Shifter Origins (Series-Starter Shifter Variety Packs Book 1)

by Aimee Easterling

  So perhaps the man was simply a stranger seeking a qualified medical practitioner willing to stitch him up without calling the cops. Maybe he wasn't a compatriot of her brothers out to seek revenge after all. Ixchel had been warned about this former scenario at veterinary school, and even though her practice's rural location made the danger less of an issue, criminals could be found everywhere. Apparently.

  They come in all shapes and sizes too, the vet thought, allowing appreciative eyes to linger on the mugger's lean body a little longer now that her heart wasn't trying to pound its way out of her chest. None of her brothers' acquaintances had ever struck her as particularly enticing and Ixchel had thought she'd sidestepped the self-flagellating penchant of falling for bad boys...or for their adult-male counterparts. Yet another newly discovered character flaw to work my way out of. And how depressing was that?

  Only, Finn didn't really fit the bad-boy mold. Not when he backpedaled so prettily after taking in the expressions flitting across Ixchel's face. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "That was rude of me. I think it's a very pretty name. Now, what do I have to do in order to be invited in?"

  "Are you going to rape me, murder me, and leave my body by the side of the road?" Ixchel found herself answering, her sharp tongue reappearing as her terror levels decreased.

  And now it was Ixchel's turn to peruse her companion's facial features with interest. Was that regret she saw in his eyes, or just annoyance that his prey was standing up for herself?

  "None of the above," Finn answered after a short pause. And he seemed so mortified by the very implication that the vet finally allowed herself to relax.

  "Alright, then," she agreed. Her mind was telling her to run in the other direction as fast as she could, but the man was wounded and in need of medical attention. "I guess I'll invite you in and examine that oozing arm."

  "YOU'RE LUCKY THIS WAS made by a .38 instead of a .22 or you'd be in real trouble," the vet said. "As it is, it looks like the bullet passed right through."

  Ixchel viciously stabbed at Finn's open wound with a metallic torture implement as she spoke...or at least that's what it seemed like to him. Even with the aid of a local anesthetic, it was all the shifter could do not to flinch every time she moved her fingers closer to his arm. Not at all how I thought it would feel to be touched by such a beautiful woman....

  "So, do you want to tell me about it?" Finn said at last, after getting his breath back from a particularly vigorous prod.

  "Tell you about what?" The vet was still poking around inside his slightly numbed wound, despite the fact that she'd clearly decided there was no bullet embedded in his flesh. At this point, Finn had to conclude his companion just wanted to make him pay for his crimes...or that she was taking out misplaced aggressions on his tender skin.

  "Do you want to tell me about your traumatic childhood experience with gunshot wounds?" he elaborated. Actually, Finn would have much preferred to tell the vet that he found her attractive, perhaps followed by that quaint human custom of asking the woman out on a date. But the shifter had a sinking suspicion that mentioning his companion's beauty would add even more lines to the angry frown wrinkling Ixchel's otherwise lovely countenance.

  And he definitely didn't want to talk about anything that would make the veterinarian's impatient fingers yet more twitchy.

  Okay, sure, so delving into Ixchel's traumatic childhood was likely to increase his pain quotient significantly in the short term. But perhaps if the vet got whatever she was stewing over off her chest, she might allow her patient to leave the veterinary practice with both arms still attached.

  Unfortunately, his companion apparently wasn't in a chatty mood. "Do you want to talk about why you're running from the law?" she countered grimly, moving on from forceps to a wickedly curved needle.

  Finn quickly looked away before the vet was able to jab this new tool into his numbed flesh. Am I running from the law? He hoped not.

  Or maybe he hoped so. Because if Mirabelle hadn't called the cops, that meant the burglar had walked into a trap that evening after all. Which in turn meant that Finn would have to do more than simply shred the fake identification documents he was currently carrying in his pocket in order to relocate and come up with a new life as he'd originally planned. And as he'd done dozens of times before.

  "Look," Finn said, keeping his voice light and ignoring the worries threatening to overcome his thoughts. "Maybe we should talk about something more pleasant. Like pets. Do you have any?"

