Changeling Moon (10 page)

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Authors: Dani Harper

BOOK: Changeling Moon
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“I'll bet you miss him.”
“Every day. I'd just graduated high school and was getting ready for college in the fall—I was so worried about having to leave him behind. Then I got up one morning, and he was on my bed next to me just like always. But he didn't wake up.”
“That must have been really hard.”
“Yeah, it was. I cried for days. But he was twenty years old—what could I expect? And actually, I'm glad it happened before I left, that I was there.”
“You must have taken really good care of him. Twenty is a ripe old age for a cat. I've met only one that's lived longer. His name is Poodle.”
“His name is what?”
“No kidding, it's
Poodle
.” Connor told her about the ancient Siamese cat and his equally ancient owner, Mrs. Enid Malkinson. “They even look alike—they both have these watery blue eyes that are just a little bit crossed.”
“Oh come on, you're making that up!”
He put his hand over his heart. “I swear it's true. I'll introduce you. I think they've lived so long because there's a kind of symbiotic relationship between the two of them. Poodle seems to thrive on finding trouble. And Enid seems to thrive on every little drama in her cat's life. Not that she wants anything to happen to him,” he explained. “Far from it. But she has no family to talk about, so every little adventure Poodle has provides exciting news that she can share. Trust me, nearly everyone in town, whether they're interested or not, is well informed about that cat's current health.”
“I'm surprised I haven't heard about him. Maybe I should pay a visit to Mrs. Malkinson and see if I can do a story about Poodle.”
“Really? She'd be thrilled, but a cat's not exactly front-page news. How would you make a story out of it?”
“The first rule of journalism is that everything's a story. And besides, people love to read about animals. You said the cat was older than Fester was, right?”
“Yeah, Enid claims he's thirty and I don't think that's too far off. I'll see if Birkie can find some old records at the clinic that would give us a better estimate.”
“Well, that's worth an article right there, don't you think? You're right, it's not front-page news but an unusually long-lived cat could make a nice little feature story. I can look up what the world record is, add that in for interest. And you could give me a couple of quotes about the care of geriatric pets or something. It would be great.”
Connor looked at Zoey's animated face. “I know someone else who's great,” he murmured as he leaned into her and gently brushed her smiling mouth with his lips. Asking, just asking.
She answered. Her lips were tentative for only a moment, then her hands reached up to tangle in his hair. She met him kiss for kiss, gentle and sweet, demanding and bold. It was a heady mixture and Connor rapidly discovered that a simple taste wasn't going to be enough. He leaned further, instinctively using his weight to gently urge her into a reclining position. She resisted for a moment as if considering, then drew him down with her onto the plush couch.
Connor trailed his fingers along her throat, following them with soft openmouthed kisses. Nuzzled along her sensitive collarbone as he pushed the robe from her right shoulder. A jolt of electricity shot through him as he realized she had nothing on under the robe. Nothing but more of those glorious golden freckles. His body hardened instantly and he nearly groaned aloud.
Instead, he brushed his lips over the smooth skin, relishing the taste, the scent of her. Breathed her in, pulled her essence into his lungs and held it there near his heart. Kissed his way back to the little hollow at the base of her throat. Slid the material from her left shoulder, nuzzled and kissed the newly exposed skin. The tie that held her robe together slipped, spilling her soft rounded breast into Connor's hand. He palmed the delicate weight of it, brushing his thumb lightly over the nipple as he again sought her full lips. God, he wanted her, wanted all of her, here and now—
Without warning, the wolf within him surged forward. Connor reacted at once, pulling back from Zoey so fast that he ended up on the floor. He sat there, stunned and breathing hard.
What the hell?
“Are you okay?” Zoey asked, looking flustered. Her beautiful breast and shoulders disappeared as she pulled her robe around her, but it was probably safer that way. She had no way of knowing that he was hanging onto his control by his fingernails, that he was fighting the Change.
“I'm sorry. I—well, I didn't mean to get so carried away.”
“Geez, Connor, we're not in high school.”
She sounded disappointed and those amber eyes had gone fierce, but he couldn't think of a damn thing to say.
Sorry, I was turning into a werewolf.
