Changeling Moon (9 page)

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Authors: Dani Harper

BOOK: Changeling Moon
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Zoey nestled them close to the mother, and was amazed at how they immediately flailed about in search of a nipple. One fastened on right away. “How do they know what to do?”
“Instinct. All the instructions are hardwired into them, so they don't have to know anything. They just do.”
It took several trips, but finally, the pups were arranged two deep along the mother's belly. Connor turned the lights off except for a small lamp. Zoey thought they were leaving but instead, he stretched out on the old couch. “I have to keep an eye on Millie for a while. She's an experienced mom but she might be disoriented,” he explained and extended his arm in invitation. “Why don't you scootch right in here and have a nap? You worked hard tonight.”
She hesitated for a second, then realized she was far too tired to drive home. Besides, the idea of cuddling up to the tall vet was a temptation she really didn't want to resist.
The battered couch was surprisingly comfortable. It was long and wide, and although Connor filled the length of it, when he turned sideways there was just the right amount of room for her to spoon in front of him. He wrapped a powerful arm around her waist and pulled her snugly against him. God, it felt good. Heat seemed to flow from him, working its way into her tired body as if she had a campfire at her back. She watched as Millie lifted her head and began nosing her puppies, tentatively at first then licking them enthusiastically. “Look, she's discovering her new family.”
Connor's voice rumbled pleasantly in her ear. “This is the best part, after it's all over and you can just enjoy watching them bond.”
“You're really good at what you do. And you like it a lot, don't you?”
“Can't imagine doing anything else. But you were great tonight yourself.”
“I don't know about that.”
“I do. You helped a helluva lot. I might have lost a couple of those pups, trying to do it all myself. Or I could have been a little too slow and lost Millie. So, thanks.”
“Thanks for asking me.”
He planted a kiss on her cheek, hugged her tight. “Go to sleep now.”
She did. She had fully intended to continue watching the puppies but instead fell headlong into dreamless slumber, secure in Connor's arms.
 
Zoey awakened to the sound of squeaking puppies. She opened her eyes to find Connor kneeling by the box, bottlefeeding one of the pups. Millie didn't appear to mind or perhaps she was just preoccupied. The mother dog seemed to be nosing the squirming mass of hungry pups into some sort of order.
“Morning,” she managed.
He looked up from his task and smiled. “Sorry if I woke you. I tried not to make noise, but this crew was ready to riot. There's fresh coffee and cinnamon buns in the lunchroom if you want.”
“Holy cow, you baked?”
“Nope, Dell Mackie brought them by. I offered to marry her again but she turned me down as usual.”
“I see. You must be heartbroken,” she ventured.
“Devastated. She's eighty-nine, but nobody makes cinnamon buns like she does.”
Zoey laughed and tried to sit up, but discovered she was buried in quilts. She struggled out from under them, sat up, and ran her hands through her hair. “God, I must look a sight.”
“A sight for sore eyes, and one I'd like to see more of.”
“But I don't know how to make cinnamon buns.”
“Every relationship has its challenges.”
She chuckled as she knelt by the box. “Where's the littlest guy, the one I had trouble with last night?”
“Left hand side, bottom row, with the rest of Millie's little black sheep.” Connor nodded in the general direction, his attention taken up with feeding a second pup in his hands.
“Her what?”
“Look closer at the pups. Notice anything unusual?”
Their fuzzy puppy coats were dry now and Zoey thought the variety of colors made quite a picture. Eight were reddish gold like their mother. Three were blond. They were plump, their rounded features similar. She frowned as she realized the remaining four were different. Even though their newborn features were blunt and undeveloped, it was obvious that their shape, their build, was nothing like the others. Leaner. Shorter coat. And the color—three were chestnut with white markings, white feet. The smallest pup, the one that had been tucked in Zoey's shirt, was a mix of white and brindle. “Why are they so different?”
“Different father I imagine. The owners will be furious. Millie's a purebred with a ritzy pedigree and this will call the breeding into question.”
Zoey stared at him. “Different fathers? In one batch?”
“It happens with dogs and cats. The owners had Millie bred to a champion stud. But it looks like another dog got to her afterward while she was still in estrus. My money's on old Bruce Granger's boxer.” Connor shook his head. “Millie's owners will want the whole litter put down.”
“
What?
”
“A lot of folks breed dogs as a business. For some, it's only a business. If the pups have no future in the show ring, if they can't command top price, then they're disposed of.”
Disposed.
Zoey was horrified. She'd helped them take their first breaths. For a fleeting and foolish moment she thought about adopting them all, then realized the impossibility of it. “Why can't they just find homes for them?”
