Chapter Twelve

LESS than a week later, I boarded a plane bound for Chicago, by way of Denver, with Owen.

I hadn’t seen him much over the last few days. Except at night. I still wandered down his way during his shifts at the front desk at Matthison Hall. Sometimes we played chess. Sometimes we worked on homework. Thanks to the Fourth of July holiday, we got an extended weekend from class. Mostly this meant we had a great excuse to go visit my parents. I hated that I had to make an excuse. They were ecstatic. The only hiccup had been when I mentioned I’d invited Owen along.

“I know we don’t have a guest room anymore.” We’d lost the extra space when my parents downsized to help pay my medical bills. “But Owen is cool crashing on the couch.” I don’t know that anyone had ever slept on the couch before. At least not outside of dozing off during the nightly news. And we’d never invited anyone to stay the night, let alone for a long weekend. Not ever.

“Is it safe? With your immune—”

“I’m doing so much better now,” I rushed to reassure her.

It wasn’t fair of me to basically present my mom and dad with a done deal, but that’s what I did. I may have insinuated that if Owen wasn’t welcome, I wasn’t going to come. At which point Mom stopped objecting, but I could practically hear the worry in her tense silence.

I’d waited until we were seated on the twenty-seven-passenger jet headed to Denver before I broached the subject of my apparent health with Owen. “My parents can’t know I’m healthy.”

He looked up from the seat belt he’d been locking into place. “Huh?”

I fiddled with the magazine pocket in front of me rather than meet his eyes. “I’ve been sick as long as I can remember. Ever since that night”—which is how I referred to the night three weeks ago when my inner Asiatic lion decided to break out—“I’ve been healthier than I’ve ever been. I’m not sick anymore. Not at all. They’re going to be suspicious.”

“So you’re going to, what, fake being sick?”

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. I couldn’t read his voice, so I needed to catch his expression. It wasn’t disapproval, at least. Or shock. He looked confused. “I don’t know what else to do. I mean, I need to seem okay enough they don’t steal my ID so I can’t get an a plane and then wrap me up and ship me off to Dr. Mirza, but not so good they question why I’ve suddenly got more energy or strength than ever before.”

“Steal your ID?” Owen chuckled. “That’s randomly specific. Is it something they’ve threatened to do in the past?”

Heat rushed up my neck. “Well, no, but if they truly thought I was at risk, they’d find a way to hustle me in to see Dr. Mirza.”

“And they didn’t make a fuss about the move across the country? They just let you go?”

“They didn’t let me go so much as they resigned themselves to the fact that I was going to do it, with or without their permission.” I closed my eyes for a moment, thinking back. “I was tired. They were so determined to figure out what was wrong, to find the cure, because they didn’t want to lose me. Not without a fight. And I was tired of fighting. After so many disappointments, so many trials without the slightest sign of improvement, I was tired of it. In the end I decided it would be better to find a way to live with the symptoms than to keep searching for answers that didn’t exist. It was partly for them too. With every new test, every new theory, they would convince themselves that this time it would work, that this time they’d find the answers they were looking for. And every time, when it didn’t work and they didn’t get the answers, it killed something in them. I didn’t want them to have to keep riding that roller coaster of high hopes and bitter disappointments.”

Owen had turned to face me as fully as his seat belt would allow. “For someone who doesn’t talk much, sometimes you make up for it.”

I shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “It’s why I don’t think either of them could be a shifter. If there is any chance they knew about that side of me, that there was even a chance the shifter gene was causing some sort of extreme autoimmune reaction, they’d have done something about it, found other shifters to hang around, something. There’s no way they’d have let me go through that—or put themselves through that—otherwise.”

Some weird feeling, kind of like anxiety mixed with mourning and resentment, curled around me. I couldn’t believe they were secret shifters. But that only left a secret adoption. And the idea of that was nearly enough to break my heart. Which was why I desperately wanted there to be some other explanation. Anything that didn’t mean my parents had been lying to me all this time.

I don’t think I’d ever get used to the small planes used by some of the regional airports. The twenty-seven-seater jet that took us over the mountains from Cody to Denver reminded me of a survival book I’d read when I was twelve. I couldn’t help but look around to find out, should we crash, where the tools, the spare food, the luggage, etc. was located. Because if the plane crashed while passing over the Rockies, of course I would survive. I even looked around to see who the most vulnerable were so I’d know who to help first.

