Under His Skin

by Jennifer Blackstream

  A sudden heat erupted in Brec’s cheeks and he cursed himself for blushing. Of all the things his brother could have chosen to concentrate on, it figured he would choose that insignificant detail. Micah groaned.

  “Brec, dammit, I should never have let you go alone.”

  “Oh, for the love of Manannan, Micah,” Brec growled. “I’m a grown man, I don’t need you to babysit me.”

  “Oh, but apparently you do,” Micah snapped. “Brec you’ve already admitted that she’s basically a manipulative thief who will do and say anything to get what she wants.”

  “That’s all over now.”

  “You can’t possibly know that!”

  “Yes I can.”

  “How?”

  “Because she doesn’t need anyone else’s skin anymore,” Brec snapped. “She has hers back.”

  “Back?” Micah stared at him with confusion twisting his features. “What do you mean she has hers back?”

  Brec rubbed his uninjured hand over his face. He might as well tell Micah everything. His brother wasn’t going to drop it until he did.

  “She’s a lisitsa. She lost her fox fur and she was stealing other skinwalkers’ skins to try and replace it.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Your skin isn’t a fox fur, it’s seal. Why would she take it?”

  Brec stared into space, his mind turning over the situation. Micah had a point. Things had moved so fast when he was with her. Between fighting with Ana, healing the toos, and then . . . everything else, he hadn’t really given it much thought.

  “I think . . .” he said slowly, “that she just got so desperate to be something other than human, that she decided any skin would be better than nothing.” He raised his gaze to Micah and shrugged. “Anyway, lisitsas aren’t exactly plentiful. Ana’s the first one I’ve met, how about you?”

  Micah frowned his head. “I’m sorry she lost her fur--”

  “‘Lost’ isn’t the right word. Her human lover threw it into the fireplace.”

  The blood drained from Micah’s face. “Manannan forgive us.”

  The horror etched across his brother’s face reminded Brec of how he’d felt the when Ana had told him the story. Talking about it again made the story come alive and he couldn’t help but imagine himself in the same position. Would his sanity have survived that?

  Suddenly Micah shook himself, as if he had to physically rid himself of the image. “I can’t even imagine--I don’t want to imagine--I . . . dammit, that doesn’t excuse what she did! And it doesn’t mean we can just leave her out there to keep doing it. I understand why killer whales eat our people--we’re food and they need to eat to live. But that sure as saltwater doesn’t mean I’m going to let them eat our people.” He lowered his voice, fixing Brec with a serious, but calm look. “And it doesn’t mean that I’m going to let a killer whale who’s proven itself to be a danger to keep swimming around our home.”

  The implication hung in the air and Brec ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

  “You’re not listening to me. She’s not going to steal any more skins.” Brec stood, facing his brother. “She doesn’t have to. Didn’t you hear me? I told you, she has hers back.”

  “You said her skin was burned.”

  “It was.”

  “Then it’s destroyed,” Micah argued. “There’s no regrowing it, no healing something that’s been eaten away by fire. There’s no way she could have . . .” he trailed off, his eyes growing comically wide. “Brec . . . are you telling me you healed a burnt--”

  “Not exactly,” Brec cut him off. “Even I can’t heal that kind of damage from a body part that isn’t attached anymore.”

  “Alaunus?” Micah ventured.

  “Sort of. Alaunus came to me in a dream, but he told me himself Ana’s skin couldn’t be healed.” He braced himself against Micah’s reaction to the next part. “But Morrigan had a solution.”

  “The Great Queen?” Micah said hoarsely.

  For the first time in his life, Brec was struck by how odd it was that the warriors feared Morrigan. Not that it was hard to understand why they feared her, anyone who’d heard the stories could understand that. No, what struck him as odd was that a man could pledge himself to a deity, could serve and rely on that deity, and still be so frightened of their goddess’ impulses. Brec had rued Alaunus’ participation in his life, had even had occasion to worry that he’d displeased Alaunus, but he didn’t fear the healing god. A soft sense of amazement settled over Brec’s spirit. Was there no end to all he had taken for granted?

  “Brec, the Great Queen is not someone to enter deals with lightly,” Micah continued. He fidgeted as if the very thought of his patron deity made him nervous.

  “I had no choice. She had a spell that she’d once used to turn warriors into animals using belts made from animal skins. I couldn’t heal Ana’s skin, but I could use the same spell Morrigan used to transform her into a fox--just as if she were any other human trying to become an animal.”

  “And it worked?”

  Brec’s chest constricted as the rest of the evening’s events came back to him. “I don’t know. I left before she tried it out.”

  Something must have shown on his face because Micah’s shoulders tensed even more. “What happened?”

  “Morrigan wanted something in return for the spell.” Brec sat up, suddenly remembering what Morrigan had said about him. “Micah, Morrigan said I was born with blood on my hands. She said Alaunus had taken it to mean I would be a great healer, but she said it also could have meant I was born to be a warrior. Do you remember my birth?”

