Changeling Dream

by Dani Harper

  “You don’t know that.”

  He took a step toward her, then another. Leaned down until he was nose to nose with her. Although his words were quiet and deliberate, there was a terrible certainty to them that struck like a hammer blow. “Instinct tells me that. My gut tells me that. I do know it and I know I brought that to her. It’s my fault she’s dead. I won’t do that to someone again. Not to Jillian. Not to anyone.”

  James pushed past her then. He could hear Birkie calling after him, but he ignored it. Rude or not, he had had enough of human concerns and human manners and human emotions and human goddamn everything. He had the necessary clothes, he’d had enough conversation to last him years, and he’d had more than enough of his wolf dictating his life. He was done with it all and especially with Jillian Descharme. He was going to do what he should have done on Day One, which was the right thing, the best thing, the safest thing for her. Get out of her life.

  He strode quickly, purposefully down the hall, intent on reaching the back door. It was still light outside, but he knew he could duck into the thick stand of trees near the building. There would be enough cover there to Change and—

  He ran straight into Jillian.

  Jillian rubbed the back of her head where it had struck the floor and looked around for the bus that had hit her. Instead she saw James Macleod. For a moment he just stared back, then knelt quickly beside her.

  “Did I hurt you? Are you all right? Christ, I’m sorry.”

  “I’m fine I think. Hey, don’t you know the local speed limit is 25?” She sat up and reached for the papers that had spewed out of the folder she was carrying, but he was already gathering them—or trying to. For every one he managed to pick up, two flew farther away.

  “I didn’t see you. I said I was sorry.” He looked at her hard, as if daring her to disagree.

  “You don’t look sorry, you look angry.” The intensity of his eyes was like a physical punch, almost making her dizzy. Still, she could swear there was something behind them, something that pulled at her. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  She saw it then. Like twin lightning flashes, sadness and deep pain played across his rugged face. Then the fierce frown returned.

  He seized the last of the papers and stuffed them into the folder, handed it to her. “I’m just in a hurry, that’s all.”

  “Well, hell, don’t let me keep you.” She reached over to the wall, intending to stand. Then powerful hands gently caged her waist. She was lifted up and set on her feet as if she weighed exactly nothing. The hands lingered. She could feel the strength behind them, yet sensed also that the immense force was deliberately tempered, carefully reined. James was close, so close that she could feel the heat from his body and suddenly she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, could only look up into his face.

  He released her so abruptly that Jillian lost her balance and landed on her butt, hard. Every individual vertebra from stem to stern protested the jolt. She swore, but it was at empty air. James was gone. Just gone. All she saw was the door swinging shut at the far end of the building.

  She was still sitting there, dumbfounded and staring at the door, when Birkie rushed up behind her. “My heavens, girl, are you hurt? What happened?”

  “I’m fine, I’m okay,” she said as Birkie insisted on helping her up. “I’ve just had another close encounter of the James kind.”

  “Swept you right off your feet, I see.”

  “Ha. Dumped me on my ass is more like it.” She went to straighten her clothes and realized she was still in her dirty coveralls. Rubbed the back of her head and discovered a sizable lump had developed where she had banged it on the floor. Shit! “You think that’s strange, you should have been with me on my last call. Why are men so damn weird?”

  “They can’t help it. They’re wired that way.” Birkie stepped back, hands on hips and surveyed Jillian. “How long will it take you to shower and change?”

  “For a good cause, fifteen minutes or less. Finer Diner?”

  “Frankly, I was thinking the Jersey Pub. I need a cold beer, hon. And I’m betting you could use one too.”

  “God, yes! And a plate of nachos to go with it. I’ll be ready in ten.” She hurried down the hallway to her apartment, paused halfway in the door. “You know, if I had to guess, I’d think that James has a split personality. He can be so nice sometimes but other times, he’s got to be the strangest man I’ve ever met in my life.” She disappeared into her apartment.

