One True Mate 7_Shifter's Paradox

by Lisa Ladew

  Harlan growled. The kid pushed too fucking far, now, and if Burton Risson came around the corner, Harlan was gonna be chewed a new asshole, but all Harlan could care about was letting Jaggar know once and for all that Evie was his, Harlan’s and not—

  Harlan broke off from all of those hard but hazy thoughts and walked away from Jaggar, further into the kitchen, then into a dining area, then a second dining area, then another room overflowing with records. Old LPs in worn covers.

  Harlan stopped and stared, as Jaggar came up behind him, talking something about chess strategy and Evie wanting to improve her strategic thinking, so they’d been playing chess by correspondence for four years, and there was something to be said for familiarity and yeah, he and Evie they had lots of secrets, lots of history...

  Harlan blocked him out. Focused on the album covers on the wall. The rows of records in shelves and the stacks of LPs on the floor everywhere. AC/DC, Highway to Hell. Supertramp, Breakfast in America, Michael Jackson, Off the Wall.

  Nowl, this is getting out of hand. Is she mine or not?

  Fate is quiet on the matter.

  Perfect. Thanks for the help, fate. Why was Harlan thinking of Eventine as his? Did he just want it that bad, or was she really? The walls and surfaces were covered with pictures of Evie that made him… want. Pictures of her as a young girl, under five. An adorable petite, young red wolf chasing a butterfly through a field, a boy the same age sitting in the grass nearby, his eyes on the red wolf, his expression inscrutable. The red wolf was Evie. Had to be. And the boy was Jaggar, his face two-tone already.

  Another picture: Evie at the station, small, petite, always, age indeterminate, maybe 6 or 7, her feet tucked into her dad’s Sam Browne belt as he gave her a piggyback ride through the station. She was pointing at a wiry wolfen, eyes fiery, mouth working, as if telling him what to do. Burton’s face and the faces of the wolven around him were delighted, smiling and laughing, as if she’d just pulled off a good one.

  Harlan pulled his eyes away, to the next picture, and the next. Shit, he had to get out of here. He turned and kicked a colorful wooden fairy drop across the floor where it bounced off a stack of records in the corner. He hadn’t met the Chief yet, but he’d seen the fairy drops already, had them explained to him.

  He turned around and cut Jaggar off. “Where’s Chief Risson?” The Chief hadn’t been in to the station for a few days but had said he wanted to meet Harlan, so Jaggar had brought Harlan out to his house.

  Jaggar led him outside, out the back of the house, across a covered walkway to another building. Harlan saw a cat run and hide under a porch around the side of this new building that looked like a barn, a modern one with high windows and a helper’s quarters in one corner, with a separate entrance. A white and black goat with floppy ears eyed them from the grass off to their left. A small wooden sign, painstakingly painted by a young or shaky hand, proclaimed the goat to be Precious Goat, then a 2 that was crossed out, and a 3 painted over the top of it.

  Jaggar took him into the barn. It was a gym, and across the large, open room was a pool, floor-to-ceiling windows letting in all the light possible. A tiny pink bikini hung on a hook on the wall. Did Evie get undressed and dressed into that bikini right there, out in the open? His dick swelled. He was a dirty fucker and he should just go throw himself off a fucking cliff, but fuck he couldn’t help but want that woman. That girl. That woman. Walking through her house was torture. Where was her dad? His boss. Hey, Gramps, oops, I mean Chief, mind if I dream about fucking your only daughter, you know, the one you brought back from the dead then adopted, the one you trained to be a leader since the day she came into your life? The one you seem to adore, idolize, and cherish. Mate? Ah, well, see, she says I’m her mate, but she’s wrong, gotta be cuz I don’t recognize her back. Yeah, she’s got a mark. It’s pale. Could be mine, totally. Fuck, what a cluster. His mom would say he was thinking with the stupidest part of him.

  There he was. Burton Risson in the flesh. He stood at the firing line of the outdoor range, sighting downrange with the department issue Smith and Wesson.

  Jaggar pushed him toward the range. “Go get him, tiger.”

  “Where you going?”

  Jaggar threw him a sly, triumphant look. “Evie’s room.”

  Harlan kept himself under control, then turned away and pushed outside before he could do anything stupid.

