“In that case, I guess you’ll need a new one.” Aspen stepped closer, grinning down at him. “Not many get to pick their own names, son.” Then he frowned. “You know you’ve got burrs in your hair?”
Reaching up, the boy yanked one out and stared at it. “Burr,” he said, his lips twisting with a sardonic smile. “You can call me that while I’m here.”
And with that, Burr came home with us, still cradling the eagle and trying to hide how cold he was. At that time, I thought he might stay a day or two. I had no idea my uncle and aunt would adopt him, that he’d become the big brother my siblings always wished they had.
That he’d become my best friend.
Nor did I think how inappropriate that name would become after a while. Burr would go from a skinny, withdrawn boy to a giant man full of laughter and joy, his heart boundless and his enthusiasm contagious. He’d always been one to dive into life headfirst.
Now he was gone. All that color, life, and love was gone.
Even though I tried not to, a terrible sob wrenched loose from my chest. It sounded like the pain was trying to escape. Another followed and then I couldn’t stop. I hadn’t cried like this since my father, uncle, and aunt had died.
But when that had happened, it had taken a week for that pain to escape me. I’d woken in the middle of the night, the darkness pushing down on my soul and sobbed my heart out.
Of course, Burr had heard me. He’d appeared by my bed, then crawled in, holding me while I cried. His big hand had been clumsy on my hair, but I hadn’t cared.
A tap of nails startled me. The coyote was suddenly sitting next to me, its head tilted and eyes filled with concern. Nosing my knee, it curled up at my feet, its flank pressing into my leg and I reached out a hand. Its fur was warm, dry and soft.
There we sat. I could only imagine how it would look to someone looking in the window. A woman sitting on her kitchen floor, adrift in grief, her right hand knotted in the fur of a wild coyote.
Chapter 3
A week and a half later, my leg was almost healed and I was feeling stronger. The only pain that was truly bothering me now was the left side of my ribs. It flared up at strange times – twisting misery that left me gasping for breath.
I still couldn’t shift back to a man. I’d tried over and over again whenever I was alone. It was like the ability had vanished, although I could sense my other gifts coming back.
Whatever had done this to me was cruel as a north wind and as cunning as a Skinwalker. At first, I had wondered if our old enemy had done this to me, but that theory didn’t hold. If he’d possessed this kind of power, he would have wielded it before.
No, I’d run afoul of something else. Perhaps a new ally of the Skinwalker; something old and evil he’d made nice with to try to further his warped plans. It made me sick to think of it.
Fox and Willow had both tried repeatedly to heal me but to no avail. Even Juniper stopped by, sitting with his eyes closed, trying to reach me.
I hadn’t seen either of them in years. Fox had grown from a round kid into a stocky, built young man, his dark hair longer, but his face still full of mischief. But his eyes were more thoughtful. Juniper, always gentle and kind, looked like he was almost my height – broad through his shoulders and narrow through his waist, his jawline sharp and his grey-green eyes dreamy as always.
My heart ached to see both of them and not be able to talk to them. While I’d kept in touch with Willow’s brothers via phone calls and texts, it was different to see them, to be in their presence. It reminded me of our childhood nearly ten happy years we’d had, untouched by any kind of sorrow, before our worlds were all rocked at the same time.
Your dad and Aspen would be so proud of the men you’ve become, I wanted to tell them.
Both of them were extremely solicitous of Willow, I noticed, too. Even though they were in college which was over two hours away, they made time to visit her. More than once, I’d heard her say tartly to them, “Stop it. I’m fine,” and they’d exchange a look I knew well.
In the days that had passed, Willow and I had circled each other warily. While part of me still wondered what had caused her that grief that first day, I knew I’d never find out. She’d bury it away and never speak of it. If anything, she was probably embarrassed I was there.
In spite of that, though, worry about her came and went, gripping me hard. I’d never heard her cry like that except for once – a dark night a week after the Ash Walkers attacked nine years ago.
