Chapter Eight

Luke

 

Once again, I was hunting that goddamn something.

Something that apparently had a taste for Reagan Grace and left no trail.

Except for a strange scent on the wind, it was a ghost. Not a footprint or a crooked branch or a misplaced leaf to be seen. It dodged and weaved, always out of sight. A flicker of movement, a hint of danger, and a vanishing act to top it all off.

I chased it deep into the north, out of our territory and almost to Tiselk, the beginning of the Yukon. Finally, I was forced to go back to Winfyre, cold, tired, and with barely anything to report.

Xander was waiting for me at the eastern edge, dark and purposeful, fire flashing in his eyes.

“Nothing,” I said, and Xander nodded. “Not for a lack of trying.”

“Of course not,” Xander said. Rett, Kal, and Tristan came galloping out of the woods, then shifted back. “Unfortunately, I think it might require my skills.”

“Xander, isn’t that a risk?” Rett asked. “One that we don’t want to take.”

“This thing has been haunting our borders for almost three weeks,” Xander said, and his eyes became cold blue flames. “It does have a vested interest in Reagan Grace, it seems.”

“Reagan isn’t dangerous,” I said. “I’ve been watching her constantly. Yana said the same.”

Yana was a powerful and unusual eagle shifter who had an empath-like ability to assess post-Rift abilities and gauge trustworthiness. Tello also had it, but his had nothing on Yana’s. But her gift also got overwhelming for her, so she spent a lot of time alone, up in the hills across the lake with her family. She’d known them so long and so well, she’d joked they were her first readings.

I’d sent Reagan down to the coast so Yana could observe her. She was rarely wrong.

“We’ll see,” Xander said in his infuriating and aloof way. I wanted to punch him. A small smirk carved itself into his stone-cold face. “Your connection to her is growing.”

“No,” I growled.

Xander didn’t press it, only stared out into the west and inhaled deeply. “I will wait for the night to see what I can find,” he said and turned back.

The rest of the Alpha pack was quieter than usual, offering me a few commiserating words and vanishing after Xander. Only then did I allow myself to let out a gasp and fall to the earth, agony rolling over me. Fragmented memories bubbled up, and I dug my hands into the dirt.

A disgusted look on a beautiful face, cruel words, and her rigid back as she walked away. Rain streaming down as that beauty became empty, puffing out smoke and watching as I was pushed to the ground and cuffed. “Sorry, baby, the money was too good.”

 Screams tearing through the night, and fire exploding from the sky. People fleeing to the bay. Shifters charging. Smoke burning my lungs. Gasping for breath, arching up towards the stars…

Much like I was doing now.

Running along the ocean, gasping for breath, begging that my life be taken instead.

A large wolf lying in the sand. Still.

Too still.

At that, I bit back a scream of agony, and my body was riddled with pain again.

Finally, minutes or hours later, the flare-up passed, and I got to my feet, staggering home.

 

It took a while, but I emerged into my backyard, and the house was lit up. Hopefully, Rogda Orlov, my adopted auntie with her uncanny psychic ability to know when I was having an episode, would be there. My brain went hazy, and my senses blurred. A dog barked up ahead. Bo.

I made it a few steps and fell to my knees. 

“Shit, not now.”

“Luke?”

Reagan’s voice. No, she couldn’t see me like this. A Command couldn’t be anything but strong. Why had I thought it a good idea to bring her here?

For the first time in weeks, I wished I’d listened to her arguments instead of mine.

Pulling in deep breaths, I opened my eyes and saw Reagan flying towards me. Her face was pale and worried, her hands stretched out for me. My own balled into fists, even as I longed to take hers. I shoved myself upright and pushed by her instead.

“What?” I asked.

“Are you…” Reagan sounded uncertain for once, and I clenched my jaw more tightly. But she kept pace next to me and asked, “Are you limping? Did you find that thing? Did you get hurt?”

“I didn’t think you gave a damn,” I said mildly, and Reagan stopped, flinching back. I stopped as well, even though it hurt, and turned. “As you’re aware, a long day turned into an even longer day. Thanks, by the way.”

“No problem. So, is that why Rogda’s here? She’s a healer—did you send for her?”

It was getting harder to stay upright by the moment. “You-you’ve met Rogda?”

“Yes,” Reagan said. “We had tea. Here, let me help.”

Before I could protest or stop her, Reagan had wrapped an arm around my waist and put my other arm across her shoulders. Some part of me was intensely grateful, while another part burned with heat, and another with irritation. I was still her damn boss.

“I’m a mess,” I protested in vain as we began to walk. I was, covered in sweat and dirt. But Reagan ignored that. I tried not to lean on her, but I’d stayed in my shifted form too long. I could feel the tension between man and beast, the line that wavered and splintered each time.

Soon, I worried, it would be gone altogether, and then what would I be?

A monster for my friends to hunt in the woods?

The thought hit my chest like a blow, and I struggled to breathe. Reagan's grip tightened, but I didn't see her. I saw my ex-girlfriend and ex-friends turning their backs on me. Bodies in the street. Raging fires and rattling guns. A screaming teenager slugged across the face and thrown into a van.

“You are a mess,” Reagan agreed quietly, out of nowhere, and her eyes focused on mine. “Good thing you’ve got this great new assistant worth her weight in gold.”

“Gold?” I asked dubiously, and she made a face. I laughed.

