Changing Hearts

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com

Changing Hearts

ISBN 9781419913020
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Changing Hearts Copyright © 2008 Marilu Mann

Edited by Briana St. James.

Photography and cover art by Les Byerley.

Electronic book Publication November 2008

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Dedication

To loved ones on both sides of the veil. To friends who have shown us unfailing, unflinching and unflagging support every step of the way, we salute you. You know who you are! To our readers who keep asking for more, thank you! We write because of you.

Acknowledgements

With gratitude to FTHRW, FF&P, PI & Nythearn. Y’all keep the wheels turning and the enthusiasm high. To the citizens of the great state of Louisiana, particularly those in and around New Orleans—
Laissez les bons temps rouler!

Author Note

The author acknowledges taking a little liberty with some of the geography of the great state of Louisiana…y’all can put it back where it was when we’re done.

He had to get away. If he didn’t, they’d kill him.

Slade dragged himself to his knees. Everyone’s attention was focused away from him.
Now or never, get moving.
He willed himself to ignore the pain radiating throughout his body.

Heading for the wooded area surrounding the compound seemed his safest bet. He’d change direction soon, but for now this felt right. Slade glanced back as he reached the relative safety of the woods. Still too much confusion, too much noise, they hadn’t noticed he’d left yet. They would though and they’d be tracking him.

Pain and nausea doubled him over. He emptied his stomach, covering the mess with leaves and dirt. No sense leaving more of a scent trail than necessary for anyone to follow.

Gaining his feet again, he forced himself to continue, moving as fast as he could. He hit the edge of the bayou with a stifled groan. Falling more than stepping into the water, he felt the sting of cuts and scrapes on his body. Still, the warm water revived him somewhat.

He shook hair and water out of his face, then wiped away blood and sweat with one hand. The other one felt broken. He flexed the injured hand slightly.
Yep, definitely broken.
That and the ribs were the most painful injuries, the others were just nuisance ones. He’d survive. He’d been beaten worse than this and he’d made it.

North, got to head north. They won’t look for me this way.
He set his mind and his feet on a northward trail.

Slade ran through the brackish water that reached his knees. He knew he was running out of steam. He also knew that he couldn’t stop. Stopping too soon meant they might catch his scent—catch him.

The hunter had become the hunted. Pack law didn’t offer any leeway. Killing his second-in-command, though necessary, had effectively exiled him from any Pack. It didn’t matter that there’d been no benefit of formal challenge. It didn’t matter that his second, along with his former lover, had betrayed him, poisoned him. All that mattered was that he’d abandoned his Pack without leadership.

He was alone now.

Again.

Slade stumbled, going down hard. With a mental curse, he bared his teeth at the culprit, a damn cypress knee. They stuck up out of the bayou in various places, just waiting to put a hole in a boat or hide a snake. He raised himself out of the water as he listened for pursuers. No sounds came from the south except a bull alligator roaring. That gator was just making himself known, there wasn’t any threat in it.

He cocked an ear to the other directions, even though he knew his trackers would be from New Orleans. A few voices laughing from the east and the faint trace of wood smoke in the air brought to mind good old boys drinking around a fire. No harm from any other direction, if his ears didn’t lie.

The bayou here didn’t run that deep, but he knew that if he went farther toward the middle he’d probably drown. The moss-covered trees loomed overhead, blotting out most of the light.

The sun climbed and still he ran, walked, moved north. He stopped to throw up a second time as the silver worked through his system. He fell again. It felt as though he’d been running for a lifetime, but he’d learned a long time ago that whining only got you more grief. He’d taught that to his Pack as well.
Never give up.
With that firmly in mind, Slade managed to get to his feet again. Moving forward sucked, but he wouldn’t stop now.

When a chill hit him in the evening, he knew he felt the onset of shock. The outside temperature had to be somewhere in the eighties. If his sense of direction hadn’t failed him, he had to be getting closer to LaPlace.

Slade stumbled again, but this time he kept his feet under him. The urge to rest gave way to the need to stop and change. Better to be safe than sorry, so he scanned the area one more time by scent.

He couldn’t smell anything close to him other than the water and his own sweat and blood. Slade looked around again, using the rest of his senses. He could sense people near, but the diluted scent told him they weren’t close enough to bother him. He turned his ears toward them. All he could hear were faint shifting noises and deep breathing. They were sleeping.

No shifters followed him right now. Maybe they thought him dead. That gave him pause. If that held true, then the Pack would never seek him out. He might actually get lucky on this. Then he laughed. He hadn’t been that kind of lucky since the age of six. However, he would be dead if he didn’t change soon. He refused to give in to the need to just lie down and let the silver finish him off.

