Chapter Sixteen

 

 

“ARE you sure you want to do this?” Owen kept glancing at me as we walked to the nearest “L” station.

I wasn’t sure if he was asking about the trip or the mode of transportation. So my answer, when I gave it, applied equally to both options. “Yes.” There was enough doubt in my voice to also apply to both options equally.

After a horrifyingly embarrassing breakfast with my parents, during which my mom’s gaze kept darting to the neatly folded bedding on the couch, my parents had wanted to drive me to Dr. Mirza’s office. Not only did I not want to face the speculation in Mom’s eyes, I needed to do this on my own. She’d guilted me into seeing Dr. Mirza one more time, for her peace of mind, but I wasn’t going to make it any more like old times than I had to. Owen had offered to stay behind, either at my parents’ condo or in a coffee shop while I kept my appointment. I’d vetoed that one immediately. With him there, I had a built-in excuse to get away from Dr. Mirza as soon as possible and to delay my return to my parents’ place.

I’d sounded so confident when I told my parents and Owen that we’d use public transportation to get to Dr. Mirza’s office. We could do this. Millions of people, including children, competently navigated Chicago’s transportation system every day. I was a capable adult. I could do it too. Even if it did require an app on my phone with step-by-step directions.

My palms sweated, and I didn’t think it had anything to do with the anxiety of using public transportation for the first time. And until Owen pried my arms away from my chest, I hadn’t realized I’d fallen into my self-protective posture. He pulled me to a stop on the sidewalk.

“What’s going on? Why are you so worried about this appointment? You said it’s just a checkup, right?”

I didn’t even know where to start. Past or present? Probably better to go with the immediate. “I’m healthy, now, right? I mean, I feel better, I look better. There’s nothing to set me apart from any other twenty-one-year-old.”

Eyes widening in understanding, Owen said, “Right. That could be awkward.”

“And I can fake it a little with him, but what if he wants to take a blood test? I didn’t ask your dad if it’ll be obvious to a doctor now that I’ve actually shifted. I mean, will my hormone levels or whatever be different?” I started walking again, my steps as rushed as my words.

Owen had no trouble keeping up with me. “You’re just going as a courtesy, right? Refuse any tests.”

“It’s not that easy,” I muttered. “I mean, yes, it is, but you don’t understand.”

Owen dragged me to a stop again. “Yusuf, are you afraid of this doctor?”

“No. Yes. Sort of but not really.” I averted my eyes and tried to wrangle my emotions so I could explain to him why I was acting like an anxious freak. “I’ve been seeing Dr. Mirza since I was five. That’s when I started getting sick. After a bunch of tests came back indicating a likely autoimmune condition, my pediatrician referred me to a specialist for more in-depth care. At that point, Dr. Mirza became my primary doctor, coordinating all of my medical exams, tests, therapies. All of it. He’s been a part of my life for fifteen years. My parents look at him as practically one of the family.”

“But you don’t?”

I tucked my shoulders in. “He’s not a very warm person, if you know what I mean. Never mean. Never cruel, but kind of distant. He’s my doctor, a researcher, not my uncle, so of course he’s going to be a little distant. But sometimes it felt like the answers, the science, came first. Not me as a person. He didn’t care if the treatments were painful or scary. I was a little kid, scared a lot, and he made my parents stay away long periods of time. When you’re eight, you don’t care about compromised immune systems, you want your mom to kiss your booboo and make it better.”

Owen squeezed my hand, sympathy blazing in his eyes.

“I used to have nightmares about him and the tests when I was a kid. As an adult,” I continued, “I understand. Intellectually, I understand he was doing his job, doing his best to help me. And I know it’s not fair to hold it against Dr. Mirza that my life kind of sucked for so long. But sometimes it’s hard to forget the scared little kid who was subjected to things no kid should have to face.”

I looked at my phone, noticing the time. “We’ve got to keep moving. If we don’t get to the ’L’ stop on time, we’ll miss the train.”

“Just a second.” Owen moved to stand in front of me. He planted his hands on my shoulders and looked up at me solemnly. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Then he stood on tiptoes and looped his arms around my neck, giving me a back-crushing hug.