  Finally. For the first time since he'd hopped up to sit on her examining table, the vet looked Finn straight in the eye rather than avoiding his gaze at all cost. "No pets," she answered now with a hint of a smile, and the shifter grinned back, basking in the glow of his companion's sudden favor like a cat in a sunbeam. Finn didn't usually have trouble beguiling the ladies, but there was nothing like holding up an attractive woman at knife point to make her less-than-receptive to his charms....

  "But you're a vet," Finn responded, not particularly interested in pets but wanting to extend the life of the smile that currently touched Ixchel's lips. "Presumably, you prefer furred, finned, and feathered friends to those of us who walk on two legs. Present company excluded, of course."

  "Ha!" The vet's snort was quiet but got her point across. Present company was apparently not excluded.

  "So," Finn said, ignoring the interjection. "Why no pets?"

  And now honest emotion filled the veterinarian's eyes. "Why no pets?" she shot back. "Spoken like a typical, flaky human being who would pick up a puppy off the side of the road, then get rid of it a month later when the poor animal stops being cute and has trouble learning not to pee in the house."

  The vet stabbed Finn again with her Needle of Doom while continuing her tirade. "And then that half-grown mutt will end up in another home—if it's lucky—where the dog will externalize its newfound separation anxiety by gnawing on the furniture. At which point you'll probably whack the poor thing with a rolled up piece of newspaper in the name of training."

  She pulled the plastic thread through his skin so tightly that Finn could feel the tug despite the anesthetic. "And you have to ask me why I don't have any pets!"

  That went well. Not.

  Finn sat in silence for a moment, before muttering, "I can promise you that I've never even considered picking up a puppy off the side of the road." At another snort from Ixchel, he rallied and continued. "But a cat is a different matter. Why not provide a home for a stray feline? Everyone knows that cats are much less needy than dogs...."

  "Less needy than dogs?" This time, Ixchel didn't even let Finn finish his sentence before taking him to task. "Now you sound like a typical dog lover. If you truly understood cats, you'd know that the average feline craves attention so deeply that he has to act like a prickly human teenager for fear of being disappointed. A cat will pretend that he's entirely confident in his skin, that he's an island untouchable by the outside world. But, to be completely happy, that same cat needs constant strokes to both his fur and his ego. He needs love and kindness, and he needs to feel safe. You can't just up and leave a cat at a moment's notice...not if you want to have a loving, well-adjusted pet to come home to. And I'm not settled enough to promise a cat all of the attention he so soundly deserves. So I won't be bringing home a stray kitty anytime soon. Not until I'm ready for a lifetime of commitment."

  The frown was back, and Finn realized that his companion had just told him far much more than her words suggested. The woman in front of him didn't own a pet because no one had ever stroked her ego and no one had ever showered her with love and affection. In the end, she wasn't willing to accept even a non-human companion until she herself felt entirely safe.

  So, I guess I shouldn't ask my rescuer out to dinner after all, the shifter thought. And this time his sigh didn't have all that much to do with the tug on his skin as the last stitch pulled wounded flesh together.

  "There, you're all set," Ixchel said, putting the last of her tortu
re implements down on a nearby counter. "Which, I hope, means you'll go away now and leave me in peace."

  Chapter 6

  He's gone.

  Ixchel knew she should have felt relieved. After all, Finn had been true to his word, allowing her to lock up the practice with herself safely inside and with her mugger far away on the other side of the door.

  Yes, the intruder had taken away her car keys and cell phone first, then made a point of demonstrating that the land line had been cut so she couldn't rush to call the police. But Ixchel was entirely unharmed in the aftermath of the not-quite-mugging, and she knew that her receptionist would arrive to provide contact with the outside world first thing the next morning. So, at the moment, the vet could simply relax and put the night's trauma behind her.

  In fact, now that Ixchel thought about it, the excitement had really cost her nothing except a few moments of terror. And if she was being entirely honest with herself—which the vet tried to be—she'd have to admit that she'd enjoyed the banter more than a little bit.

