Bailey Bradford - Southwestern Shifters 06 - Reverence

by Bailey Bradford

  “The wall is gone.” Harley checked the living room and kitchen as well as he could before moving away from the door. Only once he was reasonably sure no one or thing was lurking and waiting for him to move so they could off him did Harley edge farther into the living room.

  The little one-bedroom was now a sprawling—to him at least—apartment, or home, maybe, since he actually owned it. Unless the papers were fake, but he would worry over that later. Besides, why would Rutlidge have said anything about Harley owning the place— or had he?

  Harley shrugged, his attention caught by a gorgeous cream rug splattered with shades of blue and brown. He didn’t know jack about decorating. Most of his stuff had come from garage sales or trash piles, but he was positive that rug had cost a pretty penny. He snorted. “Right, like there were any pennies involved in the price. Had to be hundreds of bucks. Guess I’m being bought off after all.” It irked him, but he couldn’t turn around and stop looking. The floors had been redone, the cracked crappy tiles pulled up and something that looked a lot like real wood installed instead. The warm golden glow of it made the place lighter, or maybe that was the golden tones the walls had been painted. The couch was covered in a Southwestern-patterned material, that mix of blues and browns and cream combined with yellow-gold and peachy-orange. Maybe he should have paid attention in art class—he might have learned the colours’ real names then.

  “Whatever, it’s pretty, even if I have always steered clear of the whole Southwestern design stuff.” It just seemed clichéd, living in Sedona and all, what with it all around him, but Harley wondered if he hadn’t just been being stubborn, because he kind of liked the way his apartment looked, with Native American pottery on tables and in nooks and crannies— he’d never had nooks and crannies before!

  The kitchen table was the perfect size for him, and made of the same coloured wood as the floor. He thought the table was real wood, though. The chairs, too. How had he got in the kitchen? Harley spun around, astounded that he’d wandered in without even being aware of it. But the warm colours, the soothing tones and the sheer prettiness of the place just drew him.

  Until he looked towards the bedroom. He’d been in there, with Joshua Dobson, thinking he’d brought home a guy to keep him company for the night. Dobson had seemed, well, weird, but Harley had been so lonely—

  “Stop,” he squeaked out, pressing a hand to the base of his throat. Dobson had waited until Harley had begun to undress, then he’d smiled this twisted smile and just gripped Harley right there—“No, no, no!” Harley backed up until he hit the table. He couldn’t look away from the bedroom.

  The door was open, and it didn’t look the same at all, but it was still the bedroom. Maybe it wasn’t where his nightmare started, because that had truly been when he’d picked Dobson up—or been picked up, whatever. He’d thought he was going to die a vicious death that night, and his relief that he didn’t was short-lived, at least while he’d been held captive.

  “Don’t think about it. Fuck it. Don’t think about it!” Harley tore his gaze away and he looked around the kitchen. He set the duffle on the table then opened it and took out the envelope that said ‘Titles’. Holding it in his hand, he walked around the kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets, finding everything stocked with items, food and kitchenware, he’d never had and never would have been able to afford. Were the shifters trying to buy him off? Or were they, as Nathan said in the note, truly sorry he’d been hurt? Did it matter?

  “Yes.” Though he couldn’t say why. Harley finally looked in the fridge then the freezer and was trying to figure out what the hell he’d do with so much food when his mind just blanked, like the electricity cutting off right before a storm hit.

  Then he crumpled on the floor and sobbed as he clutched at his head, the nightmarish memories slithering out to torment him on that pretty gold floor.

  * * * *

  It was agonising, but Val Whitley was a determined man. He’d almost died during the attack on Marcus Criswell’s former residence. Val had been hit by a damn SUV driven by Joshua Dobson, and had lingered in a coma, something previously unheard of for a shifter.

  Well, there was much unknown about shifters. It wasn’t like they could have just gone running to a human hospital and asked for Val to be treated. He was damned lucky to be alive, and, even though he didn’t believe it more than half the time, he was lucky he wasn’t more badly scarred, inside and out.

