Changeling Moon

by Dani Harper

  He burst out laughing. “I guess she does look like a bear, especially in the dark. Lila, come here and meet Zoey.”

  “But—” Zoey froze as the creature marched over. It was even bigger up close, and its broad head was level with her waist. It snorted loudly as it smelled her up and down with a wide black muzzle. Suddenly a huge tail emerged from the shaggy shape and began to wag. “Omigod, it is a dog!”

  “Newfoundland. An old breed, specifically developed to protect children and save people from drowning.” Connor waggled his fingers and Lila went to him at once. “Here, pet her,” he called to Zoey. “Lila’s a great mom. She’s fostered dozens of orphans over the years, even litters of kittens and a couple of piglets.”

  Zoey reached out tentatively and ran her fingers through the thick reddish-black fur in wonder. “It’s so soft—and there’s so much of it!”

  “Don’t be fooled, there’s a lot of dog under it too. Lila’s big, even for her breed. She weighs better than a couple hundred pounds, so don’t let her lean on you.”

  Suddenly the high-pitched whine of puppies could be heard. The dog chuffed once and trotted into the barn.

  “See?” said Connor, flipping on a light switch beside the door. “She’s always on the job.”

  They followed the big dog and found her lying on her side as several puppies clambered their way to her teats. There were five big balls of fuzz—baby Newfs, Zoey assumed—and between them wriggled four small boxer pups, their white markings standing out in stark contrast to the ocean of black fur that surrounded them. Connor knelt beside the group and held out a hand for Zoey, pulling her down with him.

  “They’ve grown!”

  “The pups were small to start with but I think they’ve caught up nicely. Even yours isn’t much of a runt anymore.”

  “He’s not a runt!” she retorted. And he wasn’t. Three of the pups were chestnut with white feet and white faces. Her puppy had those white markings too but the rest of his coat was dark and uniquely striped. Brindle, Connor had explained. She remembered the feel of the pup in her hands, so tiny as she tried to get him to breathe. . . . Now he was plump, almost roly-poly and every bit as big as his three boxer littermates. “He’s gorgeous.”

  She couldn’t help being glad, however, that he’d never grow as big as the Newf puppies would become. It would be too much like having a pony in her apartment.

  “You got a gorgeous name for him yet?”

  “No,” she chuckled. “And it won’t be a silly name either. I just haven’t had time to think about it yet. When can I take him home?”

  “Ideally, he needs about five more weeks, maybe six. We want him to get a good start. But he needs to be socialized, so I’d encourage you to visit a lot.”

  “I’d like to pick him up but he’s busy eating.”

  “He’s going to chow down a little longer and then he’s going to fall asleep. Maybe we’ll come back later, after we have our own dinner. It should be ready now.”

  “Okay.” She trailed her fingers over his fuzzy little body. He was so warm, so soft. She jumped as Lila’s wide black nose bumped her hand suddenly.

  “She’s just making sure you’re being gentle enough,” laughed Connor.

  “I guess I don’t have to worry about him with Lila on the job!”

  “Not a bit.”

  Connor’s arm was around her shoulders as they walked back to the house. When her heart began racing, she slid away and held his hand instead. The little extra distance didn’t help much. She was finding it impossible to be close to this man and not want him. Any moment, she was in danger of drooling.

  She almost did drool when he opened the front door but it was a reaction to the savory aroma that met them. Her stomach growled, and she was grateful for the distraction as she followed Connor to the kitchen, to the table set in a spacious breakfast nook. The bay window overlooked the back of the property, where the land sloped away to a river that ran silver beneath the twilight sky. The hills beyond had turned to dark blue and purple, while above them, the evening star seemed impossibly bright. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

  “It is, isn’t it? You can see why the dining room doesn’t get used much.” He lit a trio of votive candles on the table and switched off the overhead light. “You can see it better this way. I’ve got the same view upstairs too, from my bedroom balcony.”