  Micah shrugged. “I was only five.”

  “So you don’t remember anything?” Brec pressed.

  “I just remember your hands looking red. It wasn’t real blood, it just looked more like a birthmark or something. Everyone knew it was a sign, but no one knew what it meant.” Suddenly he froze, dread twisting his features. “What did Morrigan say it meant?”

  Brec shifted on the couch, not wanting to remember what Morrigan had done. “She said it meant I could have been hers. She wanted to see me fight, to see for herself if I should have been a warrior.”

  Micah’s face went slack. Brec waited for his brother to launch into his usual spiel about how much their people needed a great healer and how a healer with Brec’s skills was worth a hundred warriors.

  It was several long moments before Micah spoke.

  “Brec, why don’t you want me to go back to Ana’s?” Micah asked quietly.

  Brec frowned in confusion. “I told you, she’s not a threat. There’s no need to go back there.”

  “You just said you didn’t stay to see if the spell worked. Why not?”

  Brec looked away. An image of Ana lying in bed, her throat already darkening with finger-shaped bruises, rose up in his mind. “Let it go.”

  “You said Morrigan wanted to see you fight.”

  “So?”

  Micah narrowed his eyes. “Don’t play stupid with me. Did you fight Ana?”

  “What do you want, Micah?” Brec exploded. Anger and frustration fed the flames of his temper and he didn’t try to hold it back anymore. It had been a long, horrible couple of hours, and he just wanted to forget they’d ever happened.

  “Do you want the details? Do you want to hear about how Morrigan played us like pawns on a chessboard? That Ana and I fought? Do you want me to tell you all about how I strangled a woman who thought I’d mutilated her skin?” He laughed, short humorless sound. “I showed Morrigan I could be a big bad warrior.” He shook his head. “What a joke.”

  Micah was quiet for a long time. Finally, he sighed. “You said she’s fine now?”

  Brec nodded, his temper still churning. “I healed her a little before I left. There shouldn’t be any lasting damage.”

  “Morrigan is the goddess of war, Brec. I’m sure if you explained everything to Ana, she would understand.”

  Brec glared at his brother, suddenly wanting to strangle
him too. “I never said I wanted to go back,” he snapped, his heart beating harder at the thought. “Ana attacked me without asking any questions, without giving me a chance to explain. She stole my skin and I forgave her. I trusted her. I deserved a little faith.”

  “Did she go for her skin first or did she attack you first?”

  His question caught Brec off guard. He frowned, his anger momentarily forgotten in his confusion. “What?”

  Micah tilted his head. “When she found you sitting in the shredded remains of her skin, did she run to her skin, or did she attack you and ignore the skin?”

  The nightmare played itself in his mind, reigniting the pain of that moment. “She went right for me.”

  “Then you’re in luck, because she loves you too.”

  Brec’s jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me. With everything I’ve just told you, that’s what you have to say to me? I never said I loved her and I sure as saltwater didn’t say I cared if she loved me.”

  Micah propped his chin on his hand. “Are you telling me you don’t love her?”

  A warm emotion stirred in his heart, but he firmly shoved it away. “It doesn’t matter, Micah. She doesn’t love me.”

  “Sure about that, are you?”

  “She wouldn’t have attacked me like that if she loved me. Like you said, she went right for me, not for her skin.”

  “When her lover threw her skin into the fire, did she attack him first or did she go for her skin?”

  He frowned, his brain struggling to remember. “She went for her skin.”

  “Exactly. Because she didn’t love that man. She loves you. She attacked you instead of running to the pieces of her skin because she was more upset about your betrayal than she was about the destruction of her skin. And the only thing that could possibly mean more to a skinwalker than their skin is love.”

  It was a ridiculous train of logic—not even logic, it was drivel. Before he could open his mouth to argue, another form broke the water beside his brother. The seal’s sleek grey head was thrown back to reveal a raven haired beauty with bright green eyes. She grabbed Micah’s arm, her eyes wide with panic.

  “Micah! The medved grabbed Elsie!”

  Micah’s expression hardened and he turned his full attention to the messenger. “The bear? I thought I told all of you to leave the skin where he would find it! I specifically warned everyone not to try handing the skins over in person.”

  “Elsie was afraid he wouldn’t find it, she was going to leave it on his doorstep. He must have heard her on the porch.” The selkie’s eyes widened even further, her panic seeming to grow with every passing moment. “He looked so angry! He grabbed her before I could do anything and dragged her into his house.”

  “It’s okay, Cleo, we’ll get her back.” He grabbed the head of his skin and prepared to pull it over his head. “Come on, we’ll grab the others and you can lead us to the house.”

  Brec watched the two selkies disappear beneath the water, neither of them taking the time for the niceties of a farewell. Forty-eight hours ago, he would have begged his brother to let him go with him. He would have wanted to be part of this mission, wanted a taste of the glory the warriors lived on. Sadness settled over him as he watched the ripples in the water. He didn’t want that life anymore.