  “That’s it, stretch out your leg all the way.” Val wanted to snarl at Shania, the best doctor in the entire world, he’d wager. She’d saved his life, so there was no one he’d rank above her. Val grunted as he held his left leg up. He was flat on his back on the exam table, and extending his leg just fucking hurt, but he could do it. What he couldn’t do was shift. Or see out of his left eye.

  He was shit as a shifter, but he’d still be the best he could be, period. Just because he hadn’t been able to shift didn’t mean he wouldn’t be able to, eventually.

  “What’s your pain level?” Shania asked as she felt his leg, prodding at the deep scars that should have healed. Shifters always healed unless datura was involved. Datura was a plant native to the area that was highly toxic for them. A little on the skin acted much like battery acid. They were all beginning to think he’d been exposed to some of the nasty stuff somehow, considering his scars.

  “Three,” Val gasped, sweat breaking out on his forehead from the strain of holding his leg up. He was incredibly out of shape, and not much more than a bag of bones instead of the bulked-up guy he used to be.

  Shania narrowed her eyes at him. “Only a three?”

  “Yes,” Val snapped, lowering his leg back down. “It’s just my stomach muscles aching from holding my leg up, mainly. My leg isn’t even a full three on the pain scale.”

  Shania began massaging his damaged thigh muscles, talking as she did so. “We don’t know that this is permanent. Unfortunately we have no records of past injuries in shifters, not any from before when I started keeping records, at least. It seems to me that since we do heal from virtually everything but datura contact, you should eventually get over this damage. It’s because it was so severe—you’re lucky to even have this leg. If you’d been human, it would have been amputated.”

  Val had heard the story more times than he cared to. They suspected that, along with his femur being shattered, the artery in his leg had been torn, and he’d very nearly bled to death internally, but really no one knew exactly what had been fucked up inside him immediately after he’d been hit.

  Whatever it was, it’d taken him a little over two weeks to come out of the coma, and while he was recuperating quickly, as a shifter should, he wasn’t recuperating in the ways they’d hoped. No one, including him, thought he’d get his vision back in his left eye. There wasn’t even the hint of a shadow there, and the iris, once a solid dark brown, was almost solid black as the pupil was permanently blown. Val felt like a freak every time he saw himself in a mirror.

  “You’re able to walk with hardly a limp at all,” Shania muttered, not asking him. Val was relatively certain she was talking for her own sake, not his. “Have almost full motility, can even run for short distances, you just can’t shift.”

  Val quit listening then. He already knew he was a mess, but he would get better, would get his ability to shift back. His wolf wasn’t gone. Val could feel it inside him, but it was like the beast was sleeping, still in the coma Val had come out of. Surely that was why he couldn’t shift, not because of any physical reason.

  Shania tapped his hip and Val snapped out of his thoughts. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Don’t ma’am me,” Shania snorted. “Guh. I’m only thirty-three. That’s a year younger than you.”

  Val stuck his tongue out at Shania’s familiar complaint. “You know it’s meant as a sign of respect. I keep gagging on calling my cousin ‘doctor’ when I used to pull your pigtails.”

  “And I’d kick your ass for it,” Shania pointed out. “Don’
t even try saying that was because you wouldn’t hit a girl back. I’d have stomped you either way.”

  “You go on thinking that,” Val teased, knowing Shania wouldn’t truly get mad at him. “If it makes you feel better. Ma’am.”

  “Ass.” Shania popped him on his butt when he stood. “Get dressed, and go eat as much as you can. You’re too damned skinny.”

  “Way to build up my self-esteem,” Val mumbled as he reached for his pants. He’d always been naturally muscular, almost overly so, but several weeks on the brink of death had left him well past scrawny. It was flippin’ weird.

  “Your self-esteem will be back up in the bullshit zone in no time.” Shania hugged him and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. “You’ll pack on the muscle quicker than you lost it, so stop worrying about that and concentrate on taking care of yourself.”

  “Will do,” Val said as he tugged his shirt tail down past his butt. He left the room used as a clinic and went to the dining area. The scents along the way were enticing, and his stomach growled and cramped. Val wondered when he’d recover all of his ability to scent. It wasn’t gone, but it was weaker. Apparently he’d really had a wallop to his head when that SUV had hit him. No surprise, or it shouldn’t be, but the realisation of what had happened to him and what he had lost blindsided Val at odd moments.