I buried my face in his flyaway hair. “I think that’s why I struggle with some of the shifter things. I blame the lion inside me. If it weren’t for the damned shifter gene, none of this would have happened.”

Owen stroked along my spine, an up-and-down motion that was more soothing than anything had a right to be. “You’ll need to accept your lion in order to control your shift. You could be dangerous otherwise.” There was an apologetic note to his voice.

“I know.” I sighed.

He held my hand the rest of the way to the train stop, all through the train ride, and during the three-block walk to Dr. Mirza’s office.

Nora, the woman who’d manned the reception desk for as long as I could remember, greeted me. “Dr. Mirza is finishing up an appointment. He’ll be right with you, Joey.” She reminded me a bit of my mother. She was maybe a few years older, and not Persian, but she was short and softly rounded and had a gentle smile. Owen stiffened when he saw her.

I shot him a glance.

He shook his head, then mouthed the word “later” while we took seats in the small waiting room.

Dr. Mirza’s waiting room was empty, though I’d never seen it any other way. It was sparsely furnished with half a dozen utilitarian padded chairs and a center coffee table with an assortment of magazines on it. I sat on the edge of my seat, knee bobbing, fingers freezing. There was something I wasn’t used to here. A bitterness to the air, an underlying rot that slid over the normal scents of antiseptic cleaners and hand sanitizer. A layer of dust on the fake plant in the corner.

Then I remembered. I had shifter-augmented senses. I was just noticing things I hadn’t before.

The jittery, skin-too-tight feeling that had me wandering the corridors of Matthison Hall at three in the morning was back and worse than ever. A sense of wrongness seeped through the room, settling over me like a greasy rain. I jumped to my feet.

Owen touched my forearm. “You okay?”

I jammed my fists into my jeans pockets and shrugged. “Antsy.”’

“Your face is really pale. Maybe we should leave—”

His phone chirped. Half a second later, mine dinged.

Our eyes met and we both reached for our cell phones.

“David?” Owen asked.

“David,” I confirmed, after viewing the display. He’d sent the same note in a group message: CALL ME ASAP.

“Now what?”

“I’ll call—” Owen started to say, but Nora stood, calling my name.

“Dr. Mirza will see you now.”

I glanced from my phone to Nora and then to the door leading to the exam rooms. David’s text flashed in its little green bubble.

“Joey?”

Owen stood. “I’ll step out to call David. You go in for your appointment. We’ll both be quick.”

My stomach roiled, but I nodded.

He reached up, clasped his hands around my neck to pull me down, then planted a hard kiss on my lips. “You’ve got this. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

I ignored Nora’s considering gaze as I followed the same path I’d taken almost once a week for more than fifteen years. When we reached an examination room, I stopped. “We can meet in his office. There won’t be an exam this afternoon.”

“But Dr. Mirza—”

“I’m only here as a courtesy,” I said, remembering Owen’s words. “We’ll have a discussion but no tests.”

“But—”

I ignored her and headed farther down the hall.

She scurried ahead of me, flinging herself in front of the office door. “Let me announce you first.”

My phone signaled another incoming text. “Fine. I’ll wait here.” I leaned against the wall opposite Dr. Mirza’s door, checking my phone while she slipped into the office. It wasn’t David, as I’d assumed. It was Owen. Danger. Don’t go.

A broad hand swiped my phone from my hand before I finished reading.

I jerked my head up, lunging for my device. “What the hell?” I stumbled back a step, when I realized I was facing a huge dude in a black suit. He looked like a cross between a Secret Service agent and an MMA fighter. He was as tall as I was but twice as wide, with muscles on top of his muscles. And he held a scary freaking handgun.

“Get in my office, Joey.”

Little things came more sharply into focus. The bitterness-and-rot combo I’d smelled in the waiting room was coming off Dr. Mirza. There was a sharply cold edge of calculation in his gaze when he looked at me I’d never noticed. This was a man I’d spent time with, years with, and I’d only ever seen the outside-facing image he’d wanted me to see. This man, the bitter, calculating one, was the real deal.

My skin throbbed and itched. My vision started to go a little green around the edges, and my gums ached.

