Chapter 4
Nathan stays out all night, listening to the rhythm of the waves and thinking. Not too much thinking, though—the reality of the world, and his situation, is too much to face. At some point, he drifts back to the house and locks the sliding door behind him. Nathan glances at the clock: 5 a.m.
He collapses onto the couch, exhaustion winning against overthinking. Sleep takes him, but it’s a heavy, uncomfortable, sweating sleep like it’s been every night since Mihra died. When he wakes up later, not late enough, it’s to the sound of wheels bumping over the tiny ridges on the smooth tile.
Nathan sits, clutching his head. It aches, but it’s not the only part of his body that does. Clara doesn’t look over at him as she starts heating water for tea, up before him for the first time. Unable to avoid it any longer, Nathan looks down at his body to measure the damage.
A few shallow lacerations dot his torso, as well as bruises ranging from soft pink to ugly, green-black blotches. Shit. If he shifts again in the next week or so, he’s going to be in a world of hurt. This is bad enough already. Stupid.
He glances at Clara again. She’s avoiding him, doing the dishes. Nathan’s mind flashes to the previous night, and he doesn’t blame her for being angry with him.
Standing, he holds back a groan of pain and walks to her. Carefully, he reaches toward the dishes. “I can do these—”
Clara swats his hand, glaring. “I’ve been washing my dishes for years. I can do it myself.”
Taken aback by her spitting irritation, Nathan steps back. At first, his natural impulses make him irritated. He swallows his frustration and focuses on breathing. “Clara, about last night…”
She doesn’t look at him and continues scrubbing a plate, awkwardly, with her one working hand. “What about it?”
What can he say? “It’s hard for me to talk about these things. It was so recent. I don’t know what to do, what I feel for you, or how to process it.”
Setting the plate in the drying rack, Clara hangs her hand over the edge of the low sink and sighs. After a moment, she tilts her head and looks at him. “I know,” she breathes. “I wish it wasn’t like that, though. The least you can do is stop flip-flopping between kind and distant. I’m getting whiplash, Nathan.”
He nods. “I’ll try.”
Clara gives him a smile that makes him think she knows he’s not going to stick around. After all, how could he? Even if he wanted to stay, Naomi can’t be reasoned with. She’s more powerful than him, even when he’s fully in control of his shifted body, which he usually isn’t.
Clara beckons with two fingers, and he steps toward her. She looks over his body, running her fingers over his chest and the bruises covering his skin. It’s worst near joints. His elbows, wrists, and shoulders are the most damaged.
“You’re a mess,” she murmurs. “Did this happen because you shifted? Did Naomi make you?”
He shakes his head. “No. I got stressed and shifted without meaning to.”
She nods but doesn’t respond, continuing to run her fingers over his torso before dropping them to her side. She looks tired, leaning back in her wheelchair.
“Did you sleep at all?”
“Not much,” she admits, making eye contact again. “Was too irritated.”
Nathan bites his lip. “Sorry.”
She waves it away with her hand. “Whatever. Make up for it by going back to bed with me. Sound fair?” A small smile lights up her expression.
“Perfectly fair,” he murmurs. Nathan leans down and brushes his lips against her cheek, feeling her shiver underneath his touch. That familiar, possessive feeling rushes through his body, and he wraps his arms around her, soaking up her warmth. The bruises on his arms hurt as he does so, but it’s worth it.
He pushes her chair to her bedroom, and she gets into the bed by herself. He’s never slept in this bed, but the silk sheets feel nice against his injured skin. Pulling his body taut to her back, he wraps his arms around her torso.
“You’re warm,” she murmurs.
He kisses the back of her ear. “I know.”
She falls asleep before him. As Nathan dozes off, he listens to the soft hum of her quiet snoring.
Days pass. Days become a couple weeks. Every day, Nathan wakes up expecting Naomi to drag him home. She never does. In fact, he never even sees her. Nathan runs to town to get groceries, but he never sees the investigator the other shifters mentioned.
At some point, he finds some homemade-looking DVDs labeled with dates and names of concerts. When he asks Clara if he can watch them, she refuses and tells him to put them back. Later, he finds the cello in the closet.