  23 - Past - Big Bad Wolf Chief

  Harlan pushed out the door, his eyes on the Chief’s profile, into the midday heat. It had been two days since he’d groped the guy’s daughter for no good reason and Harlan had no idea if the guy knew it had happened. He only knew, “The chief wanted to meet him.”

  Harlan forced himself to head toward the firing line, toward Chief Risson who was in a firing stance with his gun in his hand, his back to Harlan. Harlan swallowed hard and willed his feet to move. He’d only been shot once. It had hurt like a bitch and he wasn’t hoping to relive the experience.

  Chief Risson squeezed the trigger. Three shots cracked across the acreage around them, through the hot, humid air. Harlan caught a sense of the Chief’s wolf, a brown and white timber with expressive eyes. Handsome, Harlan had heard others describe the male’s wolf as. Sure, I guess.

  Burton saw him, put the gun down on the firing stand fluidly, and turned to face him, his face a mask for a split second, until he smiled and held out his hand to shake, striding forward to meet Harlan in the middle of the range, already speaking, his voice fluid and deep and rolling, like it was a rock on its way down a perpetual hill. “Harlan Mundelein, the Knotted Wolf, the newest member of our sleek and shining KSRT team. How was your train ride? Long and dusty? Smooth and silky? Just ordinary? Have you met Lieutenant Lombard yet? He’s busy with Crew, poor boy, poor boy. Jaggar brought you over. I heard you’re going to anchor Time’s keeper, get up close and personal with Jaggar out there, who’s gonna be busy holding down Time right beside you. The Knotted Wolf and The Beast, saving the world, saving the humans, pinning Time down by the throat and telling it what to do, right? That’s you and Lockport, alright, I can see it in your eyes. Saw it in your renqua before you ever got to Serenity. Where is Lockport? He getting into trouble? I bet he is. That’s right, boys will be boys and beasts will be beasts.”

  Chief Risson took a breath. Harlan stared in awe. Blinked. Blanked. The male was a legend, he wasn’t pissed at Harlan, and Harlan felt like he’d just been pressed into the dirt with a steamroller. Flat Harlan, that was him.

  “Pick a gun, boy, pick a gun!” He looked like he wanted to shake Harlan, hurry him up. He gestured to the table behind him, where guns of all shapes and sizes sat. Harlan had never seen so many choices. He ran his hands over the cold steel on the table, each gun in turn, then settled on an M-16, the army service rifle. He’d always wanted to shoot one.

  He moved to the firing line, the long, heavy weapon in his hands. It felt good. Burton was already pulling the target return back. Only an empty string hung from the hook. Burton fished in a wooden box next to him, brought out a fairy drop, and hooked it on, then sent it down range. They were shooting fairy drops? Harlan had heard of fairy drops, all wolven had. Burton was the most powerful wolven Citlali in the nation, maybe the world, and fairy drops were his way of communicating with Rhen. Instead of relaxing and meditating, he would create a fairy drop from start to finish, carving the driftwood into a teardrop shape, hanging it and dripping it into swirling paint again and again until the design told him a story. It must have worked because his prophecies were considered the most concise among the wolven, connecting with more related prophecy than any other. He seemed to mesh the best with Crew, many of his prophecies touching on ones Crew had recited as a too-young pup. Like Harlan and Jaggar’s.

  Movement from the left caught Harlan’s attention. Precious Goat, the black and white goat with the floppy ears and the alien eyes was heading their way at a fast clip. There was nothing to keep him off the range. No fence, no nothing. Harlan took his p
osition, sighted, but could not fire. Precious Pain inched too close.

  The goat stopped moving. Harlan tightened his trigger finger slowly. If he fired a round, the goat would take off from the noise. But he wanted to impress Burton. Wanted to hit the fairy drop straight on.

  Burton spoke from behind him. “If you shoot that pain in the ass goat, my daughter will kill you.” He laughed merrily, like that would be a sight to see.

  Harlan lowered the weapon. “Can we move it from down range?”

  Burton produced a cigar from somewhere and lit it, laughing and shaking his head. “No.”

  Harlan looked at the weapon in his hands. Put it on the firing table.

  “Got any air rifles?”

  Burton laughed and for a split second, Harlan had the impression that the trees in the surrounding forest were shimmering with the sound. “I didn’t have you pegged as the type who wanted to live forever,” Burton said, motioning at him to pick the gun back up.

