by Dani Harper
Immediately she was hot, so hot. Sweat soaked her clothing, ran down her face. Her breath hitched and she was suddenly more. What was within her was moving to the surface rapidly, almost frantically—but it wasn’t alien in the least. With a burst of insight, she realized that this inner self was as much a part of her as her freckles. Yes. She spread her arms wide and closed her eyes, embracing the sudden duality of awareness. For an instant she was in harmony with everything within her and around her. The sun, the sky, the grass, the earth—all one with her, all feeding her their strength. Tiny sounds like paper crumpling signaled the buildup of electricity in the air.
And then it began.
Zoey fell awkwardly to her knees, buried her hands in the dry grass, knotted her fingers in it, clung for support as she began to shiver uncontrollably.
Bones lengthened, others shortened. Muscles heaved and joints popped. She gritted her teeth, cursing, moaning, clinging to the image of Connor in her mind with all her strength. The moans turned into a sharp prolonged cry as her face contorted and lengthened, as her tailbone uncurled and extended. Fingers shortened, toughened and became paws. Fair skin darkened, blushed gold as soft fur erupted everywhere at once. Blue sparks flew from the tawny pelt.
The cry became a scream. It echoed over the valley and bounced back to her as a long, drawn-out howl.
Then silence.
Zoey drew a deep breath, then another. She could hear the beat of her own heart, the surge of blood in her veins, the rush of air into her lungs. Her awareness fanned outward. The air made delicate sounds as it moved through the blades of grass. Insects thrummed. A tiny rodent wandered nearby and she could hear its footsteps, hear its teeth as it sampled a plant stem. She drew the air through her nostrils and tasted the scents that came with it, sorted out the one that was mouse. She shook herself all over, felt the slide of skin and the toss of fur over her entire body. Did it again because it felt so good. Glanced down at her hands. Omigod, I have paws. She picked them up one at a time. Her limbs were altered, different. For one surreal moment, she panicked at the strangeness of it all. Then ordered herself to get a grip, shook herself again and stepped forward tentatively, testing her balance. To her surprise, it was unexpectedly natural to walk with four legs instead of two.
She raised her head. Her eyesight was keen, the focus sharp and bright. She swept her gaze over the slide, down to the river. Saw the wild water and the fallen tree. Connor. Connor would be there.
Without hesitation, Zoey threw herself over the edge of the coulee, hitting the loose ground running. And took the fastest, most direct route to the river—straight down the very back of the barely-settled slide, racing flat out, uncaring if she brought the whole cliffside down.
Connor was fighting for his life. The slide had thundered down beneath him, forcing him to scramble and fight to stay on top of the tumbling earth. It was like riding the back of an avalanche. He had nearly made it, too, almost escaped when a poplar tree had been flipped end over end by the slide. The uppermost branches had caught him and swept him into the flooded river.
He was pulled under immediately and had to battle to regain the surface. But it wasn’t much safer up there. Huge chunks of debris pushed at him, crashed into him, threatened to shove him under again. The wild current was far too strong for him to be able to fight his way to shore. Fingers of colder water pulled at him from beneath, an undertow that could drag him down. The roar of the water was deafening.
Changeling instincts brought out the inner wolf when threatened and Connor had to fight to persuade his body to stay human. His wolfen form would be disadvantaged here. His only hope was to be able to grab something and hang on, and for that, he needed human hands.
He clung to a heavy tree limb, grateful to ride along for a moment and conserve his strength. He had little left, and he was having trouble drawing much from the water. The roiling energy it contained was too chaotic to control. He was chilled to the bone, wounded, exhausted, and his body was being hammered and scraped by the debris in the water. A human would have drowned already. But even a Changeling wouldn’t last forever against the force of the turbulent river. If he didn’t think of something fast, he’d die here.