Nathan doesn’t ask about it. He’s got skeletons in his closet that she hasn’t asked for, so it’s not his right to demand answers about hers until he opens up about his. In this case, literally in the closet.
One sunny day, Clara dips her feet deeper into the Epsom salt soak to help with pain and swivels her torso on the couch to look at Nathan. “I’m tired of being cooped up in here. Let’s go downtown and get lunch, OK?”
Dropping the rag he was using to wipe the kitchen counters, Nathan turns to look at the woman in the living room. Her hair is tied into a ponytail today. It looks good like that.
“Is that wise? I told you there’s an investigator in town, didn’t I?” He scratches the back of his neck. “I’m a wanted man, remember?”
“Yeah.” Clara pulls her feet out of the water and dries them. “It’ll be fine. We’ll be careful. They aren’t sure you did it, right? Doesn’t running make you look more guilty?”
I’m not running because I’m scared of cops, he thinks. I’m running from my grief. He keeps that to himself and shrugs. “Fine.”
Clara stands and plops down in her wheelchair. “Do you have a driver’s license?”
“Yeah, I do.” He pulls out his wallet and waves the card before slipping it into his back pocket.
Before long, the two are off. Nathan drives downtown this time instead of borrowing her bike, and they park at a generic sub shop. He feels guilty that he can’t pay, but that would leave an obvious credit card trail. Clara pays, and they sit at a table near the wall. After they finish their food, they sit with their drinks.
He bites his lip. “Did you go to music school?”
“Yeah. Why do you ask?” Clara takes a sip.
“I don’t know. The orchestra DVDs. What instrument do you play?” He already knows.
Clara wrinkles her nose. “Cello, but it’s been a while. I can’t seem to get myself to play again.”
Leaning his elbow on the table and tilting his head to the side, he smirks. “I imagine it’s a breeze for someone with fingers like yours.”
Clara blushes. Nathan feels his heart thumping in his chest. Flustered, she avoids eye contact and brushes a piece of hair behind her ear. After a moment, she just looks frustrated.
“I haven’t played in a while.”
Something pangs in Nathan’s chest. Did I fuck up? It occurs to him that her disability might have stopped her from playing. He opens his mouth to ask but snaps his jaw closed and grinds his teeth. He takes a sip of water.
After a moment, Nathan stands. “I’m going to go buy a pack and take a smoke break. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Clara looks upset. She grabs his wrist, latching on and not letting go. “Nathan, don’t do this.”
“Do what?” He yanks his hand away, glowering. Avoidance leaves him nastiness, and nastiness leaves him feeling shadowed.
The fresh air is a relief as soon as he gets out of the restaurant. He jogs to the corner store. With some of the last cash in his wallet, he buys a new pack. It’s been months since he smoked a cigarette—Mihra didn’t like it, so he quit. She’s gone. What’s to stop him from picking up an old vice? I’m stressed.
Nathan lights one up, taking a puff as he walks in the direction of the restaurant. He stops before the windows, so Clara can’t see him. Leaning against the brick wall, he stares at the sky. It’s a clouded, cold blue that matches his mood.
He slips into his mind, into the past.
“Didn’t I tell you to stop smoking these?” Thin arms slip around his torso. “You stink, Nathan.”
Soft lips press to his neck, and he exhales smoke before laughing. “How else do I cope with all this?”
Pulling away, she snatches the cigarette and puts it out, tossing it in the ashtray. She leans against the balcony, brown wavy hair tossing.
“Are you mad at me?” Nathan says.
She sighs, looking down and shaking her head. “No. I just want you to stop. You’ll never get away from addiction. I just got you to stop drinking.”
Nathan brushes her hair behind her shoulder. She turns to him and smiles. “Your smile is so lovely,” he says. “It’s nice to see it once in a while.”
Her expression falls, and she fades again.” You’re avoiding the subject.”
“Yeah,” he admits. “But you are, too. Are you trying to fix my bad habits to avoid the bad stuff in your head?”