Without thinking, I mentioned this to Owen, who laughed. “I had no idea you had such a hero complex.”

I grunted, crossing my arms over my chest. “At least if the plane starts to go down, you can shift and fly away. The rest of us will have to make do with—” I peered into the pocket in front of me. “—a bag of mini pretzels, a magazine from 2012, and a condom. Seriously?” I pulled the square out and examined the label.

Owen’s grin was blinding. “You’ve heard of the mile-high club, right?”

“But in this plane? How would that even work?” Not that I’d ever figured out how people made it work on the bigger aircrafts. “There’s barely room for one regular-sized person in the bathroom, let alone two people.” I twisted my shoulders, trying to imagine the contorting that would be required.

This time Owen’s laugh drew attention from the flight attendant—the smaller plane only had the one—who was strapped into her seat at the front of the cabin. She did a quick scan to make sure we weren’t unruly or panicking or whatever they worried about on these flights.

“I can honestly say I’ve never thought about it too closely before.” Then he leered at me in an exaggerated fashion. “Wanna find out?” He waggled his eyebrows at me.

I knew he was kidding. I knew he didn’t mean it, but my face burned and all the saliva in my mouth dried up at the thought. No, the dirty dreams I’d been having of Owen had not stopped over the last week. In fact they were escalating, if anything. Tired of waking up hard and flustered, I’d done what every other normal, healthy, red-blooded man would do. I explored internet porn and masturbated. And immediately cleared my browser history each and every time.

“Oh my! What is that look about?”

I cleared my throat. Then, before I could confess any of my wildly inappropriate thoughts, I tore into the pretzel bag and poured half the contents into my mouth. I choked, because dry mouth and pretzels were a bad combination. Owen patted my back oh so helpfully, chuckling the whole time while I wheezed and attempted to cough pretzel dust out of my esophagus.

“Now I really need to know what’s going through your head.”

I dug into my backpack, which was stored under the seat in front of me, and pulled out a bottle of water I’d picked up in one of the airport shops. It helped with the choking but did nothing to cool my thoughts.

“We’re going to talk about something else and pretend this didn’t happen,” I told him when I could talk again. I regretted the words as soon as said them. My comments only reinforced the awkwardness of it all.

“Sure. If that’s what you want.” He smirked, and then he patted my thigh, and I about burst out of my seat.

“How long is this flight again?”

His gaze lingered for a moment, considering me. I wanted desperately to know what he was thinking, while at the same time I was grateful I couldn’t read his mind. He couldn’t have known exactly where my mind went, but it seemed like he had a good idea. Thankfully he accepted my change of subject. “We’ve got about an hour left.”

I searched for something safer to talk about. “I love how the land looks from up here, especially when you can see the jagged edges and shadows of the mountains. It looks harsh and imposing from the sky, but softer somehow from the ground.”

“I don’t really like flying in planes,” he said.

“No?”

“I think it’s a control thing. Like, when I’m flying”—the subtle emphasis he put on the word told me he didn’t mean traveling by plane, but meant flying in his shifted form—“I can gauge the change in wind currents. I control my speed and ascent. In a plane, I have to trust someone else. And it’s kind of claustrophobic, you know? The space is close, and there’s no room to move around.”

“How often do you shift and fly? Clearly there’s a pull at the full moon, but you can do it other times?”

“Yeah. Shifters can generally shift whenever they want. Most, outside of some individuals who have amazing powers of control and experience, have to change at the full moon. How often shifters change outside of the moon depends on what they’re used to and what they need.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, some people who have high-stress jobs shift more often as a way to release some of the pressure. Some people who live and work closer to bigger cities may have to go longer between shifts so they don’t risk discovery. There are some, who have almost always been around other shifters, who change a lot, because they never learned the control not to shift whenever they get upset, or they never saw the need not to shift when they wanted to. Kind of depends.”

“How often do you shift?”

He shrugged. “About once a week, at least. As an owl, I’m pretty comfortable in the night and in the dark, so I don’t have to worry about being seen. Unlike you,” he said, nudging me with his shoulder. “A great horned owl in Wyoming at night is no big deal. If anyone sees you wandering around, in the day or at night, people are going to freak. Next thing you know, you’ll be picked up by some big-cat rescue operation.”

