Chapter 8
Clara wants me to stay, Nathan thinks again.
The knowledge that he can’t stay with Clara hurts. He tries all night, through dinner and into the night hours, to shove it away. He lies in bed next to Clara, listening to her soft breathing and watching deep-blue shadows crawl across the ceiling.
Tomorrow, Naomi will erase Clara’s memory. They will go home, and once again, Nathan will be under the thumb of his sister.
He balls up the sheets in his hand, turning onto his side so his nose presses into the gap between pillows. The bedding smells like her—like honey shampoo and pine deodorant. Nathan swallows, his throat dry.
Sleep evades him, worse now than any of his nights of insomnia in the last month. He scratches his chest, but it doesn’t make the ache in his sternum go away. It’s not a physical problem—just physical symptoms of anxiety.
Eventually, Nathan accepts that sleep isn’t happening. Flipping over, he wraps his arms around Clara. She shifts in her sleep, unconsciously leaning into him. The warmth of her body soothes him but only a little. Any comfort it brings is negated by the cold knowledge that after tomorrow, he won’t see her again.
Naomi is smart—she’s not wrong that human and shifter relationships are often risky. It rarely works out well, even with shifters whose animal parts are relatively docile or easy to deal with. The stress of being a shifter, the way it outcasts you from society, is something humans often can’t understand.
That’s not to say that Nathan doesn’t think of himself as human—in his heart, he does. Just because he can be something else doesn’t mean the human part of him is invalid. Naomi and Luka would not feel the same, and he knows that. He’ll never bring these things up to them.
Nathan knows he’s a special case. The danger, the stress, the things people worry about with human and shifter romantic relationships—all that is made so, so much worse by Nathan’s condition.
He breathes into her neck, a shaky burst of air. The inhale is somehow even worse—strained like that of an asthmatic without an inhaler.
Gently, impulsively, he presses a kiss to Clara’s shoulder. There are a couple moles there, along with a soft sprinkling of clay-colored freckles.
“I love you, Clara,” he tests. When there’s no response, Nathan shudders and says the rest so quietly he doubts she could make it all out if she tried. “I’ll miss you forever, I think. I hope you’ll miss me for less than that.”
Sleep doesn’t come at all that night. At some point, he zones out far enough that his brain quiets for a while. Nathan settles into the darkness and waits for the slow rise of dawn.
They have breakfast together. It’s nothing special this time, just cereal. He doesn’t want Clara to get the impression that he’s going over the top. If he’s learned anything about the woman he’s stayed with for the last month, it’s that she’s smart. If she suspects he’s saying goodbye forever, she won’t leave.
It’s almost disappointing when she doesn’t suspect him at all. His kiss goodbye lingers but only for a moment—only enough to feel like sensual hesitation. It’s not enough for goodbye.
Nathan doesn’t think it’ll ever be enough.
When she leaves, Nathan shuts the door behind her. He stands in the empty space, closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing. In, out. In, out. Don’t cry. In, out.
“This isn’t worth your tears,” he reminds himself out loud, his voice sounding so much louder now that he’s in an empty house.
Slowly, Nathan opens his eyes. The light is dim. It’s a cloudy day, which is fitting. Usually, the sun shines on his worst days. For once the weather fits his mood, at least.
He makes his way to the kitchen. Nathan’s fingers hesitate over a half-empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the counter. The consideration lasts a minute, tempting him toward a dark place he knows he shouldn’t go, shouldn’t be.
Temptation wins. Nathan unscrews the cap, carefully setting it to the side. Slowly, he lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a swig. Instead of the relief he was expecting, the taste lingers in his mouth and burns his tongue. It wasn’t a big swig—he knows it won’t numb him if he doesn’t drink more.
He screws the cap back on and sets the bottle back before grabbing a glass of water instead. Alcohol won’t help this and he should know that. This isn’t the sort of thing that alcohol fixes. Turning to substance abuse is something he used to do, not something he wants to do now.