  Harlan did, sighting, waiting for the goat to move away, move away. Burton began talking, which was a good excuse to lower the weapon again. Oh look, the goat is eating grass. I see some clover over by the house, goat. Check it out. A young boy ran across the yard, from bush to bush, diving behind cover. Harlan watched the second bush, but it was still. All in all, the effect was surreal. This baby-boomer farmhouse with the Generation X range and gym and pool in the back. The hot, late summer air pressing against him from all sides, the ridiculous goat inching closer.

  Burton spoke to the air around them, rather loftily. “Harlan, I’m not going to beat around the bush. I asked Jaggar to bring you out here for a reason. I… I have a job for you, regarding my daughter. She’s a young lady, well, a young girl actually. Her name is Evie. She’s… inn-. She needs watching over.”

  Burton finished speaking, pushed Harlan out of the way, grabbed the M-16 out of his hands, sighted over the goat’s head, and shot a three round burst that exploded the fairy drop into a thousand pieces. Precious Goat came closer and bit at Burton’s uniform boots. Burton kicked out at the goat, making it dance away, then he brought the target return back in and loaded it up with another fairy drop. One that was the exact same as the one he’d already blown to a million wooden pieces. Harlan looked around for that Candid Camera guy.

  Burton sent the target out and blew it away with one round. The goat bleated. Harlan took a few steps backwards. Burton repeated the process, loading up another fairy drop. Same design a third time.

  Harlan cleared his throat. “Ah, sir, your daughter, she’s not a girl, she’s a young woman.” What he hoped to gain, he had no idea, but if Burton really thought Evie was a “young girl,” things were seriously wrong out there in the goat-infested, fairy-drop destroying, backyard luxury range. Movement caught his eye and he looked to the house for the boy. But no, it was a cat. Yuck. He shivered.

  “Not Evie, no, she’s young. Needs to stay focused right now. In fact, I need to talk to Judge Watsky again, see about getting her age legally changed, lowered to 14. That's right. When we found her all the cats said she looked like she could have been 2 to 4, but she was so tiny, I bet she was only 1. Judge Watsky agrees with me. He says we can change her age legally."

  “Sir, ah, Chief, does she know you’re going to do that?”

  Burton blew another fairy drop into oblivion. “No. Not yet. But what Evie needs right now is to buckle down, go back to basics, focus. She needs someone to watch over her, really, someone with her best interests at heart.” Another fairy drop. It almost seemed normal already.

  Harlan held his breath. Someone to watch over her? With her best interests at heart? That was him? He'd only been in Serenity for a few days, had barely learned the names of his coworkers, really had only met a few of them, had only the barest grasp of how Serenity P.D. worked, and yet here he was, tits deep in drama. Drama, death, and dullshit, the three Ds you can't avoid no matter where you go or who you are or how you act, his grandpa used to say.

  But the best alphas were scary as shit, even to other alphas. Burton was all alpha and Harlan had expected this. Well, something like it. Not exactly this.

  Burton put the gun down. “Mundelein, you’re good people. Quality stock. Your mom and dad are top-rate wolves.”

  “You know my mom and dad?”

  Burton nodded, his thoughts already far away. “I want you to look after her.”

  Harlan shook his head in the hot, wet, late summer air, feeling like he’d been thrown in the spin cycle. He couldn’t follow Burton’s reasoning. Her? Did he mean Evie? “Chief?”

  Chief Risson turned to Harlan, clasping him on the shoulder, a bit of sweat shining on his dark skin in the midday sun, like dew on the morning grass, his eyes rolling slightly, as he met Harlan’s gaze. “I haven’t seen her in two days, Harlan, you go find my Evie. I know you’re the right male for the job. Find her. Keep her in the station. I messed up. I enrolled her in school and didn’t tell her. That was a mistake. Bring her home, or keep her at the station, whatever she wants. Tell me when you find her and keep an eye on her. Keep the… keep her—”

  “Chief?” Harlan said again. Burton was staring off into the forest that bordered the yard and the range, his face almost vacant. He seemed to shake himself and come back to the present.

  He grabbed Harlan by the shoulders and leaned in close. “Harlan, I need your help. You have to find Evie for me, then keep an eye on her. She can’t…. she can’t have any boyfriends.”

