A Shift in the Air (9 page)

***

“
Caitlin!”

She dropped the sweater into her
suitcase with a yelp when the knock and subsequent shout sounded.
Why? Another hour and she’d have been at the bus station, headed
somewhere—anywhere but here. The alpha wolf—Bowman—wanted blood,
and he had every right to come after her given what she’d done to
Mara and the old woman.

“
Please, luv. Let me in.
I’ll stay out here all night if I have to, but your neighbors might
get tired of me. Give me an hour. If ya want me to leave after
that, I will.”

She snorted. Her neighbors wouldn’t
notice if her entire apartment imploded. As long as the police
stayed away and their wild parties went on uninterrupted, no one
paid her any mind. But the idea of him staying in the hall until
morning didn’t sit well either. And deep down inside, she wanted to
see him. Needed to see him. Fine.

“
One hour,” she said,
pulling the door open and losing her ability to speak entirely.
Windblown hair framed his face, and the fresh bruise along his jaw
drew her gaze. Before she could stop herself, she reached up,
tentatively stroking the swelling, stubble rasping against her
fingers. He turned towards the touch and groaned
quietly.

“
Caitlin. Shite. I’ve
missed ya. Every day for eleven years.”

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she
sucked her lower lip under her teeth. If she tried to speak, she’d
ask him to stay, and she couldn’t. Not after what she’d done.
Better to run, to deal with whatever came next alone. If she
stayed, he’d end up hurt. Or worse. She didn’t know why or how, but
the burning pain she carried would consume them both.

He wrapped her in a desperate embrace,
a hand in her hair and another at the small of her back. The tears
fell along with great, choking sobs, and he lifted her against him.
“Shh, luv. I’ve got ya.” With a gentle kick, he shut her door and
guided her over to the couch. “Let it out. Ye’re safe with
me.”

“
N-not…s-safe…anywhere,”
she managed and pulled away. “I hurt people, Liam. You, Cade, and
Mara. The old woman in Bellingham. I compelled you tonight, hoping
you wouldn’t forgive me—knowing Cade wouldn’t. And those are just
Bella’s sins. What about Caitlin’s? Every time I close my eyes, I
see a man—Fergus—and there’s pain and fear and shame, and I don’t
know why or how or even where or when.” She swiped at her
traitorous tears, unwilling to look at Liam for fear she’d see the
one thing she couldn’t stomach—love. She didn’t deserve it, didn’t
deserve him. She’d never deserved him.

A finger hooked under her chin, and he
tipped her head up, covering her lips with his. Chaste, compared to
the previous night, the kiss held everything she couldn’t ask for:
patience, understanding, and protection.

When he pulled away, she leaned into
him, unable to stop herself from wanting more. “Who am I?” The name
Caitlin Brannigan felt natural on her tongue, but she’d found
precious little about her former life in her few hours of
searching.

“
I don’t know who ya are.
But I can tell ya a little about who ya were.”

Liam spoke for almost an hour.
Endearing tales of young love, nights spent in the pubs of central
Dublin, days walking along the River Liffey, visiting museums,
reading in the central library, sampling chocolates at a shop
called Baker’s, pints in Temple Bar. Each story brought a hint of a
memory, but as soon as she reached out and snared the feeling, she
lost her tenuous grip.

“
Our last day,” he said
with a sigh, “we were headed to the pub. Ya changed—like a switch
flipped.” He recounted as much of the day as he could remember,
though eleven years had muddled some of the details. “When ya left,
ya compelled me then, too. I spent weeks searchin’ for ya—and
Fergus—but ya hid yourself well. Or he did. When I got your letter,
I lost myself. Mike—my alpha before Cade—threatened to kick me out
of the pack if I didn’t get my head on straight. Took a year. Took
meeting Cade for me to want to live again.”

Shame forced her up, drove her to
pace. “Why are you here? If all I ever do is hurt you, why do you
want to be around me?”

“
I loved ya, Caitlin. I
never told ya until that last day, but I loved ya. I thought—I
hoped to mate with ya.”

Oh shit. No.

