Chapter 5
When Nathan doesn’t come back, Clara decides to go find him. Unfortunately, the world has other plans.
Outside the shop, she is stopped by a man and Nathan’s sister. Naomi’s looks aren’t like the rest of the people in this town—she and the other shifters, including Nathan, stand out.
She sees Nathan in her peripheral vision. He’s leaning against a wall, smoking. She doesn’t look at him again, and he doesn’t look at her. There’s no way he doesn’t see what’s happening, which means he’s intentionally not revealing himself.
Clara lies to the investigator. Of course, she’s not very good at it—the man doesn’t seem to believe a word she says. When he grabs her wrist, she feels a complete change in mood.
Before she has any grasp on the situation, she watches Nathan shift in front of her for the second time. Glued to her wheelchair out of shock, she watches it in its entirety. This one takes longer than the first time. He falls on all fours, making ugly noises like an animal. Naomi goes to him, and before Clara knows it, he throws Naomi against the wall.
Naomi stands fast, seemingly uninjured. Breathing in shallow, panicked pants, Clara watches as Nathan’s skin rips apart (and it’s a little bloody—something she didn’t see the first time he shifted). It’s more terrifying than it was the first time, somehow. She credits that to the broad daylight. His clothing is in shreds.
People scream, and she hears yelling from inside the restaurant. Clara has seen people shift before. It’s not like this.
The investigator kicks her wheelchair, sending her shrieking and rolling across the pavement away from him. She watches from afar as Nathan, or what used to be him, crosses the courtyard toward the investigator with dark eyes.
Her vision is distracted by Naomi to her left. The woman grabs a knife out of her pocket, slashing open her palm. Immediately, her body shifts and throws itself into bear form. It’s sleek and fast, smoother than Nathan’s transformation. There’s no blood, just pure, white fur. Her form is a little smaller than Nathan’s but not much.
Clara finds herself clutching her chest, desperate for breath that won’t come. Arms wrap around her from behind, and she jolts. Someone wheels her away to the edge of a building, toward safety. Thin, pale fingers grab her and squeeze.
“Alice.”
“It’ll be OK,” the woman breathes quietly. “I’m sure. I’m sure. They’ll be fine. It’ll be OK. Naomi is strong.”
Clara furrows her eyebrows. She watches Naomi and Nathan throw themselves into a fight. Nathan doesn’t move the way Naomi does. He’s erratic, lumbering and swinging randomly and constantly. What he lacks in tactics against Naomi, he almost makes up for in unpredictability.
Almost.
Clara clenches and unclenches her fingers, heart pounding in her chest with fear. The fight is nothing like anything she’s seen before, at least outside of movies. They destroy benches and rip tiles from the square. Everyone scatters.
Despite how fixated she is on every bit of this fight, she can’t manage to decide who scares her most: Naomi or Nathan.
Nathan isn’t himself. There isn’t any hesitation—there’s just a wild polar bear. Everything about that makes Clara’s heart rush and adrenaline pump. She’s slept with this man. He’s been around her house for weeks now. Is it really his fault? She knows he has a condition that impacts his control, and she knows he shifted because he sensed danger. It hardly looked intentional.
Naomi is calculated. Clara doesn’t know her, at least outside what Nathan says about her. The impression Clara has of her isn’t good. Somehow, the knowledge that she’s not good to her brother makes it sting even more when her bear form throws him against a tree so hard he stops moving.
Unable to hold herself back, Clara screams in a desperate plea. “Nathanael!” It rips out of her throat, so loud it makes her vocal chords sting. “Nathan, you’re better than this—”
Alice rests her hand on her shoulder. “I think he’s OK,” she murmurs. “He’ll be OK, Clara.”
Exhaustion wins, and vertigo makes Clara’s vision swim. She watches as Naomi’s bear form steps on Nathan, and then the man leaves, running off without her in a huge polar bear body. Something in her heart sinks.
Clara wonders if what she just saw was a dream. Alice runs fingers through her hair, and Clara remembers her question. “How did you know that they were shifters?” Her voice sounds shaky and unfamiliar.
Alice pauses, drifting her hands back behind the wheelchair. “I got…a housecleaner. He’s one of them, I suppose…” She sounds distant and upset. “Craig is back in town, you know. Says things are really going to work out with us this time.”
Clara still feels like she’s in a dream. Her heart sinks, and even Alice’s words feel distant. She watches the investigator chase Naomi around a corner. “Don’t let the bastard fool you,” she murmurs. “He doesn’t care about you. He was a bad fiancé back then, and he’s a worse one now.”
“He cares a little,” Alice says. She changes the subject. “I could drive you home, if that feels safe to you.”
Clara blinks, pushing her way out of the haze and taking deep breaths. “Safe?”