Nathan sinks into the reclining chair in the living room, tilting it back. He needs to clear out of here soon, but he figures Naomi will give him a call after Clara’s memory is gone.
He turns his arm over. The cuts are slowly healing, but the bruises remain dark and painful over his tanned skin. Nathan exhales and drops his arm, closing his eyes.
The sound of the doorbell jolts him to his senses a few minutes later. Sitting straight, he tries to calm his pounding heart. Alice? Clara? No, couldn’t be. Naomi wouldn’t let that happen.
Nathan stands and slowly makes his way to the door. He opens it, only to find himself face-to-face with the private investigator from the other day.
Impulse tells him to shut the door and lock it and leave through the back. Common sense, however, stops him. He gapes, furrowing his brow. “What can I do for you, investigator?”
“I’m not on duty,” the man explains, gesturing at his plainclothes. Nathan hadn’t even noticed them—he was too busy thinking about the possibility of being arrested and going to jail. “Please, call me Liam.”
“OK,” Nathan answers hesitantly, narrowing his eyes. This man saw him shift just a few days prior into the exact type of animal shifter they’re looking for. “What can I do for you, Liam?”
“I’m not here to arrest you or interrogate you. I just want to talk.” His tone is desperate, eyes pleading.
Suspicion makes Nathan hesitate. “Why should I talk to you?”
“Because I need your help,” the man begs, “About Naomi.”
“About Naomi?” Nathan says, surprised. “What do you want with my sister?”
“I’ll explain all that,” Liam presses his hands together. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
There’s something in Nathan’s brain that warns him this might be a trap—a ploy for information. He doesn’t know anything about this man. What eventually leads him to make a decision, however, is nothing more than ugly temptation: the temptation of a way out, even if that way is jail. What does he care if he gets arrested? There’s hardly much left for him outside of the big house—just more of his temper causing problems.
He opens the door wide, stepping to the side to allow Liam in. “OK. A few minutes.”
They sit in the living room. Liam looks stressed—he keeps running his hands together. Nathan sits in that same recliner, keeping his posture upright to secure some sense of dominance over the conversation. “Well?”
“I’m in love with your sister,” Liam blurts. “Or, I think that I have the potential to be.”
Nathan snorts and shakes his head. “That’s a shame, then. My sister doesn’t even give shifter men a chance to get in her pants, much less human investigators like you.”
“But we’ve already slept together,” Liam argues. His expression goes dark and serious.
Nathan’s jaw drops. “Oh.”
“Yes,” he explains. “But there’s a lot I don’t understand about her life—about you. It’s blocked me off, and right now Naomi’s angry with me.”
“I don’t blame her.” Nathan looks at the water, not at Liam. “You didn’t even try to understand the full story.”
“But I want to understand,” Liam begs again. “Tell me your side.”
What right does this guy have to come in here and ask for all the details of Nathan’s personal life just so that he can fuck Naomi again? “Little late for that, isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” Liam admits. “But I…” he trails off, then sighs. “OK, I don’t like shifters. I’ve always hated them—”
“Real nice, you’re convincing me already,” Nathan drawls, grabbing the water glass from earlier and drinking from it.
Liam looks hurt, but the shifter doesn’t care. The other man scratches the back of his head before continuing. “I have…a bad history with shifters. My father was killed by one when I was a child, and my mother killed herself long after,” he admits.
“Sorry for your loss,” Nathan says. “Good to know you’ve decided to hate all us ever since. No wonder you think I killed Mihra.”
“All the facts point toward you killing Mihra—”
“I thought—” Nathan interrupts, snarling a little and turning to Liam, “that this wasn’t an interrogation.” Deep breaths. He tries to relax.
Liam holds up his hands in surrender. “It’s not. But…” He pauses, tilting his head. “What else would be the story?”
Something inside of Nathan breaks all the way, a dam that’s been growing weaker and weaker with every passing day. With Clara’s impending memory erasure, it’s close to bursting. Now, it falls apart and floods.
