Slow Shift

by Nazarea Andrews

  Chase inhales slowly. He lets that new knowledge rattle around in him and settle before he turns his focus on the more pressing issue at hand.

  “Let them out,” he says, and Harper pauses, frowning at him. Chase makes an impatient noise and scrambles to his feet, swaying just a little as he moves across the room.

  Lucas is sitting with his back pressed against the wall, and Tyler leans against the door jam. He looks up when Chase approaches, his familiar gaze skating over the claw marks in his side.

  “Chase, don’t,” Tyler starts, but it’s too late—Chase breaks the warded boundary with nothing but a twitch of his fingers. He steps past Tyler and slips to his knees in front of Lucas.

  “Hey, big bad,” he murmurs as Lucas stares at him, shockingly blank. “I’m ok.”

  “I can smell the blood on you,” Lucas says sassily, his eyes still empty.

  “And I’m still ok,” he says firmly.

  Lucas shudders and curls into himself, and Chase sighs. He squirms until he’s pressed against the werewolf’s side, wedged between the cold ground, a pallet of dog food, and the sulky werewolf.

  “I need your help, Lucas,” Chase murmurs. “I can’t afford to have you sulking right now.”

  “I hurt you.”

  “You’re a werewolf with severe trauma that hasn’t been dealt with. You’re going to do that sometimes.”

  Lucas stares at him, and Chase smiles, keeps his gaze steady and sure. “Come on. We need to figure out what that damn Stone Circle wants from me.”

  ~*~

  They don’t figure it out, but he dreams of it almost constantly, and sometimes he wakes up, his Dad peering at him in worry because he’s sleepwalking and half in the road.

  The night he’s found by Lucas and Tyler in the forest after a three-hour search led by his father and the police department, Chase looks at his werewolves and says, “We have to tell him. We have to tell my dad.”

  Chapter 14

  Tyler sits on the steps of the porch and listens.

  Chase is in the kitchen with John, bickering easily over dinner and his right to drink with the others—nice try, son—and he can hear Lucas chuckling as he leafs through another of the many books on the Standing Stones that he’s pulled from mysterious sources. He wishes his brother would share some of those resources with the rest of the Pack.

  Of course, more often than not, he’s found Chase curled up on his couch, Lucas reading to him, so maybe he’s just being bitchy for no reason.

  Lucas does say he has the tendency.

  “Tyler,” John says, stepping out onto the porch. Tyler startles, whipping around to find the chief giving him a curious look. “You alright there, son?”

  Lucas and Chase are watching him, gauging him. He knows this has to happen, but John is watching him too, and there’s a warm concern there he’s come to expect, that he likes.

  Somewhere along the way—over the years of suspicion and reluctant drop-offs, over worrying for the same brilliant boy, over dinners that have become a touchstone for him—the suspicion and distrust faded away. He looks at the Chief now, watching him with an easy grin and a beer extended to him, and he wonders how long he’ll get to keep this man who isn’t Pack, who isn’t not Pack, who trusts him with the one thing he loves most. He clears his throat.

  “Yes, sir,” he lies, and Chase sags in relief.

  ~*~

  They’re all acting shifty. He’s used to Tyler’s broody watchfulness, Chase’s almost manic energy, and Lucas’s smarm—he’s had enough time that he knows what to expect. He lets them get through dinner, the quiet and Chase’s fidgeting stretching into anxious tension, and he sips his beer.

  His son always breaks if John waits him out, and there’s a chocolate cake with raspberry drizzle in his kitchen—whatever the hell they’re about to tell him, he’s pretty sure he’s in no rush to hear it.

  “We need to talk to you,” Chase says eventually, after John’s happily eaten a slice of the cake and Chase did his best to hide his dismay over it. Even Tyler kind of smirked at that.

  He leans back in his chair and studies Chase in the twilight. “Am I going to arrest one of these men over this conversation?” he asks.

  Chase goes red. “Jesus Christ, Dad, I’m not with either of them!”

  Well, that’s a relief. He flashes a small, not quite apologetic smile at Lucas and Tyler. “Can’t blame me for being a little concerned, son. If you had the right parts for it, I’d be sure you’re about to tell me you’re pregnant.”

