Changeling Moon (8 page)

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Authors: Dani Harper

BOOK: Changeling Moon
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He grabbed a bottle of water out of the lunchroom fridge and guzzled most of it down before he remembered he had a guest. “I'm sorry. Would you like anything?” He opened the fridge door again to show off the contents, but she shook her head.
“I can't stay—I'm due at the Rotary Club in twenty, gotta write up something on their guest speaker. Really, I just came by to see if I could talk to your receptionist. I'm doing a story on local wildflowers and someone told me she knows a lot about plants.”
Knows a lot
was an understatement. “She's certainly the right source for that. Birkie gathers plants for medicinal uses, grows her own herbs. I know she'd be happy to help you, but she's in Scotland right now.”
“Wow. I've always wanted to visit Scotland. And Ireland too—my parents are from there. I hear the British Isles are beautiful.”
“They are. My folks moved to Scotland a few years ago.” He didn't mention that he'd been born there, had spent his entire childhood there, until a rogue Changeling had killed a human, and the hunts began. The entire sept of Clan Macleod had been forced to flee, and his parents had brought him and his siblings to the Peace River country of northern Canada. The hills and coulees of Dunvegan bore a striking resemblance to the land they'd left behind. . . .
“I guess you don't get to see your folks much then.”
“Not as much as I'd like. It's pretty hard to get away from the practice.” Another reason for bringing in a partner. “My sister, Kenzie, went along with Birkie this time.”
“I know what it's like to be busy. You must wish you were with them.”
“Not at this moment.” It was true. He was enjoying the scenery right where he was. Connor could feel that his wolf was close to the surface but it was merely watchful. Observing. Maybe it was enjoying Zoey's freckles too. Her fine features were awash in fragments of gold. The delightful speckling continued unabated down her throat, over her collarbones and down—
He yanked his eyes up before he started peering down her blouse but couldn't help wondering if her breasts were covered in golden freckles too. He fervently hoped so, and a slow, lazy grin pulled at the corners of his mouth, which he suppressed quickly with a cough into his hand. And more water. He drained the bottle and tossed it into the blue bin for recyclables. Remembered to grab a roll of paper towels from a cupboard and tucked it under his arm. “You know, before my newspaper met an untimely end, I caught your article on the
canine
attack.” He made quotation marks in the air around the word
canine
. “Nice work.”
“You think people will take it seriously? Enough to be on their guard? Because it's really been bothering me. I don't want anybody to get hurt because I made the decision
not
to call a spade a spade.”
“Or a wolf a wolf. Yeah, I think you struck just the right tone with the story.”
She looked relieved and smiled at him, that little smile he'd first noticed when he'd been holding her close in his truck . . . and he really,
really
wanted to hold her close again. Now. Right now.
Instead he forced himself to walk her to the front doors of the clinic and watch her cross the parking lot to her old red truck. He hadn't had the chance to observe her from behind before. Even her injured leg couldn't disguise her distinctive walk. The way she moved set off all kinds of intriguing thoughts . . . like just where did those freckles end?
“She's pretty, bro.”
Connor spun at Culley's voice behind him. “You! What the hell did you think you were doing?”
His younger brother was an inch shorter than he, a little leaner, yet the shape of his face was similar to Connor's, the bone structure and set of his jaw too. It was obvious they were Macleods, but there the resemblance ended. Culley was the family prankster, with a ready grin and hazel eyes that seemed constantly amused by the world.
Full of the devil
, as their mother was fond of saying.
“Just yanking your chain a little, bro. Wasn't anyone in the clinic but us at the time.” Culley surveyed Connor and let out a low whistle. “But let's talk about
you
. You look like shit. And you're damn testy today too.”
“Thanks a bunch. I was doing just fine until you showed up. Speaking of appearances, I'm almost used to you showing up without shoes, but where the hell are your pants?”
Culley looked down. He had a shirt on, and it was even buttoned for once. But instead of his usual jeans, he wore
Homer Simpson
flannel pajama bottoms—with holes in both knees. There was a big hole in the toe of one mismatched sock as well. “Huh. Guess I was in a hurry.”
