24 - Past – In the Tunnels

Harlan hit the back door to the station with the flat of one hand, moving quickly. He waved at the wolves in the duty room, the ones working, talking, goofing off, daydreaming, flirting, living, but none of them could hold his attention. He was on a mission. To find Eventine Risson. Because her father had asked him to. Even if he was the worst wolf for the job, he would do his best to do what he thought Burton would want for Evie.

Sure, he probably should have mentioned that Evie had recognized him as her mate. And that she had a pale mate mark that apparently had shown up when she’d seen him. But if he was her mate, wouldn’t that mean that Harlan actually was the best male for the job? But what would that say about what Burton really wanted? Harlan put a hand to his head.

He headed for the closest retina scanner and stuck his eye to it, opening the secret tunnel entrance and heading below the station. He hadn’t been able to find Jaggar so he’d taken the truck they’d driven out in, leaving Jaggar there, justifying it in his own mind by saying Burton had sounded like finding Evie was urgent.

The tunnels were cool. Dark. Dry. Surprisingly not wet at all. They went every which way under the station, and no one knew where all of them ended up. There was no official map and no blueprints had been left by whichever shiften had built them. The tunnels closest to the station and the ones the wolven used often were reinforced with concrete, but the dirt and brick ones reinforced with railroad ties? Jaggar had told him never, ever to go down any of them. Not that Harlan ever would. They were all très creepy.

He wasn’t certain where Evie’s office was. Just that it was somewhere near the prophecy room, which was that room there on his right and not that one, not that one, not that one. The tunnel deepened, dampened, slanted downward, but the walls were still concrete so he continued forward. A thick, slathering growl stopped him, seeming to come from everywhere at once, in front of him, behind him, above him, below him, spiking adrenaline in his bloodstream. Glowing eyes in the tunnel to the front of him. Possibly more than one set. Harlan shifted without a thought, Nowl springing to the fore, taking over completely, while Harlan extended every bit of strength and wisdom he had. He did not want to die that day.

Nowl set his stance wide in the tunnel, filling as much of it as he could, snarling a warning to whatever was advancing on him in the dark. He scented, sucking in the air of the returning growl. It tumbled through the eddies of his nasal cavity, spreading secrets like bird seed thrown in the grass by a generous hand. Felen. Two of them. Older than dirt. Mean as shit, grown massive from the demands of guarding Rhen’s body. Moonstruck, too? Maybe. Which would make them a thousand times more dangerous. The two advanced on Harlan, even though he was obviously wolven and had every right to be there. He thought.

They were closer. Close enough that he could see the curve of their canines and the reds of their eyes. Nowl snarled, growled, sat on his haunches and let loose one wild howl, singing his dance of stay-back, all while keeping an eye on the pair. But they didn’t respond. They crouched forward, the one on his right slinking low while the one on his left stayed high and snarled, trying to draw his attention so Nowl didn’t extend it there. The one on the right tensed and Nowl twisted minutely, readying himself for the attack, staying loose, staying fluid because which way Nowl went depended on which way the felen went and then what the other felen did also but Nowl would twist and get underneath them and—the felen leapt and the other felen feinted around the back and already Nowl was twisting and snarling and biting the blood-the-blood…

The blood never came because there was Jaggar, 16-year-old Jaggar roughly the weight of a toothpick, plucking both felen out of their leaps with his bare hands, pistoning his body like he was throwing a shot-put, and pitching both big cats tail over ears down the hallway, back the way they had come, and Harlan could see the tunnel by the lights of their eyes. Dirt. Brick. He’d gone too far.

Jaggar glared down the dark tunnel after the retreating felen, his stance threatening, but he didn’t speak a word.

Harlan shifted and pulled on his clothes, silently promising Nowl a run as soon as possible. Shifting because of a threat, but one that didn’t result in a fight or a chase, was the biggest reason wolven went moonstruck. Once their blood was stirred, they had to move, had to get that aggression out. “Shit, wolf, thanks,” Harlan breathed, shaking himself. Oops, too late, he waited to see if Jaggar had a problem with being called, “wolf.” But Jaggar didn’t stick around. He turned and pushed past Harlan, not responding, heading back toward the prophecy room. When he reached the first junction, he pointed to the right, then flipped Harlan the bird over his shoulder, and disappeared, swallowed up by the dark of the tunnel.