Mihra stares at him and then steps forward and leans her head into the crook of his shoulder. He feels her shudder. Unsure what to do, Nathan wraps his arms around her and rubs her back.
His mate breathes into the skin of his neck. “It’s so much harder for you than it is for me. The shifting difficulties, your asshole sister, all of it. What right do I have to feel so empty?”
“You have every right.” Nathan squeezes her close, pulling back and kissing her cheek. He holds the sides of her face. “I’ll quit smoking if you agree to see someone. A therapist, if you need.”
“I feel lost.” Her eyes are dark.
“Me too,” he murmurs. “But we’re going to be OK. I promise.”
Nathan chokes on smoke, coughing before he presses a hand to his mouth. Fuck. The brick wall behind his back is cold. It’s still spring—the chill of winter hasn’t quite left yet.
Nauseated, Nathan takes another puff of his cigarette, closing his eyes. His chest is tight and painful. I can’t take this. Swallowing, he opens his eyes and is about to put out his cigarette when he sees someone get out of a sleek black car in a suit and messy brown hair with a black cap over it. He’s with Naomi. The investigator, Nathan thinks.
Nathan pretends not to see them, taking a puff of his cigarette. If Naomi hasn’t noticed him yet, she will soon. He listens to their conversation.
“You told me you were going to take a few days off with me, Liam.”
“I know.” The man sounds exasperated. “But I’ve received notice from my superiors, and I just can’t put this off anymore. You’ve been a great help, and I want to spend time with you. As soon as my work is done, we’ll be fine—”
Naomi doesn’t say anything. A bell jingles, and Nathan turns just in time to see the investigator open the door for Clara, who’s leaving. Naomi makes direct eye contact with him and mouths, “Go.”
Why is she with him? He wrinkles his brow. Trying to act natural, he keeps smoking his cigarette.
“Good afternoon! Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but I’m investigating the recent murder case in Charlottetown, and we think our primary suspect may have fled to Port Murmure. Could I ask you some questions?”
Clara nods. “Sure.”
The hair on Nathan’s arms stands on end. He closes his eyes, continuing to smoke the cig in his hand.
“Here are my credentials.” He pauses. “This may be a long shot, but have you seen any strange people around? I’m especially looking for shifters right now as Port Murmure has very few, but any strangers are notable.”
A pause. “Hm. No, I don’t believe I have. I’ve been at home a lot lately—I’m a freelancer, and my workload has been huge lately.” She pauses. “Sorry, I wish I could help.”
He hears Clara’s wheelchair moving across the pavement. “Ma’am, sorry to stop you, but I did have some more questions. You’re injured. May I ask how that happened?”
Nathan’s eyes open.
“Are you at liberty to ask that?” Clara sounds irritated. “I fell.”
“Sorry for the intrusion,” Liam says, and Nathan feels his blood heating. Stop bothering her.
Clara scoffs. “Then you won’t mind if I get back to work?” The wheels again, then a sudden stop. “Ow—”
Nathan turns his head abruptly.
Liam has grabbed Clara’s arm, not realizing the wrist is still mending. She pulls away, nursing her hand. “Officer, this is ridiculous.”
“It’s my job to ask, ma’am. Sorry about this, but I’d like to take you to the precinct for more questioning. I’m concerned about the nature of your injuries.”
“I said I fell—”
The man speaks so slowly and calmly that it makes Nathan’s blood boil. He focuses on his breathing, trying to stay calm as the investigator continues. “I’m just trying to get as much information as possible.”
“I don’t have any clues for you, sir,” Clara blatantly lies, sounding irritated. Stress makes Nathan’s skin tingle. He fights it. No.
Liam seems exasperated. “Ma’am—”
Nathan turns to snap at him, but his body has other thoughts. His stress level sends him spilling over, and he groans before falling onto all fours. The investigator sees him.
“Leave her alone,” Nathan growls. He gasps, holding at his chest. Don’t. Stop. His body and the bear in him doesn’t listen, the pain spreading across his body like a burn.