Liam stilled her frantic movements,
stroked his hands down her arms. She could lose herself in the heat
of him, the delicious kisses, the taut muscles, his scent. He
dipped his head and feathered his lips over her jaw, along her
neck, and down to her collarbone. “I can’t get enough of ya. Now
that I found ya again, I’m going to do whatever I can to protect
ya. Can’t ya see that?”

“
You’re mine, Catie. No one
can protect you like I can. Can’t ya see that?”

She sobbed, cowering
against the wall, the stale, unmoving air sapping her strength.
“I’m sorry. I won’t run again. Ye’re so good to me, why would I
ever leave?” The lie rolled easily off her tongue, though she
struggled to force the words out of swollen and bloodied
lips.

“
I can smell him all over
ya. What did he do for ya that I can’t? Did he fuck ya? Tell me how
to find him, and I’ll ease yer pain. What’s his name,
Catie?”

The compulsion charm
settled over her, urging her to confess everything. But enough of
her own power remained to keep Liam safe, and she stared up at the
wild eyes, the tufted black hair, and the snarling, twisted face.
He’d been handsome once. Kind. The sweet boy still existed within
the madman—but she couldn’t find him now. “There’s no one. No one
but you.”

Caitlin jerked back. Fergus’s angry
face in her vision faded, leaving only Liam. Her entire body shook,
the terror spreading from her heart like wildfire, consuming
everything, stealing the air from her lungs. “Please go. I can’t be
with you, Liam. Don’t make me compel you.”

His eyes hardened, and the wolf
escaped in a rumble. “Don’t do this. Not again.”

With a burst of her element, she flung
the door wide and pointed to the hall. “You’ve got thirty seconds.
I’m not the woman you knew. Not anymore. Caitlin Brannigan died
eleven years ago. Go home to your pack, and don’t contact me
again.”

She didn’t watch him go, couldn’t
stand to see the pain in his eyes, or risk him turning one last
time to plead with her. When the door slammed, shaking the
apartment’s thin walls, she sank down to the floor, broken and
alone.

***

Bits and pieces of her memories fell
into place slowly at first; then a fire hose opened, and she spent
hours huddled in her bed, praying for the agony to end. Whatever
Katerina had done to her, the effects faded to leave her a
terrified, shaking mess. The true reason for the charmed crystal
threatened to drown her, and the feel of Fergus’s fists, the
rasping threats, the sweetly crooned apologies drove her to silence
her thoughts with alcohol, which then made everything worse. The
whiskey lowered her ability to focus on the good memories: her
childhood with her mum, college, discovering a passion for
calligraphy and letterpress, and Liam.

She couldn’t bring herself
to leave town, though her mostly packed suitcase lay open on the
floor, ready to go at a moment’s notice. Liam texted a handful of
times, but she ignored him—or tried to. She read each message,
usually with tears in her eyes, but stopped short of deleting them.
One message contained a faded photo—the two of them at a rugby
match, bundled up against the cold, smiling and snuggling close.
She typed out a reply:
Please stop,
but couldn’t hit send.

Her life—however long she
had left, for she still expected Bowman to show up and tear her
apart—resumed. Days at her job, nights spent alone, researching
Fergus Tharp, trying to discover the one piece of her memory she
hadn’t been able to access. He’d taken something from her—a part of
her she ached to recover but didn’t know how. When she’d wake,
screaming or gasping for air, the memory of Fergus’s fists or his
words paralyzing her with terror, she’d focus on Liam. His hands,
his voice, his lips. Their last day, their first kiss, laughing,
shopping on Grafton Street, and the crowded pub where they’d met
for the first time.
“I won’t forget…any of
this…you…never,”
she’d said with his hand
in hers, sitting in a coffee shop as she’d prepared to run. And
yet, weeks later, she’d allowed Katerina to take her past and lock
it away. The guilt chewed at her insides, widening the rift she’d
created between her and Liam.

Her nights stretched endlessly before
her; every time she closed her eyes, Fergus came for her. She ached
to be Bella again, unaware of the horrors of her past, but even if
she could, the few hours spent with Liam tempted her with an
impossible future: one in which they loved each other. With a
muffled groan, she turned her face into her pillow—the one that
still smelled vaguely of him—and let her mind wander towards
sleep.

