by Dani Harper
I followed her when she was hiking, just wanted to see who she was, why the wolf was so aware of her. I hadn’t planned to approach her but the wolf deliberately stepped out in front of her. It wanted to be seen. By her.
“Good Christ, that must have scared her to death.”
No—that’s the weird part. Turns out that she recognizes the wolf, she knows the wolf. She’s not afraid of it, thinks of it as a friend. Says it helped her or something.
“And you don’t remember doing a thing like that?”
I got this strange flashback, just for a second, where she was a lot younger and hurt somehow, hurt bad. But I can’t remember anything else. And the wolf won’t tell me—
“What do you mean ‘it won’t tell you’? Look, bro, the way you’re talking about your wolf side is really weirding me out.”
How do you think I feel? Like Dr. Jekyll and goddamn Hyde. Tell me how the wolf knows things about her that I don’t. It even knew her name, Connor. Damn wolf didn’t bother telling me until a few days ago. And you know what else is strange? I can hear her. I can hear her in my mind just like I can hear you.
Connor gave a low whistle. “Holy-o shit. That doesn’t happen very often.”
I don’t know what it means.
“It means that in addition to being the best damn vet I’ve seen in years, Jillian may have a few other talents too. Telepathy is rare in humans but it’s not unheard of. Most of them don’t even know they have it. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.” Connor didn’t quite believe that however. Not in light of everything else he was hearing. He scrubbed a hand over his face and pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. What he really wanted to do was to throw his arms around his brother, punch him, wrestle with him, laugh, cry, and ask a million and one questions. But it sure didn’t seem like the right time. The situation his brother had described was too disturbing on a number of levels. “So what are you doing here in the loft?”
Just trying to figure out why the wolf wants to be near Jillian. Guess I’m hoping Jillian will say something, do something that will trigger my memory.
“And when you remember, if you remember . . . do you think that will fix things for your wolf?”
I don’t know. Maybe not. At least I’ll know what the wolf has in mind, what it wants.
“And what if you don’t agree with the wolf? What if it can’t have whatever the hell it wants? What if it just wants to follow Jillian around like a big dog forever and a day? That could be dangerous for both of you.”
No! No, I won’t do that. I won’t endanger her. The massive creature stood and shook himself. I’ve already drawn that line, and the wolf won’t cross it. I won’t let it.
Considering the strange conversation they’d just had, Connor wasn’t convinced that his brother could effectively leash his wolf nature, but resisted saying so.“Okay. For now, we’ll play it your way. You know that my home is your home, and Zoey feels the very same way. Likewise with the clinic. If it helps you to come here, fine, great. But I’m trusting you to be careful, damn careful, to stay out of sight. Understand?” Connor glanced at his watch and swore under his breath. “Look, I don’t want to go, but I gotta get back and treat one of my cows. She’s been climbing through the neighbor’s wire fence to get into his clover field and picked up some nasty scratches on her belly and udders.”
Best get them before they’re infected. Is it one of your Angus cattle or the little Jersey heifer?
Connor felt a lump the size of a basketball rise in his throat. Of course his brother had seen his farm, observed his livestock and made note of them, even if he was a wolf. Connor had nearly forgotten how gifted James had been as a farmer and rancher. Their father, Ronan, had often declared that his oldest son talked to the earth and its creatures, charmed and persuaded them to produce uncommon quality and yield for him. Connor knew the gift lay in James’s ability to read the land and work with it. Whether it was crops or livestock, he understood the needs and strengths of both and wasn’t satisfied until there was balance and harmony. James had loved that life. Did he ever miss it? Did he ever even think about it? Not trusting his voice, Connor switched back to mind speech. Before I go, I’ll throw some bales so no one will have to climb up here for a while, but for God’s sake, keep your head down, okay?
Head down. The wolf nosed his hand. Careful. Thanks, bro.