“That’s probably where the shifter went, right?”
She closes her eyes. Nathan has nowhere else to go except the great outdoors. Despite everything, despite seeing what he’s like when he changes and the sheer lack of control and rational thought, Clara hopes he went to her house. Don’t run where I can’t find you.
“Yeah, probably,” she answers, turning to look at Alice. “It would be lovely if you could drive me back.”
Alice smiles her soft, sleepy smile. “I’d be happy to.”
The drive back is uneventful. Clara doesn’t speak much, mostly because she feels emotionally unprepared to talk about her friend’s fiancé-turned-ex-fiancé-turned-fiancé again. The dude’s a jerk and a user, but Alice won’t listen, and she knows that. If Alice makes a decision, she’s going to stick with it until she changes her mind herself, if she changes her mind.
When they get to the house, Alice helps Clara out. Despite offers to take her inside and make sure it’s safe, Clara knows she wants to go in on her. He’s here—there’s blood on the pavement outside her front door, winding around the side path to the sliding doors. She opts to take the front door.
Creaking it open after unlocking it with the code, Clara rolls her wheelchair inside and closes the door. The faucet’s dripping. Apprehension and a burst of fear makes her hesitate. After a moment, she rolls into the kitchen.
Nathan doesn’t look up. He sits, human now, arms slung over his knees. The state of his body, however, makes Clara inhale sharply.
His whole body is covered in splotchy bruising, his naked skin draped by one of the blankets from the couch. There are lacerations over his chest and back and arms and even one across his cheek, though it looks shallow. His hair is a total mess, sticking out in every direction in cowlicked, black locks.
“Does this scare you?” he says.
Clara thinks and bites her lip. She brushes a piece of hair behind her ear. “Honestly? Yes, a bit.”
He nods, staring at the opposite wall. “I’d be concerned if you weren’t.” She watches his eyes flutter closed. Nathan clenches and unclenches one fist. “No wonder they think I killed her, right? You find a shifter with her chest torn open by claw marks and it must be her crazy boyfriend, right?”
“That’s not a productive thought process,” Clara murmurs. Nathan looks at her with wide eyes, then nods.
“Sorry.”
Nathan drops his hand to his side and smears blood across the tile. Unsure what to do, she sits for a moment before wheeling back a few inches to a drawer with medical supplies. Grabbing gauze and antiseptic solution, she reaches to the drawer underneath that one for a clean cloth. Pouring the disinfectant on the cloth, she wobbles out of her wheelchair and kneels next to Nathan. He looks between her face and the cloth.
“Hold still,” she murmurs. “This is going to sting.”
Nathan shakes his head, looking confused. “I don’t want to lash out and hurt you—”
“You’ll get an infection, Nathan.” She tucks some hair behind his ear. “Just let me do this. I’ll be OK.”
He seems hesitant, but she doesn’t wait. Pulling his hands away from his chest, she wipes the cloth over one of the deeper cuts across his abdomen. He winces, half-growling. It would be a lie to say Clara doesn’t feel a little afraid of him, but she keeps cleaning the cut.
When she pulls the cloth away, there’s too much dirt. “You’re filthy,” she remarks, running a hand through his hair. “Come on, let’s get you to the bath.”
Reluctantly, he struggles to his feet. Clara falls back into her chair, wheeling it behind him as he stumbles to the bathroom. There, she slides onto her knees and turns on the water. Grabbing his hand, she dips it into the water. “How’s the temperature?”
“You don’t need to do this,” he says, avoiding eye contact. “You’re being too kind to me.”
“I said,” she repeats, irritated, “how’s the temperature?”
“It’s fine. Sorry.” In the fluorescent light, every part of him is visible. Clara can’t help but notice how he glows, drawing her in even when injured.
Nathan gets into the water, and Clara grabs a couple cloths, handing him one and keeping one for herself to help him clean. He winces as they wash off the blood and dirt, eventually just leaving growing bruises and cuts that need bandaging. The active bleeding seems to have stopped as well.
Nathan gets out of the bathwater, removing the plug so it can drain before getting into the shower to rinse everything down and wash his hair.
There’s something surreal about it. She can hear him groan in pain when the water hits his open wounds. Unsure what else to do or how to help, Clara waits in her wheelchair until he gets out, and then she helps bandage the worst of his injuries. He doesn’t say anything—it’s like his brain’s faraway, and Clara’s not sure how to reach him.
During the weeks he was here, he bought some extra clothing from the thrift store in town. Clara wheels to her room and lies on the bed. She lies on her side with her back to the door, pulling the elastic out of her hair and letting the ponytail out.
Eventually, Nathan joins her. He sits on the end of the bed with his back to her. Clara waits to see if he’s going to speak, but he doesn’t.
