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  “Sure I do,” Chris replied cheerfully. Michael was coming to the conclusion that Chris was always cheerful. Obnoxiously so. “You were going to ask me to drive you out to your new place. But I’m on call. Gotta stay in town, don’tcha know.”

  Michael rolled his eyes. “Yo, Mr. Minnesota. Wrong state.”

  “Close enough.”

  Michael opened his mouth, then closed it again. This conversation really wasn’t going anywhere. Like just about every other conversation he’d engaged in with his friendly neighborhood deputy.

  “Can’t you just run me out to the cabin?” Michael wheedled.

  “And how will you get back to town?”

  Well, drat. Chris had a point there.

  Michael dropped down onto one of the chairs lining the wall of the small room, wincing as the molded plastic smacked him in the butt. Damn, but these were going to get painful. Fast. Really fast.

  To distract himself, he looked around the room. There wasn’t much to see. Sitting square in the middle of the tiny town, the Putman County Sheriff’s Office proudly declared its age as somewhere around two hundred. At Michael’s best guess, anyway—the bricks had seen better days and the numbers out front were nearly worn away, although if forced to make a guess, Michael would have read it as 1810.

  The inside of the building showed its age with equal graceless abandon. Ancient, cracked vinyl flooring gleamed under the flickering florescent lights. Looking up at those same lights, Michael noticed an abundance of water spots and a couple of missing ceiling tiles. One large desk with an old dinosaur of a computer sat cattycorner to the double glass front doors. A matching—sort of—pair of battered metal desks lined the one remaining wall not occupied by torturous plastic chairs. Another door sat between them, a glass panel with stick-on lettering declaring Sheriff’s Office. Someone had written in the e in sheriff with magic marker.

  The only other item of interest in the room was a cluttered bulletin board. Unfortunately, Michael was too far away for the numerous posters and papers to be anything other than colorful blurs. He wasn’t bored enough yet to cross the small space to read them.

  Michael leaned his head back against the cool cinderblock wall and closed his eyes. His back protested. Between the hospital chair, the couch last night, now this chair…yeah. He wondered if Chris knew a good masseuse. Considering what he’d seen of the town so far? He sincerely doubted it.

  “Chris?” He got a grunt in return, but forged ahead anyway. “Now might be a good time to give me some directions.”

  “To where?”

  “My new hunting cabin,” Michael drawled. “Where else?”

  “Ah. Yeah. I’ll lead you out there once George calls.”

  So Chris could lead him out there but couldn’t… Michael cut off his train of thought. Best not to attempt to follow Chris’ thought process. It would most likely only result in pain.

  The silence was grating on Michael’s nerves. He’d experienced far too much of it lately and he wasn’t used to it. For something to fill it, he asked, “So, what kind of game do you have out here? I mean, around my hunting cabin?”

  Chris just pointed to something over Michael’s shoulder. Michael turned around and cocked his head. He stood and crossed over to the bulletin board, eyes immediately drawn to the notice displayed extremely prominently in the center.

  No Hunting Allowed Within County Limits. Ever.

  Michael turned back to the deputy and shrugged. “It’s okay. I don’t hunt, anyway.”

  “Then why’d you buy a hunting cabin?”

  “Damned if I know.” But now he knew why it had been so cheap. He imagined it was something of a challenge, selling a hunting cabin in a county that didn’t allow hunting. Ever.

  “Suppose that makes sense,” Michael mused aloud. “That is, if you’ve got as many shifters around here as I can smell.”

  Chris’ pen hit the floor with a loud clatter. Ooops, no, that was the stapler. Chris shoved back from the desk, for once appearing serious. And fierce. Damn. Looked like Michael had hit a sore spot.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Does anyone really think that ever works?” he asked curiously. “Pretending ignorance like that?”

  “Lakkis!”

  “Sorry.” He shrugged. “But really, man, Putman is one of the worst kept secrets in the world, at least among our kind.”

