by Dani Harper
Abruptly he was standing by her chair. She hadn’t even seen him move. “Don’t touch me,” she ordered, but it came out as a whisper.
“I need to help you with this, honey. Do you think I’d hurt you? Are you that afraid of me?”
It was the right button to push. “I’m not afraid of you. I just don’t need—” Zoey hissed as Connor’s large, powerful hands gently cupped her pounding head. Long, strong fingers rested lightly over pulse points. She shivered as her vision swam, as the pain reared up in a searing wave. For a fleeting moment she thought she would faint.
“Steady, baby. Just breathe.” Connor’s voice was both a balm and an anchor. “Breathe with me, okay? Nice and slow. One, two . . . .”
She gasped in a shuddering breath, then let it out. Did it again. There was an odd warmth spreading from Connor’s fingers. It seeped into her skull, smoothed the jagged throbbing edges of the migraine. Miraculously, the pressure eased, the roaring waves of pain began to recede. His fingers were gentle as they combed through her long russet hair, uncovered the back of her neck.
“Hell of a knot here, little falcon.” He circled it lightly until the tension slipped away, then ran his hands along her shoulders, and planted a kiss on the top of her head.
Zoey opened her eyes slowly. The light didn’t stab at her. She turned her head from side to side, cautious, testing. And blew out a breath. “God, that’s better. That’s a lot better. I feel almost human.” She eyed him warily. “How did you do that?”
“You sound like I used black magic. It’s just a skill. The lady at the health food store over on Third can do the same thing. It’s a matter of shifting energy, balancing it.”
She’d heard of it, although she hadn’t experienced it before. “Thanks. Whatever it was, it did the trick. I appreciate it.” Something twigged at her memory.“What was that you called me?”
“When?”
“A few minutes ago when you were working on my head.”
“Oh. Little falcon.”
“I see. I’ve been demoted from honey to a predatory bird?”
“It’s not—well—” He looked almost sheepish. “I’ve been calling you little falcon, at least to myself, from Day One. It’s the first thing I thought of when I saw you on the roof of your truck. You were soaked and frozen and scared but still ready to take me on if I so much as breathed the wrong way. That ferocious look in those amber eyes of yours reminded me of a falcon that was brought into the clinic once.”
“Still doesn’t sound like much of an endearment.”
“Trust me, it’s a compliment. I was very impressed with the courage and tenacity of that angry little bird.” He held out his left hand and turned it just so. “See? I still have a scar on my thumb.”
“How sweet. And this reminds you of me?”
“You’re brave and strong and beautiful, just like the falcon.”
There was nothing but sincerity in his voice. She studied his face, his eyes, and was startled to see them drawn and exhausted. Apparently she hadn’t been the only one missing sleep. A stray lock of dark hair hung over one of his eyes and she found herself wanting to smooth it back. She’d been ready to tell him to leave, plead her need to sleep and send him away. But she couldn’t make herself do such a thing now.
Perhaps he sensed the change because he pressed his advantage. “We need to talk, Zoey. We need to set things right between us.”
“I know it,” she said quietly, realizing there was no sense putting off the discussion any longer. She rose carefully, relieved that she was no longer dizzy or nauseous, and followed Connor to the living room. What he could say to make things better, she couldn’t imagine, but she was praying fervently he would come up with something she could accept. Because she’d tried to imagine a future without him in it, and it was a bleak and aching void. She wrapped her arms around herself as much for comfort as to defend against such a prospect.
“Come sit down, honey. I have a lot to say and you need to be comfortable.”
“What I need is a damn good explanation, Connor.”
“I have one. Come and sit.”
He patted the cushion next to him, but she chose the far end of the couch instead. She didn’t trust herself to be too close—it would be far too easy to melt into his arms, to start kissing him and not stop. She needed to hear what he had to say first. She resisted the silly impulse to clutch a throw pillow in front of her like a shield.
“I’m sorry I didn’t handle things well the other day,” he said.