“My girlfriend,” Nathan says, using the human word, “had clinical depression.” He rubs his face, stubble gritty under his fingertips. “She was medicated, but she refused therapy. I supported her—I did everything I could. I worked every day to keep her happy, but if you know anything about depression you know it doesn’t work like that.”
Breathing slowly, he makes eye contact with Liam. The man’s eyes soften. Nathan continues. “She killed herself. She took pills, a bunch of the ones I’ve gotten over the years for my insomnia. When I tried to stop her, she shifted and gutted herself. It’s no wonder they saw that and decided it must have been me.”
Nathan pauses, watching the investigator wince. Nathan continues. “You’re investigating, so I have no doubt you know about my condition. Of course they’d suspect a shifter with a medical issue that makes him even more dangerous.” He shakes his head. “But I didn’t do it. You can do the more in-depth autopsy they never bothered to do because they were so sure it was a murder.”
There’s a sticky silence as Liam sits. Nathan watches him, and when the man finally looks up, he nods. “I believe you.”
Nathan notices he’s tearing up. He sits straight. “What are you crying for?!”
“I—” The man hesitates. “It’s hard to explain—you wouldn’t understand.”
Nathan snorts. “Try me.”
"My mother, she..." Liam trails off, looking frustrated or perhaps confused. He scratches the back of his head.
Nathan feels irritation bubbling. "She...what, exactly?"
"You know the stories. I'm sure you do." Wringing his hands, Liam gestures. "Shifters who become shifters later in life after contracting a severe illness."
"Yeah, I know." Nathan frowns. "You're a little off base, though. People always have the shifter genes. They don't just gain them later. For some, the abilities stay dormant. What you're talking about is activation."
The investigator nods. "Activation, then. She became a shifter—a brown bear."
A brown bear. Ugly, slow realization gurgles in Nathan's stomach. He lets out a long exhale through his teeth. "Go on."
"She...had trouble controlling herself." Liam shakes his head. "I was twelve. I don't remember as much as I'd like to. I know my father had a lot of trouble with the change. He never liked shifters." He looks to Nathan, but the shifter gestures for him to continue. "She accidentally injured him, Nathanael. He died in a hospital later."
"Oh, lord." Nathan rubs his temples. "I was afraid you were going to say that."
Liam looks truly apologetic. He scratches the back of his neck again. "She was the shifter I talked about.” Liam makes a small, sad smile at Nathan. "She killed herself after."
Nathan isn't sure how he's supposed to respond. He nods. Anxiety makes him gnaw on his lip, which makes things worse because it reminds him of Clara and her lip-chewing habit. Discomfort coils and wrestles in his chest like snakes, but he's surprised to find he doesn't feel like he's going to shift. Am I managing my stress better?
"I'd say I'm sorry for your loss, but I already did," he finally says. "Well, fuck. I wish I could tell you that validates how you feel about us and about me in general, but it just makes me feel sorry for you. And you have shifter blood in you, you know."
The man on the couch in front of him gulps. Nathan watches as he squeezes his eyes shut tight and then opens them again. It's a strange display of physical anxiety that makes Nathan feel weird—mostly because he does some of the same things himself.
"That makes sense, I guess," Liam says.
"Don't act like you haven't thought about it before."
Shaking his head, Liam raises a hand in acknowledgment. "No, I have. I think I..." He stops and pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's a hard thing to accept, being different."
"Believe me, I know exactly how you feel," Nathan murmurs, but his brain feels distant.
Nathan wasn't lying. He does know exactly how Liam feels. To what extent, though? Nathan's always been different—hell, he's an outcast among his people. They treat him like a disaster that never should have occurred.
He squeezes his eyes shut tight, grinding his teeth. The low tide of the broken dam inside of him starts to get choppy, getting him worked up. “Sometimes,” he murmurs, opening his eyes and looking at Liam, “you have to accept being different and find the best way to live with it.”
“And I have to accept that I have shifter blood,” Liam says.
