The relief was short-lived, as when he emerged from the various departments and reached the aisles of toys, he spotted the fedora rounding the corner. Their eyes met briefly and the man smiled, his eyes glinting yellow under the fluorescent lights. Jeffery turned and rushed into the toys, looking left and right for Jordan, his ears alert for the little girl's voice. He neither heard nor saw evidence of either of them, and his palms began to sweat. He moved past the toys, into the shiny packaging and blaring televisions of the electronics section. They weren't there, and he hadn't really expected them to be. He couldn't imagine a situation which would require an emergency trip for DVDs.
Emergency. The word rang in his head. Emergency service. Emergency personnel. Emergency rations. Emergency... no, wait! He spun on his heel and bolted for the grocery side of the massive store, dodging tired moms with their squalling children and overloaded shopping carts, weaving through groves of squat trees filled with cheap clothes, and sliding across tiles until he'd found his way to the food. Jordan's calm, patient voice met his ears, and he darted toward the sound.
"No, Darla. You can't have that one, it's strawberry."
"I like strawberry!" she screeched, echoing off the ceiling.
Quiet, kid, Jeffery thought. He'll hear you.
"You're allergic to strawberries," Jordan said, still calm. "But look, there's a chocolate one. Let's get that! Chocolate's better than strawberry anyway."
"No! It's! Not! I want..." She inhaled deeply, and Jeffery winced at what he knew was coming. "Strawberries!"
Her scream was so loud that every person for aisles around froze and whipped their heads in her direction. Too much attention, Jeffery thought. They needed to get her calm and out of the store right now. He slid around the next end cap, and found Jordan down on one knee, speaking softly to the agitated little girl.
"Jordan!" Jeffery called out.
Jordan glanced up, and Darla kicked him in the shin, grabbed the package of strawberry-filled cookies, and ran away down the aisle.
"Damn it! Grab the basket!" Jordan ordered, running after his daughter.
"Wait, there's someone... son of a bitch," Jeffery finished under his breath. He picked up Jordan's blue plastic basket and followed him. They had to catch up with the girl right now, but she moved at superhuman speeds. Jeffery could catch up faster than Jordan could. He tapped into his latent energy and dissolved his public defenses, darting through the store like a bat out of hell. She had disappeared. Jordan was behind him now, calling Darla's name down every aisle.
"Yeah, just announce our presence," Jeffery muttered under his breath.
He almost missed her, but the yellow doll held by a man in a fedora made him look twice. She was standing still, staring up at the very same werewolf who had followed him inside. He was holding the square, yellow doll just out of reach, slowly backing away toward the door. He teased her with it, holding it out just to snatch it back again when her fingers brushed against it. She moved closer and he backed away. He repeated the motion, drawing her toward the door.
"Stop!" Jeffery shouted, racing toward the man.
Darla turned and screamed wordlessly at him, then spun back around and lunged at the doll.
"Darla no!" Jordan yelled, panic in his voice.
"SpongeBob!" Darla argued, pointing at the doll.
"No, Darla, get away from him!"
Jordan was running toward them, but the man was almost out the door. He backed away more quickly, and Jeffery could read his lips. He was promising her the SpongeBob doll; she just had to come outside.
"You don't let me have nothing!" Darla screamed at Jordan. "I running away!"
Jordan leapt, scooping her up the instant her fingers brushed the doll and lifting her just as her toes crossed the line to the outside world. She screamed, frustrated and angry, and there in front of God, humans and video cameras, she shifted. She sank her sharp little fangs deep into Jordan's upper arm, tearing into his flesh. The man in the fedora turned and ran, knowing that his face associated with this debacle would mean exile at best. Darla writhed in Jordan's arms, shaking her head as blood spurted from his wound.
"Darla! God fucking damn it!" Jordan shouted.
Darla froze, then wilted into her human form. She was pale and her eyes were huge and filling with tears. Jeffery reached them then, basket full of unpurchased goods in hand, and watched Jordan die a little inside. His jaw clenched and unclenched, and the tears in his eyes reflected the tears in hers. He shifted her weight in his arms, laying her head on his shoulder, and she began to cry softly as he rubbed her back.
