Mate Bond
Page 37
Kenzie caught another scent she couldn’t place. She had the feeling she should be able to recognize it, but either she was mistaken, or it was so covered with something else its identity eluded her.
Bowman’s nose wrinkled, and he inhaled deeply. He must have noticed it too.
As they debated in wolf language whether they should approach, the screen door of the house creaked open.
“I know you’re out there,” a man’s voice said. A shotgun poked its way out the door, followed by a human bundled in a thick jacket. The gun, as far as Kenzie could make out, had no nightscope attached. “I need you where I can see you.”
Bowman rumbled a low growl, which meant Kenzie should remain behind, then he walked slowly into the clearing.
The starlight that filtered down showed a regal gray wolf, ears pricked, head up, unafraid. Kenzie tensed, ready to spring the moment the man’s trigger finger so much as twitched.
The shotgun lowered, and spectacles flashed as the man peered more closely at Bowman. “Hello, my friend,” he said. “Tell me, are you Canis lupus? Or Canis lupus shifterensius?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Kenzie watched from the shadows as Bowman shifted back to human.
He did it slowly, drawing out the process for greatest effect. His back legs grew thick and strong, his body straightening as he changed. By the time he was standing upright, his arms and legs were human, and his fur receding. His head shifted last, his wolf face flattening to human.
His eyes remained the same, gray white and fixed on the man in the clearing.
“It’s Shifter,” Bowman said clearly. “There’s no such thing as Canis lupus shifterensius.”
“There is now,” the man said. “A new classification has been approved by the scientific journals. A new one for your Felines and your bears as well.”
His voice bore the faint soft drawl of a Southerner, from coastal South Carolina, Kenzie surmised. He sounded cultured, educated—he should be lounging in his sophisticated house in the city with swimming pool, not roughing it in the backwoods. Why he was out here, she couldn’t guess.
“Were you the one shooting at us?” Bowman asked in a stern voice.
“No.” The man sounded surprised. “Is someone shooting? Thanks for the warning.”
He didn’t seem to be at all bothered by Bowman’s lack of clothing. Bowman didn’t move, assessing the man and his threat level, as did Kenzie from the shadows of the trees.
“Why don’t you and your friend come inside?” the man asked. He uncocked the shotgun and slung it over his arm. “I’ve got coffee going. Also blankets, if your Shifter friend is shy.”
“Do you have a phone?” Bowman asked, not hurrying to obey.
“I do. I have to tell you, though, sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t. But you’re welcome to try.” He opened the door and gestured Bowman inside.
“Bring the blankets first,” Bowman said.
“Sure thing.” The man stepped up into the house. When he returned, he was minus the gun and had an armful of thin fleece blankets. He flipped on a porch light, walked to Bowman in its yellow glare, and put the blankets into Bowman’s hands. “My name’s Turner. Wayne Turner. Would you happen to be Bowman O’Donnell?”
Bowman’s hands closed on the blankets. “Do you prefer it if I am?”
“I study Shifters,” Turner said. “In a good way. I know that Bowman O’Donnell is the leader of the local Shiftertown. Your picture gets in the papers. So, you are either him or his twin brother, and you don’t have a twin brother.”
“You’re right; I’m Bowman. My mate, Kenzie.” Bowman didn’t gesture, but Kenzie knew the signal to walk out of the woods. Still wolf, she joined him, sat down next to Bowman, and gazed up at Turner.
Turner returned the look, interest in his blue eyes behind his glasses. “If it doesn’t offend you, can I say she’s beautiful? A Romanian gray wolf, right? A number of them survived in the wild lands, didn’t they?”
“They did,” Bowman said.
“Her eyes are different. Tawny rather than blue or gray. Means she’s from a different strain, different pack.”
“Yes, we know.”
Turner grinned. “Sorry, I don’t often get the opportunity to see Shifters close up. I’ve talked to a few, but I know that coming to Shiftertown and grilling you is rude. I’ll try to contain my curiosity. Come on in when you’re ready.”
He turned his back on them and walked away. Bowman bristled, but Kenzie knew Turner didn’t show his back to be insulting, like Uncle Cris did. The man had no idea what the gesture meant.
Bowman, carrying the blankets, walked with Kenzie under the cover of the trees, away from the circle of porch light, and waited for her to shift. When she was finished, he wordlessly handed her a blanket.
Kenzie wrapped it around her, glad of its protection in the sudden chill. “Are we really going in there?”
Bowman lifted one shoulder in a shrug. He’d folded a blanket and wrapped it around his waist like a bath towel. With it hugging his hips, he looked good enough to eat.
“I want to see what he’s up to,” Bowman said. “Why he’s staying here. What he has to do with Serena, if anything, or the sniper, or the beast.”
“I don’t like it,” Kenzie said, tucking the corner of the blanket around her shoulder. “And what about Uncle Cris?”
“He can take care of himself. Besides, if he finds the sniper and takes him down, that’s one less thing I have to worry about.”
Bowman held his hand out to her, and Kenzie took it. She knew the offer wasn’t just to steady her, but to share strength and confidence, and for protection. They would stay united, and alert.
Kenzie gave his hand a squeeze, and they walked to the house, up its wooden step, and inside.
* * *
The inside of the trailer was not what Bowman expected. It was less like a house, more like an office. Half the front room was taken up with bookcases plus a large, flat desk holding a computer. The other half did have a couch, a rust-colored, utilitarian thing.
A table near the computer desk was strewn with maps and photographs, and dozens of photos were pinned to the walls. Most humans these days kept their caches of information on computers, but this man seemed to like to spread out his research and immerse himself in it.
