by Christa Wick
Like the fireplace with its single rocking chair, the lone sink in the middle of a wide vanity attested to my savior's solitary ways. The copious amount of what looked like grooming products in cute little apothecary jars placed neatly along the counter, however, made me question his gender orientation. I mean, he had to have at least twice what my little sister had and she was a highly spoiled sixteen-year-old pack leader's daughter.
I wanted to open the jars and check their contents, but knew my hands reeked with the skunk cabbage's scent still on them. Turning toward the shower, garbage bag in hand, I stepped in fully dressed and closed the glass door behind me.
Off went my shoes and socks. Unhooking my car keys and the motel key, I placed it on the ledge of the glass shower door. I pulled the slim wallet from my back pocket and took out the driver's license and library card that were its only contents. Next came the pants, my ruined underwear still at the motel. Then I shoved my sweatshirt and bra into the bag, leaving me with just the money belt wrapped around my waist.
Drawing in a deep breath, I slowly unzipped the pouch. I didn't care if the money had a stink about it, no matter how big the stink. I just wanted it to be in a salvageable condition.
Seeing that at least some of the roll was wet, I started chewing at the inside of my lips. With the cop checking out my car at the motel, I probably didn't have a vehicle I could return to. And I hadn't exactly packed for the trip. I'd seen an opportunity with the office drawer unlocked after Eric's attack and had acted on instinct, grabbing the money belt, my keys and phone and then fleeing while he prepped for round two by dabbing a little more marijuana and shooting up another dose of steroids so he could maintain that middle shifter state just a little longer than his beta wolf genes would naturally allow.
I hadn't even kept the phone. I just didn't want it immediately obvious to my parents that I had left on more than family errands. So the wet roll of cash and the clothes I had just shoved into the garbage bag were all that I had.
Slowly I peeled at the roll. I had put the smallest bills out front -- three ones, two fives, a ten, ten twenties and the rest in hundreds. The ones and fives were pretty soaked, but by halfway through the twenties, I only had to deal with damp edges. Relieved, I stepped out of the shower with my money and the garbage bag. Placing the bag on the floor and the bills flat on the counter to dry, I returned to the glorious shower and spent the next twenty minutes trying to forget the last few days of my life.
********************
With a towel wrapped tightly around me, I snaked an arm outside the bathroom and snagged the clothes I was supposed to wear while mine were washed.
Probably more than most people, I knew beggars can't be choosers, but I still spent a few minutes staring in dismay at the flannel men's button-front shirt and oversized matching pants.
I'm not little in the slightest. I'm built sturdy with plenty of curves for cushioning. But my host was a giant. I would have guessed he was about six and a half feet tall without the boots he had on. Even without being a shifter, his shoulders and arms were big enough he could have lifted the railroad ties that barred the cabin door with the same ease he had demonstrated earlier. And I would absolutely be swimming in the clothes once I put them on.
The week you've had and this is what you're worried about? Really, Onyx?
Right, I grumbled -- put the damn clothes on. Maybe once I wasn't covered in stink, my host might go so far as to introduce himself instead of throwing dirty looks at me and trying to shame me for taking flight in the woods.
Crap -- I hadn't even considered telling him about the cop.
A knock at the door finally slapped the paralysis out of me.
"Yeah," I hurriedly acknowledged and shoved the shirt over my head. "I need about another minute."
More like three minutes because I had to roll the pant legs and sleeves and figure out what to do with the extra material at the waistline after I had pulled the drawstring tight enough to keep the pants above my hips.
I left the bathroom looking like a kid trying on her daddy's clothing, head hanging and gaze locked on the floor because life had taught me to not look up around other shifters.
Arm extended, I gestured at the garbage bag filled with my clothes. "Not all of it is washable -- like the wallet."
Mind fixated on the roll of money in my hand and the driver's license and library card tucked into the waistline of the flannel pants, I followed after him as he walked the bag into the kitchen area.
"None of it is washable," he answered, tying off the bag and putting it in another bag, one of the big, thick ones like contractors use. "I'll obtain something suitable for you in the morning."
"Thank you." My hand with the money twitched. The roll was too big for my fingers to close around and I couldn't hold on to it all night. He would see what I was holding anyway.
"Do you maybe have something like a Ziploc bag? Something I can seal?"
He pulled a baggie from the cupboard and handed it to me. Except for the bills drying on the bathroom vanity, I stuck the money inside and then my ID and library card. My lips rolled against one another and my arms and hips kind of danced as I tried to figure out how and where I could secure the bag to my body.
My host plucked the bag out of my hand. "I'm not going to steal from you, she-wolf."
He flipped it around so he could read my driver's license. I had already given him half my name, had been intent of giving him the rest of it, but he was staring at my home address as well, something that would lead him straight to the people I had run from.
Remembering the keys that remained on the top of the shower door, I softly excused myself and padded into the bathroom. Grabbing the keys, I returned to where he had placed the Ziploc bag on the floor next to the rocker. He had also draped a big, fuzzy blanket over the chair and, at some point during my shower, built a fire.
Taking it as an invitation to park my ass, I sat down and slipped my keys into the baggie.