Finally Connor caught sight of what might be his best chance. Far ahead, a sliver of earth jutted into the river, the result of another slide. A giant of a tree lolled on its side, reaching nearly a third of the way across the river. The branched crown had been battered away by the brunt of the current and the debris—but half of the tree’s massive root ball was still buried, anchored now by the very slide that had torn it from the hillside far above.
Connor also saw that the powerful current would take him past the tree, swing him just out of reach unless he started angling his way over to it now. Reaching deep for everything he had, he let go of the limb and swam for his life.
He snagged the tree with the tips of his fingers, caught and clung to the end of a broken branch. Muscles screamed and cracked ribs shrieked as he fought to hang on against the force of the current. The tree was a thick and ancient poplar, with a profusion of small branches down the entire length of the trunk. Handholds galore, an abundance of hope. With them he might just make it to the roots at the toe of the landslide—and safety.
The greedy undertow sucked at Connor’s body, dragged at him, as he struggled to pull himself along. He wound his hands, his arms into the blessed branches and allowed himself to rest a moment. His lungs burned and ached, it hurt to breathe, but he could no longer feel the rest of his body. He was cold and tired, so very tired . . . then a sudden movement of the massive poplar jolted him into full alert. He turned his head in time to see the root ball that anchored the tree roll ever so slightly. A couple of inches maybe.
Shit. The toe of the slide was probably unstable, the current gouging away the dirt beneath. He had to move, had to get to shore before the tree washed away. It was only thirty, maybe thirty-five feet away from him but it looked like a mile.
It was a battle to persuade his numb body, his rubbery arms, to cooperate. He managed a few feet, stopping frequently to rest and seek his next handhold. It was brutally hard going, but he was going to make it—
Without warning, a terrible impact slammed the breath from his lungs, stunned him. Above the roar of the water he thought he heard his own ribs breaking. Then he knew nothing at all.
Grateful for the speed of her new form, Zoey raced down the ruined hillside, leaping broken trees, clambering over rocks and debris. Finally she rounded the exposed roots of the forest king and leapt onto its broad trunk.
Connor! He was unconscious, his face barely out of the water. His arms and hands were wound in the tangle of broken boughs, but lax and sliding. Only his shirt, snagged on a jutting branch, kept him from being swept under by the brutal current. And the shirt wouldn’t hold him for long.
Zoey tried to walk out to him but the bark was smooth and wet, the trunk shuddering and vibrating with the force of the wild river. Worse, the tree rolled slightly. Her wolfen feet slipped again and again, claws scrabbling wildly, finding little purchase. She would never get to Connor in time. Even in human form she wouldn’t have the surefootedness to reach him or the strength to pull him to safety. On top of that, the tree was being tugged loose from the spill of earth that held it. Eventually it would give and pitch them both into the raging waters to their death.
That cold realization cleared her mind. And allowed her to hear something inside, calling out to her, offering what she needed.
It was outrageous. It was desperate. And it was necessary. She had no reason to hope it would work, but she had nothing else left to try. Trembling, she closed her eyes for a split second and focused. She needed balance, balance and muscle, and claws for when balance and muscle failed. She needed something she had seen enough to be able to build a detailed picture in her head. Then she knew. A photo assignment had once entailed several visits to a wildlife rehab center. And had gotten her up close and personal with a creature b
eing prepared for release.
She Changed, instantly and easily. And ran to Connor on sure feet.
A puma’s body was amazingly strong, all muscle. A big cat could easily break the neck of an elk, an animal far bigger and heavier than itself, then grab the carcass in its jaws and drag it wherever it pleased. But, Zoey thought as she gently seized the back of Connor’s shirt in her teeth, the puma wouldn’t have to be careful of its prey, wouldn’t be restricted to moving scant inches at a time. She could tell that Connor was terribly injured, and prayed that she wouldn’t make his wounds worse. His heavy denim shirt tore a little and she was forced to pause and shift her grip.
The trunk beneath them shuddered violently, swung a little, and Zoey used her long curving claws to dig in and steady herself. It would take forever to reach the foot of the tree at this rate.