  Inside the dining hall, several people called out to Val. He’d always been well liked, knew he was an affable enough guy, but he’d never been truly close to anyone else. It was stupid, but he’d been holding out in hopes of finding his mate and sharing everything with that one perfect man.

  Damn, but wouldn’t my friends have a laugh over that romantic fantasy? And if they knew I’d never even gone all the way with a guy because of it, they’d—He couldn’t imagine what they’d do. Probably not believe him or laugh themselves to death. That he’d never had an actual relationship didn’t seem to matter to anyone. They’d just thought he was a playboy.

  “Hey, Val, come sit with us when you get your tray.”

  The offer came from Val’s left, and, while he couldn’t see without turning his head, he knew the voice. “Sure, Keegan, if you haven’t inhaled your food by then.”

  Keegan probably flipped him off in the good-natured way friends did such things. Val didn’t crane his head around to see. He got in line and did like Shania told him to. Val had enough food on his tray to feed three people when he headed for Keegan’s table. He sat across from Keegan rather than have Keegan on his left side where he’d have to angle his head to look at him.

  “And you said I got a lot of food?” Keegan teased. “Jesus, you have enough there to feed the entire pack!”

  Val knew Keegan could see how skinny he’d become but the guy wasn’t an asshole and wouldn’t bring it up. Neither would Val. He shrugged and popped a chunk of chicken in his mouth, talking around it. “Yup. Takes a lot to fill a real man up.”

  Keegan snickered and stole one of his ribs. “So who’d you get the food for then?”

  “Dick,” Val muttered before he laughed. Dinner was pleasant enough, with him and his friends picking on each other. It wasn’t until he’d almost cleared his tray of all the food on it that Nathan entered the dining room and looked right at him. Val hurriedly swallowed and nearly choked in surprise when Nathan pointed at him then wiggled his finger in a ‘come here’ manner.

  “Oh shit, what’d you do now?” Keegan whispered. Val glared at him, wondering how come he was never attracted to him. Keegan was handsome as sin. Val shoved the useless thought aside and told himself to quit trying to avoid the niggling fear in his head. Had he fucked up somehow? Done something to annoy Marcus or Nathan? Val couldn’t think of anything as he carried his tray over to the trash can.

  By the time he made it to the door of Marcus’ office, Val’s stomach was one big knot of worry. He’d always strived to serve his Alpha Anax, had been filled with pride the day he’d been appointed to Alpha Anax Marcus Criswell’s personal guard. As a boy, that was all Val had hoped for, to protect the leader of the North American shifters. The idea of letting him down in any way was unthinkable, and yet Val couldn’t think of any reason Marcus would send for him. Drawing himself up to his full six and a half feet—he’d not cower in disrespect to his Alpha Anax—Val knocked on the door.

  Instead of calling out and telling Val to come in, Marcus himself opened the door. “Val, come in and have a seat, please.” He stepped back and Val felt his gaze like an unspoken critique of his shortcomings. He knew Marcus was seeing the slight hitch in his step, the way he turned his head to see if there was anyone on the left of him, the way he had to scent the air to check for anyone on that side, not that he could smell much better than a human. Marcus knew exactly how badly Val was messed up.

  Nathan came around from Val’s left. Val sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk while Marcus moved around to take his seat on the other side of it. Nathan walked over and stood at Marcus’ side, one hand resting on Marcus’ shoulder. Val forced himself not to squirm or fidget in the least as Marcus studied him. He did, however, avert his gaze, submitting willingly to his Alpha.

  “How are you feeling, Val?”

  Val looked up then, frowning because he had expected something other than an enquiry into his health. “Better,” he offered, wondering what he was supposed to say. The truth, he supposed, so he continued. “I still haven’t been able to shift. I can feel my wolf here.” Val put his hand right beneath his heart. “Deep inside, like he’s there but sleeping, you know?”

  Marcus arched a brow and Val’s frustration at his inability to find the right words grew.