“Laughing, boy, pain cannot be too bad, mm? Maybe you finally listened to me,” Rogda’s rolling voice, filled in with a warm Western Russian accent, boomed out to us. “Or not.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Reagan asked, and I let out a small growl, shaking my head.

Rogda clicked her tongue. She was a short and sturdy woman with thick arms and legs, a noble nose, and high cheekbones. A patch covered one eye, and her strong hands reached out to me, helping Reagan get me up the stairs. By that point, I was starting to shake from the pain.

“Upstairs,” Rogda said, avoiding Reagan’s question and shooting me a look at the same time. “We need to get him into a hot bath and let his muscles relax. Sometimes they seize after shifting.”

“Old injuries,” I muttered, hoping to drive Reagan off.

“She’s a healer for old injuries?” Reagan asked skeptically as we went up the stairs slowly.

“Yes, and you are his assistant for new work,” Rogda said tersely, and I could hear the worry in her voice. “Less questions, more helping.”

I sagged into Reagan on the landing. I could smell the summertime scent on her skin, and an urge came over me to bury my face in her hair as though it were a panacea.

“Luke,” Reagan said in a soft and worried voice.

“I’m fine,” I said and pulled myself upright.

“Rogda, you’re not only here for that. Look at him.” Reagan’s voice became sharp and nervous. “Does this happen every time he shifts? Is this common for all shifters? Shouldn’t we be researching into this?”

“Americans,” Rogda muttered. “You want to have this discourse while he’s in pain?”

“No,” Reagan said, and together they dragged me to the bathroom.

There, I let go of Reagan and Rogda, shaking my head. “I’ve got it from here.”

"Hot water is already going, salt is in the tub," Rogda said and folded her arms. “I will wait out here with your nosy and worried assistant.”

“Thanks,” I said and closed the door on Reagan’s scowling face.

Rogda and I had this dance down pat. She was fierce about my health, but she kept my secrets. Even though I knew I was due for another one of her lectures. She’d insist I should deal with my issues instead of trying to brute-force my way through them.

But, as of yet, I’d managed. Although this episode was pretty bad.

Inside, I got undressed, slowly and painfully like an old man, and lowered myself into the steaming tub, the bubbles thick and scented with chamomile. God bless my auntie.

I could hear Reagan and Rogda speaking softly outside.

“It is a flare-up,” Rogda was saying. “Doesn’t happen every time, and he is the only shifter we know of who has it like this. Comes and goes, no trigger we can find.” She paused, knowing I was listening, and looking for the right words. “It is a secret, Reagan Grace. Yours, mine, and Xander’s. I expect you to keep it and protect our wolf in there.”

“Yes, of course,” Reagan said immediately, and I tilted my head back, smiling a little. “What else can I do to help? How do you heal him?”

“Auntie, patient-healer privilege,” I called out.

“Is he—are you eavesdropping?” Reagan barked through the door, and I laughed.

“Yes, he can’t resist,” Rogda said equitably. “Too good of ears. We help by massaging out knots, tending to injuries, preparing elixirs,” she ticked off. “Reminding him he is human.”

I glared at the door and then started up in alarm as Reagan said, “I can help with that!”

“No,” I sang out. “Not happening, Rea.”

“Why the hell not?” Reagan snapped, and I pictured her glaring at the door.

“Rogda has the best hands in all of Winfyre,” I said. “I can’t insult her honor.”

“I am also an old woman and getting tired of trekking up here,” Rogda said. “I like this one, Lukas. She is bright and helpful.” There was silence, and I knew Rogda was probably looking at Reagan’s hands, flexing and testing them. “Good hands, good joints.”

I suddenly pictured Reagan in this room with me, her hands on my shoulders and her face hovering above mine. She’d probably have an eyebrow raised as I tried not to groan under her ministrations, her hands slipping over my chest and her hair falling forward…

Stop. Sitting up with a wince, I got a grip on myself.

Right now, Reagan saw the strong, coolheaded shifter, both irritating and charming, with one-liners and the occasional compliment. I had to be careful. I strove to be a compassionate and good leader, someone approachable but still rough around the edges. Someone you could trust to be your ride or die, but also know what the die part entailed.

I held out my hands and swallowed, looking at them. Yes, I became a wolf, capable of killing a man by claw or tooth. Some part of me still couldn’t believe it, though. Some part of me always pulled back when I shifted. I’d never thrown myself into it, giving in to the animal.

As far as I knew, Kal, Rett, Tristan, and Xander had. If Xander could do it, then surely I could, too. But I’d held back each time, by varying degrees. Maybe they did, too. I didn’t know. We didn’t talk about it. It was hard enough trying to keep ourselves sane, Winfyre safe, and our goddamn enemies at bay.

Worse, what if I did tell them, and my friends were horrified? Fearful?

What if Xander had to—

I bit off the thought and pushed my face into my hands. Every muscle trembled as the shifter healing strove to creep through my locked-up body.

Worse, what if Reagan…

I’d let that woman in far enough. I’d take her worry and nosiness over fear any day. The thought of Reagan’s gray-green eyes filling with terror, of her taking tentative steps backward. God, why could I picture it so vividly? Hot acid ripped through me, and I let out a small, harsh sound of pain.

“Lukas?” Rogda was opening the door and coming in. I forced my eyes open. “Do you want the healing draught now?”

“No,” I said, and Rogda came in. I focused on the woman standing behind Rogda, the one opening her mouth, and I shook my head. “Get her the hell out of here.”

Rogda gave me a reproachful look, and Reagan’s face twisted.

“Now.”