  Usually, at the end of a long, people-filled day, Ixchel felt so drained that she had to lose herself in a book for hours before she could crawl, exhausted, into her bed. The animals who passed through her practice were an enjoyable puzzle...yes, even including the dogs who bit her while acting out their fear and pain. But their human handlers? Ixchel found the latter's turbulent emotions so draining that it was all she could do to open the practice door each morning, dreading the need to soothe worried, frustrated, angry, and sad humans for the next eight hours straight.

  So a criminal holding Ixchel up at knife point should have been equally daunting. But, instead, the vet felt invigorated...as well as abruptly and unaccountably lonely.

  When did I last wish someone had stuck around longer rather than being glad to see the back of him? Ixchel wondered. Never, that's when.

  And why had the vet felt so guilty as she watched her attacker's tall form stride away down the country road, his left arm cradled in a makeshift sling? It wasn't as if a victim was expected to invite her attacker in, feed him dinner, and give him a spot to sleep on the waiting-room couch.

  When it came right down to it, Ixchel had already gone above and beyond the call of duty in caring for the man. Rather than playing dumb, she'd allowed Finn to browbeat her into selecting appropriate antibiotics out of the stash she kept on hand for wounded animals. It was either that or find a way to call an ambulance, the vet told herself, knowing that a gunshot wound was almost certain to become dangerously infected without further treatment.

  But Ixchel was also well aware that her actions hadn't made any sense. If need be, she could probably pass off the stitching up as the action of a terrified woman faced with an armed attacker, but the vet would get into serious trouble for prescribing antibiotics to a human being. So why had she gone out of her way to make sure that Finn walked out of her practice with everything he needed to make a speedy recovery?

  And why did Ixchel feel such a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach as her mugger strode out of sight down the dark road? Had she really believed that Finn would offer his number along with his farewells, despite the inherent stupidity of such an action when the man was clearly on the run?

  Yep, I've been deluding myself, Ixchel thought. She'd allowed herself to imagine that a spark had illuminated both of their hearts when her attacker took her hand in farewell, and she'd embraced the delusion that his eyes had warmed as they met her own for the last time.

  So when Finn finally departed, the vet had to force herself not to call out a farewell. He's not a wounded stray, for crying out loud, she reminded herself. No, her attacker was a strong and dangerous man who reminded Ixchel far too much of the world she had left behind.

  Purposefully left behind, the vet added silently.

  Finn might have been right about one thing, though, she thought as she picked up a tattered copy of her favorite book and settled in for her usual evening entertainment. If I'm lonely enough to wish that my mugger hadn't left so abruptly, maybe I do need to bring home a cat.

  AS SOON AS IXCHEL TURNED her back, Finn stepped off the road and into the woods. It's a good thing I wasn't trying to make friends and influence people, he thought a bit forlornly. Or it might have hurt my feelings to have a beautiful woman hustle me out the door so quickly and with such a supreme expression of relief on her face.

  But people weren't the object of Finn's efforts, he reminded himself. Instead, he was searching for were-jaguars like himself. And the little Olmec statue currently weighing down his jacket pocket was the first solid lead Finn had found in years to suggest that he wasn't the only representative of his race currently in existence.

  It only took a moment to uncover the stash of supplies that he'd hidden in the woods before beginning his career as an assailant. Because why take surveillance paraphernalia along on a holdup? Then Finn popped two aspirins, donned his headlamp, and gingerly drew the stolen figurine out of his pocket.

  I sure hope you're worth a bullet wound, the were-jaguar thought, rubbing his fingers along the statue's contours to brush away the grime.

  And would his findings also be worth the loss of the first woman who had set his internal whiskers tingling? She would have left anyway, Finn assured himself. The words were meant as a consolation, but they instead made his chest tighten in a surprisingly strong burst of loneliness.