It was odd how the past repeated itself. Back then, her cries had woken me out of a doze and I’d crept over to comfort her. But she’d told me to leave her alone. I’d refused to listen and crawled into her bed and held her against me. It was the one and only time I’d ever not listened to Willow like that – except of course when we were kids and I ignored her all the time. But once I’d hit sixteen, I’d always done whatever she’d asked.
So I was surprised Willow had held onto me as a coyote. It had made fear swim through me and I’d wondered if something had happened to her brothers.
But then, the next day they were both there and I overheard them mention their mom still worrying over cutting her visit short. Relief had filled me. Her family was okay.
However, that’s all I’d heard. I’d been too exhausted to listen properly, so I still didn’t know what happened. And I couldn’t help but wonder – was it Sil? Pea? Was everyone okay?
It was maddening. I didn’t know how much more of this I could take.
The next day, Willow took me outside in the late afternoon. Her eyes were shadowed as though she hadn’t gotten much sleep, the muscles around her lips tight and pinched. Again, I helplessly wondered what could be causing her such distress.
Part of my yearned to comfort her, to talk to her, but a stronger part of me wanted to get the hell away from here. After deliberating on it last night, I’d decided I had no choice. I had to risk the journey back to Montana on foot. It would probably take at least a month in my condition, but I had no other choice. Willow and her brothers couldn’t heal me or communicate with me. I could only hope I’d make it and that my brother Ben would know what to do.
God knows what my brothers were thinking. Guilt grew heavier with each day. I wished I’d just gone home with them in the first place. Then none of this would have happened.
Beyond that, with too much time to think, I found myself remembering my childhood. Standing with Willow now, I glanced up at her. She was one of the few people who knew my story.
Knew my real name.
Almost twenty years ago, as afternoon faded into twilight, a boy followed two men and a girl he’d just met out of the woods. The whole time he tried not to shiver or show how cold he was. How exhausted. And scared.
That boy was me.
Walking into the house they said belonged to their Aunt Sil, I’d been confused. How could she be the aunt of Helaku, Aspen, and Willow? When I’d asked as much, they said that’s what everyone called her. But they were related to her – part of her family.
My stomach had given an ugly wrench of jealousy. The house was beautiful. Airy, with carved wooden beams, and clean, comfortable furniture. I’d never seen a place like this. But more than that, it was full of their family. People came into the hallway at that moment, calling out hellos, asking questions, exclaiming things and eyeing me curiously.
“This is Burr,” Aspen had said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “A young warrior of the forest.”
Then I’d met them. Aunt Sil with her long gray braids, Pea with her sweet smile, Fern with his long white hair and laughter, followed by beautiful, stately Nikita. Crowfoot and Big Bear, they said, were out. Fern had beamed at me, gently taking the eagle Igasho away.
“We’ll take care of him, now,” said Pea. Her eyes were a luminous gray, her hair white, but she seemed young somehow. Her touch was gentle. “Oh, he likes you, young man.”
I’d loved their names. Aspen and Willow had inspired mine – both becau
se of the burrs in my hair and because it was a play on my real name. Bernard.
I hadn’t realized it then but I’d yearned to be a part of this family – and my name choice had not been as random as it seemed. I’d wanted to be like Aspen and Helaku. I’d wanted Willow to like me.
Two little boys had burst into the hallway then, stopping when they saw me. They’d introduced themselves as Juniper and Fox. Seven and five respectively, then. Chasing them had been a laughing woman, petite and full of warm curves. She looked like someone you wanted to hug.
Indeed, Aspen had picked her up and whirled her around. This was Santana, his wife, Willow and the boys’ aunt. Then he’d introduced me, ruffling my hair and pulling out another burr. She’d lightly smacked him, then ushered me away to get me clean clothes and washed up.
I’d never been taken care of like that. It still brought an ache to my throat.
As she took care of me, somehow Santana managed to get my story out of me. Her eyes had been so kind, her voice sweet and her questions deliberate, but not pushy.
And the words had spilled free.