“I want answers, Nathan. You can’t hold them back from me anymore.”
He nods, sighing and rubbing his eyes. Slowly, he shifts backward and lies next to Clara, eyes to the ceiling. She watches him, captivated by the glassy green of his eyes in the afternoon sunlight.
“I told you about my condition,” he starts, looking distant. “It’s a shifter thing. I’ve only ever met one other person who has it, and she’s a mouse shifter.” Nathan laughs almost mockingly. “When a mouse shifter can’t control herself and acts like a wild maniac when shifting, it’s a little different than a polar bear.”
Clara furrows her brows. “So, do you just…when you shift, you go wild?”
“Yeah.” He turns to look at her, flipping on his side. “It’s not really me. It’s just the mindset of a bear in the wild usually. I mean, it is, but….” Another sigh. “I think my sister thinks it’s more me than I think it is. I really can’t do much. It’s like I’m fighting with two different sides of my head. I’ve never really hurt anyone except Naomi by accident and my dad once before he died, but Naomi thinks I’m a public menace.”
Clara brushes the back of her fingers over the bandages wrapped around his chest. “And this happens…when you shift?”
He nods, looking sad. “The more I shift, the more it hurts. When I was a kid, I really ripped myself up because I was shifting all the time without meaning to.”
“How do you deal with it?” She tils her head, giving Nathan a look. “How do you cope?”
“Used to cope with drinking,” he admits, “Then cigarettes. Now…hope.” He laughs awkwardly. “I need a better coping mechanism, and a therapist, and medication. Like I said, people don’t really work to make medication for shifters, so it’s harder for me to deal. I know I’m a good person—it’s just about finding a way to deal with this.”
Nathan scoots closer, winding his fingers into Clara’s hair and pressing his palm to her cheek. She feels her breath catch in her chest, his closer proximity making her nervous.
Nathan drifts his hand down her face, running his thumb over her lips. He seems to like it. The intimate gesture makes Clara shiver, and she parts her lips. He retracts his hand quickly. “I don’t want to live a shifter life. It hurts too much in more than one way.”
“OK,” Clara murmurs, nodding, “Then why don’t you just…stop shifting?”
“My sister,” he explains. “Naomi thinks I’m totally incapable, a wild card she can’t control if she’s not with me. Thinks I’ll mess things up for her.”
Clara shifts a little, holding the pillow tighter. “What right does she have to keep you stuck with her? You’re not a child.”
“I know.” Nathan looks irritated. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Naomi loves me. She just can’t relate to my condition. She thinks the safest option for me and her and everyone else is to watch over me like a hawk. I think the fact that I’m like this makes her feel helpless. It’s hard for her to admit how much she worries about me. She let me be on my when I was with Mihra, but she doesn’t trust me to be on my now that she’s gone. Mihra kept me in check—stopped me from doing all the unhealthy shit I used to do.”
That same topic. Clara’s heart sinks, and she finds herself drowning in the question that’s been on her mind for weeks: What happened to Mihra?
“Sounds like she was good for you.” In a way I’m not sure I could be. Clara is unstable enough on her. She doesn’t even know if she’s saying the right thing. Why aren’t things easy like in the romance novels Alice writes?
“She was. I think she was always better to me than she was to herself.” Nathan closes his eyes, biting his lip. From a few feet away, Clara swears she can feel the pain in his heart as if it were her.
“What does it mean for shifters to be mates? Is it different than normal relationships?” She asks.
Nathan opens his eyes, looking more comfortable with this question. “It depends on the animal. Some animals mate for life, so it means much more then. Polar bears don’t,” he explains, “I think for us, it was mostly that we gravitated toward shifter vocabulary. It’s easier to deal with being a shifter in this world if you go at it in a pair. At least, that’s what Naomi always says.”
He pauses. “Naomi and Luka are…traditional. Luka, especially. He believes shifters and humans shouldn’t date at all, that they can’t be considered true mates.”
“That seems strange,” Clara murmurs. Clearly, she thinks to herself with some amusement, there’s no physical issue with humans and shifters having relations. Would his kin consider that unnatural?
Nathanael nods. “I’ve always thought it was weird, but Naomi says that’s because I hate being a shifter.” He snorts. “She’s not wrong.”
Nathan brings his eyes up to Clara, expression falling to something sad and lonely that makes her heart pang. “Do you regret sleeping with me? Letting me stay here?”
Clara thinks, and she thinks hard. She considers her dislike of most men and the loneliness she so often feels. More than anything, she thinks of Nathan, bent over and growling as he turns into the bear that lurks inside of him. She’s a fool to connect to him, but she does.
“No,” she says. “I don’t regret it. I’d do it again.”