“You're always in a hurry. Get some clothes from my office before somebody sees you and thinks you're strange.”
Connor shook his head as his younger brother disappeared. Anything present within the aura of a Changeling's body as it shifted into wolfen form was automatically taken along for the ride. That meant clothing certainly, but also objects such as wallets, jewelry, even tools and cell phones. All were somehow suspended in a separate dimension until human form was resumed. Culley's twin, Devlin, had made it his mission in life to discover the how and why of this, constantly experimenting with the phenomenon. He also studied recent scientific discoveries in quantum physics which had led to the development of something called
String Theory.
Connor didn't quite understand the principle—although Devlin expounded on it at every opportunity—only that this new theory maintained there were far more dimensions than the three that humans were aware of.
Culley, on the other hand, couldn't care less about the physics of Changeling abilities. He lived for the pure joy of the Change, the freedom of his wolfen self, the oneness with the earth. He was quick to Change at any opportunity—and often a little too quick, Changing before making certain it was completely safe. He also seldom made sure he was fully clothed before he shifted. It was a constant source of amusement to the Pack to see how Culley would turn up next, but every one of them had also warned him—someday he'd have to return to human form unexpectedly, and there would be a lot of explaining to do.
He's going to show up naked on Main Street one of these days.
Connor headed back to his office. Once there, he found the soggy mess had already been cleaned up, and his sutures were stacked neatly on his desk. Relieved, he tossed the paper towels he'd been carrying onto the couch beyond and sank into his chair. He watched Culley digging through the dresser over by the en suite sans pajama bottoms. The scar on his right leg was still visible although more than a century had passed. . . .
“Geez, Connor, half the clothes in this dresser should be burned. Where the hell do you shop?”
“The farm supply store mostly.”
“It shows. Where is your sense of style? Even your patients have more fashion sense.”
“My style is just fine, thanks. And I want those back when you're done with them.”
Culley rolled his eyes as he yanked on a pair of nondescript jeans and buttoned them. “Just how much sleep have you been getting lately, bro?”
“Why are you still here? And why are you asking so many questions?”
“Hey, I'm on a mission. I've got orders to invite you to supper and not to take
no
for an answer. Bill and Jessie are worried about you. We all are.”
Connor swiveled the chair to face his brother. “About me? Why?”
“Duh! Your practice has grown way too large for one person.” Culley switched to mindspeech and added:
Even for a Changeling.
“God, you sound just like Birkie.” Connor rubbed a hand over his eyes, then gratefully drained the fresh cup of coffee he found on his desk. “I'll get to it.”
“At the rate you're
getting
to it, your former assistant, Morgan, will be able to apply for the job. And she has three years of veterinary college left.”
“So I'm a slow mover.”
“Well now, there's an understatement. Why the hell didn't you ask that long-legged editor to go out with you?”
Annoyance resurfaced. “Maybe I would have if I hadn't been distracted by a goddamn wolf in my office!” Or, more likely, his own wolf within. He still felt shaken by its near-emergence.
“And there's that temper again.” Culley folded his arms and tsked. “Completely out of character for you, bro. And so was that little display of force when I licked your gal's pretty face. I'll bet it pissed you off that I kissed her first. Almost Changed, didn't you?”
“Okay, okay, yeah.” It was pointless to deny it. Most of them could mask their thoughts at will—a natural defense among telepaths—but any Changeling could tell when another was about to become a wolf. It took energy, lots of it, and it was instinctively drawn from the earth itself, gathered from the very air. The static charge that built around a Changeling vibrated in the air like an approaching thunderstorm. “I guess I'm a lot more tired than I thought.”
“You were seconds away from tearing my head off my shoulders with your teeth! You think it was just a matter of not enough sleep?”
“Isn't that what you were complaining about, that I'm working too hard?”
His brother shook his head and checked his watch. “I give up. You'll have to figure it out for yourself. For now, just get in the truck.”