  Birkie shook her head. “Honey, you don’t know the half of it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The wolf emerged from trees near the clinic at a dead run. Its belly was low to the ground, its limbs reached long and pistoned hard as it crossed the fields to the far forest, a sleek white comet tinged with the gold of the fading sun.

  Nature had designed the wolf’s body for running, and an ordinary wolf could cover sixty miles in a single day, a Changeling, many more. James raced flat out for hours, through narrow game trails in the dense forest, along the very tops of the coulees high above the river, until amber twilight gave way to deep velvet night. Still he ran, swift as white water through a spillway, devouring the miles. The moon rose, its glow revealing a silvery shape arrowing through forests, across fields. James ran on until flecks of bloodied foam flew from his drawn lips, until his throat nearly closed for want of water. And still he could not outrun the pain in his heart, or the dilemma of his dual nature.

  Dawn was not far off when James slowed at last and splashed into the river’s edge to drink, flanks heaving, lungs burning for air. He stretched out on the bank, heedless of the mud, and gave in to exhaustion and the blessed oblivion it promised. The promise proved false, however, as oblivion dissolved into a dream, the very same dream James had begun in the loft.

  Deep in the river valley that divided the city, the air was thick with the metallic tang of human blood. The white wolf discovered five men standing over the fallen figure of a small blonde woman. One was raising a thick metal pipe over his head.

  A deep-throated growl was sufficient to make the men turn, their prey forgotten. The sound vibrated along their nerves, resonated in their bellies. Five pairs of eyes gleamed wide as a monstrous nightmare stalked stiff-legged from the cover of the trees. The moon touched its white coat, rimmed it with unearthly silver. The creature’s lips were drawn back to expose long deadly teeth; its eyes glowed with green fire. Suddenly there was shouting, screaming, a mad scramble to escape. The man with the metal pipe flung it at the giant wolf but the pipe fell wide of its target as he fled down the trail.

  The wolf howled once, short and sharp, a hunting call to panic the men further. The urge to chase the men was powerful. But another instinct was stronger, drawing the wolf away from its quarry. The woman needed help and quickly. And so the white wolf went to her.

  Still dreaming, James struggled deep within the wolf, seeking a path to the surface, to awareness within the dream. He recognized now that this dream was a window to the past, knew his only hope of understanding his situation was to somehow see this vision as a man. He wrestled with his wolf nature but could not subdue it completely. Instead, with a sudden rush of clarity, he became both wolf and man at the same time, saw Jillian through eyes that were now both animal and human. And as he watched, the present slipped away and his dual nature became fully immersed in the past.

  Her blond hair was long and matted with blood. The fine angles of her faery face had been battered by ruthless fists; her features were swollen and bruised. His heart twisted at the sight even as fury glowed white-hot within him. Until her eyes opened. Green. Sea green. And infinitely sad as she waited to be killed by the wolf. As she grieved not for what had been done to her, but for being alone. That had jolted him, temporarily doused his rage. He could hear her thoughts. James suddenly felt himself struggling for words. It had been so long, so very long, since he had used any.

  Not alone. Here with you. Carefully, tenderly,
he lapped the blood and tears from her face. There was little or no danger that his saliva would carry the Change into her bloodstream, not with her wounds bleeding so freely. Only a deep bite could accomplish that. He concentrated on cleaning the abrasions as he listened to the outpouring of grief and pain in her mind and heart. Learned that her name was Jillian. Sent her calming, soothing thoughts and laid his powerful body close beside her broken one, radiated Changeling heat to warm and to heal. Yet instinct told him it wasn’t enough. Finally, as the sky blushed with dawn, he gave her of his own life energy. A transference from aura to aura. To save her.

  Hours passed before the morning sun was high enough to give her its own warmth. It was then that his wolf hearing detected a small truck laboring up the trail. Only then did he leave the girl’s side. He watched with narrowed eyes from the nearby cover of bushes as the park maintenance workers found her, as they covered her with their coats, called for help on their radio. And as the wolf kept careful watch, James talked to her in her mind, reassured and comforted her until an ambulance came and took her away.