  His bedroom . . . a tiny thrill shivered through her and her mouth went dry. She definitely wanted to see that room, and it was strangely irritating that she wanted it so much. The hangover made everything irritating, of course, but the nap and the elixir had taken the raw edge off that. Nope, it had to be plain old unfinished business—the business she and Connor had begun in the Watson side yard. Sure, she’d had the best orgasm of her life, but she couldn’t help wanting more. Wanting it all . . . Flustered, she rubbed her hands over her face and through her hair, and tried to focus on the exquisite view, the pattern of the wood on the table, the color of the pottery dishes, anything but what she’d like to be doing with Connor Macleod.

  Oven mitts in hand, Connor paused to look at Zoey, appreciating anew her thick russet hair. It wasn’t tied back tonight, but fell free in soft waves that gleamed red in the candlelight. He wanted to gather it in his hands while he kissed every golden freckle on her body. She was staring out at the twilit scene, but he had the feeling she wasn’t seeing it—and suddenly he caught the subtle scent of pheromones newly released. His groin tightened and the wolf within stirred restlessly, but remained at bay. He breathed a quick thanks to Jessie and the corded bracelet he now wore on his wrist. She’d made it look like simple braided hemp with scattered stone nuggets. Close inspection revealed tiny bits of fur and a wolf’s tooth woven into it. A gris-gris, Jessie had called it. Whatever it was, he was damn grateful it was working. He was taking Zoey Tyler to bed tonight, come hell or high water, and his inner wolf wouldn’t be able to get in the way.

  He shook himself, struggling to get his mind back on food, and pulled a pair of steaming pies from the oven. Zoey jumped a little as he set them on the table, and he had the satisfaction of knowing exactly where her thoughts had been.

  “Smells wonderful,” she said.

  So do you. “Before you get any notion that I can cook, this is strictly a Watson specialty,” he said as he cut into one of the pies and set a slice on her plate. “Rosemary Chicken.”

  “Bill and Jessie do takeout?”

  “Not exactly. They showed up at the clinic one day during winter calving season a few years ago and asked if I’d try the catering service they were starting. They offered to stock the fridge with meals at cost in return for getting feedback on the service. I was up to my armpits in cases and not paying enough attention, so I said yeah, sure, fine. As it turns out, the food was a godsend. Individual meals of every description, ready to nuke and serve.”

  “Perfect for a busy veterinarian.”

  “And his grateful assistants. Believe me, they were happy. Meanwhile, Bill and Jessie just kept stocking the fridge every week like clockwork. It was a month after calving season before I finally clued in that there was no catering service to be tested. Turns out that Birkie had given up trying to get me to eat properly, so she plotted with the Watsons to fix the problem. Worked like a charm, and the clinic fridge has been full ever since. This one too, when I’m not looking.”

  “Sounds like the Watsons have adopted you. Did you get to know them at the Diner?”

  “Actually I met Bill when I was facedown in a muddy corral. Rob Garrick raises rodeo stock and I was getting ready to do a herd health inspection for him when his newest bull decided he didn’t want me in the corral. Knocked me down without any warning.” The bull, a 2,200-pound spotted monster with long curved horns, had been utterly unstable.

  “My God, were you hurt?”

  “He hit me pretty hard. For the first couple of moments I just lay there stunned,” explained Connor. “Then this red-haired giant jumped the fence, hollering a
nd swinging a shovel like an avenging angel with a sword. Hauled my sorry butt out of there. Probably saved my life.”

  In truth, if the massive animal had attacked him again, death wouldn’t have been the worst outcome. Having his life in imminent danger would have triggered Connor’s powerful survival instincts. He would have Changed to wolf form right there in broad daylight for anyone to see.

  “Anyway, Bill drove me to the clinic, where Lowen told me I had a broken shoulder and five cracked ribs.”

  “Ouch. So you guys have been friends ever since?”

  “Ever since we barbecued that miserable animal.” And discovered they shared a passion for singing under a full moon. Connor had been aware of new wolves in the area for a few days. He had been delighted to discover his rescuer was one of them.