Bowman’s nose wrinkled, and he inhaled deeply. He must have noticed it too.
As they debated in wolf language whether they should approach, the screen door of the house creaked open.
“I know you’re out there,” a man’s voice said. A shotgun poked its way out the door, followed by a human bundled in a thick jacket. The gun, as far as Kenzie could make out, had no nightscope attached. “I need you where I can see you.”
Bowman rumbled a low growl, which meant Kenzie should remain behind, then he walked slowly into the clearing.
The starlight that filtered down showed a regal gray wolf, ears pricked, head up, unafraid. Kenzie tensed, ready to spring the moment the man’s trigger finger so much as twitched.
The shotgun lowered, and spectacles flashed as the man peered more closely at Bowman. “Hello, my friend,” he said. “Tell me, are you Canis lupus? Or Canis lupus shifterensius?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Kenzie watched from the shadows as Bowman shifted back to human.
He did it slowly, drawing out the process for greatest effect. His back legs grew thick and strong, his body straightening as he changed. By the time he was standing upright, his arms and legs were human, and his fur receding. His head shifted last, his wolf face flattening to human.
His eyes remained the same, gray white and fixed on the man in the clearing.
“It’s Shifter,” Bowman said clearly. “There’s no such thing as Canis lupus shifterensius.”
“There is now,” the man said. “A new classification has been approved by the scientific journals. A new one for your Felines and your bears as well.”
His voice bore the faint soft drawl of a Southerner, from coastal South Carolina, Kenzie surmised. He sounded cultured, educated—he should be lounging in his sophisticated house in the city with swimming pool, not roughing it in the backwoods. Why he was out here, she couldn’t guess.
“Were you the one shooting at us?” Bowman asked in a stern voice.
“No.” The man sounded surprised. “Is someone shooting? Thanks for the warning.”
He didn’t seem to be at all bothered by Bowman’s lack of clothing. Bowman didn’t move, assessing the man and his threat level, as did Kenzie from the shadows of the trees.
“Why don’t you and your friend come inside?” the man asked. He uncocked the shotgun and slung it over his arm. “I’ve got coffee going. Also blankets, if your Shifter friend is shy.”
“Do you have a phone?” Bowman asked, not hurrying to obey.
“I do. I have to tell you, though, sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t. But you’re welcome to try.” He opened the door and gestured Bowman inside.
“Bring the blankets first,” Bowman said.
“Sure thing.” The man stepped up into the house. When he returned, he was minus the gun and had an armful of thin fleece blankets. He flipped on a porch light, walked to Bowman in its yellow glare, and put the blankets into Bowman’s hands. “My name’s Turner. Wayne Turner. Would you happen to be Bowman O’Donnell?”
Bowman’s hands closed on the blankets. “Do you prefer it if I am?”
“I study Shifters,” Turner said. “In a good way. I know that Bowman O’Donnell is the leader of the local Shiftertown. Your picture gets in the papers. So, you are either him or his twin brother, and you don’t have a twin brother.”
“You’re right; I’m Bowman. My mate, Kenzie.” Bowman didn’t gesture, but Kenzie knew the signal to walk out of the woods. Still wolf, she joined him, sat down next to Bowman, and gazed up at Turner.
Turner returned the look, interest in his blue eyes behind his glasses. “If it doesn’t offend you, can I say she’s beautiful? A Romanian gray wolf, right? A number of them survived in the wild lands, didn’t they?”
“They did,” Bowman said.
“Her eyes are different. Tawny rather than blue or gray. Means she’s from a different strain, different pack.”
“Yes, we know.”
Turner grinned. “Sorry, I don’t often get the opportunity to see Shifters close up. I’ve talked to a few, but I know that coming to Shiftertown and grilling you is rude. I’ll try to contain my curiosity. Come on in when you’re ready.”
He turned his back on them and walked away. Bowman bristled, but Kenzie knew Turner didn’t show his back to be insulting, like Uncle Cris did. The man had no idea what the gesture meant.
Bowman, carrying the blankets, walked with Kenzie under the cover of the trees, away from the circle of porch light, and waited for her to shift. When she was finished, he wordlessly handed her a blanket.
Kenzie wrapped it around her, glad of its protection in the sudden chill. “Are we really going in there?”
Bowman lifted one shoulder in a shrug. He’d folded a blanket and wrapped it around his waist like a bath towel. With it hugging his hips, he looked good enough to eat.
“I want to see what he’s up to,” Bowman said. “Why he’s staying here. What he has to do with Serena, if anything, or the sniper, or the beast.”
“I don’t like it,” Kenzie said, tucking the corner of the blanket around her shoulder. “And what about Uncle Cris?”
“He can take care of himself. Besides, if he finds the sniper and takes him down, that’s one less thing I have to worry about.”
Bowman held his hand out to her, and Kenzie took it. She knew the offer wasn’t just to steady her, but to share strength and confidence, and for protection. They would stay united, and alert.
Kenzie gave his hand a squeeze, and they walked to the house, up its wooden step, and inside.
* * *
The inside of the trailer was not what Bowman expected. It was less like a house, more like an office. Half the front room was taken up with bookcases plus a large, flat desk holding a computer. The other half did have a couch, a rust-colored, utilitarian thing.
A table near the computer desk was strewn with maps and photographs, and dozens of photos were pinned to the walls. Most humans these days kept their caches of information on computers, but this man seemed to like to spread out his research and immerse himself in it.