Shit. My lion wanted out in the worst way. He’d recognized something, sensed something, and was convinced we needed him to step in and protect us.

That was probably a very bad idea. Asiatic lions should not run loose in the city. And there was no doubt in my mind that if I let the lion out long enough to deal with Dr. Mirza, there was a very good chance he’d hit the streets. When it came to fight or flight, as evidence had recently proven, flight won. My instinct was always to run, to escape.

“Dr. Mirza? What’s going on?” My voice was harsh with the effort required to act normal, as if there wasn’t a three-hundred-pound cat waiting to pounce.

“You’re looking well.” Dr. Mirza stood and strolled around his desk. He stopped when he was a few feet in front of me. “You’ve gained weight.”

“You’ve heard of the freshman fifteen, right?” My heart thrummed sickly behind my ribs.

“Somehow I don’t think yours is the result of frat parties and pizza, is it, Joey?”

He knew. Somehow, Dr. Mirza knew what had happened.

“Fresh mountain air. It does wonders.”

“You didn’t used to be so mouthy.”

“Dr. Mirza, can you tell me what’s going on? I’m a little freaked-out by everything here. I’m not used to men with guns confiscating my cell phone.”

“If you hadn’t developed such a stubborn streak, none of this would be necessary.”

When I didn’t respond—though he couldn’t have expected me to—Dr. Mirza said, “When did you discover what you were?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He tipped his head toward the Secret Service MMA fighter.

The Secret Service MMA fighter punched me in the gut.

I fell to my knees, hands clutched protectively over my stomach. The hit had knocked the wind out of me, and the pain blossomed throughout my torso. Nauseating and infuriating. My muscles spasmed and strength and fury unfurled inside me. I had to stay hunched over on the ground, not just because it was hard to breathe or because my stomach hurt where the goon with a gun had sucker punched me. No, I struggled to hold on to the shift.

“What the fuck, man?” I glared up at Dr. Mirza. I barely recognized my own voice, guttural and deep as it was.

“If you lie, there are consequences.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Dr. Mirza nodded at the Secret Service MMA fighter again. He pulled his hand back to deliver a downward swing toward my huddled body.

There was a sting of flesh against flesh as his fist, instead of landing across my face, smacked into my palm.

Holy crap. I’d seen stuff like that in movies but never thought I could do something so badass. I tightened my grip around his balled fist and squeezed. At first he didn’t seem affected by it, but as bones and ligaments started rubbing against each other, his face paled.

I shot a glance at Dr. Mirza, who watched on with… satisfaction?

Slowly I stood, pushing back against the Secret Service MMA fighter’s arm until he had to back up or risk me getting all up in his face. And I had the strength of a three-hundred-pound Asiatic lion inside me. He did not want me in his face.

The black-suited man sent his own glance toward Dr. Mirza, looking for directions.

While he was still stunned by my grab, and maybe worried about all those little bones in the human hand, I snatched the gun from his opposite hand. Why hadn’t he used it on me?

“I had no idea you could be so fierce. You’ve ruined my research. I should be pissed. But to see what a difference it makes, from even a few months ago to now, is astounding.”

“What research?” I ground out.

“Why, so we can create human-animal shape-shifters, of course. They would make the perfect soldiers or mercenaries.”

My grip went slack, and the Secret Service MMA fighter pulled free. He glared at me, massaging his hand, but he stayed out of my reach.

“Excuse me?” They wanted to create shifters? My knees started to shake. “Is that… that’s not… I didn’t, I mean, I don’t….”

“You really have changed these last months. I can’t wait to run tests. How much stronger are you?”

I sputtered. “You mean you knew? All along, you knew what I was?”

“Of course.”

“So you know why I was so sick.”

“Yes.”

Static buzzed and crackled in my ears, muffling all other sounds. Rage, like a burning tsunami, rushed through me, and I roared. It wasn’t a human sound, not at all. It was a full-on animalistic sound, carrying with it all the fury and pain of fifteen years of near torture. I charged forward, hands extended and curled like claws. In fact, the fingernails had even started to thicken and grow into sharp points.