“Yes.” Nathan cups his hands around his face. “What do I want?” He asks himself out loud.
Liam looks confused. “I think that’s up to you.”
“Rhetorical question. I mean, but ask yourself that as well. Do you want my sister?” Nathan speaks to Liam, but inside his head he’s putting himself through the ringer.
What does he want?
“I want things to be easy, is what I want,” Liam admits, sighing deeply.
It hits deeper than Liam probably realizes—Nathan sits a little straighter. Is that what Nathan wants? For things to be easy? For decisions to be simple? To know exactly the right course of action at every point in time?
Nathan shakes his head and bites his lip. “But things aren’t easy.”
In his head, Nathan wonders if that isn’t the sort of thing Clara would say. Things aren’t easy. Life is hard. “Life is hard. Weakness, less so.” He begins spouting what he thinks she’d say.
“In what way?” The investigator creases his forehead.
“Weakness, or difficulty, it’s—” He thinks for the right way to phrase it. “Without it, there’s no drive. Without a drive, what’s the point?” He looks at Liam. “What’s your drive? What are you fighting for?”
Futzing with his tie, Liam thinks. “I want to be the man Naomi saw before she learned about the rest.”
Nathan nods. “And?”
“I want to stop hating myself for what I am.”
Lips parting, Nathan nods again—slower. The heating from the vent tosses his hair slightly, making it fall into his eyes.
“Me too, Liam.” It feels so simple when he says it out loud, his voice calm and quiet. “Me goddamn too.”
Despite everything that’s happened, Nathan hasn’t shifted yet. His brain flips channels to an image of Naomi.
“You’re uncontrollable. Come home with me.”
Nathan furrows his eyebrows. Is he uncontrollable? He doesn’t feel that way. Clara doesn’t feel that way. Liam, sitting right in front of him, doesn’t even seem to feel that way. What is Clara worth to Nathan? What is he, and his happiness, worth to himself?
The answer comes after a moment. It dawns on him, surfacing from the back of his mind where it had been incubating for God knows how long. It doesn’t feel like a shocking revelation to realize that he’d be better off taking care of himself instead of trying to let his sister guide his life in the direction she thinks is best.
Standing abruptly, he drinks the rest of his glass of water. “If you plan on wooing my sister, you’ve only got a few hours. All of us are…” Nathan slowly corrects. “She’s leaving really soon.”
“I took a taxi here—I’m not allowed to take my work car to personal meetings,” Liam explains. “Is it that urgent?”
“Yes.” Nathan rubs his face, thinking. He needs to go, and he needs to go now if he wants Clara to keep her memory.
If she loses her memory, what then? He asks himself. The answer, however, comes quicker and easier than he expected it to. I’ll just go after her again, from the beginning. A month can be remade. He’d do it over again a thousand times.
Is it worth it to try? To take the risk? Clara's car isn't here, and Nathan isn't about to steal one from the neighbor, at least not with a private investigator with him. He could run, but he'd be giving up any chance he has of getting there in time.
There's only one option. Clara is worth it—more than worth it. He'd choose her every single time.
"Come with me, and hurry." He beckons to Liam, jogging to the door and throwing it open. Using the spare key underneath the doormat, he locks the door and meets Liam in the driveway. "We can get there in time, at least in time for me, but you have to trust me. If you don't, I will leave you behind and you can walk."
"Trust you in what way?"
Nathan gives him a sly smile. "You comfortable riding on the back of a polar bear?"
It takes a moment for Liam to decide. He gulps, hesitating and narrowing his eyes before nodding. All that's left is for Nathan to shift.
It's going to hurt. It's going to hurt like hell, especially this close to his last shift. But what would hurt more than that is seeing Clara look at him without a clue who he is.
The pain is only the first problem. Nathan still can't control himself very well while shifted. Somehow, he doesn't feel worried about that given how relaxed he feels.
The bad news is if it doesn't go well, the private investigator might be injured by Nathan’s bear form. That would land Nathan in jail, if the rest of it didn't already. There isn't a choice, so the risks are the risks are the risks.
