Shifters of Grrr 1 (88 page)

Chapter 7: Brett

The fine autumn mist had slowly turned into drizzle and Brett finally brought himself to switch on the windshield wipers, putting a momentary stop to the endless train of thoughts that had plagued him ever since the door had shut closed behind Simone's back the previous day. Fine enough to walk and drive by the morning, he had jumped out of bed and headed straight for the garage, picking the most obscure of his luxury automobiles. He wasn't looking to show off or enjoy a ride, but rather to blend in with the greyness of the overcast, gloomy early morning. It had taken him some time to reach Simone's neighborhood, since she lived in a residential part of town he'd rarely, if ever, visited, and when he finally picked out the right address, he was glad it turned out to be a tiny house, rather than a large apartment building.
 

He simply had to see her and talk to her. There were only two days left now and if he didn't find a way to talk to her and reveal how he really felt about her, he'd be forced into a loveless marriage with the full knowledge that his true mate existed somewhere out there, trapped in an unsafe relationship of her own. Was he mistaken about the chemistry he'd felt they shared? Of course, from what little he knew about human women, he suspected she'd never let herself reveal her attraction to him. First, she'd barely met him, and second, she was engaged. Yes, the fiancé. The man who had dared to hurt her. He only hoped he didn't ever come face to face with him or he'd have to work very hard against his inborn instinct to kill those threatening the ones he loved.
 

Brett didn't mind the wait. He'd decided to stay parked across the street from Simone's door as long as it took. He'd wait all day if he had to for the chance to see her throwing out the trash or running an errand. There was no use in calling her. He didn't have her personal number and by calling the landline he only risked getting her into more trouble, or worse, getting through, hearing her voice, and then the flat line. No, he had to see her in person. He had to make her listen to him. Perhaps if he waited long enough, her fiancé might leave for work and he could even work up the courage to walk up to her door.
 

Nothing happened for a while. The curtains stayed drawn, the door tightly shut, the lights out. It was too early and he didn't harbor much hope that the next few hours would offer anything more exciting, but the truth was, he couldn't stay in bed or roam his vast house, waiting for the clock to tick away the minutes.
 

Then suddenly, he was jolted into full attention as a thin dark crack appeared in the front door and slowly grew wider and wider. Brett squinted and waited for the wipers to clean the fresh spray of tiny raindrops. This wasn't a normal way to open a door, allowing only parts of an inch at a time and then stopping. Who did that? Brett felt his body tense up and his ears strain to hear past the swish of the sparse morning traffic and the general vague hum of the city. Gradually, a foot appeared at the bottom of the crack and soon it was followed by a knee. Finally, the torso of a tall, well-built man appeared sideways and slipped out without ever fully opening the door as if he was trying to prevent the noise of a squeaking hinge.
 

This was too odd. If this was her fiancé (and from what Brett knew, the two of them lived alone, so it couldn’t have been anyone else), he was certainly up to something. Sneaking out of the house at such an early hour and in such a stealthy manner could only mean one thing. Simone must be asleep and her fiancé definitely wanted her to stay that way, so he could leave unnoticed on some shady business. Or else, he was the most considerate partner ever trying not to wake the love of his life, which Brett knew already, he hardly was.
 

Once on the street, the man quickly pulled up the hood of a windbreaker and hurried off. Brett knew he had to make a decision. On the one hand, leaving his spot might end up costing him the only opportunity to see Simone alone, but on the other, the man he had resented with the passion of a life-long rival was clearly up to something. Even if he stayed, he wouldn't go knocking on Simone's door that early, so he made up his mind and turned on the ignition. The engine purred into life right when the man jumped inside an old, battered Ford and drove off.
 

Brett was an excellent driver, his bear instincts far superior to those of any human on the road, though driving wasn't naturally in character for a bear shifter. He'd had to learn the skill before he'd been sent off to the city though and he'd found it a rather thrilling experience. It only came to his service now that he had to follow the fiancé through the still empty streets and avoid his detection. He didn't even try to figure out the convoluted route the driver in front of him was taking and simply followed him at a safe distance until he realized they were heading for the outskirts of town.
 

Eventually, the Ford swerved in front of the gates of the most unlikely place to visit this early in the morning. The cemetery. As Brett was parking his own car a bit further away in the almost empty parking lot, he wondered why anyone would employ such a sneaky scheme to leave home unnoticed only to go to the cemetery. He couldn't allow himself to dig too deeply into his analysis, since his interest was now piqued and he had to find a way to trail the man among the gravestones. He thought about shifting into his bear, but he'd only be wasting his slowly harnessed energy to no good effect, since the low headstones hardly provided much coverage for a massive bear form. No, he would be much less suspicious as a human.
 

Feeling a tiny tinge of guilt, he grabbed a bunch of calla lilies that lay over a freshly covered grave and sticking on a mournful expression, he started navigating the complex system of paths and aisles, never leaving his target out of earshot. He didn't need to see him as long as he heard his footsteps over the slick wet autumn leaves, so he walked in the opposite direction to avoid suspicion. When the man finally seemed to have reached his destination, Brett stopped in front of a tall ornate headstone and crouched down, pretending to fuss with the flowers. The man was quite a distance away for him, and to Brett's surprise, apparently judging that no one could possibly hear him, he started speaking quietly. Brett pulled all of his strength together to discern the mumbled words coming from way behind his back and soon he fell into a trance-like state, the voice of the man ringing clearly in his ears.

