Shifter (23 page)

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she says, handing me the remote as I walk around her bed and lie down beside her. I don’t crawl under the covers with her. I want to, but I don’t think it will be appropriate. “Put it on whatever you want.”

“Abby, I want you to know that I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me.”

“It’s all part of the engrained southern hospitality that runs through my veins,” she says in a near perfect southern belle tone.

“I don’t think so. I don’t know of another person who would put up with all this.”

“Oh, there are others out there who would. We are few and far between, but we are out there.”

I stop on the Syfy channel to watch some B rated alien movie as I settle myself back in the bed, knowing it is her favorite channel.

I don’t have a clue as to what movie I am watching; I’m too busy watching her out of the corner of my eye. I can’t believe she invited me to lay in the bed with her and watch a movie. I’m betting she only did it because she was too tired to think about what she was saying.

She rolls over onto her side facing me and her leg slides against mine. A blaze of heat runs up my body at the feel of her. Her bed is only a full; therefore, in her position it is impossible for her to not touch me. My need for her grows as I lay there. It takes all of my self-control not to touch her until I know she was asleep. Only then do I settle myself alongside her. Our bodies barely touching.

I reach out a hand and move her hair behind her ear in order to see her face better. Anger builds in me as I watch how peaceful she is when she sleeps. I haven’t seen her this at ease in days. I am the cause of all of her anxiety. I need to get out from under this curse soon, so that she can go back to her life.

-----

Weeks have passed and most of my shifts have come at night or in very short bursts of time. I wouldn’t let Abby call Sam until I knew I was going to stay human for a long period of time. There is no point in calling her to come if I am just going to change back into a cat as soon as she gets here, I keep telling everyone. My family is growing anxious and impatient, but they understand why I am putting things off. What they don’t know is that I’ve been procrastinating that way I can get to know Abby better.

Abby’s sister is also beginning to notice a change in her behavior. She’s been able to dodge her sister’s questioning and pushing, but she’s going to have to tell her something soon. She is sleeping in later, because she insists that I wake her whenever I shift. I don’t know if she just doesn’t like the idea of some stranger wandering around her house without her or if she doesn’t want me to be alone, not that I am alone. Devan pops in sometimes, and we have our telepathy link, which is steadily growing stronger. I prefer it when she is up though. We spend most nights talking and watching television. She asks a lot of questions about being a shifter and the supernatural world.

I thought she was going to fall out of the bed when I told her how old I am. I’m technically two hundred and forty years old. Shifters aren’t immortal or anything we just age slowly after puberty. I kind of wish I hadn’t told her my age. Every once in a while she throws out old man jokes that are only slightly annoying but that she thinks are hilarious. When she throws them at Devon, they are hilarious.

There’s been no sign of Mave. However, I’m sure she knows that I’m spending more and more time human. I keep looking for her to show up but she never does. Devan says she is still M.I.A on their end. Sam’s old coven is doing what they can, but they can’t do too much until she talks to me.

Chapter 21

~~~Abby~~~

I’m getting way too used to Dimitri being here. I’m letting my guard down too much. I’ve purposely fallen asleep before sending him to the sofa, so that I can sleep in the same bed with him at least for a little while.

If he isn’t in cat form when I wake, he is on the air mattress in the living room. A time or two I’ve started to tell him that he didn’t have to sleep there anymore, but I’m afraid that he will insist on sleeping in there because he doesn’t want to sleep with me.

The only reason we end up in my bed most nights is because my bedroom is where the larger flat screen and Blue-ray player are. Before he arrived, I spent most of my television viewing time in the bedroom.

I am enjoying having him here, to tell the truth. The only problem is that Carrie knows I have a secret. I hate not telling her about Dimitri. She keeps popping up at the house at random times trying to catch me doing something. Luckily, most of those times Dimitri has been in cat form. On the two or three times he hasn’t, he hid himself from her. His ability to shift himself from room to room in a blink of an eye helps with this. I get a kick out this when she has had the kids with her. She sends them off into different parts of the house, looking for him. I’ve found him hiding in the strangest, smallest places. He growls that sexy growl at me when I find him curled in a ball under my bed or the hall closet. I have to laugh, which makes things worse.

The last time I found him, he was in the corner of the basement hiding behind all of my Christmas decorations. He was sweaty, dusty, and fuming. I promised him then I would do my best to dissuade her from coming over for a while.

In fact, Carrie and I are having another long phone conversation about my secret at this moment. “Come on Abby; just admit you’ve met a guy. Doug down at the grocery says you’ve been buying beer and more meats than you ever have. I know you aren’t a vegan or anything, but you’ve never been one to eat a lot of meat, and when you do it’s always chicken not beef,” Carrie says a bit harshly.

“I’m trying out some new recipes. You know, broadening my horizons,” I say even though I know she isn’t buying it.

“And the beer?”

“I don’t know. I’ve felt the need to drink lately. My life’s been so disappointing,” I say, trying to sound a little down but not suicidal.

“That’s no excuse to drink.”

“I know, and if you ask Doug, he’ll tell you that I’m only buying a six-pack at a time, and it takes me days to drink it. Carrie, I know you’re worried about me, but I’m fine. Really.”

“Where are you at? Why don’t you come over for a while?” she asks.

“I’ve just pulled up in my driveway. Why don’t I come over Saturday to see the kids? You do have them this weekend, don’t you?” My sister only has one ex-husband, but he gets the kids so randomly and when he doesn’t have them his parents do, so I never know which weekends she has them and which she doesn’t unless she tells me she is going to have them.

“Of course. You really think that S.O.B would get them when he isn’t court ordered to? But why can’t you come now?” The plea in her voice is prominent. She thinks if she gets me to herself, she can annoy me to the point that I tell her, and she is probably right.

“Because I’m tired. I’ve been running errands all day, and I haven’t worked out today.”

“You look fine. You can forgo that thing for one day,” she says pleadingly.

“Yes, and that one day will turn into two and two will turn to four and before you know it I’m the Goodyear blimp all over again.”

“You were never the Goodyear blimp.”

I grunt in contradiction.

“Fine. Whatever. Do what you want.”

“Don’t be a spoiled brat,” I chide, feeling her revert to her annoying, whiny, sixteen year old self.

“All right. Love you. Call me later.”

“Love you, too. And I will,” I say, hanging up the phone. Normally, I don’t condone talking on the phone while driving, but when she called just as I was turning onto my street, I put her on speaker, which annoys her because she can’t hear me very well. It was her fault. She kept calling and calling, so finally, I answered.

I get out of the car and am about to pop the trunk to get my bags out when I remember that I had passed right by my mailbox. I hardly ever get any real mail at my home, but a small O.C.D part of me never lets me go in the house without checking it.

“Hi there,” a male voice calls from behind me as I am opening the door to my box. I spin around to see a scraggly looking man in his mid-thirties crossing the road toward me.

“Can I help you?” I ask wearily.

“Are you Abby Sinclair?” he asks, as if he knows that it is my name. I instantly dislike the tone of his voice—a tone that suggests something bad is about to happen to me.

“Who’s asking?”

“I am,” he says, smiling and showing his canines. He probably thinks I don’t know about weres and don’t know that his teeth are a dead giveaway as to what he is.

“And you are?” I ask, fisting the wad of junk mail.

“A friend of a friend so to speak.”

“Sorry, I’m not Abby, but I will give her a message if you want to leave one.” I close the mailbox and take a step back away from the box, the road, and the unknown man.

“You’re getting Abby’s mail,” he says, looking at the address number on the box.

“I didn’t say I didn’t know her. I said I wasn’t her.”

He inches his way closer to me as I inch my way back up my drive.

“That’s enough. I’m not playing this game with you. We both know who you are,” he snaps.

Chapter 22

