Thicker Than Water, page 3
“That’s Bert.” Thatch smiled, and my heart stuttered at the action. Damn, his teeth were crazy white and straight. I mentally punched my junk, wondering why I was fixating on his teeth. “He’s been my family’s driver for thirty years.”
Wide-eyed, I glanced in the rear-view mirror and met Bert’s eyes. He threw me a wink. “Oh.” I chewed the inside of my cheek, then offered, “Hey, Bert.”
“Hey, Callen.”
Surprise flickered through me that he already knew my name, but then I reminded myself I’d somehow entered an alternate universe, or the Twilight Zone, or something equally as weird.
After passing through security, we pulled up outside a large brick property. It could have easily been an eyesore, simply because of its vastness. But the structure was tasteful. While on the edge of modern, it somehow managed to look like it had been here for centuries.
Bert exited the SUV and held Thatch’s door open. I stepped out the opposite side and dashed around to help Thatch. He was flagging, even more than I was. His posture was stiff, body tense to the point his shoulder muscles looked fit to snap.
“You know, being a shifter comes with advantages.”
He glanced at me as I spoke, giving me his attention despite the pain he battled. “Yeah?”
“I have these impressive muscles. I can carry you if you want?” I grinned at him. While humour perhaps wasn’t the ideal way of trying to help Thatch, it was my go-to fix in so many random situations. “Bride-style?” I waggled my brows.
A snort escaped him, followed by a cringe and the tightening of his features.
“Okay, okay… no bride-style. Sheesh. You could have let me down gently.”
With my arm around his waist, I led him towards the house. Bert had gone ahead to the main door. I expected his staff to file out and wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or not when Bert pulled out keys, unlocked the door, and disappeared for a few seconds. A house of this size deserved a housekeeper; hell, a damn butler for sure.
Bert reappeared. “His room is the third door on the left up the stairs. You’re best to take the room next to his. The one on his left.”
My eyes widened when I figured he was directing me with those instructions. Though I couldn’t blame him. The first transformation was notorious for being painful and well… odd. Some apparently were in agony, some became murderous, some behaved like they’d taken a ton of coke. And then there were the horny ones, but I wasn’t sure if that was an old wives’ tale or not.
I nodded my thanks, and as Bert closed the door behind us, I almost staggered. The house was freakin’ beautiful and strangely immaculate. It had a show-home quality to it, though. While it wasn’t cold, it didn’t feel personal.
“How you doing there, Thatch?” I asked when he became heavier. I was on the cusp of carrying through with my offer. I didn’t know what kind of man Thatch was, but with a guy in authority, and I assumed tough enough to kick arse and take names despite being a human, perhaps sweeping him off his feet wouldn’t go down too well.
“Yeah. Just hot, and so tired. My neck….” He winced. “Yeah, sleep and willing this to hurry the hell up is about where I’m at. Just need my feet to stop feeling like lead.”
That was my cue.
He grunted and gave a small protest when I scooped him up. His glazed eyes swept over my face, and his mouth lifted into a tired smile. “I’ll just say thanks.”
“Ha!” I grinned and then focussed on the staircase. “No worries. You really don’t weigh much with these impressive guns I have.”
He gave a half-hearted laugh and leaned against my chest. I was no stranger to having guys draped over me. I was quite partial to it, in fact, but I tensed all the same. A deep woodsy scent of forests filtered through my senses, and I was beginning to recognise this as a scent distinctly Thatch’s. It was refreshing, welcoming even. But still, I struggled to relax with him in my arms. Though knowing I had to put him down in a few short steps didn’t especially sit well either.
My addled brain wasn’t doing me any favours, for sure. I focussed on that, focussed on just getting through the night. Come the morning, I hoped I could finally start to get some answers.
It took a few minutes to get Thatch settled in his room. I resolutely didn’t look around his personal space and tried my hardest not to inhale too deeply. The last thing I needed was the scent of Thatch in my system all night. After having searched the three doors in his large bedroom, I’d discovered one that led to another bedroom suite. It made sense Bert had directed me here. It meant I could reach Thatch quickly should he need me.