Nathan closes his eyes and focuses his energy. Inside his chest, his lungs feel light. There's a ball energy right around his core keeping him grounded, and it grows with every second. Make it a smooth shift. Save me the pain. Let me control myself. Nathan’s done this before many times, as a child. He used to be much better at shifting smoothly and in control of himself, but ever since Naomi tried to regulate his shifting, it’s been much, much harder.
When he starts to change, it hurts but not like normal. It's so smooth, he hardly realizes he's shifting. It takes him, like sinking into warm bathwater. Nathan lets it. He lets fur sprout from his skin—it will always hurt. It’s just part of his illness. Right now, however, Nathan embraces that pain and allows it to make him feel stronger, like he really has to fight for it. He does have to fight for this.
After all, this is all part of him. His condition is a part of him. There's no cure, and there isn't any way to get rid of it except to deal with the problems it deals him. Nathan, for once, feels at peace.
A pained growl pulls its way out of his throat. Still, he pushes his breathing, in, out, in, out, in, out until it's finished.
The ugly, wild side of him threatens to drag itself out. He fights it down as Liam climbs on his back, and Nathan finds himself incredibly grateful that he doesn't have to look at the investigator to get him to do so.
Without hesitation and before controlling himself can get any harder, Nathan starts walking. A walk turns into a jog then a run. Liam doesn't fall off, which is impressive. The man has a tight grip in his fur, which would sting more if Nathan wasn't so used to pain.
Nathan throws himself into it. The woods fly by, his nostrils filling with the scent of salt and grass. Everything is wild—the world, his body, his senses. Everything is wild but his mind.
For once, his head feels clearer than ever.
He can hear Liam yelling, but over the wind there’s no real way to hear. Nathan lets himself go in the best way, the rhythm of his feet on the ground beating deep into his consciousness. His muscles burn—his wounds burn more.
Panic doesn't overtake him. His control over himself is better than usual—better than it's been since he was a kid. Still, the wild side of him fights just enough to leave him with only focus and adrenaline. Anxiety fades. He lets his body do the work, quietly thanking it for doing so.
Nathan breaks through the trees, twigs snapping in his face. As they get to town, he slows to a stop. Passersby run for the sides of the road, screaming. When he stops, Liam slips off and to the side. Nathan lets himself relax. Slowly, he finds himself shifting to normal. When he does, he kneels on the ground, body aching. Everything burns. He's not dead, and he won't be going to the ER any time soon, but it hurts. His bruises will get worse over the next few days, and Nathan's dreads how awful he'll look.
But that hardly matters now. Struggling to his feet, Nathan looks around. Liam is near, panting and leaning on his knees like he's dizzy, hair windblown. The hair on Nathan's head is fine. His polar bear fur is different than the hair on his head—the two never exist at once.
"Leave Naomi to me for now, OK?" Nathan commands, voice coming out strained and ugly like he has a sore throat.
Liam nods. "I have something else to do first, anyway." The man looks around, still breathing heavily. He waves the shifter away. "Go. You were in a rush, weren't you?"
Yes, he was.
Nathan throws himself down the street in human form. His limbs ache from his run in bear form—some things don't change when he shifts. It's even worse now because of new shifting injuries. Nathan's used to some of this. Before Mihra, this was every day. It's only fitting that he should have to fight for that comfort the same way he did before her.
He gets to the coffee shop, passing Clara's car on the way there. She's still here. One peek inside of the windows, however, shows that she's not here. Fuck. Unsure what else to do, he goes inside to the barista.
"Hey, did you see where Clara and the dark-haired woman went?"
The man furrows his brow. "Are you Nathan? She mentioned you while ordering." He smiles, and Nathan bites down his irritation and rushed attitude as the man continues. "They were going for a walk on the beach, I believe. You can access it via the docks to the right of the store."
"Thank you." Nathan breaks for the door. "Thank you so much."