“How often do you think I should shift?”

“What did my dad say?”

“He didn’t mention it.”

“How about whoever has been helping you work on control?”

I squinted at him. “Huh?”

“Someone is working with you, right?”

“Your father mentioned something about reaching out to some bears, but beyond that, I haven’t heard anything.”

Owen clenched his fists. “Yusuf, when was the last time you shifted?”

“What do you mean? I haven’t shifted since that night.”

He closed his eyes. “Damn it.”

“What?”

“Someone should have been working with you over the last few weeks.”

“Your dad only mentioned it a few days ago.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t think about it sooner. Dad probably wanted to make sure he had his answers before talking with you. And he probably didn’t want to set up something before he spoke to you. It’s just like him.” Owen banged his head against his seat back. “This could be a serious problem. He should have warned you, or at least warned me. I’m not the ideal mentor for you, but we could have been working out some of it.”

“Is it really that big of a deal? I mean, I haven’t been sick. I haven’t accidentally shifted. I’m eating more protein. I’m actually starting to put on a little weight.” I tugged at the T-shirt I wore to illustrate the way it clung a little tighter to my chest.

“How many times have you felt like you might shift?”

I shook my head, confused.

“Remember the day at Buddy’s with David? You were on the edge then, right?”

“But I didn’t shift, so that’s good, right? Maybe I don’t need to shift the way others do. I have to admit, it freaked me out. I wouldn’t be upset if it didn’t happen again.”

Owen rubbed his forehead. “The thing is, it’s going to happen again. At the very least, it’s going to happen at full moons. But if you can’t control it, or if the feral half overrides your human half, you could hurt yourself. Or hurt someone else.”

Chills skittered down my spine. “That’s unnerving. I guess I better call your dad or someone about the bears.”

“You said my dad mentioned the bears. So he wants you to work with the Bradys.”

“The Bradys?”

“There are other bear clans but only one clan of grizzlies. No one else would be big enough to stop you if things went wrong. You remember Buddy? He’s the oldest Brady son. And you met Jonah; he’s Buddy’s youngest brother. There are a couple other sons, but I don’t know where they are. I think Jimmy might be in California, and I haven’t heard anything about Trace in a while.”

This was all very fascinating, but except for Buddy and Jonah, these were just names without context. “I still don’t know what that means for me. I mean, maybe the Brady brothers don’t want to be my mentors.”

“Well, with Jimmy and Trace gone, that leaves only Buddy and Jonah. And, I’ll be honest, Jonah’s a great guy, but he’s not mature or experienced enough to give you the guidance you need. Which leaves Buddy. That’s unfortunate.”

“What’s wrong with Buddy? He seemed okay that night you tranqed me.”

“Buddy is an odd guy. He’s kind of a recluse, actually. He owns the café but is rarely seen there. And he tends to disappear for weeks at a time, without telling anyone where he’s at. After his parents died, he raised his younger brothers, but as soon as Jonah got old enough to take care of himself, he sort of dropped off the face of the earth. I was surprised Dad found him that night, to be honest. Which is why,” Owen said on a drawn-out sigh, “you probably haven’t heard from him yet. He’s hard to reach at the best of times. Dad’s probably left him messages, but who knows if Buddy’s even seen them yet.”

“And if we don’t hear from Buddy? What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure. The council will probably have to get involved, find another lion shifter, maybe. But then you’d probably have to go to them.”

“Go to them? They’d make me move? Can they do that?”

“The council is pretty hands-off, but there are some things they can enforce. If you pose a risk, either to other shifters, humans, or even the risk of exposure, they’re going to do whatever they need to do to prevent it from happening. If you go feral….”

I remembered what Dr. Weyer had said that first night. “Yeah. Feral shifters get put down.”

“It won’t come to that. When we get back, we’ll track down Buddy.” Owen stretched his neck, arching it from side to side. Vertebrae popped. “I guess it doesn’t matter much now, but we’ll have to push harder when we get back to campus. There’s no time to put it off anymore. The next full moon is only a few days after we get back to Cody.”

The pilot announced that we were preparing for the descent into Denver. I closed my eyes and leaned back. Owen had given me a lot to think about.