  “He’s there, I can’t describe it. He just won’t wake up. I think…” Val looked up, seeing nothing in particular as he searched for the words he needed. “I think he gave so much to keep this body of ours alive, it took a toll on him and he needs to recover. But he is there, he hears me.”

  Marcus stared at him so intently Val had to lock his muscles and joints to keep from shivering.

  “Come closer,” Marcus ordered. He stood at the same time Val did. Val took the two steps he needed to in order to press his thighs to the edge of the desk. It simply wasn’t possible for Val to look into Marcus’ eyes when he reached over the desk and cupped Val’s nape. A wave of power slapped against Val, Marcus exercising some of his strength as Alpha Anax. Val quivered inside and out when Marcus put his nose to Val’s neck and inhaled.

  Marcus rumbled a wordless sound as he released Val. “I could barely scent the wolf in you, and only then when I loosed my power. But he is definitely in there.”

  “I told you—” Val began, only to cut himself off when he realised what he was saying and to whom. He still felt a bit stunned by that small example of Marcus’ power. “Sorry, Alpha Anax.”

  “It’s fine,” Marcus said, gesturing at him. “Sit back down. I had to check, you understand?”

  Val shook his head as he sat and folded his hands in his lap. “No, sir, I don’t, not really.” Unless Marcus needed to know if he was lying, but Marcus would have sensed that.

  “Sometimes we can deceive ourselves into believing something we wish was the truth,” Marcus explained, which, as an explanation, just sucked. “I needed to make sure you weren’t simply refusing to see that your wolf was, perhaps, gone.”

  Val’s insides chilled as if he’d had his veins filled with ice. “That’s not possible, is it?” Granted, he’d worried about just that very thing, but he hadn’t believed it could really ever happen.

  Marcus hitched one shoulder up. “I’ve heard stories, but never known it to happen. It wouldn’t have occurred to me as truly being a possibility except no one has caught even a whiff of your wolf since the attack. It certainly made me start to wonder, and worry. I couldn’t imagine such a thing.”

  Val couldn’t either, and now the frigid cold had concentrated in his fingertips and toes. They felt numb yet ached every few heartbeats. “Me either,” he managed around a lump of fear in his throat. Wh
at would have happened to him if Marcus had smelt nothing other than human on him? Val discounted the thought almost as soon as he had it. He’d die without his wolf, and that would be that.

  “Look at me, Val.”

  Val dragged his gaze up, glancing first at Nathan, who’d been unusually quiet during this meeting. Nathan didn’t smile, instead staring at him intently. Val turned his attention to Marcus and flinched under the hard look in his Alpha Anax’s eyes.

  “I have a task for you that may very well last for years, possibly a lifetime, depending, and it is very important that you understand it is not me sending you away or thinking you are in any way inept.” Marcus steepled his hands on top of the desk and tipped his chin down, staring eerily at Val. “In fact, I may be placing the safety of all shifters on your shoulders, so remember that if you ever believe I have any doubt in your capabilities.”

  Val was terrified and almost overwhelmingly proud at the same time. He wanted to ask Marcus if he was sure he should trust something so important to a fucked-up shifter, but that would imply Val lacked faith in his leader’s abilities. That would never be the case.

  Marcus was the man Val idolised, as did most of the other shifters, male and female. It wasn’t unusual. Marcus was the strongest shifter in North America, maybe even the world, and commanded a respect many would envy but very few would challenge.

  “Yes, Alpha Anax,” Val said softly, straining to make himself keep his gaze on Marcus’. “I am honoured and give my word to do the best, to sacrifice anything and everything for you and our pack.”

  Marcus nodded solemnly then flicked a hand and Val felt him reining in his power completely so that Val didn’t have to struggle to look at him. It still made Val’s spine itch to do so but it wasn’t the almost painful experience it could have been.

  Nathan cleared his throat and Val turned to him. Nathan looked as serious and stern as he had moments ago. He crossed his arms over his surprisingly broad chest—for such a short guy, Nathan was rather muscular—and looked down his nose at Val. If Nathan had been sitting as well, that wouldn’t have been possible. Then again, Val reflected as he kind of slumped under that look, Nathan could probably manage to give anyone that look despite any disparity in height.