“You’re welcome, buddy,” Harlan said under his breath, wanting to think he knew what Jaggar’s silence had meant. “Wouldn’t want to see you get eaten by cats your first week on the job.”

He turned right where Jaggar had indicated and within a few moments, he could scent her shifting fire. Evie. He pushed forward, down the dark tunnel, scenting his way.

He found it. A perfectly normal door. Closed. He grasped the doorknob and turned, because it felt like home, and he didn’t realize for a split second that he didn’t have a right to barge in, but then the door was pulled out of his hand and there stood Evie, her eyes wide, meeting his, not surprised to see him, but a question stamped on her features. Her hair was down and wild, curls coiling everywhere. She wore another trim pantsuit, this one dark purple and tailored to her, and her feet were bare.

He smiled warmly at her, thrilled to see her, even more thrilled to have a reason to be there, creepy felen completely forgotten. She raised her eyebrows. Didn’t smile back. Cocked her head to the side. He deflated a bit.

He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. She wanted to know if anything had changed, was asking him so with her eyes. “Ah, no, Evie, I’m only here because-” but she was already moving. She went back to her desk and sat. Where she’d been when he’d come into the tunnels.

“Your father sent me to find you.”

She looked confused. “He knows exactly where to find me.”

Oh. Crap. What in the hell, Burton? But still, he was here, and her manner was friendly. Not warm, which surprised him, but friendly enough that he knew she wanted him there. She pointed at the couch against one wall and shrugged at him.

Wanna sit?

Yeah I wanna sit. You could sit, too, right on my face.

What in the hell was wrong with him? He sat. Didn’t speak. Neither did she, her attention back on the papers spread in a wide arc around her desk. He looked around, curious about her and her office. It looked like it was two rooms, one on the other side of a door, and the spacious one they were in. Houseplants were everywhere, bright and cheery and bold, with colors he’d never seen before in a plant. Purple leaves, hot pink flowers, neon green cactus tips. He peered at the lights overhead, wondering how she kept them all growing down here, in the sparse but spacious offices with no windows.

Something moved behind a potted plant near her and he jumped up and crossed the room in a bound, getting between her and whatever it had been. Evie didn’t look up. “That’s Tink, leave her alone.”

“Tink?”

“She’s a cat. Lives down here. She hangs out here sometimes with me.”

“Cats live in these tunnels?” Normal cats, he should have said. Small ones that could only put tiny holes in you.

Evie pushed her papers back and appraised him. “You don’t like cats?”

He took a few steps around the plant, trying to get a look at this, “Tink” but saw only plant and carpet. “I don’t care one way or the other about cats, do you like cats?”

Evie didn’t say anything so he turned to look at her. Her gaze was dark and complicated, but she didn’t answer. Jaggar. He shrugged, trying to act like he didn’t care, edging closer to her desk, angling for her to pay a bit more attention to him, like she had up on the mat. He was a fool. She pulled her papers in close again.

“What are you working on?” he asked.

She looked up at him, her lips pursed adorably. She pushed the papers around and held up a stack at a time. “This is a list of all the reports coming in of this mystery prophecy that has Citlali resigning their posts and refusing to sit in repose, the one people keep whispering about, but no one will say what’s supposed to happen.” Harlan nodded. He knew the one. Three Citlali so far, two bearen and a wolfen, had said something akin to an apocalypse was coming for the shiften but none of them could see it clearly. Harlan had not known anyone was taking them seriously.

She held up another stack. “This is workflow documents for the KSRT because Sergeant Wheeling is out for six months. Burton hasn’t found an interim sergeant yet, and the Lieutenant is tied up, so I’ll do what I can until the spot is filled.” She held up another stack. “This is a listing of all the wolven under 18 with star renqua who have not told a prophecy.” She rifled through the list and pulled out one short list at the end, with only a few names on it. “And this is a listing of all the wolven under 18 with star renqua who have told a prophecy. They all get guaranteed Citlali spots so we need to keep track of them and cross catalogue their prophecies to get an idea of what section of the country they should be assigned to.”

He was impressed. “You’re working on all three at once?”