“I've got a herd vaccination in an hour at—”
“—at Hal Bremner's place, I know. Devlin and I already did it. Now let's move out.”
“You didn't have to do that,” protested Connor, but his brother was already halfway down the hall. He might have known his brother wasn't out of earshot though.
The hell I didn't. Jessie will have both our butts in a sling if you're not at that dinner table pronto.
Connor had no problem imagining that. Jessie was leader of the Pack for good reason, and it had nothing to do with her phenomenal cooking skills.
But her cooking skills were ample reason to heed her summons.
He chuckled and hurried down the hall after his brother.
Chapter Eight
T
he waning moon was veiled with a dark wisp of cloud as the old man shuffled slowly through the overgrown yard. Bernie needed to be outside where he could breathe the scents on the wind. The open expanse of sky was vivid with stars, as wild streamers of cloud tumbled and twisted past them. A coyote yipped in the distant forest and was forcefully answered by a pair of wolves.
Our land. Ours.
Depression threatened to crush him, exacerbated by the tall bottle of Black Velvet he'd been nursing most of the day. Bernie hadn't been able to Change, not since Macleod had injected him with the only poison that could affect him: silver. It wasn't supposed to have happened, he had taken steps to make sure it didn't happen. There shouldn't have been anything but water in the bottle.
Shoulda done it myself, shoulda taken care of it myself.
What if there had been a tiny amount of actual nitrate left in the small bottle before Macleod filled it? The syringe had been huge, taking in the entire contents of the bottle and delivering them into Bernie's veins. At full-strength, it would have been a massive dose. But what if it didn't really take that much to do the job? What if just a drop or two of silver nitrate mixed with water was enough?
Bernard Gervais had run wild and free for several human lifetimes. He was strong and powerful, answering to no one, not even to Jessie, the Pack Leader. Hell, he was a lot older than all of them. He should be leading the Pack, not that smart-mouthed woman. She couldn't tell him what to do and neither could that young pup, Connor.
Damn them both, damn all of them!
He knew it was futile after his first few attempts at Changing, but he couldn't seem to stop trying. He sank down in the tall grass, exhausted. By day he drank heavily, raging at Connor, hating him. By night he grieved and hated his life, hated himself and what he'd become. Human. Stupid, weak, sniveling
human
.
Bernie stretched out full length on the ground, seeking some shred of comfort from the earth. He was cold, something he had seldom been before.
It can't be gone, it can't be over.
Surely his gift could not have left him completely after so many, many years. It was all the more frustrating now that he'd found an incredible source of energy, a human with a powerful bloodline, blood that could make him all but invincible. And now the Macleods would have it all to themselves, would once again have the power that should be his.
Drawing a shuddering breath, he closed his eyes and willed once more—and for the first time he felt an answering shift in his body. He could hardly believe it, sitting up in his excitement, inhaling in short sharp gasps. He willed again, and again he could feel a response. It wasn't his imagination. A low gurgling laugh emerged from his lips, a frightening blend of growl and hysteria.
You're going to pay, Macleod. And so is that red-haired bitch. She's going to pay for what she did to my face. Right after she gives me what I want.
A wicked smile drew his lips back unnaturally, exposing both upper and lower teeth, causing most of the cuts on his face to crack and bleed again. The blood oozed black in the moonlight. A few moments later, the smile was replaced by the grinning jaws of a wolf.
 
God, the bed felt like heaven. Connor was glad he'd gone to Bill and Jessie's home. The company was good, of course. His brothers, Culley and Devlin, always kept the conversation lively. He'd lost track of how many helpings of the venison stew and fresh bread he'd had, but it was the first time in a long time he felt like he'd gotten enough to eat. The Change burned up a hell of a lot of calories. So did working like a man possessed. Culley and Birkie, Jessie and Bill, all of them had been right: He needed to take action on hiring another vet.
First thing in the morning, he murmured.
Tomorrow.