Once out of the store, Nathan runs for the docks. The wood feels old under his feet—old and unstable. He ignores the pain of movement once again and jumps off the docks onto the sound. At first, he thinks they're not here. Then all the way down the beach, he sees a figure pushing a wheelchair on the thin stretch of sidewalk before the sand and the shoreline. Her memory's not gone yet.
If Naomi's been convinced by Clara to put it off for as long as she has, there's not much time left. He books it, somehow pushing his body to the absolute limit. His feet ache, and his ankles burn, but he can't stop. Running on the sand makes it worse.
Nathan can taste salt in the air, in the wind. It seeps into his senses, making him dedicated—making him feel alive.
As he gets closer, the two stop. Naomi's figure moves to the side, kneeling before the wheelchair. No. I'm so close. Nathan gasps, desperately running. If there's a God, if there's anyone out there, let me make it in time.
Naomi presses her hands to the sides of Clara's head, and Nathan can't contain himself anymore.
"Don't touch her, Naomi—” His voice is deep and strong, loud. The figure looks up and abruptly stands.
"Go home! We agreed on this together."
Nathan finally reaches them. Clara looks up, a sad and tired expression on her face. "Nathan...."
He smiles before turning to Naomi. "No. You chose this for me, just like you’ve always chosen everything in my life." Tilting his head, Nathan tosses his windblown bangs out of his eyes. "And I’ve decided I don't want what you want.”
Something angry and dark and bitter tints Naomi's expression. "You’re being ridiculous. I just want to protect you and make sure you’re safe—”
"You may want that, but you haven’t achieved it,” he interjects. “I’m not as off the handle as you think. I shifted on the way here and controlled myself the whole way. When I was a kid, I could do this better, and I know I can learn to again. Your tactics have only just suppressed things I’d be better off letting out and learning to deal with.”
Naomi winces, looking upset and angry at the same time. "That’s subjective. I didn’t know you could still..." She trails off. “But I still believe this is right. You’re not ready to be on your own, and we both know that. And you can’t stop me. I can always just shift and get you out of the way. Then I could erase her memory with no issue.”
"I’m twenty-five, Naomi. I’m more than ready," Nathan shakes his head, righting his footing and grinding his teeth. "And nice try, but I can smell the recent shift on you. Guardian or not, you can't change forms for at least another hour."
His sister looks wounded. A small growl rips out of Naomi’s throat, and she throws a hard and fast punch that lands on Nathan’s jaw. Stumbling, he holds his hands up in a blocking position. After her initial, wild throw, Naomi settles more into stance. There’s no real fighting code for shifters, but they grew up together. There are some standards they’re used to.
“Stop—” Clara seems shocked, her voice breaking.
Stopping isn’t an option. Nathan narrowly avoids a kick from Naomi, dodging to the side. The siblings throw themselves into the fight, but it’s more intense than the way they used to spar as kids.
Nathan knows he's at a disadvantage. Maybe in a fair fight in human form, he'd be fine, but his body is pushed to the brink. His lungs burn, and all his hits feel slow and lethargic. Heaving, he stumbles and gets hit in the jaw by another of Naomi's punches. The sting sends him reeling—he barely avoids falling to the ground.
Irritation shows in Naomi's face as she moves quickly around him, trying a side kick that he blocks easily despite his exhaustion. Nathan spits blood, smirking. "You've lost your touch, Naomi."
That makes her hiss, expression caught somewhere between steely and guilty. "Don't fool yourself, little brother. I'm going easy on you."
She speeds up, moving around him faster than he can turn. Nathan jumps back, avoiding an uppercut. He retaliates with a kick, but she grabs his leg and twists. He knows how to counter this one, though—an opposing twist yanks his foot away, and he uses her compensation time to land a fingertip hit to her gut.
Nathan can’t keep up with her forever, and she feints and lets herself be hit by one of his punches in order to kick down and swipe his feet out from underneath him. Nathan falls hard and fast, grateful that the sand provides some cushion to his already messed-up body.