Connor didn’t feel as reassured as he would have liked, but he tossed the bales down into the livestock area anyway. Timothy and alfalfa hay for feed, oat straw for bedding. More than the clinic could possibly use in a month. He climbed down after them and stacked them against a wall. “Later, James,” he called out and got an answering yip from the loft. He drove off to attend to the rest of his errands with a lot more on his mind than when he’d started. His brother had spoken, really talked to him, and the years had simply fallen away. It was James and they were close again, as they had always been. I should be ecstatic. I should be doing cartwheels. Instead, he felt uneasy, as if he was missing something.
It wasn’t until Connor was driving home that he identified the real source of the niggling disquiet he felt—ozone.
His eyebrows shot up, and he had to pull the truck to the side of the road for a few minutes to collect himself. Human to wolf or wolf to human, there was always a gathering of static electricity in the air during a Change, and with it came a faint telltale trace of ozone. The same scent that heralded thunderstorms, the same signature left behind by lightning. Had the white wolf tried to Change? Succeeded? Failed? And what did it mean? Connor didn’t know, couldn’t even guess. But he knew what he wanted to believe, what he hoped for. If you’re trying to be human, James, don’t stop. Don’t give up. Fight for it, fight your way back to us.
“My father and I built this operation from nothing, did it all with our bare hands.” Roderick Harrison never let anyone forget that, least of all his son. It was the one thing he didn’t forget even when the Alzheimer’s was especially bad. There were times when the old man either talked to Douglas as if he were five years old again or mistook him for a ranch hand. But he always knew what the Pine Point Ranch was and that it was his.
Knowing the speech by heart, Douglas tuned his father out and headed for the door. Old Varley, the ranch manager, had called down from the horse barn to let him know the Dunvegan vet was just finishing up. It was too damn bad that George was away. Dr. George Taku of Spirit River had been looking after their animals since Douglas was nine or ten. In fact the Harrisons did all of their business in that community. It made sense. Their ranch was several miles closer to the town of Spirit River but Douglas knew full well he’d personally avoided Dunvegan since hearing that one Connor Macleod had set up a practice there. Admit it, Dougie. You’re afraid Macleod might resemble the man your father killed. Afraid he’ll look at you and know you were there, know you didn’t stop it. He slapped the thoughts away. He didn’t know if this Macleod was even related to that long-ago family, and even if it turned out he was, Douglas was determined not to give in to his fears. So determined, in fact, that he was the one who told the manager to call the North Star Animal Hospital when one of the logging horses turned up lame. Just being sensible, he told himself. There was no other vet within two hundred miles, and the horse needed attention. Just plain sensible. Although it had taken several shots of Jack Daniels to help him make that sensible decision.
But it wasn’t Dr. Macleod kneeling beside the horse. Instead, Douglas saw the strange woman from the river trail, and despite his earlier determinations, an icy thread of fear coiled through his belly. Sweat sprang at the base of his spine, fear-sweat, although Dr. Jillian Descharme didn’t look particularly frightening. In fact, she appeared rather childlike at the moment. On her knees, her head barely reached the belly of the Percheron mare whose leg she was wrapping. But she had been searching for a white wolf when he saw her last. For a moment he considered letting the ranch manager handle the whole affair, but just then she turned her head and spotted h
im. Was that embarrassment that made her cheeks redden?
“Afternoon, doctor.” Douglas composed himself and tried to remember her name. It started with D, he thought. Something French-sounding. Hell. “Good of you to come out on such short notice, especially coming so far.”
“No problem. It’s my job. And I’ve got another farm call to go to that I can catch on the way back to Dunvegan, so it all works out.” She finished the bandage and gathered up her materials. “Where’s Buster today?”
“In the house. We don’t let him around the horse barn yet. He’s still a pup, doesn’t have the sense not to nip at their feet.”
“Probably a good thing. This gal’s foot certainly doesn’t need any more irritation. I found a rusted piece of wire jammed into the frog of the hoof.”
“Shit. We thought it looked infected, but we couldn’t see anything in it.”