“I—uh, I didn't want you to get the wrong idea.” Where did that come from? Good God, could he sound any lamer? Meanwhile, the wolf within had retreated, but not far. Not nearly far enough.
“The wrong idea?”
Yup,
lame
. He got to his feet slowly, knowing that any sudden movement might cause his control to slip. “Look, I'm fairly sure that's not what I meant. But since I'm really tired and not making sense even to myself, I'd better go.”
Zoey studied him for a long moment. “Okay. You do look pretty wasted.”
“I feel wasted.” He did too. Fighting off the Change was physically hard, and only a Changeling in his prime could manage it. Thank God he wasn't Bernie's age. . . .
There were a dozen different things Connor wanted to do. Finish what they had started together, for one. Kiss Zoey good-bye, for two. Three, ask if he could see her again. He dared do none of them. Instead, he forced himself to walk out the door, get in his truck, and drive away.
Within him, the wolf growled until the sound threatened to spill from his human lips. It wasn't until Connor turned into the laneway of his farm that the wolf finally gave up and receded into sulking silence.
Chapter Ten
“M
s. Tyler, I'm Tad Helfren, Paranormal Investigations.
I understand you've got werewolves around here.”
Startled, Zoey looked up from behind her desk at the short, heavyset man who was extending his hand to her. Her senses jolted as if electrified and she declined the invitation. “We've got
what
?”
“Werewolves, you heard me. Come on, it was in your newspaper just a couple years back. I've got all the clippings. I've just come back from Wisconsin, following up on some fresh evidence of the Bray Road Beast. Lycanthropy. Shapeshifters. Skinwalkers. Changelings. A werewolf by any other name. . . . I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. In fact, you're in the media business, you've probably run across my work.”
“Your work?” she repeated dumbly. Had she just stepped into the Twilight Zone? It had to be a joke, but something in the man's face warned her just how serious he was. “I'm sorry, what publication are you with?”
“
OtherWorld News
.” Helfren tossed several copies onto her desk. It was no tabloid. She couldn't help noticing each paper was full broadsheet size, as professional looking as the
Globe
and
Mail
and several sections thick. “Maybe you've seen our website? Hard copy circulation is nearly three million in the States alone, online subscriptions number eleven million worldwide. So you can see, this isn't a newsletter spit out of a photocopier, Ms. Tyler. We are the world leader in paranormal information.”
“You're a reporter.”
His eyes flashed at that. “I'm no reporter, lady. I'm a professional investigator.”
Reporter
, she thought.
“So, tell me, what's the wolf activity in this area like right now?”
Dear Lord, there had to be some way to get this guy out of her office. Zoey wished she had a button on the floor like the ones in banks, some signal that tied in to the RCMP office down the road. Better yet, she wished she had a pager to Ted Biegel. Her publisher would delight in showing this werewolf fan to the door—or through it—but a glance at the clock showed that Ted was still in a meeting over at the Elks Club.
Damn.
“I've been told we have a few,” Zoey said, trying to sound casual. “They're native to the Peace River region, just like most of the Canadian north. Really, we have far more coyotes than any other predator, and plenty of black bears. An occasional cougar. I suggest you read my story in the second section of this week's paper for details.” Right after the attack, she'd written a carefully researched story on wolves. She hadn't dared publish it at the time, but came up with a way to use it later by planning a series of articles about local wildlife.
All
the local wildlife. This week's article had been a general introduction to the series. Next week would feature black bears, since the sports reporter had come up with a lucky photo of a pair of bear cubs on someone's back porch. She'd planned to publish the feature on wolves after that, but with this strange character in her office, a story on chipmunks seemed much more appealing.
“So do you like wolves, Ms. Tyler?”
“Actually I prefer housecats.”
“But these werewolf stories—”
Enough was enough. “Look, I wasn't the editor at the time, Mr. Helfren. I just moved here, so you know about as much as I do, probably more. I really can't help you.” She stood, signaling an end to the meeting. “I suggest you contact the local Fish and Wildlife officers. You'll find their office in the government building across from the library.”