  Chase’s eyes almost bug out of his head and he chokes, spitting out, “Werewolves.”

  John arches an eyebrow. What?

  Tyler groans. “Fuck, Chase. We talked about this.”

  Chase flails at him. “Yeah, well, in our talk, we didn’t account for that asshole having a sense of humor.”

  Tyler makes a noise that’s almost a growl and Lucas clears his throat. Both of them go quiet and Lucas says, “Would you like to try again, or should I?”

  “No,” Chase says, and for just a moment, watching his son looking at Lucas and Tyler, a silent conversation happening between the three of them, John almost feels invisible, like they exist in a bubble he can’t enter. Chase straightens his shoulders. “I have to do this.”

  Lucas nods once and Tyler stands. Chase doesn’t seem that surprised to be tugged up by the wrist and hauled to the porch swing, and he doesn’t seem surprised to be pulled against the older man—he acts like being manhandled and cuddled by Tyler fucking Reid is normal.

  John is wondering if maybe he does need to pull out his gun, before Lucas says, “Chief, if you’d like to join us? Chase will explain everything.”

  They’re watching him, expectant and hopeful, and John’s never been able to deny Chase when he looks at him like that.

  He sits down in the rocker next to them while Lucas presses one foot against swing and sets it in motion. “You're up, pup,” he says.

  Chase takes a deep breath. “The Reid accident, I told you that it was intentional, that Tyler knew it was, that he’d seen something, but you could never find a motive.”

  “I looked,” John says, and Lucas is unnaturally still, his eyes glittering strangely in the deepening light. “But the Reids were loved in this town. There was no reason for the accident.”

  “There was,” Chase says. He stares at John and for just a heartbeat, John feels like he’s teetering, about to tip into something he can’t crawl out of. “The Reids are werewolves. They were being hunted.”

  ~*~

  “Get out,” John says.

  Lucas is surprised to realize that the man isn’t even angry. Tyler’s grip on Chase tightens.

  “Dad,” he starts.

  John shakes his head. “Chase, they’re lying to you. You can’t—”

  “They’re not. God, Dad, don’t you think I’d know?”

  “I think you were a child when they found you and you would have believed anything.”

  There’s the anger, Lucas thinks.

  “I’m not a child now!” he shouts.

  Tyler sighs. “Chase,” he murmurs. Chase snarls at him.

  “He’s not lying,” Lucas says, “He has no reason to lie. None of us do.”

  “Werewolves aren’t fucking real!” John barks.

  Lucas can hear it, the thread of fear that fury is not quite covering. He looks at Chase. This is Chase’s father, and Chase is his Shaman, and this might have been what they should have done to start with—but it is Chase’s choice, always. He waits, then slowly, Chase sighs and pulls away from Tyler with a nod.

  “Show him,” Chase whispers. John starts to curse, and Lucas—

  ~*~

  The shift burns like a healing fire. Not like Mia’s fire that night in the woods, but a warm wave of sweet familiar heat, the magic of what he is changing, remaking him. He stares up at them, in his wolfskin while Lucas shifts on two feet in beta form, and John—

  John curses and pulls his gun.

&n
bsp; ~*~

  Chase gives a wordless shout and leaps forward between John’s gun and the monsters behind him. Fear rips through John as Lucas—Jesus fucking Christ, that’s Lucas—reaches for him, clawed hands wrapping around him.

  Chase shoves the older man behind him without even looking, heedless of the claws and fangs and the glowing fucking eyes, and stares at his father. His heart is pounding and his hands would be shaking if he weren’t clenching his gun. He wants desperately to yank Chase into his arms, to put himself between his son and these creatures.

  “Dad, I know this is shocking, I do, but I need you to put the gun away.”

  “Step away from them,” he grits out, fear making his voice shake. “Chase, they—that thing could kill you.”

  Tyler snarls and Lucas growls, low and vicious. How the hell two creatures that terrifying can look that offended is completely beyond him.

  “They won’t,” Chase says, “They can’t.”

  That jerks John’s attention away from them and he looks at Chase, who’s standing between two werewolves and him, looking like he belongs there.