Suddenly she heard Jessie’s familiar voice shouting over the rushing water. “You can do it, girl! We’re right here. We’ll take him from you when you get here.”
Out of the corner of her eye Zoey spotted Jessie and Bill, standing knee-deep in the wild river at the foot of the tree, hanging onto its branches as the water gouged at the slide beneath it. As she watched, two wolves ran up behind them and resolved into Culley and Devlin. More wolves were racing along the riverbanks. She could see Geoff Lassiter and Holt LaLonde. Even little Jeannie Rousseau appeared. The cavalry had arrived if she could just get to them. She would get to them. She had to.
The tree abruptly rolled a few inches and swung farther out into the current. Zoey was forced to scramble for balance, raking the thin smooth bark into ribbons with her claws. When things settled again, she fixed her eyes forward on the roots, half in the air and half in the unstable ground and prayed they would hold just a little longer.
A dozen feet. Ten. Time slowed to a brutal crawl. Eight. Mountain lions were strong but Connor’s tall and muscular build translated to pure dead weight. The water dragged at his body, and every branch along the tree’s trunk impeded Zoey’s progress. Six feet. Five. Her shoulders felt broken, her jaws ached, and her claws threatened to pull out of her toes. Three feet. Two. Home free. Gratefully she surrendered her precious burden to the outstretched hands of her friends. Culley, Devlin, Bill, and Holt carefully supported Connor’s battered and bleeding body between them and carried him to safety. Zoey leapt down from the tree and staggered up the bank after them, to collapse in a heap in the mud.
Culley couldn’t stay in the house a minute longer. He’d been up all night but was forced to concede that he couldn’t do a thing for his injured brother except worry. Time to see what he could do outside. Horizon Dead Livestock Removal had finished their grim task and gone, but they dealt only with large animals. The smaller victims of Bernie’s bloodlust, such as the dozens of dogs and cats, still needed to be buried.
It was heartbreaking work. He chose a spot between the oldest barn and the crabapple orchard, and opened up a long deep trench with a backhoe. That was the easy part. The hard part was gathering up all the creatures that Connor had adopted over the years, and laying them carefully, one by one, in the earth. He’d managed only a handful before Bill found him and joined in the sad task.
The sun was long gone before they finished. They walked back through the silent farmyard, by the empty corrals and paddocks. Culley sighed. “It still doesn’t feel clean. Maybe we could call Eddie Melnick to bring his water truck out in the morning, see if the blood can be hosed off the walls of the buildings. Or maybe someone’s got a pressure washer.”
Bill nodded. “It’ll help. But the only thing that’ll heal this place is new life.”
Connor would no doubt fill the place with rescued pets from his practice again, thought Culley as they walked up the steps to the porch. If he recovered. When. When he recovered. He sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets. He was filthy, tired, and hungry, but he wished more than anything for something else to do, something to occupy his mind and keep it from worrying about Connor.
As if in answer, his attention was caught by the enormous flower bed below, the broken irises and crushed daylilies, and the odd pattern they made, as if something had been dragged through them. “Bill,” he said. “Isn’t that blood on those flowers there?”
“There’s blood over half this farm today, mate.”
“Yeah, but—” Culley didn’t finish. Instead he leapt down into the midst of the garden. And discovered a great deal of blood among the green leaves. Normally he could scent it, even in human form, but today his senses had been overwhelmed. He’d been smelling blood and death all day. Probably one of the poor dogs had been killed in this spot. Yet something about the scene niggled at his instincts. Ah, hell. He called the Change, instantly becoming a great black wolf.
And just as instantly he discerned that the blood was not canine. It was human and he knew the scent.
Helfren.
In a split second, Culley had nosed out the scene and realized that the trail of blood led under the porch. He pressed a paw against the latticework panel. It moved.
“Are you finding anything, mate?” called Bill from the porch.