~~~Dimitri~~~

“Abby... Abby...run,” I try to scream at her, but it is obvious she can’t hear me, and she doesn’t move. I knew the man for what he was the moment he stepped onto the pavement from the other side of the road. His scent is mild, but unmistakable. If I hadn’t been in the window watching, waiting for her to return, I wouldn’t have noticed or smelled him.

What is a were doing here? What does he want with Abby? I can do nothing but watch her turn to the man, then gradually step away from him. Good girl. He can’t come into the house. At least I don’t think he can, so come inside. I’ll get the rest of your things later.

My body begins to tremble lightly, as she moves further and further up the drive with the were close on her heals. “Come on. Come on. Shift already,” I beg my body.

The instant I see the were leap at her, I fall off the edge of the window and shift into my human form. I don’t see her make a run for the door, but instinctively, as I rise to my human legs, I use my powers to unlock and open the door slightly so that she will not have to stop for her keys.

I am at the door when she wrenches it the rest of the way open and stumbles inside, tears rolling down her cheeks. I sling her behind me and come eye to eye with the were. He grins a mouth full of razor sharp teeth and runs off.

Slamming the door, I spin to catch Abby as she slides to the ground. At first, I think she has fainted.

“I’m fine. My legs just feel like Jell-O,” she says apologetically.

“You’re in shock.” I all but carry her to the sofa before going into the kitchen to get her something to drink. 

When I come back, I find her looking deeply through the fingers of a bloody hand.

“I think he scratched me.” The words come out of her in a tremble. I set the drink down on the table and take the hand from her to examine it, but see nothing but the blood.

“It’s not my hand. It’s my arm.” She holds out her other arm to show me a long gash that runs down her forearm.

“You’re going to need stitches.” I mentally call for my mother, our in-house nurse, to come with medical supplies. “You’re going to be fine. How did he do this?”

“I don’t know. He told me he knew who I was. Whom I was keeping in my house. Told me that I couldn’t hide you forever. That she was going to kill you one way or another. He said I didn’t have to die, but I would if I kept you away from her. Then he started to hit on me, but not in a normal way. He kept eyeing me, telling me he might ask for me as a consolation prize for bringing you back to her. There was something about land in there also. I sort of tuned him out and pretended not to know what he was talking about.

“I was so scared. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t brave. I didn’t talk shit like they do in the movies. I just ran, and he grabbed for me. I...” She begins to cry, and I pull her into my arms. Despite the fact that she has blood on both arms, and I can feel her smearing it onto my back, I relish in the feel of her arms around me.

“I won’t give you to her,” she sobs. “I promise. I’ll fight next time.”

“No, you won’t,” I argue, pulling away from her and cupping her face in my hands. “I’m glad you didn’t this time.”

“But if I had fought, he wouldn’t have seen you. If I’d been brave or smart, I would have gone to the car or a neighbor’s house, and he would have never seen you.”

“You did fine. But you’re not going out alone ever again.”

“Maybe you should go home. I’m just a stupid human. I can’t protect you, even with the charms everywhere.”

“I’m not going anywhere. And I’m definitely not leaving you alone.”

“But...”

“No buts. Even if I’m gone, she’ll come after you.”

“But he said she didn’t want me.”