"I'm sorry, baby," he murmured, his voice breaking. "I'm sorry."
"I sorry I bite you," she said, her voice quivering. Then she nestled her face in his neck and dissolved into wracking, shaking, heart-wrenching sobs. He held her close and walked out the doors. Jeffery followed, feeling as though he was witnessing something he shouldn't. Something private and sacred. He watched their backs as they walked across the parking lot to the camper. Jordan was still murmuring to his daughter as he strapped her into her car seat, and Jeffery placed the basket beside her on the opposite side. He tried not to listen, but his heart was breaking for Jordan.
"I love you, princess," he was saying. "I'm sorry I said those things."
"I love you," she said, sighing a shuddering breath as she lifted her tiny hand to touch his face. "It okay."
He kissed her forehead and took a deep breath. He smiled at her gently as he closed the door, then walked around the front of the car to the driver's seat.
"Not a chance," Jeffery told him, standing in his way. "You are about to get wrecked. I'll drive."
"What?"
Jeffery nodded at the bite on his arm which was still seeping blood.
"You've been turned," he said. "Your body is about to explode. You'll get maybe three miles down the road before you crash. Let me drive."
Jordan's eyes widened then closed with the weight of that realization. He passed a hand over his face and groaned.
"Is there anything I can do to make it easier?" he asked.
"Not really," Jeffery said, truthfully. "I mean, it might be better if you were in the camper. More room to stretch. But no matter where you are or what you do, you are about to give birth to yourself."
Pure, honest fear etched across Jordan's face. He leaned into the back door and looked at Darla.
"Honey, Daddy's going to take a little nap, okay? Jeffery's going to drive."
"Want you drive," she said.
She was still scared, Jeffery realized. The incident in the store had left her feeling vulnerable, and she needed her Daddy. Jeffery knew there was no way, and he watched as Jordan struggled with that fact.
"Hey, kiddo," Jeffery said, gently. "We're going to have some fun, okay? We'll put cartoons on, dance to some music, eat some snacks... we'll have a real party. What do you say?"
She looked at him suspiciously.
"You werewolf," she said.
"Yes I am," he answered, honestly.
"Good guy or bad guy?"
Good question, he thought. But he didn't let her in on his little crisis of faith.
"I'm a good guy," he said, with a smile.
"Daddy?" she asked.
"He's a good guy," Jordan said, smiling as sweat began to pop up on his brow. "I trust him with you."
"Okay," she said. "Ice cream?"
Jordan's hands shook as he pulled a box of ice cream sandwiches from the basket and opened it. His fingernails were beginning to thicken and yellow as he unwrapped the treat and handed it to her.
"Cooler under the seat," he said. "Baby wipes in the glove box."
"Go," Jeffery said, urgently. "I hear sirens."
Jordan hurried to the back of the camper, pausing only once to double over in agony. Jeffery winced. He'd been turned eighty years or so back, but the memory of it was as fresh and painful as if it had happened yesterday. He followed Jordan to the back to make sure that he made it inside, and told
him to lock the door. Jordan nodded, already beyond the ability to speak, and did as he was told. Jeffery rushed to the front and slid behind the wheel. They had exactly no time. They needed to be long gone before police or thugs from any species showed up. He didn't remember the ice cream until he stopped at the sign at the end of the parking lot, then reached around with one hand to move the food into the cooler. It was an awkward endeavor, but he managed it somehow. He pulled into the street and peeled away, picking a direction at random. He would not be getting back on the northbound freeway. It was entirely too obvious, he realized. That was the only explanation for Montague's men finding them after his frantic departure the night before.
"Um, werewolf?" Darla said from the back, interrupting his thoughts.
"Yes, princess?"
"No, call me princess. Daddy call me princess."
"I'm sorry. Yes, Darla?"
"Cartoons?"