Secret Service MMA fighter guy, taking his role as bodyguard and hired muscle seriously, jumped to intercept. Muscles twitching and bulging, I caught him by the neck and held him one-handed, with his boots hanging two feet off the floor. I snarled, baring my teeth.

“His eyes,” Nora gasped, cowering behind Dr. Mirza.

I didn’t care about my eyes. I was acting on feral instinct and years of pent-up anger.

If I had to eliminate this threat before I could get to Dr. Mirza, so be it. I squeezed, feeling the man’s skin shift over his esophagus and the curving edge of jawbone. He clawed at my hand, gurgling.

Dr. Mirza watched on dispassionately. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t hurt Paul.”

I sneered at him. Paul, if that was the Secret Service MMA fighter’s name, was turning bright fuchsia.

“You don’t want anything to happen to your boyfriend, do you?”

“Boyfriend?” I loosened my hold enough for Paul to suck in a quick breath. He still clung to my forearm in an attempt to take pressure off his neck. I wasn’t quite ready to let him go completely, but I was willing to listen. I needed to listen. Somehow Dr. Mirza knew about Owen. “What about him?”

Dr. Mirza sent a chilling smile toward Nora. “It seems you were right about the importance of the boy.”

“What about him?” I repeated. The words slurred, and I noticed my teeth had started to change, my canines hanging lower, growing sharper. My fingers tightened again on Paul’s throat.

“If you hurt Paul, your new friend will be hurt.”

“Leave him alone.”

“Nora,” Dr. Mirza said to his receptionist, “have the boy brought in.”

Nora rushed past, staying as close to the opposite wall as she could manage.

“Owen doesn’t have anything to do with this.” Human. It was important to stay human. “I don’t understand what you want.” No matter what my instincts said, or how tight my skin felt, or what the green-hued vision indicated. Changing into an Asiatic lion while in the midst of a standoff with an evil doctor was a bad idea. I thought of Owen’s hugs and of belly buttons. Those things that made me feel distinctly human.

I tried to keep my breathing steady. But then I caught something new on the air, a rich metallic scent that made my mouth water and my nerves sing. It was coming from Paul. Two of my claws had punctured the soft skin of his neck, and two trails of that tantalizing blood trickled to the collar of his black suit.

I rumbled, deep in my chest, eyes trapped on those two little wounds. It would be so easy. All I had to do was clench my fist and I could rip his throat out.

No. That wasn’t me. Belly buttons. Owen’s hugs. Italian subs.

The door to the waiting room burst open. Two men, wearing suits identical to the one the Secret Service MMA fighter wore, strode in, a struggling Owen held between them.

“Yusuf!” Owen pulled at the arms holding him, but the two goons kept their grips on his arms tight.

“Let him go,” I growled, the lion in me surging closer to the surface.

“Release Paul,” Dr. Mirza countered.

I snarled at him. “This is between us. Owen doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“Doesn’t he? We can always use another shifter for our research.”

Owen stopped struggling. His face went white as he stared with new understanding at the tableau made by Dr. Mirza, the Secret Service MMA fighter, and me.

“You won’t touch him.”

“No?” Dr. Mirza sneered at me. “Owen means more to you than Paul does to me, which means I have the power.”

Owen cried out as one of the goons holding him twisted his arm up along his spine. His knees bent, and he fell back.

The Secret Service MMA fighter gurgled, and I realized my grip had tightened around his throat again. I eased up, barely. “Let Owen go.”

“They’re not going to let me go, Yusuf.” He sounded surprisingly calm—or maybe resigned—at the situation. “Now that I’ve seen them, and they mentioned research on shifters, I am as good as dead. Or, I guess in this case, a science experiment.”

“He’s smarter than you, Joey.” Dr. Mirza reached into the open door of his office and pulled out a rifle. Before I had time to react, he fired.

Owen jerked.

I roared.

Owen slumped.

I shifted, the lion bursting out with a slash of claws and a flash of fang.

Nora screamed.

Dr. Mirza turned the rifle at me and fired again.

A pinch of pain in my haunch. Blurry vision. Muscles weakening.

My last thought before darkness descended was of Owen and of hugs and of belly buttons.