Banners of moonlight moored windows to floor, the silvery streamers making the shadows of his room darker, deeper. Connor's eyes closed blissfully. His breathing slowed, his large frame sprawled and relaxed. He had just achieved the nirvana state of full sleep when the phone on the night table rang.
 
Miles away, Zoey thrashed in the grip of a nightmare. She was running through the darkened streets of Dunvegan, pursued by the grizzled gray wolf. Every now and then she'd risk a glance behind her and see the glowing eyes, the snarling, snapping jaws. She climbed fences, ran through buildings, even drove her car for a while, but still the monstrous creature followed her. It was like the lupine version of
The Terminator
. She could neither hide from it nor outrun it, and it was coming closer and closer. Gurgling snarls filled her ears, and she could feel its hot breath on the backs of her legs. Any second it was going to bite her, take her down like a deer and kill her. . . . She wanted to scream but no sound would come out.
Suddenly another wolf, larger, darker, appeared on the sidewalk directly in front of her. Zoey dove off to one side to avoid it and fell onto the grass. She expected to feel her pursuer's teeth, expected the newcomer to attack her as well. Instead, the gray wolf launched itself at the bigger wolf's throat and a furious battle ensued. She wanted to run, wanted to get away while the animals fought, but she found herself unable to move. She was frozen, paralyzed. Helpless.
And when the gray wolf lay in a bloodied heap on the ground, she could only wait for the victor to look in her direction, wait for its strange gray eyes to fasten on her. Wait for it to spring with bared and bloody teeth. . . .
Her own scream awakened her. Zoey practically leapt out of her bed, turning on every light she could find, and rubbing her hands up and down her arms to stave off the chill effects of the nightmare. “Voices,” she said. “I need voices.” She bundled herself in an afghan on the couch and reached for the remote, hoping a little television would anchor her in some sort of reality.
A few minutes later she was rolling her eyes. She should have known that television in the wee hours of morning was the wrong place to turn to for reality. After flipping through a variety of scary movies, including one about werewolves no less, she turned off the set and threw the remote onto another chair in disgust. It was going to be a long, long night. . . .
She nearly jumped out of her skin when the phone rang beside her. At this time of night the only reason to call a small-town newspaper editor was
fire
. Any other disasters would wait until morning. Alert and all business, she grabbed the receiver but didn't get a chance to say a word.
“Thank God you're there! Look, I'm sorry to ask, but I really need your hands.”
“Connor?”
“Yeah, it's me. You're not squeamish, are you?”
“No—hey, are you okay?”
“I'm at the clinic, about to be up to my ass in puppies. I swear I'll buy you the most exotic coffee on the planet—hell, I'll buy you a whole coffee
plantation
, if you'll just come help.”
“I don't have any experience, but I'll come.”
“You have two hands, that's all I need.”
“I—” The phone went dead and she stared at the receiver for a long moment, then hurried to her room to get dressed. She wasn't certain how much help she could be, but hanging out with a hot veterinarian sure beat sitting up all night afraid to go to sleep.
 
The clinic doors were open. Only the night-lights were on in the reception area, and Zoey was grateful she'd been there earlier. At least she had some idea where things were. She passed the examination rooms, the lab, the lunchroom, heading down the hallway to where bright light spilled out of a doorway. She looked inside and caught only a fleeting glimpse of Connor before he grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her forehead loudly.
“Thanks for coming. I got this emergency call an hour ago.” He took her hand and led her to a stainless steel table where a large reddish-gold dog lay panting heavily. Her shaved belly was the size and color of a prize-winning pumpkin. “This is Millie. She's got enough puppies in there for a football team but the poor gal's not making any progress. I'm going to do a C-section but I have to have someone to watch her vitals and to take the puppies as I hand them off.” He looked at Zoey then, measuring her. “You sure you're up to this? Because once we get started, it's going to go fast. There's no time to get sick or faint.”
“Hey, city reporter here. I've covered the crime beat,” she protested. “You just tell me what to do.”
He grinned and patted her shoulder. “Okay, tough gal, here we go.”