“The swelling was hiding it. I had to pour a stain over it to get the puncture to show up. Took me a while to get the wire out, and then a ton of pus drained out too.” Jillian turned to the horse, talked to it as she patted its massive black shoulder. “What a brave girl you were. I’ll bet that foot feels a whole lot better already, doesn’t it?” The animal nosed her as if it agreed, and the vet turned her attention back to Douglas. “The foot’s still hot and swollen. It needs to be soaked twice a day, and she’ll need a course of antibiotics. I gave the instructions to your manager.”
“That’s just fine. We’ll make sure the instructions get followed.” He nodded. “Sheila’s a good horse, so we sure appreciate that you came out.”
“It’s a treat to get to work on a draft horse. There’s not many around anymore. In fact, I’m surprised at how many horses you have.”
“You’re not from Alberta, then, are you? There’s more horses here than anywhere in the country. We use them.”
She looked surprised. “I thought farms and ranches used ATVs and trucks.”
“We’ve got our share of ATVs all right, but a quarter horse is still the best when it comes to working cattle.” He warmed to the subject. “ATVs don’t have the maneuverability, and they don’t have the natural cow sense, the ability to anticipate, that a good working horse does.”
“Does Sheila work cattle too?”
“Nope, she has different talents. We do selective logging on the hillsides and coulees, and we have horses like her to pull the logs out of the brush. Heavy equipment would just mow down half the forest.”
It was going well. They were actually having a conversation. Maybe that whole wolf thing had been imagination—hers, his, somebody’s. Douglas felt himself relax as he walked the vet to her truck. She was actually kind of a pretty thing with those green eyes. He wondered if she had a boyfriend.
“Get away from her! Jesus God, Dougie, you oughta know better.” Roderick Harrison was standing at the top of the porch, a plaid flannel work-shirt flapping open over pinstriped pajama bottoms. His feet were bare. “Get the hell away from her. Can’t you see she’s been near one of them?”
Dammit! Where the hell was that nurse? As his father made his way down the stairs, Douglas turned quickly to the vet. “Please excuse my dad. Alzheimer’s has him pretty confused these days. Just mail me the bill, okay?”
“No problem. Birkie’ll send out an invoice on Monday.” Dr. Descharme started the truck and leaned out the window. “Look, let me know right away if you don’t think the horse is improving, okay? Don’t let it go more than a day. There’s a lot of infection in that foot.”
His reply was cut short as his father seized his arm with unexpected strength. The old man’s voice was shrill in his ear, reminding him anew that his father remained taller than he was. Easy to forget that when the man was in bed half the time. “Get back from there! Can’t you see it on her? That goddamn werewolf has marked her as his own. It’s all over her, blue as its demon eyes. I told you we had to kill that big white devil, Dougie, I told you and you wouldn’t listen.”
Jesus H. Christ, not this stuff again, thought Douglas, frantic to hush his father, to hustle him away from the truck. But Roderick gripped Jillian’s arm as well and leaned into her face with wild eyes. “You still got time, girl. You still got time to run before they get you, make you into a wolf like them. Run, you hear me? While you still got only two legs.”
No longer interested in being gentle, Douglas pried his father’s fingers from the vet’s arm and forcibly wedged his body between the old man and the truck. All he could manage was a quick glance at Jillian and a jerk of his head, but thank God she got the message and put the truck in gear. His father continued to yell at the vet over Douglas’s shoulder even as she drove away. “Run! Run while you can!”
Chapter Eleven
James sat in the loft for a long time after Connor left. As a man.
He couldn’t say what had prompted him to Change again. Maybe it was the pique of having his younger brother tell him to be careful. James snorted at that. Humans would never find him unless he wanted them to. Years of life as a wolf had honed his forest skills to an uncanny degree, even for a Changeling. He moved as a ghost—unseen, unheard, and without trail. Then he remembered with no small chagrin that Jillian had made it all the way into the loft and actually tripped over him before he was aware of her presence. What was hell was that, another mysterious gift of hers? Suddenly something much more ominous occurred to him. What if the wolf had been aware all along that Jillian was there—and deliberately did not inform his alter ego? Great. Now I get to be paranoid on top of having a goddamn split personality.