  As an attempt to soothe the savage beast, so to speak, it worked fairly well. At least, Chris relaxed his shoulders a bit and unclenched his fists.

  “Lakkis,” Chris mused. Then his mouth twisted in something like a grimace. “Oh, hell, I knew I’d heard that name somewhere.”

  Michael bit back a groan. “Yes,” he said around a sigh. “I’m one of those shifters.”

  His family had a reputation almost as famous as this town. There were a lot of them, all over the country, and not a one of his extended family could resist making waves. Conformists they were not. ‘Eccentric’ was one of the kindest appellations he’d heard over the years. ‘Crazy’ was far more common.

  “Well, at least it will be a nice addition. I don’t think there are any bear shifters in town currently.”

  “That’s nice to know,” Michael replied dryly. “Is the inquisition over yet?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Don’t you ever mind your own business?”

  “Everything is my business,” Chris replied loftily. “I’m the law.”

  “You’re a damn pain in the ass, is what you are.”

  “You do realize I have the power to arrest you?”

  “If you arrested everyone who insulted you, there’d be no room left in that dinky little jail of yours.”

  “True.” Chris paused. “So—”

  As if hearing Michael’s mental plea for distraction, the ancient phone on Chris’ desk rang shrilly, interrupting the deputy mid-sentence. And damned if it wasn’t a rotary phone. Michael couldn’t remember seeing one of those since he was a kid. At his grandparent’s.

  “Right, George. Thanks.”

  Michael barely resisted the urge to cheer. Finally, escape was in sight.

  Chris grabbed a battered hat, plopped it on his head, and grinned. The expression sent a jolt of nervousness running up Michael’s spine.

  “Let’s go get your truck,” Chris said.

  * * * *

  The road Chris led him down snaked around until Michael couldn’t really tell what direction he was going anymore. Then it began to climb. This part of Wisconsin was hilly and forested. Some of the main road Michael had been on earlier even cut through rock, blasted away like he’d seen down in the Appalachians.

  Pavement gave way to gravel all too soon. Michael ground his teeth together to keep them from chattering and spared a brief pang of regret for his tired shocks. A few more times up this road, and they weren’t going to be tired anymore. They were going to be dead.

  Most of Michael, though, grew more excited the higher they climbed. Bruce was practically ecstatic. They loved hills—it was coded into their DNA. He couldn’t wait to tramp to the top of the mini-mountain and climb a tree. The higher the better.

  The trees thickened, closing around the road. A few times, branches scraped against the side of his truck. He just shrugged it off. The paint job was already a mess, a few more scratches weren’t going to make much difference. His new cabin was obviously the only thing up here, though. Michael couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. Depended on what shape the cabin was in, he supposed.

  Honestly? He was going to be thrilled if it had running water. For the price he’d paid for the thing, he couldn’t expect much more.

  The next turn was so sharp, Michael practically had to stop the truck. It felt like he was driving into the middle of a massive bush, but the crunch of gravel under his tires assured him there was still a road. He almost rear-ended Chris, managing to pull to the side at the last minute. He found a spot in the clearing underneath a pine tree and cut off the en
gine.

  Well, the outside didn’t look too bad. Looked damned good, actually. Sure, the place was small, but he was only one person, after all. The wood-sided building hunkered down at the far end of the clearing, surrounded by bushes, trees and the occasional out-of-control ivy-type plant. Three steps led up the front to a wide porch that stretched from end to end of the small house. He could hardly wait to get himself a couple of chairs, plop into one of them, and take a nap.

  Michael climbed out of his truck, still studying the scenery. A door slammed, Chris rounding the hood of his truck.

  “What do you think?” the deputy asked.

  “Not bad,” Michael commented. “Not bad at all.”

  “You haven’t seen the inside yet,” Chris pointed out.

  “Yeah. Way to kill the mood. There’s probably raccoons living in the oven or something.”

  “If you have an oven,” came the cheerful reply.