Relief flooded through her. He was apologizing. Things were going to be okay—
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what I might have done differently, but there just wasn’t enough time.”
“I guess I left too soon.” She could meet him halfway. “I was really upset.”
“I know you were, and I’m sorry it had to be that way. There’s even less time now.”
“We’ve got lots of time. We can take all the time we want to work this out.”
He shook his head. “There are only two weeks before the full moon.”
Full moon? She jumped to her feet. “No way, not this crap again. Don’t you dare—”
He was off the couch and had hold of her upper arm in a flash. “No, don’t you dare. This time, you’re going to listen.” His eyes had gone dark with barely repressed fury. “Just because you don’t understand something, it doesn’t make it any less true. Do you think I’m getting off on this? Do you think I’ve made all this up so I can get my jollies by torturing you with it? I wish like hell I had buckets of time to ease you into this gradually, but I don’t. Or more accurately, you don’t. Whether you like it or not, whether you believe me or not, your life is on the line. You’ve got to trust me and let me help you.”
Zoey studied the man looming over her. His anger made him seem even larger than usual. There was no possibility of getting her arm back—he wasn’t hurting it, but until he relaxed his steel grip, she knew she wasn’t going anywhere. Still, she wasn’t afraid of him, not yet, anyway. It was his delusions that were terrifying her. “Why are you doing this to me? Why are you telling me these things? I don’t understand, Connor.”
“I’m telling you the truth. Feel it, read it in my mind. You have enough of a psychic gift to at least sense it if you’ll let yourself.” He let go of her arm and began to pace the apartment. Told her the story all over again. He was able to become a wolf. She was going to become one too.
It didn’t sound any more plausible to Zoey the second time around. Or the third. Or the fourth. She tried hard to wrap her head around what he was saying, tried to look at it symbolically, metaphorically, in fact, every way she could think of. Except literally, of course, although Connor kept insisting she should take it that way. Finally she buried her face in her hands. Her head was pounding again, she was tired beyond belief, and her heart felt as if it had been ripped out by the roots. She loved Connor Macleod more than she’d thought possible to love anyone—and some terrible mental illness was standing between them like an iron fence. A movement caught her eye and she pushed her hair out of her face with her hands and slumped to sit on the floor with her back against the couch. She watched bleakly, too miserable to even be curious, as Connor abruptly shoved the coffee table to one side. For a moment he just stood there in the open space, holding her gaze with those pale gray eyes that moved her so. And then a flash of green fire appeared in their depths.
Zoey had been on a golf course once when a lightning bolt struck just yards away, an explosion of light and sound and raw power that had shaken the ground beneath her. She could feel something like it now, right here in her living room. A sudden sensation of static electricity, the lifting of the hair on her neck, the ozone whiff in the air, a thrum of power that vibrated bone-deep. . . . She was about to warn Connor, when suddenly he wasn’t there anymore. In his place stood an immense wolf, bright sparks of static crackling in its fur.
Chapter Twenty-two
Had she s
napped? Had Connor managed to pull her into his fantasy world? Zoey swallowed hard and took a slow, shaky breath to steady herself. Now was not the time to figure out how a wolf came to be in her apartment. Options. There have to be options. Maybe she could lock herself in the bathroom or barricade herself in the bedroom. Too far. The wolf would be on her before she could make it. The hallway—if she could make it to the hallway of the apartment building, she could close the beast in, call for help. But the wolf was between her and the door. A weapon? Maybe she could hit it with something, stun it, distract it just long enough. . . .
So far, the wolf hadn’t moved. It merely sat and regarded her, its head tilted to one side, its great jaws gaping into a huge sharp-toothed grin. Could she catch it off guard? The door to the hallway was to her right. She made a feint to the left and gasped as the massive wolf leapt to its feet—but it didn’t attack her. Instead, it jumped into her recliner with enough force to open it up. She was about to make her break for the door, when the wolf caught her attention. It was lying on its back across the chair, feet paddling the air, head hanging over the end of the footrest, mouth open, tongue lolling.