  Zoey laughed. “You’re kidding!”

  “Really and truly. I told Rob plainly this bull would kill somebody if he took it on the circuit. He’d already had plenty of trouble with it so that was that. Both Bill and I had a freezer full of beef by the end of the week. I split mine with Lowen and Bev.”

  Zoey was quiet for a long moment. “Jessie tells me you can talk to animals,” she said at last.

  He looked at her steadily, and part of him couldn’t help being captivated anew by Zoey’s amber eyes. The flicker of candles brought out a golden light in them, reminding him once again of that long-ago falcon he’d treated. Fierce and beautiful. “Not in so many words. And not to that particular bull. I couldn’t reach him at all. Didn’t sense what he was about to do either. But usually, yes, I know what an animal feels, what it needs. Usually I can get across what I want them to do, too. Stand still, lift a paw, whatever. It comes in pretty handy in my practice. It also came in handy tonight—I told the welcoming committee to go hang out by the river until I called them.”

  “And they just went?”

  “Sure they did. In their eyes, I’m their pack leader.”

  “I could certainly see that they adored you.” She laid her silverware across her empty plate and sat back. “Look, I have to ask. Are you psychic? Jessie says that’s how you knew the wolf was there last night before anyone heard it. Before I knew it was there.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Just like that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re so matter-of-fact about it. Your face, your expression—I don’t know, it’s like asking someone if the sky is blue. As if it were an everyday occurrence to know the future in advance.”

  “For some people, it is. Look at you, for instance. You know things too, see things. You saw a wolf in my face last night.”

  Zoey laughed at that. “That was hardly prophetic. That was just weirdness. I was bone-tired and had a drink on an empty stomach. Seeing things. That’s all.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” She didn’t sound certain at all. “Look, Jessie says your gift is really solid. But mine’s flaky and seeing your face turn into a wolf just proves it. I’d been dreaming about that wolf, so it was already on my mind. Case closed.”

  “Uh huh. Is it my imagination or are you a teensy bit defensive about your gift?”

  “I’m not—okay, I guess maybe I am. You and Jessie keep calling it a gift. My mom, her sisters, and my grandmother do too. Me, I’m not so sure.” She told him what she had shared with Jessie, her fears and her frustrations. Especially the frustrations.

  “So you want it to tell you things in advance, give you time to warn people, help people.”

  “Of course I do! What good is it if all I get to do is stand over bodies?”

  “You write their stories. And you tell the truth. That’s something.”

  “Not enough, not for me. I will never forget that child’s face, the one killed by the drive-by—” She choked up then. And she obviously hadn’t meant to say so much. Connor said nothing, just waited as she took a few breaths and cleared her throat. Her voice was much softer when she spoke again. “I don’t want to just record tragedy. I don’t think I can. I think it would break something in me after a while.”

  Connor reached across the table then and held her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “Can’t anyone in your family teach you how to focus your talent? I once heard psychic ability described as a radio receiver of sorts, and if that’s so, perhaps you can learn to tune in to the signal.”

  She shook her head. “My mother, my aunts, my grandmother—none of them have a clue how to instruct in that area because they’ve all had their talent in spades pretty much since birth. And it’s pretty hard to look for that kind of help in secret. I’ve always tried to keep it hidden from anyone outside of my immediate family.”

  “Why?”

  “Are you kidding? Look, I don’t know what kind of a world you grew up in, but you don’t know what it was like . . . .” She rested her chin in her hand and sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how much the whole book thing still upsets me.”

  It was like pulling teeth, but Connor was prepared to ask questions all night if he had to. “What book thing?”

  She took a deep breath. “My mother is Jayne Tallyson.”

  Connor whistled long and low. “I think I’m getting the picture now.” Jayne Tallyson was a household name. The book was Seeing with an Inner Eye. He’d read it himself more than once, but decided he wouldn’t get any points for saying so.

