There didn't seem to be anything he could say to that, so he grabbed a fork, too. The sensation of holding a slim metal object, the concept of using it as a tool, seemed bizarre and that annoyed him. It wasn't like he'd never been human before. Gritting his teeth, James gave the lasagna an experimental poke. Birkie cleared her throat, and he glanced up to see her cut the stacked pasta neatly with the side of her fork. He tried it, succeeded in dragging the first layer off his lasagna instead. The second try he managed to cut a forkful but it ended up on his bare chest. Finally a bite made it to his mouth.
The meal continued like that, with Birkie making conversation and James making a mess. She didn't turn a hair when half of his milk landed in his lap, the result of accidentally trying to lap from a glass. And she completely ignored his curses and noises of supreme frustration.
James was determined to eat like a human being, to remember how. And gradually, he did. Mostly. But there was no holding back his non-human appetite. He quickly worked his way through most of the Watson's menu. Birkie simply talked while he ate, occasionally warming up more food and placing it on the table, clearing away empty containers. She seemed to deliberately stay away from any mention of the distant past, and instead brought him up to speed on the everyday workings of the clinic, the growth of the town, the latest issues that were making headlines in the Dunvegan Herald Weekly. And gradually she segued into the daily lives of his brothers and sisters. Their human lives. Culley's business, Devlin's books, Kenzie's studies, Carlene's children. Things he knew nothing about, and it bothered him suddenly that he didn't.
"You know, I think you've gotten the hang of it, son," Birkie said at last, as the last bun disappeared from the bag. "And I must say, you're a lot neater at it than Connor, and believe me, I've seen him pack away food after a Change. I don't know what it's like to shapeshift, but I imagine it uses up a truckload of calories."
James nodded. The truth was, he'd completely forgotten about that little detail. For years, he'd lived with only a wolf's natural appetite. He was unprepared for his stomach to suddenly turn into a snarling bottomless pit, a black hole with an appetite for entire galaxies, but knew he should have expected it. Too many Changes, not enough chow. He blamed his wolf side for that. If it had just cooperated, paid attention to wolf business instead of trailing after Jillian, then he would have hunted this week. "I guess I'd better thank you for lunch. Looks like I needed it more than I knew."
"Don't worry about it. I'm used to Connor's habits. He gets so involved in his work that he often forgets about eating until he's desperate. Bill and Jessie noticed that about him years ago, that's why they fill the fridge here every week. Then if he perishes from starvation, it won't be on their conscience. But even with the food right here, I still have to remind him from time to time."
James chuckled at that and startled himself. Both the sound and the ticklish sensation it gave the back of his throat were strange. When was the last time he'd laughed or smiled or done anything of the sort? When was the last time he sat at the table with a friend? He tried to fend off those thoughts and caught only the tail end of something Birkie was saying.
"...and besides, all this practice will come in handy when you ask Jillian to go to dinner with you."
A fork clattered to the floor, and he stared at her. "What?"
"Oh, don't look at me like that. You like her, don't you?"
"Dammit, Birkie …," he began, but she raised a hand.
"First off, let me assume you're embarrassed and uncomfortable because I'm Evelyn's great aunt. Don't be. I loved Evie like a daughter. More importantly, I know that you loved her. My dear boy, no one could have seen you with her and not known that. We all grieved when she died and her baby with her, grieved when we thought we lost you, as well. But you survived. What about your life?"
"My life is fine." His words were suddenly tight, almost bitten off.
"Your wolf's life is fine, hon," she corrected. "Your own is a little lopsided."
"It's the way it has to be."
"It's the way you think it has to be."
"I said I'm fine."
She rolled her eyes then. "There's no point in being defensive with me, James. You know I see far too much for that."
He knew, all right, and scowled at the truth of it. Birkie could see his human skin, and likely every single thought that lay beneath it, as well. There just had to be some way out of this conversation. "Look, I really don't want to talk about it right now." Or ever.
"I'm certain that you don't, and normally I wouldn't press you. But there's more than just you involved. I happen to like Jillian very much, and I'm concerned for her, as well."
"I'm not interested in Jillian," he roared.
She didn't even blink at his outburst. "And that's why you've been following her around? Because you're not interested?"
"You don't understand. The goddamn wolf is following Jillian. And I don't know why. I don't know what it wants, so now I'm following her, too, hoping to figure it out." He scrubbed a hand over his face and suddenly felt very tired. "And that sounded crazy even to me."
"You've met Jillian before."
"Yes--at least I think so--but I can't remember her exactly and the wolf won't tell me a damn thing. And if you need more details on that situation, ask Connor. I'm not up to explaining it all over again."
The older woman sat back then, folded her arms in front of her and studied him intently for a long moment. "Maybe your wolf will explain it."
"What--" The hair on the back of James' neck prickled, as the atmosphere in the room shifted, changed. A phantom taste burst on his tongue and the scent of it filled his senses, evergreen, wild rose, buffalo berry, bindweed, milk thistle, a bouquet from the very heart of the forest. Deep within him, the wolf stirred, restless and alert.
Birkie spoke then--he could see her lips moving--yet as much as he strained, he could hear nothing. It took some moments before he realized the wolf was responding to her, while he himself had been firmly shut out of the conversation. James struggled to regain control, his frustration escalating until finally his temper exploded. He shoved the wolf out of the way, shoved it deep into some inner compartment and slammed the door.