A variety of pleasant odors drifted from the kitchen. My nose told me the sizzling I heard was from eggs and some kind of fish. I also smelled peppermint and lemon, a little honey -- all of the scents reminding me I hadn't eaten sense the Madison truck stop more than a day before.
"Here," my host said, sneaking up on me and shoving a saucer and teacup in front of me.
"Thank you." This was the source of the peppermint and honey I had smelled.
He bent down, pawed at the baggie without opening it as he looked at the keys.
"That's the Crocker's place," he grunted. "Edna and her old man."
"Yes," I answered and took my first sip of the brew.
Tasty and soothing and unexpectedly kind of him to make it for me.
"That's not too hot, is it?" he asked, misreading the emotion pulling at the sides of my face.
His voice sounded concerned, like he had maybe added an actual injury to the earlier insults he had delivered after saving me.
"It's perfect," I answered. "Just what I needed."
He grunted, the sound communicating nothing to me.
"You haven't told me your name," I braved before hiding behind another sip of the peppermint tea.
Another grunt followed, but he gave me an answer this time. "Taron...Murphy."
I looked up, my lips poised for a second above the cup's rim as I blew at the steam.
"Thank you for rescuing me, Taron."
He blinked, the sweeping motion so slow I could have measured it on a wrist watch. Something new twisted in my belly and I quickly dropped my gaze to sip at my tea some more.
"You're probably hungry," he offered, his voice tight as he returned to the kitchen.
"Famished," I agreed.
From the kitchen came sounds of Taron twisting roughly at the knobs on his gas range, then he banged around the cupboards and drawers again before appearing about a minute later. Taking the cup and saucer from me, he shoved a plate into my hands.
The dish was loaded with trout sp
rinkled with slivers of almond and scrambled eggs with tomatoes and onions mixed in.
Embarrassed to admit I could probably eat the pile of food and still want to lick the plate clean afterwards, I glanced up at him. "Aren't you having any?"
He waved off the suggestion and took a seat on the fireplace's brick surround.
"You can eat and talk, right?"
I stared at his face before answering, his brooding gaze dark and accusing.
"Yes," I answered. "Could I trouble you for some water?"
I wasn't just stalling. I would need some water before the meal was through. But I knew he was about to interrogate me and I wasn't really up to an interrogation just yet.
He had already gathered some information from the few items I still owned -- the motel and car keys, the fact that I only salvaged two cards from my wallet (one of them my driver's license with my address), and the fat roll of cash.
Taron had probably already figured out the money wasn't mine.
Returning from the kitchen, he placed a glass of water on the floor next to the rocker and returned to his seat by the fire.
"Why were you in the woods?"
I bobbed my head at him, my mouth purposefully stuffed with scrambled eggs so I could chew over his first question. I had to give him mercy points in his phrasing. He hadn't asked me what in the hell I was doing alone in the woods in heat.
Swallowing the eggs down, I reached for the glass of water and saw his irritation grow.
I took a quick sip then bobbed my head again. "There was a cop at the motel running my plates. I had just left the office and Ned had mentioned how the trail went over the mountain to the truck stop."
He listened through my long, careful answer without interrupting. I had expected him to blurt something out as soon as I mentioned the cop, but he remained calm. A wariness of human authority was pretty much the one trait all shifters shared.
"Running plates is a common enough police activity," he politely countered. "Nothing to flee if you're not wanted."
His gaze dipped to the baggie with its roll of cash.
"Family money," I answered. "And he wasn't exactly running the plates. He had turned his radio off before that. I think he was talking to someone on a cell phone."
"Radio might have been receiving but not broadcasting."
I shrugged and shoved some hot trout into my mouth, grimacing as I rolled it around to keep from burning my tongue.
"Whereas a night walk in the woods in your...condition..."
One of his thick, honey brown eyebrows lifted in accusation.
I risked a glare before dropping my gaze to my food.
"Look," I started, voice as hot as the fish I'd just swallowed down. "I'm not really a shifter, so I'm not in heat. I don't care what your nose is telling you -- it's just not possible."
His torso dipped low so he could look at my face. "So which one of your parents is human?"
I almost dropped my plate, caught it then fought to keep the food from sliding onto my lap. I was still famished and wanted it in my stomach, all the crazy questions from my host notwithstanding.
"Never heard of such a thing -- a shifter with a human parent," I answered honestly. "You're kidding, right?"
As far as I had been taught, even breeding among the various types of shifters was impossible. Here Taron was talking about human and shifters breeding. Not that mating was impossible -- my brother had bragged about bagging and banging more than a dozen human females.
He straightened, forcing me to lift my gaze if I wanted to read his face. He didn't really look like he was kidding, but his expression didn't give anything away.
"Both of my parents are wolf," I answered.
I looked down at my plate. I had only managed to eat about a third of its contents before his questions and the thoughts they invoked extinguished my appetite. I squirmed in the rocker, wanting to stand and put the food away, but it wasn't my kitchen.
"Here," he rose, took the plate from me and disappeared out of view. Scraping, rummaging through cupboards, then the soft sucking sound of a refrigerator being opened played against my ears before he returned a few minutes later.