"Right! I forgot. Give me ten minutes and I'll put cartoons on, okay?"
"Okay."
He did a double-take in the rearview mirror. She wasn't stewing or steaming or revving up for a tantrum, all of which he'd seen her do with Jordan. His first instinct was to accept that maybe he was just better at talking to her than Jordan was, but he knew better. The girl didn't trust him enough to press him. Honestly, he didn't blame her. The only way she would survive the next few weeks was to trust no one. Especially himself. He thought back over the events of the last few days, weeks and years. Yes, he decided. I am absolutely not to be trusted.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was like flu and food poisoning and broken bones. Jordan huddled in the camper, crouched down in the little space between the bathroom and Darla's bed, hugging himself and trembling. He wanted to vomit, but he couldn't seem to remember how. His arm burned, shooting slivers of white-hot poison through his blood, altering his DNA with an almost audible sizzle. Sweat poured from his face, blinding him, and he swiped at it with clumsy, swollen hands. Everything was swollen. His joints stiffened, doubling and tripling in size, and he was forced to stretch out on the floor. He gasped for air as his ribs pressed outward, cracking cartilage and tearing muscle. It hurt too much to scream.
He flailed like a newborn baby, wriggling this way and that as every cell in his body turned inside out. He felt it in his feet, his hands, tasted it in his mouth, saw it in the way the world curled and undulated around him. He was at the brink and could feel it; utterly terrified. Not yet, he begged internally. Please not yet, not yet, I'm not ready. A flash of adrenaline and the overwhelming urge to purge everything overwhelmed him. He emptied his belly and bowels obscenely as blazing hot and icy cold flashes coursed over his body and he ripped apart. He was inside out, upside down and twisted around his own existence at the edge of the universe. Tumbling into the abyss, only to fall against himself again.
Reality slowly condensed and solidified around him. He was wedged uncomfortably in the small space, which seemed to have shrunk. His eyes slowly began to function, and he saw the world in muted shades of blue, gray and yellow. Wriggling, he attempted to stand and realized that his hands had transformed into massive paws. The trembling rumble of the tires on the road confused his senses, and he staggered in a wobbly circle for a moment before finding the bathroom. He lifted himself, propping his paws on the sink, and gazed into his own frightened yellow eyes, but lost his balance and fell, hitting his shoulder hard on the little tub. His curse was a canine yelp. The sound startled him. He wanted to cry. He didn't know what to do, how to go back to the way he was before, and he was covered in filth. The shower beckoned him, but between the motion of the truck and his lack of opposable thumbs, he didn't stand a chance.
Whimpering, he curled up on the bathroom floor and tucked his nose under his tail. He ached to recover his humanity. He thought back to all those moments when Darla shifted back into her human form, focusing on the memory of her face and the look in her eyes. It was almost as if she were letting go of the beast. He breathed deeply and instantly regretted it; his nose was much more sensitive than he was used to, and there was a plethora of odious scents in the air. Let go, he told himself. Just let go. Fear vibrated within him, and he held it for a moment. Accepted it. I'm afraid, he thought. Afraid that I will be trapped in this form forever. Afraid of immortality. Afraid of the colony. I'm afraid, and it's okay to be afraid. He held it for a moment, verbalized it in his mind, and released.
Anger was next. He was angry at himself for allowing Darla to run off. Angry at himself for cursing at her. Angry that he couldn't hold off long enough to make sure that she felt safe. He was angry at Montague and all of his men, and angry at Jeffery for distracting him in the aisle. I'm angry, he thought. It's okay to be angry. With that, he let it go. Beneath the anger was guilt. Terrible, terrible guilt. There was too much of it, all linked together with love and loneliness and loss. He needed to work through it though. He would never be able to release the beast if he couldn't release his own emotional weight. I feel guilty for not having a stable place for my daughter to live. I feel guilty that she only has me to rely on, that she doesn't know her aunt or cousins or grandparents. I feel guilty for being attracted to someone who isn't her father. I feel guilty that Alex's death didn't kill me. The list went on and on and, with every new piece, he held it, accepted it, and released. The meditation took a very long time; how much, he couldn't be sure. Time seemed meaningless after what he'd just survived, and he was simply wading through each moment as it came now.