  The shifter had given up on experiencing real relationships with human women years ago, back when he realized that his inability to share the deepest part of his being meant that any liaison was bound for failure. After a while, he'd even told himself that he preferred casual hookups and one-night stands to dealing with the nuances of the human mating dance.

  So why couldn't he get Ixchel's pert little nose and wide dark eyes out of his mind?

  Luckily for the success of his current endeavor, though, Finn was used to making deals with himself to stay motivated. When I finally meet another were-jaguar, then I can go back looking for Ixchel. Assuming I still want to.

  Because, at the moment, the shifter had to accept the fact that his brain was probably going a little haywire from loss of blood and wasn't thinking entirely clearly. Chances were good that Finn wouldn't even remember Ixchel's face next week, let alone next year.

  A thought that made the shifter's heart sink even further. Who knew that transforming into a human would turn me into a romantic sap who believes in love at first sight?

  And, speaking of transforming, Finn needed to focus on the task at hand if he wanted to discover the population of were-jaguars he kept promising himself was hidden just around the next bend. He brushed his fingers across the stone statue once again, and the figurine seemed to warm at his touch.

  Another good sign. And an excellent way to draw his attention away from the comely veterinarian and back onto his quest.

  It could simply be superstitious nonsense to believe that the statue was aware of his presence, but Finn had learned to trust his cat intuition. And that intuition said the stolen figurine was waiting and listening.

  But the statue wasn't quite ready to give up its secrets. Not just yet.

  Still, it was heartening to feel more certain that this, unlike the huge stone head, might actually be the key Finn had been seeking for so long. And if it turns out to hold the power I hope for, will I be able to turn my twin into a were-jaguar like me? Because that was the shifter's most deeply held desire. No, he wouldn't be content to simply discover another cat-shifter out in the world. Instead, he wanted to transform the jaguar who had been his daily companion for the first four years of his life into a woman who would make fun of his crush on Ixchel and of his rather unmanly obsession with perfectly creased trousers.

  In short, Finn wanted a family.

  As he mused, the shifter was rooting through the backpack of supplies once again, and he soon drew forth a soft-bristled brush. Cleaning the contours of the figurine would provide a closer look at what he was holding. But the tas
k also seemed like the respectful thing to do, to polish up the statue that had been sitting in the ground for hundreds upon hundreds of years.

  The work paid off, allowing Finn to discern that the little statue did indeed represent a were-jaguar caught in mid shift. Because, in addition to the pointy ears he'd noticed earlier, the thief's cleanup job also uncovered the subtle ridge of a slender tail curling around the base of the figurine. And, yes, there were even sharp front teeth very slightly protruded out over the carved line of the mouth.

  But no matter how closely Finn peered at the stone were-jaguar, there was no writing to give him any indication of what to do next. No instructions to press the statue up against his sister's brow, sacrifice a goat, chant magical words, and watch his twin transform into the woman he wanted her to be.

  Of course not, the shifter thought. He shouldn't have expected a guidebook, not when his preliminary research had turned up the fact that Olmec cultures likely predated the invention of writing in Central America by hundreds of years. But he also couldn't believe that this little stone were-jaguar would represent a dead end, not after all the contortions he'd gone through in order to take possession of the ancient figurine.

  Back to the drawing board, the shifter thought. The next step would be to hit the books once again and find out as much as he could about were-jaguar statues in the Olmec tradition. And, in the meantime, he might as well transform back into his feline shape and make tracks before Mirabelle hunted down this temporary lair.

  Chapter 7

  The sea seemed to quake beneath Tezcatlipoca's paws, forcing him to work harder at treading water in order to stay afloat. And then, abruptly, he was free!

  Or, well, not precisely free. But at least Tez's spirit had escaped its prison, even if his body was still encased in stone. Looking down, Tezcatlipoca recognized the little figurine that his supposed worshiper—with the help of that traitor Quetzcoatl—had used to entrap Tez more than two millennia ago. The statue was supposed to represent Tezcatlipoca's inner self, his duality as both jaguar and man...but couldn't the sculptor have worked a little harder to capture the supreme handsomeness of the god's visage?