“That seems foolhardy,” Nathan teases, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “But I’m glad.” He pauses, brushing hair out of her eyes. “Why?”
“I…” Clara closes her eyes, images flashing through her head. “I think we’re similar in some ways.” She opens her eyes again, staring directly into his. “I know things have been hard for you, and I’m not minimizing that or saying I’m glad people treat you this way, but it feel almost nice for me to find someone who is like me.” She smiles at him. “Someone people think they need to take care of, I mean. Naomi thinks you’re weak. My family thinks I’m weak, so much so that I ran all the way out to Nova Scotia to have my independence. Everyone wants that sort of freedom, even disabled people. I think I might understand how you feel.”
Nathan bites his lip, looking a little like he might cry. He doesn’t—but the knowledge that he reacted that way almost makes Clara feel…satisfied? He’s been so distant and emotionless most of the time he’s been here. This is a rarity.
“You’re a gem, Clara.” He pulls her into a close hug, running his hand over the back of her head. “You’re a fucking gem.”
They just stay there for a while, holding each other. Clara leans her nose into Nathan’s neck. He smells like her mint body wash. After a few minutes, the question on her mind becomes too strong to ignore, leaving her head buzzing.
“If…” she starts, and Nathan pulls away to look at her.
“If?”
Clara exhales sharply. “If you didn’t kill Mihra, who did?”
Nathan’s face pales. He rubs his eyes again and sits. “She did.”
“What?”
“She killed herself, Clara. Took a bunch of pills. I got home and tried to make her throw them up. She shifted so I couldn’t and then cut herself open.” Nathan pinches the bridge of his nose. “There was blood everywhere. I held her when she died, tried to stop the blood loss. It didn’t help. She shifted and died in that form and with her injuries. I knew they’d never suspect to check her stomach for pills. With shifters like me, it’s shoot on sight lately. They’re afraid of us.”
He drops his hands to his side. “I knew they’d blame it on me, so I ran. I just ran to the ocean and swam until I hit land. It helped nothing—the investigation tracked me here anyway.”
Clara’s heart stops. A shiver runs down her back, and she feels cold. This wasn’t what she was expecting. No wonder she hasn’t seen Nathan focused on some revenge mission against the murderer. The murderer was the victim herself.
When she speaks, her words come out choked, and it’s only then that she realizes she’s crying. “I’m so sorry, Nathan.”
He smiles sadly, pulling Clara into his arms. “Why are you crying?” Comforting her, he runs fingers through her hair. She feels the dampness of her tears with her face pressed into his neck.
“I should have seen it coming. She was depressed, throwing everything she had into helping me and not herself.” Clara shivers in Nathan’s arms. “I didn’t do enough. I never do enough. I think all this proves I need to stop being a burden to others.”
Clara pulls away, looking at him. “What do you mean? If you hurt yourself, Nathan, I swear to god I’ll—”
“No, no.” He shakes his head fervently. “I just mean…” He trails off, looking nervous. “I have to face what I am and do things for myself.” Nathan smiles and wipes a tear from Clara’s eye. “Don’t worry about me.”
She swats at him. “I have to. I…” Clara stops, trying to think of what to say. “I care about you a lot. I rarely feel this way about anyone. You’re an idiot if you think I’m just going to let you slip through my fingers.”
Nathan stares at her in surprise. He looks younger. Clara pushes away. “Don’t look at me like that. If you don’t feel the same, just tell me—”
Nathan tugs her into a deep kiss. Holding his hands against the sides of her face, he holds her close. Clara is shocked for a moment but then relaxes into the kiss and into his body. His torso is so much wider than her, making her feel small. Clara always feels small—the wheelchair makes her short, and her disability makes people think she’s weak. The rough way Nathan is touching her, however, reassures her that he’s not treating her like breakable glass, and she doesn’t mind.
She pushes his back to the headboard and rests her hands on his chest. Unintentionally rough, she hears him groan from the injuries on his chest. Her legs are shaking, so she sinks onto her knees and kisses him from the side.
His lips are warm and soft, but his touch is firm in the best way. Nathan weaves his fingers into her hair, leaving the kiss caught somewhere between sexual and gentle. She’s not sure where exactly she wants it to go, but Nathan makes the decision for her.
He eases off, separating and leaning his forehead into hers. Clara glows, floating ten feet off the ground. She kisses him again, smiling against his lips. Nathan gently nips at her bottom lip, letting his hands fall from her face to her neck.
When they detach finally, Clara sinks to the bed and lets her head fall against the pillow. She looks up at Nathan cheekily. “That was nice.”
The shifter smiles before sinking to her level and wrapping his arms around her. Clara flips so he’s spooning her, sinking into his touch. She feels him wince, and her heart falls a little. He’s hurting. How can she help him?
“Yeah, it was really nice.”