  “I can show you, but I need you to give me the gun first.” John hesitates and Chase waits calmly. “Trust me, Dad.”

  He doesn’t like it, but they’re all waiting, patient and not threatening and that—Chase’s quiet hopefulness and the confidence in his eyes—makes him slowly hand the gun to Chase. He disarms it quickly and tucks it away with a familiar ease that makes the wolf—Tyler—whine at him. He pets the wolf’s head, then steps off the porch, and for a moment, the loping graceful figure doesn’t look like his son.

  It doesn’t look like Chase.

  Chase, who touches his wrist, quick and easy, the evening air shimmering. Chase, who turns and smirks at Lucas and says, “Show him,” and this time it’s taunting and smug.

  The werewolf grins, a mouthful of fangs on display. He roars and charges at Chase, and John shouts and—

  Lucas gets tossed back, landing on his ass on the porch steps with a sharp crack that sounds like bone more than wood. John blinks at him and Tyler snarls, leaping at Chase who laughs and flicks his fingers and the wolf flips in the air, slamming into the ground with a whimper. They throw themselves at him over and over, and each time, Chase tosses them back with almost no effort. The one time Lucas gets close, Chase is quick, darting, jabbing at him and twisting away before a flick of his fingers throws him into the railing of the porch with bone rattling force.

  Chase grins at them and rubs his wrist, the air around him shimmering a little before he crouches next to Lucas, “You ok, big bad?”

  “You could pull your punches a little, pup,” he wheezes.

  Chase snorts and stands. “Shift back,” he says easily, watching his father again, “And get Tyler some pants. I’m willing to bet Dad has some questions.”

  ~*~

  John gets two drinks in before Chase takes the liquor bottle from him and sits down. The Reids are in the kitchen cleaning and John thinks that’s the most absurd thing to happen all night, and that includes finding out that werewolves are fucking real.

  “No more of that,” Chase says gently.

  John looks at his son like he’s never seen him before, because he doesn’t know what the hell this man before him is. “How long have you known?”

  Chase stares at him, calm and still. “Remember the Halloween Lucas had seizures?”

  “Jesus Christ, Chase. That was two years ago.”

  “It was safer for you to not know,” Chase says, “I wanted—Dad, I wanted to tell you. Of course I wanted to tell you, but you hated them and then it’d been so long—and it was safe, I was safe.”

  “‘Was’,” John repeats.

  Chase blinks.

  “Was,” Lucas agrees. John watches the werewolves slip back into the room. They circle his son the way they’ve always been prone to do, and it makes sense when he adds werewolves to the goddamn problem.

  Jesus Christ.

  “I’m still safe,” Chase says.

  Tyler snorts his opinion of that.

  “I am,” Chase insists, “It doesn’t want to hurt me!”

  “We don’t know what it wants,” Tyler snaps.

  John lifts his hands. “Alright, children. Maybe you can both shut up and Lucas can explain.”

  Chase settles into the couch, sulking, but Lucas’s eyes are bright and amused as he begins to tell John everything.

  ~*~

  It’s when Lucas explains what a shaman is, what Chase did, that John begins drinking again.

  ~*~

  “When you leave for college,” John starts, and Chase looks at him. The Reids are gone and it’s just them, just the son who he doesn’t know and the house that his wife filled up and hollowed out, and he aches for her, misses her with a fierceness that steals his breath, because she’d know what to do here—she’d know how to help Chase. “Will it stop then?”

  Chase shakes his head. There’s no hesitation there, none at all. “Dad, the ritual I did—I’m bound to the Pack. The Reids had a shaman before me, before the accident. And he was still bound, even though Sarah died and Chelsea left. His bond broke only because I’m here now.”

  “But you could leave. You could go to college, get away from the Standing Stones and the Reids and this....shit.”

  Chase shrugs. “I could.”

  John looks at him, at the stubborn gleam in his eyes that he knows, the one that he gets whenever the Reids come up and he’s going to dig his heels in, and he sighs. “But you won’t.”

  Chase smiles, small and a little bit wistful, like maybe he gets it. Maybe he understands everything he’s giving up. “I won’t.”