“
Give me yer hands, Catie.
When we’re done, we’ll be closer than any two people have ever
been. Are ya ready?”

Breathless, excited,
Caitlin held on tight. She wanted this, wanted him. “You won’t
leave me?”

“
Never, lass. Ye’ll be my
first.” His dark gaze searched hers.

First what?
she wondered. He started to chant and nodded
towards the paper he’d set in her lap. She brushed her worry aside.
Fergus loved her, and she loved him. They’d be together
forever.

Fergus smiled at her. A
lock of black hair fell over his forehead. “
Air to Earth, Fire to Water. Four become one. Do ya give me
this gift freely?”

“
I do.” She read aloud from
the words he’d written for her. “My heart to your heart. My air to
your earth. My strength to your strength. What was two will be
one.”

The quartz clasped between
their joined palms warmed, and Fergus threw his head back. “Yes!
More!”

White hot pain sliced
through her. A vise tightened around her lungs, and she pulled her
hands away, the stone tumbling to the floor. She clutched her
throat, desperate. Fergus’s face shimmered over her, so handsome
she wanted to kiss those firm lips, the strong brow. “Let go,
Catie. Give me yer air, and I will live forever!”

Her entire being railed.
Choking, she fell, clawing at the floor, inching away from the man
whose face lit up with glee. Fire burned deep inside, the void
spreading through her chest, her arms, her legs, to her fingers and
toes. She felt nothing but agony, heard nothing but the dull roar
of her heartbeat in her ears, saw nothing but his eyes, glowing
bright white. Darkness closed in on her, and he roared with
laughter, his fists raised triumphantly, calling her element
swirling around them both.

As her consciousness left
her, his words floated in the air. “Two down. Two to
go.”

Caitlin screamed, clutching at her
heart. Her legs gave out when she tried to stand, but she crawled
towards her suitcase, pawed through the folded clothing, and
withdrew the object capable of such healing, but also such pain: a
smoky quartz crystal.

Chapter Eight

Liam fastened the clamp around the
ends of the multi-colored strands of leather. The weave eluded him.
Time and time again, he tried, needing perfection and falling
short. Why did it matter? She’d never see the piece. Never wear it.
She’d made her rejection abundantly clear.

With a sigh, he ripped the
thick threads from the clamp and threw them across the room. The
leather landed with a
thwack
against his display case. One of the delicate
wooden ships inside teetered for a second, then stilled. The models
calmed him, allowed him to think and sort out difficult problems.
But five years ago, he’d needed a new challenge. He’d picked up his
first piece of leather and a swivel knife and started to design
wallets, cuffs, and small purses. He sold them to a local artists’
cooperative on consignment.

His mobile vibrated in his bedroom.
When the pack bought the house, they’d gutted the inside. Each pack
member had a two-room suite: Liam’s took up the west side of the
top floor.

Leaving his workshop, he trudged over
to the bed. “Yeah?”

“
Tomorrow morning, I need
you to stop by before work. Be here by six.” Cade’s gruff voice
barked out the order.

Before Liam could reply, the call
disconnected.

Shite. He’d expected this. Ever since
Caitlin had charmed the three of them, he’d known. Cade couldn’t
trust him, and tomorrow, he’d ask Liam to step down as beta. He
just hoped Cade wouldn’t also ask him to leave the pack
completely.

Returning to his workshop, he stooped
to pick up the unraveled strands of leather. A desperate need to
leave her with some part of him lingered, and he carefully laid the
strips of mahogany, auburn, chestnut, like her hair, and golden on
the scuffed workbench. Breathe. Pull taut, gold over red, dark
brown over light, tie off, repeat. Inch-by-inch, the cuff took
shape. Halfway through, he fished a piece of amber from a bowl on
the back of the bench. He’d drilled a hole, barely large enough for
the thinnest strand of leather, at either end and threaded the
chestnut strip through the resin. Amber served as a talisman,
warding off evil spirits and healing pain.