  “It came out when I was in eighth grade and it became a bestseller.”

  “Did that make things hard for you?”

  “People talk. Adults talk and their kids hear, and then their kids talk. My mom and Aunt Tildy were interviewed on TV. And somebody asked them if everyone in their family was psychic.”

  “They said yes,” he guessed.

  “They sure did. I don’t think they realized what effect it would have on my life. I didn’t share much of it with them for fear of hurting their feelings. But a lot of kids started pestering me to tell their fortunes—you know, tell them what they were getting for their birthday, who their boyfriend was going to be, that kind of stuff. I wouldn’t do it—couldn’t do it even if I wanted to—and they were mad. Some already disliked me because I got good grades, and they thought I cheated through my alleged psychic powers.” Zoey pulled her hand away from Connor’s and began toying with her napkin.

  “So you caught a lot of grief over an ability you didn’t even use. Sounds like high school was pretty rough.”

  She nodded. “Everyone talked about me—kids, teachers, neighbors, store clerks. I was kind of quiet and so they started referring to me as The Weird Kid. So I got even quieter. Creepy Girl. Freakazoid. The only time I was asked for a date in my hometown was when someone dared the guy to do it.”

  “Ouch. That had to hurt a lot.”

  “It sure does when you’re a teenage girl. I applied to a college on the other side of the country, someplace where no one knew me. It was a breath of fresh air—for once, I was just like everyone else. I even made a few friends.

  “Then my mother showed up on campus for a surprise visit and somebody recognized her.” She shifted in her chair, stared out the window as if seeing the past before her. “My mother signed autographs for half an hour and accepted an invitation to speak at a sorority that night. I couldn’t deal with it. I walked away and refused to be seen with her, but the damage was done.”

  “She blew your cover.”

  “Big time. She didn’t even understand what was wrong, why I was upset. After she left, things were still okay with a couple of my friends, but others disappeared. You know, the paranormal is really trendy, but people aren’t so excited about it when it turns up in their roommate or their girlfriend.” She turned away from the window, and it hurt him to see so much sadness in her face. “That’s when I decided to change my name. I had to. I changed my major and went to a different university.”

  “You didn’t cut ties with them, did you?” He could understand that she mig
ht have been tempted. It had always been difficult for the children of celebrities to have a life of their own, but in this century’s media-frenzied climate, it would be almost impossible.

  “No, of course not. I phoned Mom every Sunday morning like always. Still do. But I admit, the idea of not telling them where I lived crossed my mind.” She laughed, but not with humor. “Only for about five minutes though. I mean, how do you hide from a family of psychics?”

  “That’d be quite a challenge.”

  “No, the real challenge was making them all promise not to come see me, especially my mother. No more visits, surprise or otherwise. Ever. No mentioning my name in public, no showing family pictures to the media. They didn’t understand then and they still don’t get it. I love them but we still fight about it.”

  Zoey ran a hand through her hair, then put the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Good grief. I didn’t mean to go on so much. It’s just that it’s a new experience for me to talk about this aspect of my life and not have someone think I’m strange or abnormal.”

  “You’re not strange. Not even a teensy bit abnormal.” He tried to make it sound light, but inside him sudden anger flashed like lightning toward whoever or whatever had made this vibrant woman doubt herself for an instant. “You’re perfect just as you are.”

  Zoey took in a breath that was going to come out as a laugh—until she caught sight of Connor’s face. His eyes had gone silvery, and the intensity in them had her swallowing that breath and feeling as if there suddenly wasn’t enough air in the room. Maybe not in the entire atmosphere. . . .

  Without warning, Connor was on his feet, and she was wrapped tight in his powerful arms. He had made love to her with his lips before, but these kisses were hard, hot and hungry, as if he desperately needed to express something he had no words for. As if he simply needed.

  She had needs too. A bolt of pure electricity seemed to rocket through her core, ricochet crazily through her belly and zap her nipples to attention. In fact, every cell in her body was at attention and focused on this man. She needed. Now.