My God, is it crazy? Maybe it’s rabid. It was far too big for the chair. The powerful creature looked absolutely ridiculous. I must be nuts too. Stop looking at the wolf and get out of here!
But she couldn’t take her eyes off the wolf. It rolled onto the floor and crouched there, bouncing on its front paws like an oversized puppy, filling the air with little excited barks. Then it seized the remote off the coffee table with careful teeth and tossed it at her.
Zoey caught the remote more out of instinct than intent. The enormous wolf was looking at her expectantly and yipped again. She found herself wanting to respond, wanting to join in the insanity and toss the remote. Quickly she shoved the impulse away. There was something else pressing on her conscious mind, something familiar that she should know but couldn’t quite grasp.
The wolf wouldn’t give up, however. It came creeping toward her on its belly, whining softly, wagging its tail. She was so mesmerized by its silly performance that she failed to realize it was within reach of her foot. Before she could yank it away, a broad pink tongue flicked out and licked her bare toes.
“Don’t do that!” Zoey yanked her foot away. Great, now I’m talking to it! She felt behind her for the couch, wondered if she could jump up and over it successfully before the beast got any closer. Would that give her a second or two to make it to another room? Suddenly the huge animal was right next to her. It rolled onto its back, still making soft little whining sounds, nudging her leg with its nose.
His nose. The animal was definitely male. The wolf wriggled itself up close to her, begging for her attention like an oversized dog. Hesitantly, knowing it was insane but still unable to resist, Zoey reached out and touched the silvery fur on the animal’s chest, then found herself looking directly into its strange pale eyes. Pale gray eyes. . . .
Several things rocketed through her brain at once. Silver pelt marked with a black saddle. The wolf that had protected her. In her dreams. In reality.
“Connor?”
The wolf yipped and rolled upright. She reached out to touch him again, an expression of wonder on her face. Ran her hands through the thick soft fur around his muscled neck, inhaled the primal scent of him. The wolf from her dream. The man she loved. “You’re the same. Omigod, you’re the same. All this time. I didn’t know, I didn’t understand.”
The great wolf leaned in to nuzzle her russet hair, licked her face softly, washing away the tears that ran freely.
You had no way of knowing, little falcon.
Zoey jumped backward as if the animal had snapped at her. The words had resounded clearly in her head. “You didn’t . . . you couldn’t . . . you just—”
Talked to you. Yes I did.
“I can hear you! Omigod, I can hear you! Connor!” She automatically touched her ears with her hands, although she hadn’t heard the words physically.
Of course, you can hear me. You’re psychic, remember? Most of the Pack can talk to each other just like this.
“Of course I can . . .” She laughed a little desperately, and shook her head. “Good grief, look at me. I’m sitting in my living room with a telepathic wolf.”
Changeling.
“Changeling. Wolf and human together. Is it—are they equal parts of you? Are you really half and half or is one side in charge of things?”
His snort of laughter tickled the inside of her head. Some days I wonder. But both sides love you with everything they have. He licked her face once more then backed away a few steps, holding her gaze with his.
Electricity suddenly crackled through Zoey’s hair and prickled her skin. Something unknown called her, pulled at her, brought forth a strange yearning from deep within her . . . In an instant it was gone and she saw Connor’s face appear through a whirl of blue sparks. Without thinking, she leaned forward to brush the hair back from his eyes.
“Ow!” A powerful static charge snapped from his face to her fingers as she accidentally grounded the electricity. He had the nerve to laugh, even as he took her hand and kissed it better. “I’m afraid you have to watch out for that, honey. It’s like shuffling your feet across the carpet and touching a doorknob, but a helluva lot stronger.” He sat down beside her at the foot of the couch and gathered her under his arm, kissed the top of her head. “Devlin developed a theory about how much power is collected, so after a few beers one night, he set a lightbulb on the floor beside him and Changed while we all watched to see what would happen. The bulb lit up all right, then it exploded. Culley and Kenzie picked a lot of glass slivers out of his hide that night.”