"...I'm sorry I haven't visited in a while," the man said, "There was nothing new to report, really. Well, yes, there was switching off her alarm clock the morning of her exam, but that’s minor. I guess I'm slacking off. How is it that when I first decided to go on with the plan I had so much courage and so much will and now I seem to have been putting it off for all this time. I snapped though. Yesterday." He paused for a while as if remembering the incident he was no doubt referring to, then he looked around for something to sit on. It looked like he planned to stay a while and Brett wondered who could possibly lie buried in that grave. Finally, the man wiped off the wet dirt off a round stray rock to the best of his abilities and sat down.
 

"I snapped and I wasn't supposed to. I saw her scared for the first time and she didn't even sleep in the bed last night. It's time. If I keep going on like this, she'll suspect and the plan is over. It's so hard," he sighed, "I can't even look at her, let alone touch her. This piece of lard," he said and spat.
 

Brett felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. He couldn't
physically
stand the nasty insult. Simone was gorgeous and he felt the vicious words sting him as if they'd been directed at him. The only thing that stopped him from jumping over and tackling the abuser to the ground was his desire to learn more. What the hell was this plan he was talking about? He only hoped that the man would spit it out for him before he'd completely lost his control.
 

"I can't even look at her," the man continued in disgust, "I can't wait for all of this to be over and I think today is a good a day as any or she might finally get the clue that she's just a stupid pawn and everything I've been through will be for nothing. Don't worry. Than bitch will get exactly what she dealt you, mom."

Simone's fiancé finally rose and after running his hand gently over the gravestone, he turned to leave.
 

Brett was hardly breathing and his mind was working frantically, putting the pieces together. Mom? So, he'd lost his mother and Simone was somehow responsible for her death. If the mother was dead, the only possible fate awaiting his mate, as the man had declared at the end, was murder. But then why did he mention Simone was just a pawn, Brett wondered, and the memory suddenly hit him. Simone had said her own mother had lost her job as a nurse due to a mistake. She'd given the wrong medicine to a woman who'd lost her life. The dead woman was Simone's fiancé’s mother.
 

He felt his whole body buzz with an energy he'd never known he possessed and a rage, so consuming that he felt his skin start to rip and snap as the infuriated bear in him prepared to emerge. His glowering eyes were fixed on the back of the retreating man and his only thought was that he had to stop him. He'd reach him in a few long strides and he'd make him sorry he ever uttered all those hateful words.

The transformation had already began and just then, in a moment that seemed to stretch infinitely, Brett noticed the procession. A large group of people started filing into the central path, following a solemn-looking priest and a coffin. His target skirted past them and in an instant he was lost amid the sea of black veils, suits and umbrellas.
 

Brett barely managed to react in time and switch back to human before he was within their sight. He cursed loudly and throwing the calla lilies disrespectfully on the stranger's grave, he ran after the man, once again not allowing himself to feel guilty.
 

It took him a while to pass through the thickening crowd of mourners and by the time he reached the parking lot, the battered old Ford had vanished.
 

Chapter 8: Simone

"What's the hurry," Simone shouted while pulling her hat down from the top shelf in the hallway dresser. Charles was already out the door and had stuck a foot inside to prevent it from closing after him. Simone hated rushing, but rushing early in the morning of the first day of a miserable life ahead and out into the pouring rain was even more intolerable. All she'd wanted was to stay in bed and allow herself at least a day of doing nothing, thinking nothing, standing still and ignoring life.
 

Of course, she couldn't say no after the heartfelt speech Charles had treated her to in the morning. He'd been the definition of remorse. She'd never seen him like that and she was touched. The long night she'd spent tossing and turning on the uncomfortable sofa, bumping her knees and ankles into its various hard surfaces, had made her consider what life would be like without her Charlie. He was the only thing left in her future, the only stable and good thing. And what of the little incident? It happens. Couples fight. She couldn't let a single slip-up erase all the good years they'd had together. And perhaps she'd brought it on herself after all. She'd been spending her days in the home of a virtual stranger and a wealthy, attractive man at that, and she had allowed herself to flirt and think about him more than an engaged woman should. Of course Charlie would snap. What man wouldn't be jealous in the same situation? If anything, it only proved how much he cared about her.
 

She had already decided to forgive him by the time she finally fell into a fitful sleep, but his words this morning had only reassured her she was doing the right thing. When he'd suggested going out for a celebratory special breakfast, she'd taken it as the grand gesture. The make-up move.
 

The soft light and the warm, pastel-colored interior of the café provided a welcome escape from the gloom and chill of the pouring rain outside. Simone and Charles were seated in the privacy of a corner booth and two cups of steaming tea were already warming their numb fingers. The smell of wet leather and cloth mixed with the tantalizing scents of freshly baked bread and cakes wafting in from the kitchen and the swishing noises of the traffic making its way through the puddles was drowned by soothing ethnic music. Simone was glad she'd agreed to the breakfast. The place looked like a French postcard of a quaint boulangerie and she let herself enjoy the smells and sounds around her, gradually growing warmer and calmer.
 

Charles seemed a bit on edge, hasting through the order without paying much attention to the menu and constantly fidgeting in his seat.
 

"What's the matter, honey?" Simone finally asked, a tad irritated that he didn't seem to share her excitement about the pleasant atmosphere.

"Oh, nothing, just a bit hungry," he confessed and she relaxed back in her seat, taking another look at the list of baked goods, which came with mouth-watering pictures and made it that much harder to choose from.
 

She didn't feel much like talking. They seem to have exhausted the topic with Charles' speech and the long talk that had followed, and now she just wanted to enjoy their togetherness, the tea and the sweet, crunchy tarts that soon arrived on their table. Her fiancé still didn't seem too relaxed, even after quickly swallowing a couple of buttermilk berry muffins. Something was definitely on his mind and reluctantly, she broke the heavy silence again, feeling obliged to tease it out of him.