It did go fast. One moment Connor was showing her how to check the dog's pulse, and the next, he was making the first incision. Somewhere between those tasks, he'd managed to start an IV, feed a tube down Millie's windpipe, start the anesthetic and reposition the now-sleeping dog on the table, all the while giving Zoey instructions on what to do with the puppies when they arrived. She held a towel in her hands, nervous but ready, checking the dog's pulse frequently. Millie's heart was strong and steady. Like Connor, she thought. She watched him work, admiring the efficiency and artistry that went into the surgery.
Suddenly he handed her something that looked like a slimy gray jelly bean—if jelly beans were the size of Idaho potatoes. It squirmed a little in her towel and she realized with a start that it was a puppy, totally encased in an amniotic sac.
Omigod.
She peeled the sac away to reveal the wet blond puppy underneath and rubbed it vigorously with the towel. It began squeaking and she watched, fascinated, as it blindly waved its little blunt nose around. It sounded almost indignant. A rush of warmth shot through her and she had to blink hard to clear her eyes of unexpected moisture. She looked up to find Connor grinning at her.
“Congratulations. You've just witnessed the start of a brand-new life.”
“Is it like this for you too?”
“Every single time. It never gets old. It does get rushed though. Put that one under the heat lamp. His brothers and sisters are ready to come out and play.”
He wasn't kidding. Zoey would no sooner get a puppy rubbed down than Connor was handing her another. And another. At one point she was rubbing two at a time. “Holy cow, how many are there?”
“At least a dozen. Retrievers usually have big litters, but Millie's outdone herself. Check her pulse for me, will you?”
Zoey hurried to do so, but the mother dog was fine. The next puppy wasn't, however. It looked different from its siblings, smaller and unmoving. “Connor, I can't get this one to breathe.”
“Use the bulb syringe, suction the fluid out of its mouth.”
She did her best but felt clumsy with the unfamiliar tool. The pup lay limp.
“Shake it very gently, upside down. The lungs may need to drain a little.”
That was harder. She was fearful of hurting it, but as the pup continued to be unresponsive, she jiggled it harder. Nothing. “Connor!”
“Don't panic yet. The bottle on the table is a respiratory stimulant. Put a drop on its tongue and then keep rubbing it with the towel. Keep its head down.”
She had tears in her eyes as she opened the tiny mouth. Everything was so delicate, so perfect. She applied the drop and resumed rubbing. “C'mon, c'mon, breathe! You can do it, little guy, c'mon.”
“I've got another puppy that can't wait. You're going to have to juggle them.”
Flustered, she tucked the limp pup under her sweatshirt to keep it warm, took the new pup, and was relieved when it squeaked almost immediately. She was just placing it in the box under the heat lamp with its siblings when a faint movement next to her skin caught her attention. She reached in and found the troubled pup squirming feebly. “Oh, look at you! What a wonderful fellow you are!” She crooned to the puppy as she rubbed it with the towel. Tears ran down her face when it finally made a faint squeak.
“Way to go, Dr. Tyler.”
“He's the one that did it, he kept trying.”
“So did you. And here's two more for you.”
In the end there were fifteen puppies nestled in a squirming mass under the heat lamp. Connor finished suturing the mother as he adjusted the gas, explaining that he had to wean Millie off the anesthetic. “She's going to wake up pretty soon and we'll see if we can talk her into nursing these pups a little. The first milk produced has all sorts of antibodies and such that the pups are going to need. But after that, we're going to bottle feed them for a meal or two while she rests and recovers. Bring along a couple of the pups.”
Zoey gathered up the two biggest puppies and followed as Connor carried Millie into his office and placed her on an enormous sheepskin pillow on the floor. It was surrounded by wide planks nailed together to form a box of sorts and positioned in front of the couch. Connor took the dog's pulse, pushed open first one eyelid, then the other and looked in her eyes. The dog pulled her head back and shook it. “She's waking up just fine. Put the pups with her and let's go get the rest.”

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