James decided to risk venturing downstairs. He felt a little clumsy on the ladder, but at least walking was coming easier. And he had to walk through the whole building. The absence of names on the doors forced him to look in almost every room. Finally he spotted a door thickly papered with cartoons and articles.
Bull’s-eye. There was no doubt it was Connor’s office. His brother’s scent was concentrated here, almost tangible. Connor’s jacket was hanging among a motley group of lab coats and surgical scrubs. An oversize couch sagged along one wall, with an accumulation of mail and newspapers covering torn cushions. An enormous desk was groaning under stacks of papers and books. In the far corner, an open door revealed a bathroom with bedraggled towels hanging everywhere and clothes on the floor. It looked just like Connor’s half of the room they’d shared as kids. A sharp pang struck his heart as James recalled living at home with his brothers and sisters. He suddenly wondered how his mother and father were and where they might be—and ruthlessly cut off that line of thinking. It didn’t matter, it couldn’t matter. He wasn’t going to be around. It wasn’t like he was going to go visit his folks for Sunday dinner or some damn thing. He was going to get the damn clothes, turn into a damn wolf, and hit the damn road.
James made his way through the clutter to where a dresser was burping out socks. He was reaching for the top drawer when he caught sight of the mirror above the dresser. Instantly he froze in a confusion of instincts—then shook it off. He was not a wolf, not in wolfen form. The human in the mirror was him.
James ran his hand over his beard, a little surprised that it hadn’t grown out. It was as he had always worn it, just as his hair was its usual length. He had often heard it said that a Changeling’s human body didn’t age or alter while the wolf form was being used. But had anyone ever tested it for this long? In fact, he didn’t look any different than he remembered. Not physically. Something in his eyes, however, had changed. They seemed almost ancient compared to the rest of him.
He turned away, both from the mirror and that line of thought. James shucked his tattered clothing and got stuck only once when he had to fiddle with the button on the waistband of his jeans. He might be walking just fine, but his fingers were frustratingly out of practice. He yanked open the top drawer of the dresser and ended up catching it just before it hit the floor. Obviously he was out of practice with a lot of things. He’d have to remember to temper his Changeling strength before he
broke something.
Why the hell were there so many socks? He wasn’t used to making these kinds of decisions. Finally he pulled out a likely-looking candidate, only to find it single. He pawed through the drawer and discovered they were all singles. Most had holes, big holes. James cursed his brother soundly as he dug around for a mate to the one in his hand.
“James August Macleod!”
Both hands still full of socks, James whirled to find Birkie Peterson grinning at him from the open doorway. Ah, damn. Out of annoyance at being caught in human form, his voice was rougher than he intended it to be. “I thought the place was closed down. If you’re looking for Connor, he’s not here.”
“Nope, I was looking for you, James,” said Birkie. “Been feeling your presence around here for days now, and Jillian mentioned she’d run into you. So I stopped by in hopes of seeing you too.” She waved a hand toward him. “And what I’m seeing is that you’re in human skin.”
He scowled. “Well, keep it to yourself. I’m not planning to stay in it.”
“Now that’s just a shame. It’s a damn fine skin.” Her chuckle was deep and rich.
Awareness dawned. James snatched a shirt from the closet and held it in front of him. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” And he hadn’t, he realized. He was busy getting clothes in case of a possible future need for, well, camouflage. Was he so accustomed to his wolf skin that he couldn’t even notice when he was bare-assed naked?
“Oh, don’t spoil it by apologizing, James. My pleasure actually. An old bird like me doesn’t get such a pleasant view very often. Tell you what, why don’t you get yourself together and meet me in the lunchroom? We can talk over a meal.” She disappeared without waiting for an answer.