“Not really. I switch between the three very quickly, because switching between lets me work without needing a break.”

Harlan blinked again. This was supposed to be his mate? He was all for it, but wouldn’t she be happier with someone smart who could have long, philosophical conversations with her and… and play strategic chess via correspondence with her. Jaggar’s face loomed in his mind and he quietly snarled.

She was looking at him, frowning slightly, as if sensing the conflicts inside him. He grasped for something, anything to say.

"Butterfly seems restless."

Now she really frowned. "Who is Butterfly?"

"Your wolf."

Her face contracted in something like horror. "You named my wolf?"

"Ah, crap. No, sorry. I wouldn’t do that. Ah, my wolf told me her name. Butterfly."

Relief and something like wonder flooded her features. “You speak to your wolf?” Now she was interested, her face lighting. She rose from her chair and came to sit next to him on the couch, placing one hand on his leg in a breathless anticipation that was unfamiliar to her. He was lost, his sense scrambled with the change in her. “How?” she asked, sounding like a little girl who has just met someone who has seen a real life unicorn. “Tell me everything.”

Harlan blinked, loving this part of her. “Everything?” he joked, smiling at her, trying to tease a smile from her. Had he ever seen her smile? Oh, but he wanted to.

“Everything.” Her fingers squeezed his knee softly and Harlan couldn’t help but look there, as her touch sent goosebumps up and down his skin. He suppressed a sigh. She leaned forward. “What is your wolf’s name?”

“Nowl.”

She stared across the room at a cactus perched atop a filing cabinet. “Nowl.” She said the name once, softly. “How does he talk to you? Not just instinct right? Not just yes or no or go this way or fight that? Not just impulses? You’re getting words and conversations?”

Harlan leaned back on couch, spreading his legs a little bit, so her hand would slide to the inside of his knee. He grinned at it, liking it there. One of her tightly-coiled red hairs was caught on the sleeve of her wrist and he wanted to pluck it off with his thumb and forefinger and put it in his pocket. Keep it for later. Absurd. He still wanted it. He would put it in his keepsake box and show it to their grandpups. He was a fool. He didn’t have a keepsake box. Maybe he should get one.

Harlan was used to other shiften being fascinated with how he communicated with Nowl, when he shared it, which wasn’t often, and some who thought he was a few pups short of a litter, but he’d never been quite so glad for it before. He liked having Eventine this close. He could catch her scent here, could feel her out, puzzle her out, figure her out and then he would know who she really was and why he was so fascinated with her. Jaggar’s voice rang in his mind. Stupid. Dumb. Ass.

Maybe he was stupid, but fuck, it was hard to think with a female like Eventine Risson so close. He was supposed to be here. As long as he didn’t do or say anything sexual, he was golden.

“Sex.” he said. Shit.

Her eyes cleared a little and her lips twisted up at the corners as she stared into his eyes. Not quite a smile.

“Sorry,” he said, wincing and looking away. She rattled him, turned the normal crowded chorus of thoughts in his mind to a crescendo, all of them pointed at Eventine Risson and how perfect she was. Focus. Back to her question. Perfect for him. Don’t think that. Did he get actual words from Nowl? He chose his words as carefully as he could. “I’ve had many conversations with Nowl, and all of them are a bit different. Each time we talk, it seems we break down a miniscule barrier between us, but then rebuild it around us, like it’s a thread that separates us, but also entwines us.”

Her eyes widened and her lips moved as she repeated what he’d just said to herself. Harlan could not look elsewhere.

She squeezed his knee again, just at the point where the muscle of his thigh began. “Say it again,” she breathed.

He laughed. “It’s always different, but every time, we become both more separate and more entwined.”

She stood and paced in front of him, then stopped and faced him, her words coming quickly, and he realized this was something she appreciated and thought about often, the connection between wolf and person. “Do you think it’s like that in all of us? Do you think that we all have the capability of having one on one conversations with our wolves, of discovering their names, and that some of us are just better at it? Like you, you’re an expert. I’ve always thought I was good at it, but my wolf—” She stopped talking and stared at Harlan for a long moment, frozen in time as gears worked behind her eyes. Harlan saw it happen for her and joy spread through him, that he would be there the first time she talked to her wolf, that he would get to see such a thing. Beautiful realization dawned in her face and her eyes glistened with sudden tears, all joy, no pain. “Butterfly. Her name is Butterfly. I can feel it.” Wonder followed, and a single tear spilled down Eventine’s cheek. Harlan leaned forward, thinking to catch it with his thumb. Maybe bring it to his lips...