  The white wolf slipped away when the police began to search the trail. He didn’t go far—he didn’t have to. With so much cover it was easy to keep from being discovered by humans, and no dog would willingly follow a Changeling’s scent. And when they left the area after dark, he began to hunt. Not elk this time but human prey—the brutal men who had raped and beaten Jillian. The wolf had memorized each and every scent from her damaged body. The five would have gone to ground by now, hidden themselves in the concrete warrens of the human city, but it would not be enough to elude nature’s swift justice.

  It was Sunday. Wonderful, glorious Sunday. Jillian rolled over and slapped off the alarm, snuggled back into the deliciously soft quilts. She was still on call. But the clinic was closed today, and she had a second chance to laze in bed until someone phoned her with a problem. And that could be hours from now. Maybe not at all. Instead of falling back asleep, however, Jillian found herself staring up at the white ceiling and recalling yesterday’s visit to Pine Point Ranch.

  Werewolf. That was the term Douglas’s father had used. Good grief. The poor man was obviously not in his right mind, but he’d spoken of a big white devil with blue demon eyes. What else could it be but her wolf? Birkie had said it only made sense that Jillian wasn’t the only person to encounter it. Although that thought caused a tiny finger of disappointment to poke at her. After all, she was used to thinking of it as her wolf. Her imaginary friend and real-life hero. Logically, though, she had to agree with Birkie. And if Harrison Senior had seen the wolf somewhere, maybe werewolf seemed a reasonable explanation to him for the existence of such an enormous and unusual creature. After all, she’d been trying to define the wolf herself, even started reading lupine myths and legends. Who was she to say that werewolf sounded weird?

  She’d recognized her cue to leave and driven away from the ranch, but not before seeing something in Douglas’s face as he struggled with his father. Fear. It seemed out of place on such a strong intelligent face, but it was there nonetheless. Was he afraid for his father, afraid of what she might think, or was he afraid of something else altogether? Come to think of it, he had looked pretty spooked on the trail when she’d asked him about the white wolf. . . but that was before she knew what he was dealing with at home. Maybe he had always thought his dad was imagining the white wolf, and it was scary to hear about it from someone who didn’t have Alzheimer’s. Although she had probably come across as a complete loon at the time.

  Jillian yawned and stretched. Last night she’d nursed a single beer over a giant plate of nachos and chili, then said goodbye to Birkie at about nine. She loved the older woman’s company, but Jillian simply had to lie down. It had been a very long week. And to her surprise she not only fell asleep right away, she stayed asleep. Of course, it might be due to the bump on the back of her head. She reached around to feel it and winced at the touch.

  What was it with James, anyway? Every encounter she’d had with him seemed like something out of a TV show, but she couldn’t decide if it was a drama or a sitcom. She’d been scared shitless to find him in her apartment, he’d surprised her in the loft—and that had been scary too—and then he’d run over her in the hallway. At least she hadn’t been afraid that time. It had happened too fast.

  What would it be like to just meet him on the street like a normal person? Or better yet, why couldn’t he have shown up in the Jersey Pub last night and asked if he could buy her a beer, sat and talked with her, maybe asked her to dance?

  A slow dance. That painted a delicious picture in her mind. In the loft, she’d been held captive by James’s powerful arms, had felt his rock-hard body pinning her. But in the clinic hallway she’d felt those same muscles held carefully in check, those hands filled with a heart-melting gentleness. It had mesmerized her in spite of herself. In fact, she could still feel James’s hands on her waist, and it wasn’t hard to imagine being surrounded by his tempered strength on the dance floor.

  Mmmmm. Jillian half-closed her eyes and smiled, held out her arms as if holding a partner. She’d only circled the room twice, enjoying the fantasy in spite of feeling a little foolish, when a brand new thought struck, one that doused her passions more thoroughly than a bucket of ice water could have. She lowered her arms, her uneasiness laced with prickles of fear.