I'm lonely, he realized suddenly. Desperately lonely. I'm angry and afraid and guilty... because I'm lonely. With that thought, everything suddenly clicked. Shame melted away, replaced by a dull acceptance of his own humanity. Humans required other humans, and adult humans required other adults. He wasn't selfish for needing someone besides Darla in his life any more than he was selfish for needing food, water, or air. It wasn't wrong, bad, or even negative; it simply was. It was human. He felt his body liquefy lazily from the inside out, rearranging itself, softening and shrinking. It took several moments, far longer than it took Darla, but after a while he found himself naked and utterly human (at least on the outside), huddled on the bathroom floor.
Jeffery chose that moment to park the truck, and Jordan silently thanked the gods for the opportunity to shower. As he stood, he felt the power pump through his veins, revitalizing everything within him. He hungered for blood and wine and wide open spaces; thirsted for sex and knowledge and power. He was drunk on his own changes, reeling with the newfound energy coursing through his body, electrifying him. He saw the world spread out in his mind, and knew that he could take it all. The moment of greed and will rocked him to his core, and he reveled in it. He had never felt so gloriously free.
Jeffery had kept Darla entertained with stories and music for two hours, but the girl was getting restless and would not abide another moment in her car seat. He'd zigged and zagged through enough side streets and low-traffic highways to feel safe enough to park, and he'd found an abandoned, out-of-the-way playground for her. It looked as though it had been built with a housing development in mind, since it was in the dead center of a tangle of intertwined roads; but the developer must have run out of money or motivation before they'd finished, as the streets were completely empty except for the playground and one building which looked like an office of some sort.
"Alright, kiddo, ready to play?"
"Where Daddy?"
"I'm going to go check on your Daddy right now."
"I check," Darla said, nodding emphatically.
"No, Darla, it's not safe. You stay outside while I check on your Daddy."
"But..."
"Darla," he said, a warning in his voice.
"I touch the truck?"
"Yes, come touch the truck."
"Okay."
She stood with one hand on the taillight, watching Jeffery as he climbed into the camper. He smiled reassuringly at her, though he didn't feel particularly assured himself. Jordan could have easily k
illed himself during his transition; generally speaking, leaving a human alone to turn was a terrible idea. Under literally any other circumstances, Jeffery would have nursed him through it. He hoped the man hadn't hurt himself too badly.
To his surprise, the shower was running and he could hear Jordan whistling the theme song of some old TV show. Jeffery crept toward the sound slowly, keeping his eyes peeled for evidence of... there. He found the birthplace by the ladder, and grabbed a mop out of the long cupboard beside the fridge. He cleaned quickly and thoroughly, wanting to save Darla from that experience at least, though he didn't know how long she would stay attached to the taillight. In fact, he really expected her to burst in at any moment, looking for her daddy.
He had just finished cleaning when the shower turned off. Jordan stepped out of the bathroom, glistening and naked, his skin glowing in the aftermath of his transformation. Jeffery's eyes traveled over the strong arms, broad chest and the gentle softness of his belly. His muscular thighs and well-endowed masculinity made Jeffery uncomfortably aroused, and he tore his gaze away, up to Jordan's eyes. It was a mistake. They were burning with lust and power, that primal hunger that Jeffery had nearly forgotten. Jordan had died and returned a god, and Jeffery couldn't resist the pull of his smoldering green fire. He'd taken three steps before he caught himself, forcing his will to remain neutral in the face of raw sexuality.
"I see you made it," he said, stuttering slightly. "I'll let you get dressed. Darla's waiting outside; I think she's worried about you."
Jordan didn't say anything. Jeffery looked back and met his eyes in spite of himself. His heart fluttered at the slim, golden halo under the iris.
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