His lips curled up in what might have been a snarl but could have been a laugh. Weak would never be a word used to describe him. Weak was letting someone like his ex gain control, letting a female call the shots. That had never happened to him and it never would. None of his lovers had ever been more than a casual sex partner. No female called him mate—he didn’t get that close. Why take a mate when you might have to leave again?

Shifters, like wolves, mated for life. So far he hadn’t found anyone he wanted that much. Hadn’t found anyone he’d willingly cede control to. He hadn’t found any one place he could truly call home.

Slade tried to take a deep breath. The pain brought him to his knees. It was harder to get back up this time. Giving in at last, he threw his head back on a harsh gasp that echoed from the trees surrounding him.

He moved out of the water to the marshy ground that served as a bank for the bayou. Kneeling down, he let the loamy earth absorb the shock.
It hurt. God, it hurt.
There was no help for it. He had to change.

Slade took several shallow breaths as he felt the change beginning. The cracking of a branch to his right caused him to whip around. The pain from his sudden movement shot through him like an electric charge.

Bones realigned, skin flowed, warm hair enfolded his body. The dank bayou night became a smorgasbord of smells. His vision took on such clarity that he could see the turtles sleeping just beneath the water. No longer a man, he was an animal.

His change to wolf form complete, he fell to the ground into the welcoming darkness of unconsciousness.

* * * * *

The boards on the porch felt rough under her bare feet, but she didn’t worry about splinters. Something out there needed her. Joie Sue Landry wrapped the lightweight shawl tighter around her shoulders for comfort. The night, though still humid, seemed quieter than usual.

Even the katydids weren’t singing. She paused before stepping off the relative safety of her stoop. That meant whatever it was it had to be big.
The last time it had been a gator. What could it be this time?

The uncanny call sounded loud and strong in her head. It wasn’t a voice, exactly, more like a murmur of sound, a whisper. To deny what she heard would have guaranteed a migraine. Moving down the cypress steps, she began to make her way cautiously to the water’s edge. Oppressive heat clung near the bank of the bayou and only the mosquitoes’ buzzing broke the quiet of the night.

A sound of something in pain nearby caused her to falter. A branch cracked under her bare foot. Joie stood on the edge of the bayou with her mouth hanging open. No way had she just seen a naked man on his hands and knees at the edge of the water.

Hurt
men
didn’t call to her the way the wild things did. Where an animal lay on his side now was just where she thought she’d seen the man. As she drew closer, she saw a wolf. She shook her head.
Foolish! It must have been a trick of the light.

Joie approached cautiously. If that wolf got up, she could be in trouble. The only movement she saw was the steady rise and fall of its side—a good sign.

She reached the side of the massive wolf only to realize it was unconscious. Joie didn’t waste time worrying about how it got to the swamp. She just knew she had to help the creature.

Tearing a strip off her nightgown, Joie fastened a makeshift muzzle for the wolf. It wouldn’t be the first piece of clothing that had been sacrificed for another, and she didn’t want to lose a hand or have to undergo rabies treatments.

When the muzzle was secured, she spared a moment to simply stare. As one who could spend hours in front of the tiger cage at the zoo, she felt fascination for such an obvious predator. There was danger here, but still, the feeling of being this close to such a strong animal mesmerized her.

She started to assess his injuries. Her hands slid gently through the thick fur, finding two, if not three, broken ribs, as well as old breaks that had healed. The right front paw looked as if something had tried to rip it off. Flaps of skin hanging from his side gave mute evidence to the fact that he had been in a fight for his life. She wondered what had attacked him. She’d bet on another wolf.

This animal needed treatment as soon as possible. The possibility of internal injuries existed, although Joie’s instincts told her there were none. Now that she knew how and where he lay, she thought about her
Tante
Kay. She knew that her godmother would arrive soon. Somehow
Tante
always knew when Joie needed her. While she waited, she watched the wolf.

Thinking only of comforting him, she stroked his head and neck, marveling again at the softness of his fur. Movement behind her alerted her to the welcome arrival of
Tante
Kay.

“What you got there, child? You think it wise to be pettin’ it like some ole hound dog?”
Tante
Kay lifted the flashlight she carried higher. Joie watched the elderly woman’s bright green eyes take in the scene.

“A wolf. He’s pretty badly hurt.” Joie ran her hand over his side as she looked at
Tante
Kay.

Tante Kay shifted slightly. Her lips pursed as she tapped them with one wrinkled finger. “There’s something not right with this wolf. I can’t put my finger on it, but this one…he’ll bear close watchin’. I’m glad you tied his mouth shut. I knew almost losing a finger to that gator would teach you,
cher
.”