Clara calls out. "Naomi, hold on. He's hurt—”
"I'm not stupid, Clara," the shifter woman spouts. “Do you think I wouldn't notice my brother's injuries?"
She steps on Nathan's chest, holding him down. He gasps, groaning. Hair astray now and fallen out of its ponytail, Naomi looks bedraggled. The look she gives Nathan could only be one of sadness and confusion. "Why are you doing this? Who do you think I am? Your prison guard holding you hostage?" She snorts, but the laugh doesn’t feel genuine. "I'm doing what's best for you. Don't act like a child and try to pretend that I'm not right about this."
Nathan closes his eyes. Surprisingly, he doesn't really feel worked up at all. If anything, Naomi's energy is the aggressive one. He can’t help but pity her and hope that she finds a way to accept and deal with whatever’s going on in her life. It’s probably related to Liam, the investigator.
"You're not right about this," Nathan breathes.
"What?"
"I said you're not right about this." His eyes snap open, and he sits on his elbows, pushing past Naomi's foot. The bruises on his chest under the pressure of her sneaker ache. "The only one acting like a child is you, Naomi."
Anger bubbles in her expression, and there's an ugly pause that makes Nathan taste something bad. She narrows her eyes and starts to speak, but Nathan cuts her off. "I'm not a kid anymore. You're acting like my big sister on the playground again, protecting me from everyone else and myself."
"I still need to do that!" She presses a hand to her chest, trying to defend herself. "You—”
Incredulous, Nathan shakes his head. "No, you goddamn don't." He grabs Naomi's foot and shoves it off him. "I'm not some sort of ticking time bomb. I'm a human being." He pauses, narrowing his eyes. "Don't pretend like you're not taking out your issues on me, either."
"What?" Naomi takes a step back, black hair tossing in the wind. She furrows her eyebrows, looking confused and frustrated beyond belief. She struggles for words. "Explain."
"What is there to explain, Naomi?" Nathan struggles to his feet. "I spoke with Liam. 'Human and shifters just can't work together?' What a fucking joke. Are you disciplining me, Naomi, or are you disciplining yourself?"
Shock paints Naomi's face white, and she pales right in front of him. To his right, a sharp intake of breath reminds Nathan of Clara's presence. He grins at her. While he's distracted, Naomi takes her chance. Nathan finds himself slammed against a tree trunk.
"Look at you. You shifted and you look like this. You're all beaten up by your body. I was there when you shifted in the square, and I was the one who stopped you. What will you do when it happens again and I'm not around? Will you go to jail for assault and take it in stride? Can you deal with that pain?"
"That's all what-ifs," he retaliates. "That's life. You never know what will happen. If all us played it safe, there'd be nothing left. I know I can control myself better than you give me credit for."
Naomi looks desperate. She pulls at strings. "But you have it so much worse than others, Nathan. You know it's harder for you."
"Yes. You're right, it's harder for me," he admits. Adrenaline pumps through his veins, pushing him forward. Nathan's surprised to find that he doesn't think it's Clara's presence doing this to him—it's his desire to be his person. "But I'm not willing to hide forever being afraid of who and what I am. If anyone's made me worse and stressed me out and pushed my condition to the brink, it's you, Naomi."
"What about pain, then? What about your injuries? Who will help you when you shift too much by accident and find yourself bleeding out by the side of the road?"
"I'll help myself, Naomi," he murmurs. Whatever energy for argument he had is gone. He just wants to explain. "I will fucking help myself. That, or someone around me will take me to the doctor. Pain is normal. Injuries mean nothing beyond just that. Pain. It's just a physical sensation."
Naomi opens her mouth but he interrupts her again. "But you know what really hurts, Naomi—what really digs in and stings?" He pushes her off him, sidestepping. Emotion overtakes him, but he finds that he's calm. "Watching your lover die in front of you and being able to do nothing about it. That hurts. Being blamed for the death of the one person who viewed you like a person and not a burden—that's a real injury. That's worse than anything."