  He did. It was probably older than Michael, but it was still an oven. Not that Michael cooked much, anyway. The lights came on when he flicked the switch. When he turned on the faucet, the water had a brown tint, but letting the tap run would take care of that. Probably.

  The inside of the cabin was bare of furniture and a bit dusty. They left visible footprints across the wood floors as they wandered. It didn’t take long, as there were only three rooms. A decent-sized combination living room-kitchen, a smallish bedroom and a bathroom. The tub needed a good scrub, maybe some new tile. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

  Chris had slipped out of the back door of the kitchen and was now waving to him through a slightly grimy window. Michael joined him at a small shed.

  Oh, joy. He nearly did a dorky little happy dance when he spotted Chris’ find. A rusty generator. A big-assed one.

  It fired up on the third try, purring steadily.

  “Hallelujah,” Michael said. He listened to the hum with a satisfied smile, then nodded. “I think this will do just fine.”

  “Winter might be a bitch,” Chris pointed out.

  Michael shrugged. “I’ve got a while to think about it.”

  “So you’re moving here permanently? Not just using it for a summer place?”

  “We’ll see. Don’t know as I want to bunk all the way out here all winter, but we’ll see.”

  Bruce would certainly like it, for sure. The bear was downright antisocial sometimes. It was one of the few areas where Michael and his animal disagreed.

  “Who’s Bruce?” Chris asked.

  Well, dang. Apparently, Michael had picked up Alli’s little habit of muttering aloud to himself.

  Michael could feel his cheeks flushing red and he shuffled his feet a bit. He always hated trying to explain this part. “My bear,” he admitted.

  “You named him?” One blond eyebrow arched, laughter sparking in the muddy brown eyes.

  “He’s just…me, but not, you know?”

  “Not really.”

  Michael sighed. Non-shifters didn’t understand. Heck, even shifters didn’t always get it. “I don’t know. He just seems like his own being most of the time. It’s easier, to think of him as being separate from me.”

  “But Bruce?”

  “Why the hell does everyone always fixate on that?” Michael complained.

  That got him a laugh and a friendly slap to the shoulder.

  “I’ve got to get back to town,” Chris said. “You might want to consider doing the same. Looks like you need to stock up on a few things.”

  “I’ll be fine tonight,” Michael said. “I’ve got a sleeping bag and some snacks in the truck.”

  “If you’re sure. Think you can find your way back to town?”

  Michael sniffed disdainfully.

  “Right. See you around.”

  Chris disappeared from sight and a few minutes later an engine roared to life, tires grinding and spinning as Chris turned around in front of the cabin and pulled away. Michael liked the guy, he truly did, but he was glad to see the deputy go. Before Michael could declare the place acceptable, there were a few things he needed to do. And they were things best done without any audience.

  Michael wandered around the edge of the cabin and to his truck, stripping off his shirt as he went. He placed his glasses onto the seat, then changed his mind and stuck them on the dash. He dumped his shit into the truck bed and unfastened his pants, shimmying out of them and his underwear at the same time. They joined the shirt and he stretched a bit, relishing the gentle rush of the wind through the trees, the soft sounds of nature. It had been way too long since he’d done this. It was probably something only a shifter would understand, but the wind brushing against his naked body, the gentle warmth of the sun—it felt fantastic. Heck, he’d do away with clothes most of the time if he thought he could get away with it.

  Michael yawned loudly, feeling Bruce stretch inside him, waking slowly. With a low grumble, followed by a more hearty roar, Michael set him free. Muscles ached in a familiar but good way, bones popping audibly as he morphed. He dropped to all fours and shook, settling thick fur into place.

  Then he lumbered off into the woods, eager to explore his new environment. And maybe find that tree to climb.

  Chapter Four

  Alli turned the water as hot as he could stand and stood with his arms braced against the shower walls. Steaming drops prickled along his skin and he shivered. He was cold and achy and the water kind of hurt.