“Been there. Interviewed them both. That's why I'm here talking to
you
.” He sat down then, made himself comfortable in the armchair facing her desk. His broad face didn't reveal so much as a hint of smugness as he looked up at her expectantly. He appeared relaxed, even friendly, but Zoey's intuition told her plainly it was a mask. She had a chilling impression of thick muscle veiled beneath his loose jacket, of dangerous intent in his mind. She remained standing, believing that showing the slightest fear or weakness would be a serious mistake.
“Ms. Tyler, the officers say you claimed to have been attacked by a wolf only a few days ago,” he continued. “And that apparently you were bitten.”
She tried to keep her face passive as anger warred with surprise. Fish and Wildlife employees were supposed to follow the same strict privacy policies as the RCMP—but she had no doubt that Helfren was adept at prying information out of people. Part hardcore detective and part aggressive trial lawyer, she decided—and all shark. To refuse to talk to him at all would likely piss him off. Could she satisfy him with some basic information, show him there was no story here? She measured her words carefully. “It's no secret that I was bitten by a dog. You can read all about that in the paper. It was a very large dog, probably a malamute or other large sled dog. We have a number of mushers in the region who raise them, who run sleds for tourists and compete in races. We had a race right here only a few months ago.”
“You told the officers that it was a wolf, that it had glowing eyes.”
She was
so
going to have words with them. “It was the middle of the night and I was terrified. I've never seen a wolf in my entire life, not even in a zoo.
Of course
the animal looked like a wolf to me. Later, when I'd recovered, I realized it was a dog. Just a big, nasty dog, and I hope they catch the wretched thing before it bites someone else.”
“Real wolves don't attack humans, Ms. Tyler. A person of your education has surely heard that.”
“Of course, and so you see, it wasn't a wolf.”
He continued as if she hadn't spoken. “Werewolves
do
attack people, Ms. Tyler. And there are rarely survivors. But even if you get away, no one escapes completely. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?”
“
You
need to understand that I have an appointment in ten minutes, Mr. Helfren.” She didn't, but she would damn well create one to go to. “Please leave now.”
“Once bitten by a werewolf, the victim becomes one at the next full moon. You have approximately twenty days left of your human existence.”
I'm so outta here.
Zoey moved swiftly around her desk then, intending to walk out. The reporter was faster, leaping up from the chair to block the door and grabbing her arm. She repressed a gasp and refused to struggle, knowing that he wanted her to be afraid, he would enjoy her fear— and she refused to give it to him. Instead, she focused all of her anger into a hot glare. Her voice was firm—and she tried to make it loud enough to alert the other people in the office. Hoped like crazy that there
were
other people in the office. Her stomach sank as she realized it was Friday. Not just Friday, but
noon
on Friday. There might as well be tumbleweeds rolling through the
Dunvegan Herald Weekly
.
Shit!
“Let go of me. I will not hesitate to press charges.”
He ignored her. “You could be a rich woman, a very rich woman. Do you know what my publishers would pay you to show them what you are?”
“Let go,
now
!” Was she going to be reduced to screaming in order to get some help? And how on earth was she supposed to scream when she wasn't afraid? Her fear had transmogrified into white-hot anger. He was squeezing her arm with iron fingers but she refused to flinch. The anger welled up thick and hot within her, a reservoir of volatile energy. Zoey tried to shift her footing without alerting the man, attempting to get into a position to defend herself.
The reporter seemed to sense her intent, because he turned abruptly and pressed closer to her, throwing her off balance against the desk, his face close to hers. His smile was cold, slick, and smug with pleasure. “You call me after the full moon and we'll talk terms. I'm authorized to make a substantial offer. We could even write a book together, Ms. Tyler. Tour the talk shows. No more small-town newspapers—”
Zoey's free hand closed over an ancient office stapler, a relic from the fifties that weighed a couple of pounds. She swung it with all of her strength into the back of Helfren's skull. And was shocked when he neither went down nor let go of her arm. Instead he snarled a curse in her face as he knocked the weapon from her hand. And drew his fist back to retaliate.
