"Please tell me this was a bad trip," she whimpers. "We did mushrooms or acid or something, and it's just a dream-it's just a dream."
"Shhh." I head to the couch, set her down, and pull a blanket around her. "Stay." I put alpha compulsion into my voice. It seemed to work before, getting her to shift back. Thank the moon for that. Otherwise, she could be stuck in fox form a long time, trying to figure it out.
Some shifters shift naturally. Others need the supervision of an alpha. Most of us have the benefit of the pack and plenty of experienced shifters to walk us through it. At least wolves do. We're pack animals.
Foxes-I'm not so sure. As far as I know, the little lady freaking out on the couch is the only one. Of course, small, weaker shifters don't often make themselves known. If wolf packs are secretive, fox dens, if they exist, probably hide like their lives depend on it.
I grab an energy drink out of my things, and a bag of beef jerky.
"Here. Drink this." I hold the bottle for her. She's shaking but reaches for the beef jerky on her own. "You expended a lot of energy, running from me and shifting twice. You always need to eat and drink enough afterward, or it could be dangerous."
"I-I've never done that before."
"I know, baby." I tug on a pair of workout shorts, glad I brought a couple of changes of clothes. Of course, I expected to be done with this job in a few hours, tops, and then be on my way to Mexico.
The pale, rainbow-haired beauty trembles on the couch, and my wolf will be damned if he'll leave her now.
Things just got a lot more complicated.
Foxfire
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
This is a dream. A really bad dream, like the time Sunny left her mushrooms out and I ate them and thought the walls were melting.
The clarity of the moonlight, the scents that surrounded me, they were beautiful, but it's way worse than a bad trip.
"Here." Tank sits down next to me, holding out a power bar.
"No more jerky?" I ask hopefully.
"Carnivore?"
"I tried to be vegetarian like so many times. I would have these cravings where I almost ate raw meat."
"She wouldn't let you."
"Who?"
"Your fox. She's pretty, by the way."
"My…"
"Your fox. That's who came out to play just now. She's gorgeous."
I stare at him, remembering the harmony in my limbs, when I didn't think about it, the freedom, the whole new world of scents, beautiful and profane.
"What am I?"
"You really don't know?"
"Um, no. One minute I'm… on two legs and then, the next I'm…" My breath gets stuck in my throat. "I'm-"
"Okay, okay, relax." He rubs my back. "Just breathe. It'll be okay. You're a shifter, like me. Most of us have the benefit of growing up in a house surrounded by shifters. My dad coached me through my first change. I was early. Some kids don't shift until their teens, and then wake in bed all furry. It usually happens in adolescence, if not before."
"It's never happened to me."
"Yes, well, if I had to guess, I'd say your fox is shy. And she's on her own, without family or protection."
I lean into him. My heart isn't pounding as hard, but Tank is the only one keeping me on Earth.
Foxes. I'm a fox.
"You're a shifter," I state.
"Yeah, baby. I'm a wolf."
I let out a noise, half laugh, half gurgle. "I noticed."
He rubs my back some more.
"So that's why Garrett sent you. You're not part of a gang called the Werewolves. You are a werewolf."
"A pack." He says after a long silence. "I'm part of a pack."
"With Garrett?"
"Yeah."
No wonder they're secretive. I'd be less surprised if I found the path to another world in my closet, but it actually reassures me. At least Garrett and Tank's behavior makes more sense now.
I open my hands, close them. Hands, not paws. No claws. Not right now.
"Are there others, like me?"
"Not that I know of."
"Oh." Again, the world tilts under my feet.
"Foxfire… is there anyone… Do you know anyone in your family who might… have a secret?"
"What, like my great aunt Agatha's chili recipe? Oh, and she turns into a Saint Bernard during the full moon?"
Tank just looks at me, forehead wrinkled. He must think I'm really losing it.
"No." My breath shudders out of me. "Nothing like that. I don't really have a family-only my mom. And I don't think she'd hide something like this from me." I rub my hands. Hands. Not paws. No fur. "I'm cold."
He grabs the blanket and tucks it tight around me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and giving me a side hug. "It's the shift. It takes energy. And you're skin and bones."
"I am not." I frown at him.
"You are, baby." He squeezes me tight, pulling me closer. "Petite."
"Yes, well, I was born this way. Not all of us can be freakishly tall and built like a truck."
"A tank."
"Yeah." Something he said unravels. "Wait, so you think someone else in my family is a shifter?"
"Shifters breed shifters. It's genetic."
"So my mom or dad…"
"One of them carries the gene. Most likely they can shift. It'd be almost impossible for two non-shifters with the dormant gene to bear one who can shift."
"My mom." I shake my head. "I don't think she's a shifter. I lived with her. I've known her all my life."
"She never snuck off into the wilderness for hours at a time?"
"No. She does a lot of pot, but that's about it."
Another long silence. "What about your dad?"
"I don't know him."
Tank nods.