Culley didn’t answer, but shouldered the loose panel out of the way and slipped beneath the decking and into the darkness. The scent led in a wobbly line through the loose clay soil, and Changeling sight revealed what looked like a pile of rags far back against the foundation of the house. He approached on silent feet, nosed at the body to determine if there was life. He could have spared himself the trouble. Tad Helfren’s eyes flew open and he began screaming.
Shit! He couldn’t calm the man as a wolf, so Culley immediately resumed his human form without thinking. He cursed as he cracked his head against the decking above him. “Helfren, it’s okay. Settle down, man. Help is here.”
“Get away from me! I know what you are!”
Something whizzed through the air and Culley instinctively caught it before it hit him. He couldn’t see much in his human form, but the feel of it in his palm was enough. A cell phone. He slipped it into his pocket to check out later. “How bad are you hurt?”
There was no reply. Culley felt for a pulse, was relieved to find one. It was faint and thready but Helfren was still alive. He must have passed out.
“What have we got, mate?” Bill had taken off the lattice panel and was leaning in.
“Big trouble, and he’s going to die if we don’t hurry.”
Faint sunlight flickered over Connor’s face, teasing at his awareness until he opened his eyes a little and blinked. Slowly his bedroom came into focus. Try as he might, he couldn’t imagine how he had come to be there. An icy thread of unease ran through him.
Where was Zoey?
Connor tried to find his voice to call her, but managed only a faint croak. He gave up and searched for Zoey with his mind. He felt unspeakable relief when he found her immediately. She was close, very close. Beside him, in fact, sound asleep. Connor moved his left hand a little, was surprised that his entire chest erupted with pain from the small effort. Was even more surprised when his fingers encountered not warm, soft skin but thick, plush fur. Fur?
“Zoey,” he whispered haltingly. “Zoey, wake up.” Connor had to fight to find the strength just to turn his head. He managed it just as an enormous mountain lion yawned hugely in his face. Shock was far too tame a word for what went through him as tremendous fangs gleamed scant inches away. The jolt was complete when the powerful jaws closed and he could see the creature’s eyes. Brilliant shining amber like a falcon’s eyes. His little falcon.
“Honey, what big teeth you have!” He mustered a weak grin even as he struggled to keep unconsciousness from claiming him again.
“The better to save your ass with.” Culley’s voice came from somewhere to his right, but Connor didn’t take his eyes from the puma.
“Is she okay? What the hell happened?”
“Everything happened, it seems, just before we got there. The whole Pack turned out to trail you when we realized you’d gone of
f on your own. The valley was a frickin’ mess, slides everywhere—”
“Zoey. Tell me about Zoey.”
“Right, well she hasn’t quite got the hang of mindspeech yet, so only Jessie’s been able to communicate with her. All I know is that we thought you’d been caught in one of the landslides and so the Pack was searching the slopes and the riverbanks. Suddenly I spot the biggest mountain lion I’ve ever seen in my life, and it’s got you by the scruff of your shirt, carrying you like a damn antelope. And then Jessie says it’s not a lion, it’s Zoey. She must have plucked you out of the water, but I don’t know how. That damn tree you were on was rolling like a ship on high seas. She got you to shore just before the river took it away.”
“Why the hell is she a lion? How the hell did she Change in the first place? Who helped her?”
Culley shook his head. “Nobody, bro. She didn’t have anybody with her, she did it all on her own. Gives me the willies to think of her Changing without any help. She could have—well, you know what might have happened. But I guess she was trying to save you, and she’s one determined woman.”
Connor felt the blood in his veins turn to ice water. “Jesus.”
“It probably helped that she had some natural ability to help her, some instincts to guide her.”
“What instincts could she possibly have to draw on?” Connor didn’t think Zoey’s psychic abilities would be much help in such a situation. “She wasn’t born a Changeling.”
“Well, that’s where the lion thing comes in, bro. Jessie says she’s theriona, that she can probably become anything she wants.”
Theriona . . . “Christ, Bernie was right.”
“Bernie? He had this figured out?”