Birkie found herself face to face with a very angry man.
Chapter Twelve
"What the hell are you doing?" James growled at Birkie. Sparks of iridescent green flashed in his blue eyes, a sure sign of an enraged Changeling. "Why are you talking to the damn wolf instead of me?"
She didn't flinch, didn't flicker an eyelash, but regarded him gravely. "You heard nothing?"
"Not a goddamn word and you know it."
"No." She shook her head, surprise evident in her face. "I didn't know it. I knew there was some schism between you and your wolf, but I didn't know it was like this. I've never seen this before, and I've studied Changelings for a very long time."
He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to regain control of himself. "I've had enough of the wolf taking over whenever the hell it feels like it."
"I imagine so. And I have an idea as to what the problem may be. A Changeling's human side is in control no matter what form he's in. That's the rule. But you know from Changeling history that there are a couple of exceptions to that rule. Important exceptions."
The anger began to ebb. James took a deep breath, then another. Considered. The wolf could rise involuntarily in any Changeling to ensure their survival. The wolf might also come out to defend a mate. "I don't get it. Those situations don't apply to me, not now."
"I'll bet they do, just not the way you might think. Believe it or not, the wolf is on your side. It's looking out for you, protecting you. Ensuring your survival."
"But that makes no sense. I'm not in any danger. I have survived."
"Depends on how you define survival. How a wolf defines survival."
James shook his head. "I'm not sure what you're getting at."
"Evelyn died. It was horrible. It was unfair. It was wro
ng, but it happened. You were mortally wounded. What was your first impulse when you realized she was gone?"
He was silent, though he knew it would do him no good.
"You wanted to follow her, didn't you? Of course you did, that's a natural impulse. But what did the wolf do?"
Ah, damn. James sat heavily and stared at the floor. "It took over."
"It had to, to save your life. Believe me, I know. When the Pack found you, Jessie called me to come and help if I could. I saw what had happened to you, James. Shotgun, twice, fairly close range." Her voice was grim, but she stood beside him, put a gentle hand on his shoulder, the shoulder that had been wounded. "It's a miracle you didn't die outright. And if you'd remained in human form, you would have died for sure. Your wolf knew that.
"Changing in that condition could have killed you, too, of course, but your wolf is very strong. You're very strong. You got through it and the shift stopped a lot of the bleeding, bought you some time until we could work on you."
He sat quietly for several moments, staring off into the past and absently running his fingers over the places where the wounds had been. Finally, he looked up at her. "I didn't know that. I don't remember much after the Change, but I guess I should say thanks." He sighed. "But I'm not wounded, and I'm not in danger now. I'm trying to see it, Birkie, but I just can't make any connection between that situation and this."
"You're not thinking like a wild wolf, a real wolf, especially as an alpha wolf. What does a wild alpha wolf do if it loses its mate? Does it spend the rest of its life alone?"
Apprehension prickled the hair on the back of his neck. "It's not the same, Birkie."
"The wolf will mourn his mate, but then he'll go on with his life. Survival means going on with your life in all ways."
"It doesn't apply here." Suddenly he realized where she was going with this, and his voice took on a warning note. "Birkie--"
She ignored him. "He finds another mate because he isn't designed to be alone. Your wolf has found one. I should say you've found one, but only your lupine side seems to have recognized her."
"No." He got up, backed up, knocked over the chair. Pointed at her and shook his head. "No. Don't tell me that, goddammit! You've got it all wrong." Dishes clattered noisily to the floor as he backed into the counter.
"Why do you think the wolf is so focused on Jillian? Why do you think it took steps to find her and ensure her survival years ago, just as it's working to ensure yours now?"
"Jesus Murphy, Birkie!" Was the woman deaf? "How many times do I have to say I'm not interested in Jillian? And I'm especially not interested in having my wolf side pick out women for me."
"You're not interested or you don't want to be interested?"
"I can't be interested, goddammit!"
"Son." She caught his gaze and held it. "I know you miss Evelyn, and part of you is always going to miss her. But surely you know that she wouldn't want you to spend your life mourning her and never moving on."
Her eyes were unwavering, the soul within them ancient. He felt like an unruly child and it pissed him off even further. Still, he fought to stay in control, to be civil. "I know you're trying to help, Birkie," he said through gritted teeth, "but you don't understand."
"What I understand, son, is that you've already spent thirty years alone. And I understand that you fully intend to spend the next thirty like that, too."
He moved towards the door, but she was in front of it. "You don't get it. I can't be with anyone. Not Jillian, not anybody. I can't do that to someone again."
"Do what, James?" she asked quietly.
Pain hoarsened his voice, wrenched the words from him. "Evelyn's dead because of me. Didn't you know that, Birkie? Didn't you see that in your goddamn crystal ball? It's my fault. Some bastard killed her because she married a Changeling."
"You don't know that."
Suddenly he took a step towards her, 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, purposely 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 hit 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 further 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 suddenly played across that 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 hal
lway to her apartment, paused halfway in the door. "You know, if I had to guess, I'd think that James had 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 the clinic trees 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, rimed 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.
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