefully without waking, and thanks be to Jesus, it
looked like he would do so again. For a moment Douglas contemplated
the drink in his hands, considered pouring it out. If his father
was sleeping, he might be able to as well . . . but the drink was
his insurance against dreams. He took a quick swallow, then another
and headed down the hall to his room, taking the glass with
him.
The moon was high, and James was still
standing on the porch. He hadn’t moved in an hour. Connor stood at
the kitchen window, watching his brother and wondering for the
hundredth time if he had done the right thing. He had argued hard
for this decision, but it was James who had to make it. And he had.
There would be no going back now.
Connor had called the family. Their
parents, Ronan and Gwyn, were presently in Scotland, and one
sister, Carlene, was in Wyoming. The rest lived here in Dunvegan
and they were on their way.
He sensed the approach of Changelings
in wolfen form, moving in swiftly from the southeast, heard the
mental banter that hallmarked the twins, Culley and Devlin. He
noted that their sister Kenzie was with them and knew that James
heard them too and saw him stiffen. For a brief second Connor
wondered if he’d pushed James too far, too fast. If he was going to
Change or leave. Or both.
Quit worrying, Connor.
Since when has anyone ever talked me into doing something I didn’t
want to do? I made the decision and I’ll deal with
it.
Connor’s throat tightened and his eyes
stung as James sat slowly, deliberately, on the top step and waited
for his family to find him.