Zoey turned to study his face. “I’m not dreaming. Unless I’ve fallen down Alice’s rabbit hole, it’s all really true, isn’t it? I’m going to wake up in the morning and this will have really happened.”
“Yup, ’fraid so.”
“And your brothers are like you?” Her thoughts tumbled like stones in a polishing drum, becoming brighter and clearer with every turn. A lot of things were beginning to make sense.
“My whole family actually. You’ve already met Culley in his furry form.”
“I have?”
“The clinic. My office.”
“The big black—but that was a dog!” Suddenly she wasn’t sure.
“No, it was a big black wolf doing a terrific impression of a big black dog. What can I say? The boy’s got a helluva knack.”
Werewolves doing impressions . . . She filed that surreal thought away for the moment. “How about your friends?”
He nodded. “The Watsons are Changelings. A few others as well.”
“Aha!” She pointed her finger at him. “Lowen Miller, right?”
“Nope.”
“No? But he didn’t seem very surprised when . . .” she trailed off.
“No doubt you told him I thought I was a wolf. And Lowen didn’t react because he’s known about Changelings for years.”
“You’re kidding. There are ordinary humans that know about you and it hasn’t been on CNN or National Geographic? How can that be?”
“Maybe Changelings choose their friends well.”
“And maybe nobody believes anybody that talks.”
“That helps a lot.”
“But Helfren believes. And I’ll bet a lot of his readers believe too.”
“His belief didn’t give him any credibility in your office.”
“No. No, it sure didn’t.”
She leaned over and laid her head on his shoulder, shaken to the core by the wonder and the enormity of what he’d revealed to her. The world as she knew it had abruptly changed forever. “I guess I’ll have to apologize for not believing you.”
“No need. It’s too much to ask anyone to believe all at once,” he said, stroking her hair and leaning down to brush it with his lips. “You were pretty damn brave, you know. Bill fainted when Jessie Changed in front of him the first time. And don�
�t ever tell him I told you.”
“You gotta be kidding. Bill? But he’s a wolf too, right? I mean, he can be a wolf when he wants to be?”
“Yes. Jessie gave him the gift. She’s Pack leader, by the way. We usually run together.”
Sure you do. It still sounded bizarre to Zoey. Maybe it wouldn’t in time, but today? Definitely the stuff that role-playing video games were made of. Still, Bill and Jessie seemed normal, appeared to be perfectly happy. They ran a business, held barbecues for their friends . . . Why wasn’t she surprised that Jessie was a pack leader? You think size matters? Zoey found herself chuckling at this new spin on her friend’s words.
Connor squeezed her shoulders. “What’s so funny?”
“Well, it all makes the Hollywood stereotype seem so silly—you know, tormented human turns into werewolf and eats everyone in sight. Bill and Jessie are so friendly and sweet, it’s—” Suddenly her own words sank in. “Omigod,” she whispered, covering her mouth with her hands as if to stifle the words. Menzie. Images of the farmer’s terrified face, his torn body, flashed through her mind. Was there something Connor wasn’t telling her? Was there a dark side to his dual nature? What about his family and friends? They all seemed like normal human beings by day—but what were they, really, by night?
And dear God, what was she about to become?
“You’re not going to turn into a vicious killer.” Connor followed Zoey throughout the house as she paced. She was frantic and frightened, but he had to give her credit for holding herself together.
“He bit me. You told me he’s my sire. If I can get this goddamn werewolf virus from him, why not the homicidal tendencies?”
“Bernie’s crazy for a reason, and it has nothing to do with a virus or genes or anything else.” Connor searched for a way to address her fears. “He can’t pass that on to you.”
“And no one else has whatever he has? Because I need to know that he’s the only one, Connor. Tell me that the rest of you don’t go out in the middle of the night and gobble up hitchhikers and homeless people.”