A hand presses against his back. Naomi’s voice tries to fight through his senses. “Nathan, calm. Deep breaths—”
Anger boils within him. “What do you care? You only care about yourself—”
Driven only by the bear, his arm shoots out, and he shoves her. The force makes him fall back on his ass, and his sister stumbles. Her involvement is the final straw. His body shifts, fur ripping the skin and body distorting into his bear form. The pain is mind splitting.
Soon, even that fades into a frenzy. He loses control of his brain, almost like it’s been blown away by a gust of wind. All that’s left is feral, and he rises to his feet to look at the investigator. The man shrinks, eyes wide as he reaches for his gun. With blood boiling and a hunger for violence, he takes huge steps toward the investigator.
Nathan pulls up a claw, prepared to slash the man’s face. The memory of exactly why he’s doing this is gone while in his bear form, but the knowledge that this is someone who’s made him angry remains. There isn’t human rationality right now, not when he has shifted under stress.
But he hesitates. There’s a blip of something human, and he puts his paw down.
A huge body barrels into him with a growl. Thrown across the street, Nathan flies into a bench near a fountain. It cracks with the force, collapsing into stone as he drags himself to his feet. Another polar bear growls, hair standing on end.
Unable to discern the smell of his sister while in a frenzy, he throws himself at her. The two bears swipe at each other, clawing. Far away, people scream. Pain registers, searing through him. There’s no telling how long it continues—Nathan’s rational mind is gone, dropping him into timeless rage. He slashes at his sister, blood-hungry and irrational.
Adrenaline pumps through his veins as he tries to regain the reins of control. Back, somewhere buried, his rational self fights to resurface and repeatedly fails. He can smell blood.
Nathan only emerges when he’s thrown against a tree and sinks to the ground. “Nathanael!” A familiar voice calls. “Nathan, you’re better than this!”
Clara.
All the anger seems to seep out of his system, leaving him feeling empty and weak. He lies in huge bear form at the bottom of the tree, searing pain in his back.
The other bear approaches slowly, stepping a foot on his chest. Naomi’s voice invades every crevice of his brain, loud and firm inside his head. This is why they suspect you. This is why Luka and I have kept a close leash on you your whole life and why we’re going to keep doing so. You’ve crossed a line.
Nathan tries to breathe. Her voice continues. Get out of here before your body shifts back out of weakness. I’ll speak with you later. I hope you understand now why a relationship with a human would never work. You can’t control yourself.
Naomi backs off. Knowing he doesn’t have time and afraid to disobey his sister’s orders, Nathan struggles to his feet and runs with huge legs across the square. He leaves Clara behind, taking to a run as he throws himself out of town toward Clara’s house. Naomi must be distracting people in town because no one follows him.
The pain as he moves is unbelievable. Heart thumping and chest aching, Nathan pushes himself for what feels like forever until he slinks back to Clara’s house. Outside the front door near the garden, he collapses. His body slowly, painfully, reverts to normal.
Emotionally and physically exhausted, Nathan gasps into the pavement. Naomi’s right. He can’t be controlled except by Luka and Naomi. He’s had times when he could shift normally, but Naomi doesn’t seem to see that. He tried to get away from Luka and Naomi with Mihra. It was fine for a while, and Nathan knows her death wasn’t his fault, but…
He drags himself to his feet. The front door is locked, so he goes around to the back to the patio door with the lock he broke. As soon as he pulls it open, he wants to collapse onto the floor and avoid pain. Forcing himself to do otherwise, he goes to the sink and gets cloth to stop the worst of the bleeding.
He’s shifted too much in the last month. It’s leaving his body a wreck. Unable to muster the energy to do more than stop some of the bleeding, he slides down the side of the counter and leans against the island in the middle of the kitchen. His gasps slowly die off into soft, labored breathing.
This was bound to happen. Clara’s already seen him in bear form, but he had thrown her against a wall and she had passed out too fast to see what sort of monster he is. She had to find out what he is actually like at some point—probably best that it’s now, before they got even closer. He wants her to like him, but who could love someone like him? Could a human-shifter relationship work or is Naomi right? Nathan swallows a choked sob, putting his head in his hands instead.