Everything was so complicated.
Before I could even think about a shower or sleep, I pulled out my phone. There was no choice but to make this call. I had to know.
The phone rang out five times before a tough feminine voice answered, “Hi, Valerie. Good to hear from you.” Disdain filtered down the line. There was a muffled voice, and I figured she was stepping out of the house. Shifter hearing made life difficult when wanting to have a private conversation. Footsteps sounded on the floorboards. A soft closing of an external door. The glass was still loose after all these years and still made that annoying sound as it closed.
Her breathing appeared on the line before her hushed, hurried words. “Why are you calling?” Bitterness laced the question, but I’d long ago given up the will to care. My ma had made her decision the last time my dad had stabbed my thigh with his penknife and she hadn’t said a word when he’d poured liquid silver into the wound.
I still had no idea why it hadn’t poisoned me. Not because of the silver. Hell, I wasn’t a werewolf, but bloody hell… it was liquid silver in a hole in my leg. Perhaps if a vein had been nicked, it would have done the job.
I didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Lucinda. Where is she?”
My hackles rose when she was quiet a beat too long.
“I swear to God, you need to tell me where she is now.”
“Why?”
“Don’t try me, Ma.” I took a deep breath to try and prevent my weariness from dripping into my words. She smelled weakness, just like him.
“They left six months ago. Good riddance. That bastard child of—”
“Do not talk about my niece that way. Where did Hazel go? Where did she take her?”
She huffed out a breath. I knew the last thing she wanted to do was talk to me, and it amused me that the three times I’d called in the past twelve years, she’d actually picked up. Even more entertaining was that she kept it from him. I had no doubt that was about self-preservation. “They went down south. Somewhere near the southern bushlands.”
“Why there and why leave?”
“How the hell would I know where that hussy of a daugh—”
“Why?” I pushed.
“There was talk of marriage.”
My brows dipped in confusion. I hadn’t spoken to my sister in about nine months. She hated the pack, our dad, but she’d been safe. Neither of us were quite sure why our father had never laid a finger on her. We were both just grateful. “Hazel? Who to?”
“Both.” Her words were blunt, emotionless.
Red misted my eyes. Blood pumped at a rate so damn fast I was sure I’d explode. “What. The Fuck?” My niece was eight.
“To the Crimson Pack out west. They were both due to go, with Lucinda marrying as soon as she came of age, and Hazel to the alpha’s son.” Defiance laced her words. Could she seriously not see how every word she said was wrong and oh so disgustingly sickening?
“What is wrong with you? That’s your daughter, your granddaughter.”
She sniffed as though our whole conversation was an effort to her. “Was.”
I froze. What did she mean by that? Did she know about Hazel? Had she, they had something to do with Hazel’s death, and more to the point, where the hell was my niece? “What?”
“What?” she repeated.
“What do you mean by was?”
“The pair of them took off in the night. Billy’s daughter told us she’d heard Hazel on the phone about her heading to the southern bushlands. That’s all I know.”
“Did he look for them?” Ma knew perfectly well who I was referring to, and no way would our father have let her run without consequences, especially if he was selling them off, or whatever the hell he’d been attempting.
“They looked.” Disgust slithered through her words, making my skin crawl. This woman was born of hell. There was no other explanation for it. “After a month they gave up. Lennon needed his men back here. As far as I’m concerned, they’re both dead.” The line cut off.
Nausea swirled in my gut. Anger at them, at me, at my sister, and this whole mess of a situation. There had to be a chance Lucinda was okay. The alternative was incomprehensible.
I struggled to breathe, to keep myself from breaking. I shook my head and stumbled to the en suite bathroom. After getting the shower running, I stripped off and stepped inside, not checking on the temperature. Hot or cold, it didn’t matter. I was numb.