“Most breeders would do that. They keep their potential champions and they sell their pet quality animals. But these folks are more hard-headed than most. They think it devalues their stock to put pets on the market.” He snorted at that. “As if the average family was able to buy one of their five-thousand-dollar bluebloods.”
“I'm keeping this one.” Zoey reached into the box and picked up the small brindle and white pup and held it to her cheek. “I don't care what the owners say or what they want for it, I'm keeping him. He's
not
disposable.”
Connor looked stricken. “God, I didn't mean—I should have thought before I spoke. You don't have to worry about these puppies, Zoey. I'm not going to let anything happen to them.”
“Honest?”
“Cross my heart.”
“But the owners—”
“Knowing the owners as I do, I think it's best that they never know about these four little door prizes. Millie had
eleven
pups. Capiche?”
“My lips are sealed. But I still want this puppy.” And she did. Zoey had never had a dog of her own. She definitely didn't want one like the massive black pony that had been in Connor's office, but she had to admit she liked the enthusiastic affection.
“He'll be ready for you to take home in about six weeks. If I can't find a surrogate mom for these four, I'll get someone to hand-raise them for me.”
It wouldn't be the first time he'd done this, Zoey realized. “Do you try to save everything?”
He laughed a little. “My hired man, Jim Neely, asks me that every time I bring home another orphan. He complains that I'm turning the farm into a petting zoo, but then he always finds a place for the animal. More than a few have been rehabilitated thanks to him. My sibs help too.”
“So a love for animals runs in the family?”
“I guess you could say that. Maybe it's more a respect for nature. But don't put me on too high of a pedestal. This is a veterinary practice, and I have to put down animals as well. I get my share of cases where there's no other option. Luckily this isn't one of them.”
The puppy in her arms squeaked and nuzzled blindly. “I think he's hungry.”
“Then it's his turn.” Connor held out the bottle to her.
“I don't know how to do this!”
“Sure you do. Hold him like this”—he rearranged her arms a little—“and introduce him to the bottle.”
She didn't have to do anything more. The little creature attacked the rubber nipple with a will and began drinking greedily. She shifted a little, trying to get comfortable, and found herself leaning against Connor. It felt just right.
Chapter Nine
C
onnor checked his watch. Zoey had insisted on going home, but not before inviting him to stop by for coffee later.
Now wasn't exactly
later
—in fact, she'd barely been gone an hour—but the silver nitrate had to be applied a final time. Today. He'd already spent time making arrangements for the four puppies, and he didn't dare risk getting caught up in his work and forgetting, or being distracted by the emergencies that were common to his practice. Connor was determined to make certain that Zoey didn't become the very thing that had attacked her. He thought for a moment of her russet hair. She'd no doubt make a beautiful wolf, but she wouldn't enjoy it if it was forced on her.
Geoff Lassiter's wife, Melly, had been well prepared for the Change. She was accustomed to her husband shifting from human to wolf, had no fear of it and was willing to join him. Okay, if the truth be told, she was
itching
to join him—Melly had pestered Geoff daily about it. Geoff, however, had coached her for a long time before he would grant her the single bite—just a tiny nip that barely broke the skin—that would alter her life forever. At the next full moon, Connor had watched over the pair of them in the forest, stood guard as Geoff held Melly tenderly, encouraged her, talked her through it. It was like a birth of sorts, and there had been joy when Melly at last stood on four feet, clad in rich black fur. Geoff Changed then and the pair ran and played like cubs. When Melly finally shifted back, she had been flushed and laughing, happy and filled with the deep peace that came of the very earth itself.
There was no such peace for those who made that initial transition unaided. The very first Change was hard even on those born to it, painful yet bearable if relaxed into, embraced. Humans who found themselves Changing into something they didn't even believe existed could die from sheer terror and shock, or be driven into insanity. The pain was often magnified beyond human endurance as they fought their own bodies. Death frequently followed.
Connor had seen that happen only last year.
He and Bill had been enjoying a four-footed run under the full moon when they'd heard distant screams in the river valley. There, they'd discovered a young human teenager alone in the woods, screaming in fear and pain as his body shifted and Changed, for the first time—and he'd had no idea what was happening to him. Connor and Bill had been unable to help the boy, although Connor had brought all of his psychic power to bear. There was no reaching him in this condition, no convincing him that they could help. The boy had died moments after the Change was complete.