  James was a real man. A little on the strange side maybe, but living, breathing real. He had admitted to being in her apartment. But up till then she’d concluded that whole first episode was a dream because she had seen the white wolf on the couch. How could I have been awake to see James and then suddenly asleep to dream of the wolf? No, that made no sense at all to her. For heaven’s sake, she’d been throwing out drawers in search of a knife to defend herself with. Surely no one could fall asleep after that.

  Had she fainted out of some bizarre sense of relief when she saw James was gone? Had she gotten the sequence of events mixed up? Maybe she passed out and then saw the wolf on the couch. Okay, maybe. I don’t like it, but maybe. Jillian didn’t really think she was the fainting type—but she had awakened on the floor the next day. So, as wussy as it made her feel, it was a given that she must have been asleep or passed out. She knew why James had been there, or at least why he said he’d been there. So there were plenty of explanations for everything—except for why a giant wolf was hanging around in her apartment.

  Maybe she had been hallucinating? Maybe she needed to feel safe, so her mind obligingly produced the white wolf, just as Marjorie had said all along. Wait a minute. I can’t suddenly go along with her theory now. I met the wolf, and he’s as real as James is. Of course, just because the wolf was real didn’t mean she’d stopped dreaming about him. For that matter she’d had some pretty explicit dreams about James. She swore in frustration as a tingle ran through her body as if on cue. She gritted her teeth and focused. It had to have been a dream, because a real wolf couldn’t get into her apartment. But James wasn’t supposed to be there either. Had he left a door open somewhere and inadvertently let in the wolf? Was that possible? And even if it was, why on earth would a wolf be waiting outside, looking for an opportunity to get in? The prickling feeling on the back of her neck made her shiver. And pushed her to walk to the couch on the far side of the room. Gingerly she picked up the newspapers she’d tossed there from the past few days. The opened mail. Books. Like peeling back the layers of an onion, she removed everything that hadn’t been there before that night.

  Suddenly her blood chilled, and she had to struggle to draw a breath. There were white hairs, many white hairs, clinging to the worn fabric of the couch.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jillian sealed white hairs into sample bags. It had taken an hour, with gloves and tweezers, to gather enough—labs preferred to have at least fifty strands to work with—and to make sure they were of decent quality. She’d had to view the strands under the microscope in the lab to make certain there were roots attached to the
hairs so that DNA could be extracted.

  It looked like ordinary dog hair, ordinary everyday white dog hair. Which it probably was, she told herself, probably fell off her clothing. After all, a collie had been boarding in the clinic kennel that was mostly white except for the black patches over its eyes and ears. A snowy Samoyed had come in to have its teeth cleaned. There was no lack of sources for white canine hair at the clinic, no lack of possible explanations for its presence in her apartment. But not in such quantities and not on her damn couch. She seldom sat on the couch, and although she was hard-pressed to keep it from becoming a catchall for books and papers, she seldom tossed her clothes there.

  Thorough by nature, Jillian had already gone through the books from the library, studied everything they contained on wolf legend and lore. She probably would have skipped the parts about werewolves—after all, some things were just too farfetched—but thanks to that little incident at the Pine Point Ranch, she read those too. She didn’t believe anything she read, yet she felt a need to cover all bases.

  Now, however, it was time to get serious and let science have its say. She had a few—very few—facts to work with, but they were rock-solid. One was her firsthand knowledge that the white wolf was a real animal (hence the hair). However, she also believed that it wasn’t an ordinary wolf. There were too many obvious physical and behavioral differences. It had occurred to her that perhaps it was a brand new subspecies—and wouldn’t it be exciting to be its discoverer?

  Of course, there were other, more mundane, possibilities. Because dogs and wolves could interbreed, her wolf could be either an accidental or deliberate hybrid. Canis Lupus meets Canis Familiaris. Jillian figured it might be possible to combine, say, the heavily muscled body and white coloration of a Great Pyrenees with the lush coat and blue eyes of an Alaskan Malamute, then mix them with a large breed of wolf. It might even explain the creature’s curiously benevolent attitude, its unusual desire to protect humans. Or at least one human, anyway.