She sank gracefully to the ground, her limbs fluid, dropping to her knees and curling up on the floor like a child. Harlan stayed where he was, letting her have her moment with her wolf. The moment when Nowl had first talked to him had been the most profound of his life, and he’d only had to go without that connection for six years. Instinct could easily be the only connection between a wolfen and his or her animal their entire life. So when a wolfen was able to deepen that connection even a little bit, it was a big deal. When she seemed to have recovered a bit, he spoke, wanting to share the wisdom his grandpa had made sure to share with him. “I first learned of it from my grandpa, that it was possible to talk to my wolf. You might be right, about the genetic thing, some wolven being better at it than others. My cousin, Cash, can talk to his wolf. He calls him Tapeworm but his wolf says his name is Talmadge so I don’t even know what’s up with that. They fight a lot.”

Evie laughed, her lips curling up into an adorable smile he couldn’t get enough of. He soaked her laughter up like sunshine and made a tiny mental note on an internal checklist. Cash jokes equals good. Good thing that fucker did stupid shit all the time.

Harlan nodded. “My grandpa told me that the man is inside the wolf and the wolf is inside the man and together they make one wolven, but the wolf is still a wolf and the man is still a man. He told me that on my sixth birthday. I thought about it a lot, most nights before bed, making sure I still remembered the exact words, trying to imagine all the different things they could mean. I thought about my wolf every morning, tried to imagine what he might look and sound like inside me. The day before I turned seven, Nowl showed himself to me and told me his name.”

Evie’s eyes were wide, staring at him, hanging on his words. Her lips were slightly pouted and her color was high. In that moment, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. If he leaned forward, moved to kiss her, she would accept him, it was in her face and her body and her rich scent. She would welcome him. Her fingers would curl around his back, his neck, his arms, would pull him closer, would—

Harlan shot to his feet. Time to go. “I’ll ah, I’ll tell your dad that you were right here in your office and ah—”

She stood and smiled at him almost shyly, a look he'd never expected to see from her. She was all business all the time, and always under control it seemed. This… vulnerability? It did not come natural to her, but it softened him, just for a moment, made him reach out for an errant curl on her shoulder. He touched her hair again and it was as soft as he remembered it, the cinnamon curls springing lively under his fingers. Soft. He wanted her.

Eventine stepped in close to him, just under his raised arm, fitting herself into his chest like a puzzle piece. She tilted her head up to him, and she didn't stop, and neither did he. He followed what his body wanted, tilting his head down to hers, touching their lips together in just the slightest brush. With that brush, Harlan realized that he'd come down to her office, he'd followed Burton's orders, wanting to recognize her as his mate, but he still did not recognize her as his mate. He wasn't going to lie. He was infatuated with Eventine Risson. 16 or not, a scary, awesome father, or not, history and mystery up the ass or not, he wasn't going to lie. He wanted to recognize her as his mate, but he still didn't.

He pulled back from her and looked down at her, wincing as the magic of the moment retreated from her face.

Her eyes narrowed. "My father told you to get me to go to that school."

Harlan shook his head no. "He doesn't want you to go school. He wants you to stay in the station. He wants me to keep an eye on you, to keep you from..." Harlan faltered. Eventine pressed him with a raise of her eyebrows and a tilt of her head. "He wants to keep you from mating." There it was, out in the open. Good.

"He said that?" Evie didn’t seem upset, but rather, curious, her mind far away.

She returned to her desk for a moment, and then went to her filing cabinet as if he were not there. She lifted a file, then another, then another, until she had all the drawers open and a dozen folders spread out on the floor in a manila rainbow around her. “Did I miss a prophecy?” she muttered to herself.

Harlan watched her open folders and skim and underline and highlight and make notes for what seemed liked a few moments but was probably longer.

Until he backed out of the door, leaving her to her work, having no idea what his next move was, or even how he felt about the non-kiss that had just happened between him and Eventine Risson.