Water beat down on me, mingling with my tears. The last time I’d cried was when I was eight. The punishment for that was still engraved in my forearm. Hazel deserved my tears, though. They came steady and silent, filled with sorrow and regret. Head against the tiled wall, I released a heavy breath, fighting to compose myself and trying to regain control. In just a few hours, I’d begin to make sense of everything that had happened tonight and then backtrack from there. It was the only way I’d be able to find Lucinda and determine who had killed my sister and why.
Completely spent, I dried off and headed to Thatch’s room, towel wrapped around my waist. Asleep, he seemed restful. It should give me enough time to get some shut-eye myself. I found a pair of sweatpants from his drawers and made my way back to the spare bed. After slipping them on, I crashed down on the soft mattress. It took but a moment to fall into the darkness.
I jerked awake. There was no welcome wake-up call, no hazy memory of what had taken place. Instead, the harsh reality of the morning light brought with it my cruel reality. It also brought with it an agonised “Holy shit” from next door.
Rubbing the sleep out my eyes, I didn’t have time to contemplate how many hours I’d managed. It was dawn for sure, but I could have had a full twelve hours and I’d still feel like death. Out of bed, I headed to wash up first. Yeah, Thatch was awake, but he’d have to wait a minute for me to relieve my bladder and throw some cold water on my face. Tasks complete, I stood inside his open doorway.
“How you doing over there?” The distance was deliberate. The change in a shifter could be a crazy one. It wasn’t like having a separate entity like a werewolf had. We didn’t have an independent conscience.
A low moan travelled the distance of the room before he sat up in bed. “I think I’m alive.” Thatch’s grimace looked painful. “Hurts like a mother.”
I nodded. “Care to clue me in on the direction this is going to go?”
Thatch’s gaze narrowed a little before he winced as he pressed his hand to his neck. “What?”
I edged into the room and settled on the soft winged-back chair sitting in the corner. It was comfy as hell. Too long with my butt in this seat and I could easily fall asleep, especially in my present state of mind. “Shifting 101: The Change, you studied that, right? It was a basic part of training.”
Thatch sighed, his shoulders moving with the release of breath. “Yeah,” he said with a wince. “Pain, anger, or something, right?”
I smirked, but quickly pulled it back, sure he wouldn’t appreciate me taking pleasure in the moment. “Or something.” It was then my eyes landed on his smooth, bare chest. I cast a glance around the room and found his shirt on the ground. It appeared to be torn. Looked like the strength had kicked in. Perhaps the jump in body temperature too. He wasn’t raging either, a relief since he was a big guy. When human, there was little doubt I could have taken him. Now, not so much.
The thought was appealing. Completely inappropriate for a whole list of reasons, but with the way his dark skin almost gleamed in the dawn’s light, Thatch’s body was difficult to ignore.
“What do you think you need?” I pressed on, not a hundred percent sure of protocol. This was the first time I’d had to guide someone through the change. The process wasn’t as common as human scaremongers made it out to be.
“Painkill—”
I shook my head before he had the chance to finish. “Nope. They won’t work. Well, nothing you have here anyway.” Bottom lip between my teeth, I contemplated the best course of action. He was in pain, that was certain. I ignored the pissy voice inside my head complaining that it wasn’t sex he was after. Horny shifters in the change could be relentless though, or so the stories went. The last thing I needed was to have my dick broken. Plus, I was too damn tired.
“Okay.” I nodded as an idea formed. Wide eyes met mine, almost vulnerable looking. I doubted many had seen such a look from this man before. “We need to encourage the change. Get it over with. A bit like ripping the Band-Aid off.”
“That’s your solution?” He slammed his eyes shut and pressed his hands to his head.
“The sooner we can get rid of the pain, the sooner you can breathe, and the sooner you’ll be open to Hazel’s”—a zip of agony shot through me—“memories.” That last point caught his attention. I hadn’t held back my pain. I couldn’t.
A short nod followed my words, along with a grimace as he pulled himself off the bed to stand.