How’d I’d lived in the urban grit of Minneapolis, Minnesota, an orphan in the system no one wanted to waste their breath on. How I’d longed to escape – to live in a wild, green place.
So I had. I’d stolen my case file from the Social Services office and tossed it into the river. It was the only record that I’d existed. I could still recall the splash it made, the way it seemed to dissolve.
Then, with what little money I had, I’d taken a bus to Montana, then hitched a ride up to Whitefish, wanting to see the mountains. I’d been staggered by them, staring open-mouthed as we’d driven by. My heart had felt like a balloon expanding in my chest.
Once in Whitefish, I’d hiked up into them, trying to find a place to live in the woods. I had a vague idea of living in a cave or making a hut. Me, a city kid who’d never been out of the steel jungle. I’m lucky I didn’t die. But I didn’t want any walls holding me in anymore. They had for so long.
Santana had listened carefully, then laughed at that last statement, saying I sounded like Aspen. My heart had glowed – even though I’d just met him, I wanted to be just like him.
Now clothed and comfortable, warm for the first time in weeks, she’d brought me downstairs and into the group of people who would become my family. I didn’t realize it at the time, but for the first time I was at ease, not looking for a way out, and I sat there, happy and laughing. One of them.
Indeed, after living with at Aunt Sil’s house for a few weeks, the thought of leaving made me ill. I didn’t want to be greedy, though. I had to find a job and a place to live in the mountains. However, when I tried to escape, Aspen caught me and dragged me back to Santana, outing me.
I’d been mortified, expecting her to yell or tell me to go.
Instead, Santana had folded me in her arms, telling me how grateful she was that Aspen had stopped me. Another storm was moving in and her son belonged inside.
Aspen had joked, “You’re stuck in our hearts like a burr, son. You can’t leave.”
I’d cried then, and Santana had wiped away my tears, telling me they’d planned on telling me soon. They couldn’t let me go. I belonged with them and they were going to adopt me.
What had happened next seemed like a dream. Upon realizing Bernard McGill didn’t exist anymore, they’d decided to adopt me in another way. They’d dressed up in the traditional garb of their tribe and thrown a party. As Santana was of the Salish, they’d dressed me like her. We danced and sang, the Elders told stories and we kids played games.
Juniper and Fox had been ecstatic. Now I was part of their family. Willow seemed unsure, giving me odd looks, but she’d also given me a swift hug towards the end of the night.
After that had passed years of joy. For the first two years, I was homeschooled along with Willow and her brothers, but then a school was built in a nearby valley. Aspen, Santana, Helaku, and Nikita bought two houses side by side down there, on the edge of Sil’s lands, so we could go to school there. Nikita and Santana were worried that we wouldn’t know how to socialize properly.
We were a bit wild, always running through the woods and swimming in rivers. I hated to be inside still, although I didn’t mind the house of my family.
A few years later, when we were teenagers, Willow had gone with her dad to Alaska for a year. Later I’d find out it was a threat Helaku had chased back to the Deadlands.
I’d felt aimless that whole year, but tried to hide it. I was almost embarrassed by how much I missed Willow, who often sharpened her tongue and claws on me. She was bossy and we often butted heads. However, during that year too, I’d shot up almost two feet, growing so fast that Santana despaired at keeping me clothed. Everything was always too short.
When Willow had come back that next summer, I’d been so happy to see her, I’d run and swung her around, laughing. I wanted to show off how I was finally taller than her. She’d been shocked when I put her down, staring up at me and saying how much older I seemed. I’d laughed and pulled on her braids, saying that I was “only sixteen, pipsqueak.”
We became closer after that – no longer fighting like a cat and a dog half the time, but talking as seriously as though we were adults. There were still times where Willow pushed me away, snapping at me or being rude, even though I did nothing but try to please her. Usually. I still had moments where I lost my temper, too. It was like we couldn’t help but bicker.
Complaining about this to Santana and Aspen one night, in spite of myself, they’d laughed. At the time I was eighteen, about to head off to college and they’d shaken their heads.
