He plucked on the white streak at his temple. Great, what did he do now? This woman was too clever for her own good — for his own good. He gave her arm a shake.
“Thanks to your butting in today, they now know you were with me,” he said through clenched teeth. “It’s not safe. You have to leave today. Go back to Michael’s Creek. Forget about the story. I’ll square it with your editor.”
Her face took on a mutinous look. “I don’t want to forget.”
“I told you,” he hissed, “people have disappeared on the prairie. You could be next.”
“I’m not afraid,” she blustered.
“You should be. There are ravines deep enough to hide a body until next spring. Do you want to wind up a pile of bleached bones?”
She gulped. “Not really.”
“Then leave.” He spun on his heel, but her hand on his arm stopped him.
“Listen. I’ll leave. Tomorrow. Meet me tonight,” she pleaded, “I can’t walk away without answers. I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut. .” she hesitated. “I just need to know I’m not nuts.”
His mouth formed in a grim line. “You’re not, but I am. Meet me at eleven.”
Leaning her head against the driver’s window, R.J. waited for Sean. She glanced at the dashboard clock. He was late. Was he standing her up? He’d better not. If he tried, she’d hunt him down like a dog. She wasn’t leaving town without answers.
Regardless of what he’d said, R.J. still had a problem wrapping her mind around what she’d seen. Lying awake last night and staring at the ever-blinking lights, she’d gone over and over the scene in her mind. It had happened so fast. First there was the owl then there was Sean. Being a reporter, her life had brushed up against a lot of odd things and she’d become convinced a long time ago that life really was stranger than fiction. But this?
Only when the first rays of morning lightened the sky had she decided it hadn’t been her imagination. Old legends were true. Sean Swifthawk O’Brien was a shapeshifter. And she wanted him to confirm it.
But first she needed more information. Before she confronted him, she had to learn all she could about shapeshifting and Native American lore. She’d tried going online but she couldn’t find a connection from her crappy motel room. It was when she’d gone to the motel’s office to ask where the nearest Internet connection might be that she’d seen the kid. And overheard him and his grandfather discussing the accusations against Sean. The discussion ended the instant they’d seen her and the kid had hot-footed it out the back door, but not before she’d seen the marks on his face.
How they’d known about Sean so early in the morning was anyone’s guess. She had her suspicions. No proof, but plenty of suspicion. She longed to dig deeper and find the truth, but Sean’s remark about bleached bones gave her pause. Nope, the best she could hope for was an explanation from Sean about his peculiar abilities. After he gave her one, she’d cut her losses and get out of town.
The irony of it all? She’d be walking away from a story bigger than she could’ve imagined. Only no one would believe it and if she tried to convince them, her credibility would be ruined. She’d be laughed out of the newspaper business. She’d find herself working for some rag, writing about alien abductions and crop circles.
Sean was right. She should go back to her life in Michael’s Creek and forget everything. Well, maybe not everything. She doubted she could ever lose the memory of his kiss. Thinking about it now made her feel all soft and gooey inside. She shoved the feelings away. He wasn’t for her. Even if they hadn’t come from two different cultures, she’d seen his type before — a selfless do-gooder out to change the world.
Good luck with that one.
She’d go back to Michael’s Creek and focus her energy on landing a story that everyone would believe. Sooner or later one had to come along.
Sitting up, she stared out the window. My god, it was spooky out here tonight. Last night, moonlight had lit the landscape but now clouds chased across the moon, dimming its light. The Center sat like a hulking beast and even the air felt heavy. Her hand stole over to the passenger’s seat and the jack-handle lying there. She wasn’t a fool. She’d lost her mace last night, but she wasn’t going to go traipsing around in the middle of the night without some kind of weapon. Just in case. The jack-handle seemed like a good choice. Settling her head against the window again, she placed the handle on her lap as the lack of sleep overtook her.
What seemed like only moments later, a sharp rap on the window made her jump. Sean. Her eyes flew to the clock. My god, it was four o’clock in the morning.
She pushed the door open, still hanging on to her weapon. “I thought you said eleven? Where have you been?”
“Something came up.” He eyed the jack-handle. “Planning on using that?”
She snorted. “You were the one who said it wasn’t safe.”
Without commenting, he turned and headed towards the hill beyond the Center. R.J. ran after him. At the top of the rise, he suddenly whirled on her.
“What do you want to know?”
Caught off-guard, the words stumbled out, sounding silly even to her. “Are you a shapeshifter?”
“Yes.”
Shocked at his honesty, R.J.’s jaw dropped and she waited for him to continue. He didn’t.
“That’s it? ‘Yes’?”
A wry grin twisted the corners of his mouth. “I think that word covers it.”
Frustrated, she kicked a clod of dirt. “Not bloody likely, mister.”
“I suppose you want to know the ‘who, what, when, and where’?”
“Damn straight I do,” she exclaimed.
Sean sighed deeply. “My gift, talent, whatever the whites would call it, runs in my family.”
“Your grandfather, too?” R.J.’s eyes widened.
“No, not him, but his father.” He stopped and looked up at the sky as if trying to decide what to say. “This is hard,” he said finally. “Not even our people are aware. They know that my family has powerful medicine, but they’ve never questioned what it might be.”
“Have you always been able to shift?”
“No. It started shortly after I came to live with my grandfather. I was lucky in a way that I’d come here. Because of what he’d learned from his father, he recognized what was happening to me and was there to guide me through it.”
“Does it happen. . um. . well. . you know. . whenever the moon—” she broke off, feeling foolish.
“Are you trying to ask me if I only change during a full moon?” he inquired, not hiding the humour in his voice.
Irritated, her chin hiked. “According to movies and literature—”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” he cut in, his humour gone. “We’re not in a movie — this is my life we’re discussing. No, it’s not only during a full moon, I can change at will. At first, when I was a teenager, it’d happen whenever I experienced high emotion.”
“Must’ve happened a lot.”
“It did. After the first change, my grandfather took me out of school for about a year and taught me at home. During that time, he showed me how to manage the changes.”
“Are you like—” she paused, trying to think of the right word, “well, invulnerable?”
“We’re back to the movies, huh?” He shook his head. “No, I can be killed just like any other animal. It wouldn’t take a silver bullet.” Tugging on his bottom lip, he studied her. “I’ve never had to explain this to anyone and I don’t really know if I can. When I’m in animal form, there is still a part of me that’s human but I feel the freedom of being a wild thing.”
“Last night, when you were fighting those men, why didn’t you become something other than an owl? Something a little bigger with a few more teeth?” she asked, playing with the jack-handle still in her hand