"I'll re-heat it if you get hungry later," he offered. "I put the kettle on for more tea."
His attention focused on pushing the log around in the fire, he continued his line of interrogation. "So how can you not be wolf if both of your parents are?"
Closing my eyes, I wrapped my arms around my stomach. The heat from the shower had worn off and Taron was stirring unhappy memories as he poked around the fire.
...A stone hitting my cheek, drawing blood. All the cars, me standing on the small median strip that divided the six lanes in half, then dashing as fast as I could and silently praying that it wasn't so inhumanly fast that it would draw the attention of the passing vehicles. The wind of the big trucks lifting me off my feet and then the horn, the sound long and loud and menacing.
Impact -- pain -- blood.
So much blood...
"I was hit by a semi-truck when I was eleven," I answered in a monotone, my emotions shutting down to protect against the flood of images. "I would have been dead if I'd been a human. I survived on my own just long enough for rescue workers to reach me."
Gripping the rocker's armrests, I eyed the baggie on the floor with my keys and money. I wondered if the wolves who had chased me had returned to their homes after my host had chastised them and I wondered whether the trail was safe and my car was still at the motel and unmonitored.
I might be dressed ridiculously, but I figured I could drive to that Wal-Mart two hours away and walk through it in my makeshift outfit without being challenged. I mean, there was an entire website dedicated to the "People of Wal-Mart" and their questionable shopping attire.
"You're not leaving tonight, Onyx."
Leaning forward, Taron snatched the baggie and placed it next to him.
"I'll secure clothes for you in the morning and someone from my pack will check on your car, make sure it's not being watched. If it is, I'll personally drive you to the bus or train station. But I want to know what else I might be up against in helping you besides three horny wolf cubs and one cop who may or may not have been working outside his jurisdiction."
I shrugged. "I don't know what the cop was doing there -- maybe it was routine, like you suggested. But I was in pain and I freaked."
Pointing my chin at the baggie, I confessed my crime-of-the-century. "I stole the money from my dad. I had to because they won't let me work, think I'll betray the pack to humans since I'm not a shifter anymore."
The whistling tea kettle gave me an excuse to stop talking. I didn't want to tell him my biggest reason for running. No one likes being a victim. I'd been one for the last twelve years. Even my own sister, who had adored me as a baby, had taken sides against me. After Eric, she was the cruelest one in the pack.
I took the time while Taron made the tea to slip into the bathroom. I locked the door and sat on the toilet, the top lid down. Elbows braced against my knees, I covered my face for a few seconds then reached for the towel I had used earlier.
Falling halfway down my back, my hair was still a wet mess. Using the towel, I squeezed and tousled and squeezed it some more, my mind grateful for something I could do with robotic precision and stop thinking for a few more seconds.
Hearing Taron's footsteps returning to the main living area, I folded the towel over the rack, took a quick pee and washed my hands before joining him.
Leaving the bathroom, I hesitated for a second. He had claimed the rocker, the blanket neatly folded on the floor with a mug of the peppermint tea beside it. Changing direction mid-step, I headed for the brick surround he had been sitting on.
"Come here, Onyx."
I looked at him, just a glance at first and then a long hard stare. He wanted me to sit on his lap. My head bounced side-to-side a few times, the gesture confused and probably looking every bit like one of those bobble-headed dolls.
"You're hurting still, physically and otherwise. It's palpable to me."
"Yeah, so?" I challenged. "What's that got to do with me sitting on your lap?"
Instead of answering me, he tossed another question. "What I don't understand, from the little you've said, is that your alpha didn't seem to do anything to heal you once you were free of the humans."
I knew what he was talking about, had seen it done within my pack dozens of times. Maybe one day science would explain the biology of shifters, how it was possible for us to mutate between different states, but I didn't think they would ever explain some of the other things about us, things like the "alpha's touch." They would try, of course, search for things like bio-electrical, or maybe magnetic, energy pulses, try to patent machines based on it and probably fail because that part of what we were didn't seem scientific at all.
It was magic.
"Thought it was too late, I guess."
"You don't believe that," he challenged. "Now, be a good little guest and come here."
His tone was almost joking, but I could read how serious he was by his gaze. The black of his pupils almost eclipsed the burnt gold irises, and the lines on his face, barely noticeable seconds before, had hardened. So had the sinfully full lips that were pressed tightly together.
"Now, Onyx," he repeated. He tilted his head, eyes getting squinty as I remained rooted to the floor.
The sensation almost imperceptible, I felt a tug at my chest and then at the back of my knees. I glared at him, the stubborn nature that had kept me alive and sane the last twelve years rearing its belligerent head.
Taron's mouth curved into a wickedly delicious smile I shouldn't have been capable of appreciating and then the tug became more insistent.
"Maybe your pack alpha had a grudge against your family and that's why he did nothing."
He was just teasing, I could tell by that smile, the way his eyes had relaxed, and his tone. But the joke was on him.
"My father was the pack alpha," I answered, voice breaking. "Still is."
The tugging stopped, the recoil of the effort he had been exerting to pull me toward him springing back and slamming me so that I fell hard on my ass on the brick surround.