  It took several long minutes before the heat began to feel good on his chilled skin. Of course, right about that time the hot water gave out. Alli stepped out carefully, since the world was still inclined to tilt at odd occasions. He wasted no time wrapping himself in a big, fluffy towel. It covered him from nearly shoulder to knee. He didn’t take it off in the bedroom, pulling a pair of sweats on underneath it and a sweatshirt over it, only letting go of his towel when he was completely covered. Alli knew it was part of the healing process, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this darn cold.

  Alli padded out to the living room, wiggling his shoulders. That blasted itch between his shoulder blades was driving him nuts. But, of course, it was just out of his reach. He paused briefly at the entrance to the living room to rub against the corner of a wall. Being a Fayte had more than a few disadvantages in this world. The Elders had warned him about wild magic causing bad luck in the human realm—they didn’t warn him about the infernal itching from hiding his wings.

  As usual, scratching didn’t help. He huffed, blowing his damp, scraggly bangs out of his eyes, and thought about letting his wings loose for a while. If he made sure the curtains were pulled and the lights were off—

  A red blinking light caught his attention before he could follow through with his half-formed plan. Alli wandered across the room then hit play on the answering machine.

  “Hey there. It’s Michael. You know, the guy wandering around your house yesterday? Anyway, I was just calling to see if you’re feeling better. I guess you’re still sleeping, which is good, I guess. Um…okay, so I’ll be in town for a while, guess I’ll just catch you later.”

  Alli chewed on his fingernail as he listened to the message, feeling like a complete dork when he actually hit repeat, just to savor the sound of that deep voice. It was kind of endearing, how uncertain Michael sounded.

  Of course, he could simply hate talking to machines. A lot of people did.

  “Stop it,” Alli scolded himself. Chris had told Alli on several occasions that he needed to work on the pessimistic outlook. Alli was trying, he really was, but pessimism was kind of built into him. There wasn’t much he could do about it.

  Alli finally made himself head for the kitchen when his stomach started to yell at him. He didn’t, however, erase the message. Stupid, probably. But…well, there was just something about Michael.

  Of course, the guy probably thought Alli was a certified lunatic. A sudden wave of depression hit when Alli admitted to himself that Michael might not be wrong. Too many years here had started to warp
Alli, he knew that. He wondered if maybe it was time to… No. He’d tried every year since he’d left. His last New Year’s resolution had been to accept his new life, his new home.

  Alli dug through a cabinet for the cereal box, stubbing his toe on the molding and ramming his shoulder with the cabinet door. He figured it was kind of sad, that the minor incidents barely even registered. His brain processed the slight pangs of pain as normal and his body kept moving.

  He filled a bowl with cereal, dumped some milk in, and sat at the table to eat. Alone. As usual. His gaze fell on the calendar and he stopped mid-chew.

  Oh. Well, that explained why he was so mired in the ‘woe is me’ refrain. He’d figured it was because he was still feeling the aftereffects of his accident.

  April thirteenth. The day that, four years ago, went down in his personal history as the worst day ever.

  Alli shoved his cereal bowl away, not feeling like eating anymore. He tried not to get caught up in the images and memories trying to play through his head. He didn’t need that, not today.

  He couldn’t stop it, though. The disappointment in his mother’s eyes. The fury on his father’s face. The panic pouring off his lover.

  Then the lying and the banishment and the loneliness. Few crimes could get a Fayte banished from their people. They were an insular society, slow to breed, and kept a tight hold on any offspring. But tolerance was not one of their traits and Alli had committed the ultimate sin. He’d been caught naked with another man.

  Of course, the bastard had promptly denied any culpability. Before Alli knew it, he’d been labeled a seducer and a corrupter and forced to leave. All told, Alli wasn’t really sorry it had happened. He wouldn’t have been able to hide forever, wouldn’t have wanted to hide forever.

  But maybe it was time to talk to Chris again, see if he could get a message through. Every six months or so, Alli tried to contact his family. Not his parents—he couldn’t care less if he ever spoke to them again. They could have stood up for him. It might not have changed anything, but then again, it might have. No, it was his brother he missed. Poor Maggi.