The blow didn't connect. With his back to the door, Helfren never saw the huge tattooed arm reach for him, only felt the shock of a beefy hand seizing his collar. The distraction let Zoey pull herself free. She watched, dumbstruck, as Bill Watson hauled the reporter out into the reception area and shook him like a crash test dummy before letting his feet touch the ground. “You think you're a tough guy, do you? Think you can waltz in here and lay hands on a friend of mine just like that?” Helfren tried to throw a punch but the big man was amazingly fast. In a blur of motion, Bill let go of the reporter's collar with one hand and decked him with the other, sending him flying back against the service counter.
Helfren was no lightweight, but Bill was nearly as tall as Connor, twice as wide—and very, very angry. He seized the front of the man's jacket with both hands and gave him another hard shake. “You ever come in here again, ever come
near
this woman again, and I'll have your guts for garters. Are we clear on that?”
Helfren's mouth was bleeding and so was the gash on the back of his head where Zoey's stapler had connected. The moment Bill released him, the reporter staggered for a moment, then abruptly shoved his way out the door. Flecks of blood spattered the counter, the floor. Bill simply collected himself, tugged the hem of his T-shirt down, and ambled over to Zoey. “Are you all right then? Did that rotter hurt you?”
“I'm fine now, thanks.” The red-haired giant was grinning at her and she tried to muster a smile in return.
Bill picked up the countertop phone and punched in numbers. It was an old-style phone with a large receiver—her publisher hated to spend money on new equipment—but it still looked ridiculously small in his hand. “Fitz? You'll want to get down to the newspaper. Someone was trying to rough up the lady editor. Yeah,
was
. I gave him a little lesson in manners before he left.” Bill laughed at something and hung up the phone. “Sergeant Fitzpatrick'll be here right quick. He wanted to know if the guy left under his own power or if I threw him through the window.”
“Hey, I was just getting ready to toss him through the window myself when you interrupted.”
“Thatta girl.” He said it like a proud parent. “But you got some licks in—he was bleedin' afore I smacked him. Say, are you certain you're okay?”
“Yeah, but I'm going to sit down.” She made it to the receptionist's chair but sitting turned out to be a lot more like
collapsing
as her knees gave way. “Geez—he didn't even hit me and I feel wobbly.”
“Adrenaline, lovey. Tends to leave abrupt-like as soon as you don't need it no more. Learned that the hard way, I did, my first time wrestling in Europe. Fell flat on my face after I got out of the ring in Brussels. What about your wing?”
“My—you mean my arm?” She lifted the arm that Helfren had been gripping. There were red marks above the elbow where his fingers had been and the skin was tight. Swollen probably. She moved it experimentally. “A little sore, but it works okay. What a rotten jerk!”
“I got better words than that for the bloody bastard, but you don't need to hear 'em. Say, where is everybody? I thought you had folks working in this office.”
“Friday afternoon,” Zoey explained. “The publisher's having lunch at his Elks meeting. Both reporters have the day off because they have a lot of events to cover this weekend. The composers have finished all the ads for Monday's paper, so they're gone too.” She glanced at the clock. “Our receptionist is still on lunch, and after that she has to go to the post office and the bank. The office is usually closed while Lindsey's gone but Helfren must have come in just before she left. Otherwise she would have locked the door behind her.”
An RCMP officer with sergeant's stripes pushed through the door. “Hey Bill,” he said, but his eyes were on Zoey. “Are you all right, Ms. Tyler?”
She was a lot more
all right
now. The officer wasn't as tall as Bill or Connor, but he looked like he could take on either—or both. The uniform enhanced his muscular frame. There were streaks of gray in the sergeant's black hair but they only set off his rugged features. In another life he must have been a cowboy, she decided. Or a Marine. What was it about Dunvegan that attracted so many good-looking men? Of course, none of them, not even Fitzpatrick, stirred her as Connor did. She nearly sighed as she realized she missed him. She was still disappointed and downright annoyed after he'd all but run out of her apartment Tuesday morning. He hadn't called either—but she missed him.
“Ms. Tyler?”
She blinked and shook herself mentally. “I'm fine. Really. Although, I seem to be having a rough week between w—
wild dogs
and crazy people.” She'd almost said
wolf
. She took a deep breath and began again, relating the events calmly, answering questions from both men but avoiding any mention of wolves,
were-
or otherwise.

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