“On all fours. It’ll be easier.” I remembered when it was my first time, fully aware a born shifter didn’t have it half as bad.
“How—” The sound of his back teeth grinding together made me wince.
“Eyes on me and listen to my voice, okay?”
He blinked his understanding.
“There’s not a wolf inside you ready to pounce free, okay? So there’s no freaking out, no worrying you’ll lose yourself. You are the shifter. The shifter is you. But it’s more primal, works with different senses, different… emotions.” It was the best word I could think of to describe how it worked being a shifter. “To find the magic, you don’t have to look hard. It’s in your veins, in your being. All it’s waiting for is for you to instruct it. You have to tell yourself you want to be your other self, your wolf self.”
I tugged the sweatpants down so I stood before him naked. Clothes shredded during a shift, and while he still wore some, he was in too much pain for us to worry about them. Plus, his anxiety rolled off him in waves. It was deep and layered with uncertainty.
“Have you seen a shift before?” His nod was slight but enough for me to carry on. “Good,” I continued. “So you know there’s no blood or gore, but there is reshaping. It can be uncomfortable and it can be crazy fast.” Two seconds was my record, and I was cocky about the fact that I was definitely above average.
“But your first time….” I frowned. “Sorry, Thatch, but it’s going to hurt so much you’re going to think you’re dying.” Shit, should I have said that? Perhaps this guidance gig was not my strength. I just needed to get this over with. “Okay. We good?” I clapped my hands together once and gave him a forced smile. If looks could kill, I was sure I’d be dead as a dodo right about now. “I’ll be here the whole time. Just follow my lead, watch me take form, then tell yourself to do the same.”
I willed the change to come, but this time, I deliberately slowed the whole process down. There was no point in offering a demonstration if he missed the whole transformation by blinking.
My hands went first, followed by my arms, legs. The change then spread through the rest of my body and I moved on to all fours. My view changed. I was almost eye level with Thatch. With my eyes in shifter form, I noticed the green of his even more. They shone bright and brilliant as they raked over me, the sensation caressing my skin. His scent was more pronounced and headier. I would have cleared my throat and shaken my head over my reaction had I been in human form; instead, I controlled my breathing and made sure I didn’t purr at the man. Legit, in wolf-shifter form, I could purr as effectively as a damn tabby.
My large head bobbed at him. He then looked away, and the ripple in the air surrounding his form rolled in my direction. I took in every movement, my gaze wandering the length of him to make sure he was okay. And then he screamed. He bucked. He cried out. And damn if my heart didn’t constrict. Thatch’s anguish rent the air. My hackles rose, my ears perking. I wanted to go to him, lick him, press my heat against him, do… something, anything to take the pain away. But I couldn’t. He had to go through this himself.
Thatch’s distress grew as his limbs finally began their transformation. They followed the same pattern mine had. His suffering twisted my gut. Unsure if I could take it anymore, my senses too sharp and alert, I turned human with a simple thought. The change centred me, reminded me that before long, he’d be able to do the same—a blink and a thought and he’d be golden.
I sat close beside him as a whimper escaped his newly formed mouth. The change was almost complete. One last push and he’d be finished. I wanted to cheer and encourage him, remind him of who he was. While I’d known the guy for all of five minutes, to be the head of some supersecret elite task force meant that he must be pretty badass. But I clamped down my words of encouragement. I couldn’t distract him.
With one final whimper—this one high-pitched and filled with exhaustion—Thatch’s wolf form collapsed. Unconscious, fully formed, and freaking perfect.
Now we just had to wait.
CHAPTER THREE
EVERYTHING APPEARED to be going according to plan. Thatch hadn’t wolfed out. He hadn’t tried to mount me. He was also breathing. I counted each of these things as a successful change.
He’d woken about thirty minutes earlier. Exhaustion had swirled through his eyes as he’d looked up at me, still in wolf form. I’d taken a few minutes away from him to rustle him up something to eat. The energy to change took its toll at the best of times, especially the first few shifts.