Her face softens with hurt and she tucks hair behind her ear. "Nathan," she pleads. "I didn't—”
"Like hell you didn't," Nathan murmurs. "You pushed that on me as much as anyone else. You're the one who said I put stress on Mihra and pushed her to kill herself when we both know that's not the case. You're just ordering me around like you've always done. It's all so you can feel like you're achieving something—like I'm your charity case."
Naomi shakes her head. “No, I love you. You’re my little brother—that’s why I do it.”
“Yes,” he affirms. “I love you, too. I love you so much, but you have to let me go.”
She's silent for a while, and after a moment she drops her eyes to the sand. Nathan knows there's no fight in her anymore, physically or mentally.
He steps forward, toward a depressed-looking Naomi. Carefully, he pulls her into a hug. “I know you’re protective over me,” he murmurs. “But I’m an adult man, and I’m stronger than you think. This is not your business anymore.” He steps back, holding her cheeks. “Stop treating me like a pet you have to watch and start focusing on your life.”
Naomi closes her eyes. “I still think you’re unstable.”
“Then think I’m unstable. But before you judge me, I think you should focus on the things you’re avoiding in your life. I love you, but you can’t do this to me forever. I’m calling an end to it now.”
He pulls away and shrugs at her with a small smile. There isn’t any energy for bitterness left in him. “Liam seems like a nice guy.”
Naomi shakes her head. “That’s not your business.”
“Fine,” he concedes, holding up his hands and backing up. “Make your choices. But don’t make mine for me.”
Not waiting any longer, he goes to Clara, while Naomi turns to trudge away from them. Clara looks up at him.
Nathan drops to his knees on the pavement of the small walkway, leaning toward Clara and dropping his head in her lap. Just like before, she runs her fingers through his hair. Winded from running and from the fight, he focuses on easing his burning lungs. Clara stays quiet—she doesn’t push him.
After a moment, he looks up. “I was worried,” she said. “You have no clue how depressed I was, Nathan.”
“Oh, I think I do,” he teases. “You should have seen me.”
“I’m glad you came around.” Clara pushes his hair back and out of his eyes with her fingers.
He squeezes Clara’s free hand. “Me too.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t help defend you against Naomi. I didn’t know what to say—I thought it’d make it worse.”
Nathan shakes his head. “No, you were right not to say anything. It would have just convinced her that I was only doing this because of some sort of honeymoon-phase obsessive love.” The shifter stands, groaning. He sees Clara wince, staring at his battered body. “I needed to do this myself. It’s been coming a long time. I know there’s strength in weakness that she’ll probably never know because she’s so afraid to be weak at all.”
Clara nods. “I’m glad.”
When he weaves his fingers through Clara’s, it feels like home. Her skin is soft, but there are old calluses on her fingertips and Band-Aids on some. She is real. “You asked me before,” he begins, “if I’d like to stay with you longer.”
“And you lied,” Clara points out.
“Yeah.” Nathan looks up. There isn’t any judgement in Clara’s gaze, just forgiveness. Any apprehension he’d had fades away. “What do you say about giving me another chance? No lies this time—just the truth.”
Amusement flashes in her eyes. “Just the truth, huh? I think I might be able to swing another try.” She gently squeezes Nathan’s hand. “I’m afraid I’ve got no guest room, though. You may have to sleep in my bed.”
Nathan looks down at her. What happens now? A job, of course. He doesn’t know what will happen with the investigation, but he’s got a suspicion Liam and Naomi will take care of that. If not, well…there’s still evidence they didn’t gather. Nathan figures he’ll probably be fine.
A breeze tosses Clara’s hair and fills Nathan’s nostrils with the scent of the sea.
“I think I might be able to swing that,” he teases. “That is, if you make up for it by kissing me now.”
Clara smiles, a quirky half-smirk that makes Nathan wonder how deep his feelings go. How far could they go? “Get down here, then.” She tugs at his hand.
As Nathan dips down to kiss her, he knows he can’t wait to find out.