  “Chief, ah, I think it might be too late for that.” The conversation was becoming stranger by the moment.

  The chief shook his head and growled and the “truth” had been declared. Ok then. Looked like he was heading back in to ask Jaggar for help finding Evie.

  “Ok, Chief, got it,” he said, because he could think of nothing else.

  Burton nodded like it was good, it was all good, and then he said, “Jaggar knows where to look for her, talk to him. Those two are always together.”

  Harlan nodded. Right. Perfect. He’d go ask Jaggar where to find Evie, because “those two are always together” then he would go find Evie and keep her best interests at heart and his best interests in his pants.

  24 - Past – In the Tunnels

  Harlan hit the back door to the station with the flat of one hand, moving quickly. He waved at the wolves in the duty room, the ones working, talking, goofing off, daydreaming, flirting, living, but none of them could hold his attention. He was on a mission. To find Eventine Risson. Because her father had asked him to. Even if he was the worst wolf for the job, he would do his best to do what he thought Burton would want for Evie.

  Sure, he probably should have mentioned that Evie had recognized him as her mate. And that she had a pale mate mark that apparently had shown up when she’d seen him. But if he was her mate, wouldn’t that mean that Harlan actually was the best male for the job? But what would that say about what Burton really wanted? Harlan put a hand to his head.

  He headed for the closest retina scanner and stuck his eye to it, opening the secret tunnel entrance and heading below the station. He hadn’t been able to find Jaggar so he’d taken the truck they’d driven out in, leaving Jaggar there, justifying it in his own mind by saying Burton had sounded like finding Evie was urgent.

  The tunnels were cool. Dark. Dry. Surprisingly not wet at all. They went every which way under the station, and no one knew where all of them ended up. There was no official map and no blueprints had been left by whichever shiften had built them. The tunnels closest to the station and the ones the wolven used often were reinforced with concrete, but the dirt and brick ones reinforced with railroad ties? Jaggar had told him never, ever to go down any of them. Not that Harlan ever would. They were all très creepy.

  He wasn’t certain where Evie’s office was. Just that it was somewhere near the prophecy room, which was that room there on his right and not that one, not that one, not that one. The tunnel deepened, dampened, slanted downward, but the walls were still conc
rete so he continued forward. A thick, slathering growl stopped him, seeming to come from everywhere at once, in front of him, behind him, above him, below him, spiking adrenaline in his bloodstream. Glowing eyes in the tunnel to the front of him. Possibly more than one set. Harlan shifted without a thought, Nowl springing to the fore, taking over completely, while Harlan extended every bit of strength and wisdom he had. He did not want to die that day.

  Nowl set his stance wide in the tunnel, filling as much of it as he could, snarling a warning to whatever was advancing on him in the dark. He scented, sucking in the air of the returning growl. It tumbled through the eddies of his nasal cavity, spreading secrets like bird seed thrown in the grass by a generous hand. Felen. Two of them. Older than dirt. Mean as shit, grown massive from the demands of guarding Rhen’s body. Moonstruck, too? Maybe. Which would make them a thousand times more dangerous. The two advanced on Harlan, even though he was obviously wolven and had every right to be there. He thought.

  They were closer. Close enough that he could see the curve of their canines and the reds of their eyes. Nowl snarled, growled, sat on his haunches and let loose one wild howl, singing his dance of stay-back, all while keeping an eye on the pair. But they didn’t respond. They crouched forward, the one on his right slinking low while the one on his left stayed high and snarled, trying to draw his attention so Nowl didn’t extend it there. The one on the right tensed and Nowl twisted minutely, readying himself for the attack, staying loose, staying fluid because which way Nowl went depended on which way the felen went and then what the other felen did also but Nowl would twist and get underneath them and—the felen leapt and the other felen feinted around the back and already Nowl was twisting and snarling and biting the blood-the-blood…

  The blood never came because there was Jaggar, 16-year-old Jaggar roughly the weight of a toothpick, plucking both felen out of their leaps with his bare hands, pistoning his body like he was throwing a shot-put, and pitching both big cats tail over ears down the hallway, back the way they had come, and Harlan could see the tunnel by the lights of their eyes. Dirt. Brick. He’d gone too far.