  ~*~

  Tyler slips out of his Mustang and approaches the station. The Chief is standing by his cruiser and looks up as Tyler approaches. He eyes him for a long moment.

  He wants to say something and doesn’t know what, doesn’t know how.

  “Will you keep him safe?” John asks finally.

  Tyler nods. “I would die for him.”

  John’s eyes widen just a little and Tyler wonders if maybe he hears what Tyler isn’t saying. Maybe he hears the he is everything, the I need him, the I love him that Tyler can’t say.

  “Just—keep him safe, Tyler. Keep my boy safe,” John says.

  ~*~

  It’s better, now that his dad knows. When John shakes him awake as he sleepwalks, there’s worry but not lost helpless panic that he’s been seeing. When a Reid shows up at his door, anxious and pacing, John rolls his eyes and finds a beer, but generally doesn’t complain when Chase explains it away with a mumbled, “Wolf stuff.”

  “I didn’t realize how much I hated lying to him,” Chase tells Lucas one day as they jog through the preserve.

  “You’re a pack animal, Chase. It’s why you fit with us so well. And it’s why you will always hate lying to the ones you love.”

  Chase hums.

  Lucas tilts his head. “Do you ever think about it? About being one of us?”

  “Sometimes. Mostly on the full moon—I wish I could run with you and Tyler, but I wouldn’t want Chelsea’s Bite. And I like being me. I like being a shaman and human and still being important.” He looks at Lucas like he wants the other man to understand.

  Lucas nods and smiles. “Whatever you are, pup, you are always important.”

  ~*~

  “Where are you applying for college?”

  It’s late October, the day cool, and Aurora is sitting on his couch. He can hear Tyler bickering with someone on the phone as he watches rain slide down the window pane, and she’s watching him, green eyes big and beautiful.

  “I don’t know,” he says.

  Aurora’s face does something complicated, knowing and sad.

  “Chase,” she says patiently, and he shakes his head. “You can’t—”

  “I’m not,” Chase snaps, cutting her off. “But I don’t want to leave my dad. I don’t want to leave.”

  “Everyone w
ants to leave,” she says, exasperated.

  He shakes his head, feeling the quiet hum of his Pack bonds, the thrum of magic in his fingers, the wind moving quietly through the preserve. “I don't. I’ve never wanted to leave.”

  “I don’t understand you,” she says. He nods. She doesn’t. She’s his friend, maybe his best friend aside from Tyler and Lucas. He loves her, but she doesn’t understand him. She can’t.

  There’s too much she doesn’t know.

  ~*~

  On a quiet morning at the end of November, Tyler shows up in Chase’s kitchen.

  He enters wordlessly and Chase pushes him into a seat, gives him water and a bowl of oatmeal. He picks an apple he peels and cuts slices off, passing to Tyler in silence. Tyler makes a face but eats until Chase is pleased, then they rise. The wolf crowds him as they go upstairs to his bedroom. Tyler tugs off his Henley, slips into a pair of sweatpants, and crawls into the center of his bed, immediately curling into Chase when the younger boy joins him, a whine in his throat. Chase makes soothing little noises, shushing him as they arrange themselves in bed, and he pets Tyler’s hair.

  “Where’s Lucas?” he asks, the first thing he’s said since Tyler arrived, the first thing he always asks.

  “Was gone when I woke up. I can feel him. He’s fine,” Tyler says.

  Chase can hear the thread of worry in his voice, even as he dismisses his missing brother. He doesn’t push. He just holds Tyler as the sun rises, holds him as he falls asleep and when he jerks awake, and when he goes so tense it makes Chase ache in sympathy.

  He holds him as Tyler whines and tears fall, and when he whispers, “Chase... Chase, I can still smell it.”

  He holds him until the day is fading, until Lucas slips into his room and curls at their feet, muddy and vibrating with tension and sadness.

  He holds him, until Tyler says softly, “I miss them.”

  He holds him, until he sobs, breaking in his arms, clinging with a desperation Chase knows, that he feels in his bones when he thinks of his mother, that he knows will be gone—hidden away again—tomorrow.

  He holds him until it’s over, until the day ends in a quiet anticlimactic tick of the clock and the anniversary of the anniversary is gone again for another year.