Folklore claimed that werewolves magically shifted back to their human form after death. It wasn't so. Whatever you were when you died, you stayed that way. The body, even a Changeling body, had no life force, no energy to call on to do otherwise. Connor had found it particularly sad, however, that the boy had remained in death the very thing that had terrified him in the last hours of his life. Sadder still that his family would never know what had happened to him. Bill and Connor had buried the small gray wolf near Elk Point, a sacred spot, and planted wild rose bushes over the site.
Jessie had convened the Pack, but it was a formality only. None of them would have bitten the boy. None would have risked Changing an unknowing human even to save their own lives.
That left Bernie as the natural suspect. A lone wolf by his own choice, the old man acknowledged no leader and no law. Plus he was well-known for being both vicious and self-centered. But there was no proof, no scent left in the area after nearly a month of heavy rain. The boy could have been bitten anytime after the previous full moon. Now, after the attack on Zoey, it seemed even more likely that Bernie had been the culprit. He wouldn't have cared what the boy suffered.
Bernie wouldn't care if Zoey suffered either.
And so he would do everything in his power to prevent it, Connor thought as he parked his car outside Zoey's apartment building. He reached into his coat pocket and held the small clear, glass bottle of silver nitrate like a talisman as he climbed the stairs to Zoey's apartment, trying to shake off the melancholy that had enveloped him. He knocked. A window at the end of the hallway let the early morning sun flood in, but it suddenly seemed to pale when Zoey opened the door.
Her russet hair spilled over her shoulders in tousled waves, her amber eyes seemed a little tired but were as arresting as ever. She was in her bathrobe again, and the dark blue plush only enhanced her fairness. He didn't see any flannel pajamas this time, however, and Connor's mouth dried without warning. A mere flip of his finger would undo the tie—would it also unveil her soft skin and its unique coloration? Frame the lush curves of her body in the color of the night sky. . . .
She smiled up at him. “I didn't think you'd need coffee so soon. I just got out of the shower.”
Suddenly he remembered to breathe, and then his brain kicked in. “I wanted to check on that leg of yours before I get started on another day. Lowen mentioned you might need the dressings changed.” Connor managed a smile and rubbed at the stubble on his jaw, wishing he had thought to shave. Wishing, too, that he could stop thinking about that damn little tie on her robe. “Hope I don't look too scary.”
“You do but I'm very brave.” She led the way to the living room. He was surprised to find the television on at such an early hour. As if she'd read his mind, Zoey waved a hand at the TV screen. “You're just in time to join me for cartoons. Everyone thinks a reporter should watch the news first thing, but trust me, cartoons are the only way to start the day. Oh, and you have to eat sugar-frosted cereal while you watch or you don't get the full experience.”
Connor accepted a bowl of Cocoa Crunchies with a chuckle. As a Changeling, he could scent the chemical signatures of food coloring and preservatives, but mentally shrugged it off.
Calories are calories and God knows I could use more of them these days.
Zoey settled onto the couch beside him. They lounged companionably, feet on the coffee table, talking while the cartoons provided a carefree backdrop.
Connor decided to venture a question. “You mentioned last night that you hadn't been sleeping well. I was wondering if there was a reason?”
“Just some dreams,” she said, flipping channels with the remote. “Why?”
“Well, it's not every day a person gets attacked by a wolf. I was just wondering if you were having nightmares, anxiety attacks, anything out of the ordinary.”
She settled on a channel and picked up her own bowl of cereal. “You mean something like post-traumatic stress. I confess to having had a few nightmares about wolves. It isn't fun but it's to be expected, you know? But last night's dream was different. Another wolf showed up, not the same one that bit me. This wolf was bigger and it was silver with black markings. Kind of pretty really.”
“Black markings?” His throat constricted suddenly.
“Sort of like a black blanket over his back. I've seen lots of photos of wolves, but nothing like it. Of course things tend to be a little weird in dreams. Probably comes of eating too late at night.”
“I hope you weren't eating these things.” Connor's head was already ringing a little from the quantity of sugar. Or maybe it was because Zoey had seen a saddleback wolf in her dream. He knew better than to believe in coincidence, but what could it mean?
“Nope, pizza.”
“What?”
“You were hoping I didn't eat Cocoa Crunchies before bed. It was cold pizza. It was so damn real . . . but of course it wasn't.”
“The pizza wasn't real?” He teased her, a little anxious to steer the subject away from dreams and wolves.
“No, I meant the
dream
,” she laughed. “Look, don't mess with my head this morning, okay? I'm tired and easily confused.”
“I doubt that you get confused very often. You're pretty smart.”
“Ha. You haven't seen me try to balance my checkbook.”