  Ana had made him realize that. She’d spoken of the art of healing like a true healer should, with respect and awe. She had more respect for his profession than he’d had his entire life.

  A sense of purpose filled Brec’s body, instilling a warmth that came from determination instead of anger. Maybe there was something to be salvaged from the whole mess with Ana. Grabbing his skin, he pulled it over his body and dove into the water, taking on his seal form as he cut through the currents. He wasn’t a warrior. He was a healer. And he had a patient to check on.

  Chapter 27

  By the time Ana trotted back to her cabin, she was weak physically and emotionally, completely spent from the greatest night of her life. A glorious ache in her muscles only served to remind her of all the running, jumping, and hunting she’d done all night and she couldn’t stop her tongue from lolling out of her mouth in a huge foxy smile.

  The scent of blood pricked her ears forward. She jerked her tongue back into her mouth just in time to avoid biting it off when she snapped her teeth shut. Lowering her body to the ground, she hid in the snow as she searched for the source of the smell.

  Ahead, on the path leading to her personal dock, were blood spatters. Brec. Concern filled her heart as her mind replayed the scene from the evening before, the scene that had been completely forgotten in the rush of her new fur. Brec, standing amidst the ruins of her skin. The look of shock and pain on his face as she attacked him with his own blade. His blood flowing from his skin where she’d cut him.

  A heavy sadness fell over her body and she paused beside the pink snow. She remembered everything clearly now. Why had he been so angry when she’d got up to come find him? Hadn’t he himself laid his fur over top of her? Why had he snatched it away, as if she’d tried to steal it?

  Her throat ached, but it was only a memory. She remembered the feel of his hands around her neck, choking the breath from her body. She should have woken up in pain, but she felt better than she had in a long time. He must have healed her before he left.

  She raised her gaze to the sea. Whatever had happened, she owed him her life. He had returned her skin to her, had made her whole again. If she could, she would spend the rest of her life trying to thank him for that.

  Suddenly, she froze. What if he wouldn’t accept her thanks? She’d attacked him, had cut him. The sight of her mutilated skin had snapped something inside her and she’d gone blind with rage. What if she’d driven him away forever?

  She shot to her feet, unconsciously taking a few steps toward the water. What if she never found him again? How would she say she was sorry?

  An image of Brec sprang into her mind. Sinfully handsome, the epitome of the seductive selkies of myth and legend, he’d had the body of a god and the kind eyes of a friend. He’d been good company even before she realized she wanted company. Ana stared out over the sea, wondering where he was now. The scent of blood tickled her nose and she looked back at the pink splotches on the snow in front of her. She’d hurt him. She’d hurt him and he’d left her. It didn’t matter where he was now—he wasn’t coming back.

  She turned back to her cabin, creeping up the steps and in through her still open door. Her small body felt heavier somehow, dragged down by an invisible weight. Her heart pounded as she removed the fox fur and stood on human legs. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she stood there staring at the glorious fox fur hanging from her arms. It wasn’t a full fur, but it was perfect. The little belt was all she needed, a bridge to her old life. She’d gotten her fur back and she was overcome with the need to thank the man who’d given her this wonderful gift

  “You must be pretty happy, huh?”

  Ana turned to find Nu perched on the back of her couch, watching her with steady blue eyes. The frigid breeze blowing in through the door stung the wet streaks on her face left by her tears and she turned away from him to close the door. She wasn’t sure why, but meeting the pixie’s gaze was difficult.

  “Of course I’m happy,” she lied. I would be happier if Brec were here.

  A shiver ran over her body, reminding Ana she was naked. Turning to the stairs, she made her way to her bedroom to get some clothes, ignoring the pixie flying right behind her.

  “You don’t look happy,” he observed.

  “I’m just cold,” Ana murmured.

  The sight of her bed stopped her cold as a memory sprang to vivid life in her mind. She saw herself lying on her bed, carried there in Brec’s arms. She’d felt like she was drowning and she didn’t care. Her hope had been extinguished and she’d seen nothing ahead of her but a life devoid of hope, trapped in one body while the part of her spirit that remembered being a fox withered and died.

&
nbsp; Brec had pulled her out of that. The heat of anger in his voice as he’d yelled at her to fight, the strength in his arms as he’d tried to shake the defeat off of her face. When he kissed her the touch of his mouth had stirred a passion inside her that pierced the soul-sucking despair pulling her down. Like a flower leaning toward the sun, she’d reached for that warmth, reveled in it. It hadn’t been the first time she’d had sex, but now she realized it had been the first time she’d made love.

  And you threw it all away over a scrap of your old life.

  Tears blurred her vision and she smothered a sob as she turned to her dresser and jerked out a clean pair of jeans and a red sweater. When she opened her underwear drawer she was attacked by another memory, this time an image of Brec standing amidst a pile of panties and laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. She clenched her teeth against the tears. She missed the sound of his laughter.