Cordelia
“Malcolm,” I push him away. I don’t want to, but I do. Kissing him feels more right than anything has ever felt in my life. It feels normal, natural.
Because he’s our mate.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, instantly stepping back.
“No,” I shake my head. “Don’t be sorry. Not for that. It’s just that I…” I wrap my arms around myself, not sure of how to phrase things.
How do I tell him I’m running away?
How do I tell him I’m scared?
How do I tell him that I’m afraid?
No matter how far away I get, there’s always the risk. Now that I know there’s a chance someone will try to hurt me, will I ever be okay again? Will I ever feel safe?
“What is it?” He reaches for me, and I appreciate that more than he’ll ever know. He’s not going to make me go through this alone. I might not want to be kissed at this moment, but he’s not going to deny me physical touch and affection. He’s not going to make me feel like there’s something wrong with me.
“I feel like I can trust you,” I blurt out.
“I know,” he says, but he doesn’t say anything else. The feeling that we’re mates fills my heart, but it might be crazy. I’m not sure. Maybe he doesn’t believe in those. Maybe he already had a mate and isn’t interested in trying again. Maybe he just wants something fun. I’m not sure.
“I’m not ready for a relationship,” I whisper.
Malcolm tilts my chin up and looks deep in my eyes. “Cordelia,” he whispers. “I feel a connection to you that I can’t explain.”
“I feel it, too.”
“But I’m not in any hurry, love. When you’re ready,” he whispers. “I’ll be here.”
“Thank you for the flashlight,” I whisper again, and then I turn and walk down the porch steps. Perhaps I shouldn’t be leaving like this. Perhaps I should stay and talk with him for awhile. Maybe I should get to know him, but right now, I’m at my limit for social interactions and the urge to shift is making me feel like I’m about to go crazy.
I go onto my porch and glance back over at Malcolm’s. He’s gone. Good. There’s no one to see me when I quietly slip off my clothes and sneak down off my porch. I shift quietly into my swan form, carefully looking around, but there’s no one.
It’s just me.
And I am free.
I leap into the air, spreading my wings, taking off, and I fly.
Ever since I learned to shift, being in my swan form has been comforting and calming to me. It’s been relaxing. It’s been the one thing I so often need to help me feel like I’m truly, totally, just me.
A lot of shifters feel this way, I know. It’s not limited to just birds or foxes or wolves. Shifters are different from humans in many ways, but I think the biggest way is that when we’re able to shift, we feel this sense of freedom and strength. It overtakes us, wrapping around us like a warm blanket. For me, being able to shift makes me feel like no matter what I’m facing, everything’s going to be just fine.
This hasn’t always been the case.
As I soar, I think about my roommate. I think about her betrayal. Trish and I were friends for a long time, but I never told her I was a shifter. I wasn’t sure why, but the idea of sharing who I was always made me feel a little uncomfortable. And then there was Frank: big, strong, bulky Frank.
I’m not exactly a giant shifter.
I don’t really have a lot of strength in my animal form.
I can’t really defend myself very easily.
For me, shifting has always been about the mental change that comes over me. When I’m a swan, I don’t have to think about stress or work or my hobbies. I don’t have to think about my family or my life. All I have to think about is the fact that I’m flying and I can feel the wind on my face.
And for a little while, I’m completely safe.
At least, that’s how it’s supposed to be.
That hasn’t always been how things worked out for me before.
As I fly, I try not to focus on the past. I try not to think about the fact that Trish betrayed me, about the fact that she told her asshole boyfriend I’m a shifter or that our bodies have healing properties that are a little bit – a lot bit – better than what humans have. I try not to think about how they thought it would be great to capture me and to force me to turn into a swan just for their own amusement.
“We’re going to sell her blood,” Frank said, looking at me in the cage. “We’re going to make a fucking fortune.”
“I can’t believe we didn’t know sooner,” Trish shook her head. “We could have been doing this for a long time.”
“Please,” I said to them, begging. “Please don’t do this.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Frank said, moving closer. He squatted down, gripping the bars close to my hands. “It’s already been done.”
Frank isn’t anything special.
He’s not smart or brave or interesting.
He’s just some guy who saw an opportunity to make a little cash. Shifter blood actually does sell well on the black market, and as a resident drug dealer, he’s very aware of the fact that catching me meant he could expand his business offerings.
So that’s what he did.
Trish and Frank caught me, kept me, and tried to steal my blood. They counted on the fact that I wouldn’t be able to shift because I was afraid. Shifters can’t change form when they’re afraid. I lied to Trish before. I told her I was a tiger shifter, but that wasn’t true. They put me in a huge cage designed for giant cats as a precaution in case I actually was able to shift.
But they didn’t count on the fact that my mother taught me not to be afraid.
They didn’t count on the fact that I could still shift.
They didn’t count on the fact that as a swan, I could simply walk out of the cage they put me in.
And they didn’t count on the fact that I had nothing left to lose by leaving that fucking town.
I close my eyes for a second, and then I fly a little higher.
*
I’m not the only one in the skies tonight.
There’s a goose flying a little ways away from me. He or she seems to be enjoying the evening just as much as I am. I don’t know if they’re a shifter or not. I’m not close enough to scent them, and honestly, right now I’m just happy to be on my own.
We fly for awhile somewhat close together, but then I veer off on my own path and return cautiously to my own home, careful that no one – not even the goose – follows me.
When I get back to the house, I near my porch steps, shift, and then start walking up them. I reach for the front door and am just about to turn the knob when a figure steps from the darkness.
“A bit late for a nude walk.”
“Harold,” I spin. “What are you doing here? Why are you on my porch? It’s late.”
“And you’re naked, shifter.”
The old man stares at me. I know he’s a shifter, too.
“What do you want, Harold?”
His eyes soften. “What are you running from, child?”
“What makes you think I’m running?”
He shrugs, but then he looks at me. “Cordelia, no matter what you’re dealing with, know that you are not alone. You are one of us, and in Perfection, we protect our own.”
“I appreciate it, but really, I’m fine.”
Harold nears me and places a hand on my arm. Despite my nudity, I don’t feel unsafe or attacked. Shifters really do look after their own, and the way he’s touching me is protecting: not intrusive.
“I’m fine,” I repeat.
“I know,” he says. “I’m fine, too.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Cordelia, sometimes being fine is good enough. Sometimes it’s not. When I lost my wife, I decided I wouldn’t bother the people around me. I told them all that I was fine, but I wasn’t entirely okay. I wasn’t being honest. ‘Fine’ is a relative term. Sometimes when we tell people we’re fine, we mean we’re safe. That might be true enough. Sometimes, though, when we tell people we’re fine, what we mean is, we don’t want to be honest.”
“Harold…”
He pats my arm and starts to step slowly down the stairs.
“I’m around if you need me, child,” he says.
“I appreciate it.”
“And that neighbor of ours,” he jerks his head toward Malcolm’s house. All of the lights are off. “He’s a good man, Cordelia. You ought to give him a chance.”
He leaves, then, and I’m suddenly alone with my thoughts, with my feelings, and with dread in the pit of my stomach. He knows. He knows I’m not being honest, and somehow, that realization frightens me. It should make me feel safe, but somehow, knowing that other people are aware there’s danger simply makes me feel like no matter how far I run, that danger is always going to follow me.