“So you're better with words than with numbers. So what? My mother used to say that everyone's good at something. I'm a much better vet, thank God, than I am a farmer.”
“My publisher mentioned that you now own a farm that his cousin used to have.”
“Well, he's half right. I own the farm and I live there. Other than that, I don't do any farming to speak of.”
“Because you're so busy?”
He snorted at that. “More because Jim begged me not to. I seem to have a condition known as
black thumb
.”
“Your hired man said that? But I hear you're fantastic with animals. How can a healer not do well with plants too?”
“My family asks the very same question, but not so nicely. So I stick with being a vet. Speaking of which, how about putting your foot up on the coffee table and letting me take a look at those dressings?”
To his surprise, she obliged at once. “I was just thinking about calling the doctor this morning—the bite looks worse today.” Her robe fell back to her hip on one side, exposing a long and shapely leg, beautifully freckled with gold. The bandaged calf didn't spoil the view a bit, and all Connor could think was that he'd asked for it. He swallowed hard and set to work, trying to keep his eyes on the task at hand. Once he'd unwrapped the gauze, however, he had no trouble focusing. He let out a long low whistle at the color of her calf. The tiny white butterfly bandages that held the deeper punctures closed nearly glowed in sheer contrast.
Zoey leaned forward, resting her hand on his shoulder. “See what I mean? It didn't look this bad yesterday. Is it okay? It's not infected is it?”
“No, no, it's all right. This is just the bruising that's finally come to the surface. It's a little swollen but the wounds are clean.” He examined it carefully. There didn't seem to be a square inch of skin between her knee and her toes that wasn't somewhere between pale lavender-blue and the bright color of grapes.
“It can't be all right! For God's sake, it's purple all over.”
“And you're likely to see a whole rainbow of colors as time goes on. I admit, it's pretty spectacular, but it's not surprising. A wolf can have a bite pressure of 1,500 or more pounds per square inch, a lot more than even a very large dog. There's more trauma to the skin and muscle than just the bite wounds.”
But not as much as there could have been.
Connor repressed a shudder as he carefully sponged the silver nitrate over each and every puncture.
“What is that, distilled water?”
“Antibacterial.” Close enough. It would act as one, even though that wasn't the real reason he was using it.
“I wonder if the cops would believe me if they saw this now,” she mused.
“Probably not. They're not exactly trained to know the difference between a dog attack and a wolf attack. You can't blame them for thinking it was a dog that chewed on you.” He pulled a fresh roll of gauze from his pocket and began to wrap her calf. “I'm amazed you're walking on this, you know. It looks pretty painful.”
“It's not too bad. It's achy and the skin feels a little tight. It gets painful if I'm walking on it too much, and I know I've overdone it more than once.”
“Maybe you should take it easy for a couple of days, stay off it as much as you can. Elevate your leg and put some ice on it to get the swelling down.”
“That's exactly what the doctor said.”
“You should listen to him. Lowen's one of the best.” He finished the dressing and she flexed her toes experimentally.
“So are you, apparently. It feels pretty good, doc.”
Connor just shook his head
.
Wolves had 42 teeth. So did Changelings, and Bernie had applied more than half of his teeth to Zoey's calf. She was far tougher than she looked. Most people would have been unable to walk with such an injury. And most people wouldn't have her resilient spirit either—
“So do you have to work at the clinic today?” she asked.
“Hmm? Not till later, thank God. My brothers conspired with my assistants to cancel everything for the morning. Can't do that very often though—the practice has grown a lot over the last few years. I need to start looking for another vet.”
“My cousin's a vet. Just graduated a couple years ago.”
“If he's not attached to a practice, have him send me a résumé.” Connor looked around, studying the surroundings for the first time. “So you don't have any pets?”
“Not at present, although I seem to have decided on a certain puppy I met last night,” she laughed. “Actually, I've wanted a pet for a long time but it's been hard to make the decision. My new pet is going to have such a tough act to follow. I had this big orange tomcat named Fester when I was growing up—well, technically, he had been my mom's cat until I came along. After that, though, he was all mine. I didn't have any brothers or sisters, and there weren't any kids my age in our neighborhood, so I grew up playing with Fester. He was such a good sport. I dressed him up and took him for rides in my doll buggy and my bike carrier. I remember playing doctor and bandaging him up with toilet paper. I must have used the entire roll because he looked like a mummy when I was done, with only his eyes peeking out. And he just sat there and waited until I decided he was
all better
and took it off him. He was so patient that way. Fester slept on my bed every night, and I used to read stories to him—I swear he liked it.”

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