“Do you remember when we found you in the woods, Burr?” Aspen asked me. I nodded. “Why do you think I asked Willow to come over?”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “To distract me?”
"In part, maybe. But I had seen your face when you first saw her. And I knew that of all of us, she was the one who could persuade you to stay. I wanted you to but I was afraid if I asked, you’d have fled.”
“What?” I stared at my adoptive father. “That’s not true.”
“You’ve always had an old soul, Burr. In spite of your exuberance and energy, you were precocious. You grew up too fast.” Santana sighed a little, her hand squeezing mine. “You know what we’re saying. You’ve always known it. It’s why you’ve felt like something was missing that whole year Willow was away.”
Distracted, I’d gone for a walk. I was still trying to puzzle out what they’d meant when I saw Willow from a distance. She was standing on a rock halfway up a bare slope, her hair lifting in the wind and her eyes closed. It wasn’t often I got to look at Willow without her knowledge and I stared at her now. My heart began to thud in my chest and then she opened her eyes and stared directly at me.
She’d smiled and I’d known.
I’d known what I’d known since I was eleven years old and had seen her, dark eyes and a serious little mouth, gravely regarding me, then flashing with impatience and fire.
I was in love with Willow.
“Coyote,” Willow suddenly said, bringing me back to the present. I glanced over at her. She was now sitting on a rock and we were shoulder to shoulder. She laid a hand on my head. “I’m sorry we haven’t been able to heal you completely. But give me time. My aunt and mother will be here next week. They should be able to help.”
In spite of everything, I couldn’t help but enjoy the sensation of Willow’s hand pressing against me. It was a solid, familiar warmth.
“You know, my uncle – he could shift into a coyote. And my father could become a golden eagle,” her voice was low, musical.
Tilting my head slightly, I looked up at her. She was pensive and still.
I’d never heard Willow talk about her father or Aspen much in the years that had passed. It seemed a pain too great for her to bear.
“And my aunt – she could become a bear.” Willow’s voice was shaky. “They were powerful
and brave, facing down the shadows of ash and fire which still walk this land.”
A huff escaped me.
“That’s why I’m going to help you, coyote. To honor them. I have to. The world needs its protectors.” Suddenly she looked at me. “I know the world needs you. I can just tell. You’re special beyond the fact that you have these gifts. Remember that.”
Warmth spread through my chest and I huffed. Without thinking, lulled into forgetfulness – as though no time stretched between us like a gulf – I leaned in and licked Willow’s face. She laughed and picked up a handful of snow, throwing it at me.
Running around her, I kicked up snow and she laughed. Jumping to her feet, she chased me and we ran in circles, with her throwing snow. It was like we were children again.
But then pain shot through my left side and I stumbled. Willow appeared, her face worried, and she pushed back her heavy hair. She let out a frustrated sigh. “Why can’t I fix this?”
Shaking out my fur, I stood up and tilted my head at her, trying to look adorable. But Willow’s eyes were dark and pained. Her throat worked. “If you, after Burr–” Then she turned, her hand over her face. For a moment, she stood still, then her hands dropped, clenching at her sides and she walked back towards the house.
Limping after her, I followed her in, as clouds built along the horizon. The air was becoming heavy and the wind snapped with cold. More snow was on its way.
Frustration and confusion filled me with every step.
After Burr? I wondered. After me what? But nothing I could come up with made sense.
Chapter 4
Wind howled all night long. I tossed and turned, jerking awake after falling into shallow dreams, nightmares filled with distorted memories or monstrous shadows.
Towards dawn, I saw the figure of a woman against the gray sky on the mountaintop. Beyond her was a forest, the darkness lit with the red, opalescent gleam of animal eyes.
She seemed normal at first, staring down at the still forest in front of her. But then I realized she was at the edge of our land – right where the wards ended. And as I watched, her long white hair wrapping around her, I saw that she was morphing, changing into something else.
HOTSHOT BROTHERS: Coyote Shifters Page 35