Changeling Dream Page 14

  She reminded herself of the white wolf’s apparent benevolence frequently. Jillian was grateful that the massive animal had saved her life years ago, was glad to have met up with the wolf again and know that it wasn’t just a dream. But now she was, well, nervous. “It’s all fun and games until you find a wolf in your apartment,” she muttered.

  So here she was, packaging bagged samples into an envelope. Wolves and dogs were so closely related that there was less than a one percent difference in their genetic material—but there was a difference. And if the animal was a hybrid, tests existed that would show genetic input from a wolf, although not necessarily how much or when it had occurred in the animal’s family tree.

  Jillian stripped off her gloves and prepared a mailing label. The samples would go out by priority mail the next day to a lab owned by her genetics instructor from veterinary college, Ian Craddock. She’d told Craddock that the animal had turned up in her practice, and that she was naturally curious due to her interest in wolves. Plausible. Sane. At least saner than saying she’d found it in her apartment.

  The DNA tests would take about six weeks to complete. And the price of the testing would take most of her next paycheck. As much as she needed the money for other things—and her hopes of that really nice digital camera just fizzled—it was well worth it if a state-of-the-art laboratory could help her solve this puzzle. Besides, if she was going to be a lunatic, then she was at least going to do it up right.

  For now, maybe she needed a change of scenery. Birkie was planting some of her outdoor garden today—maybe she could use an extra hand. Jillian knew she’d feel a lot better just being around someone.

  Immediately her thoughts jumped to James. After the mid-hallway collision yesterday, she’d noticed that he had finally changed his clothes. That blue denim shirt looked great on him, even if it wasn’t done up. Okay, maybe especially since it wasn’t done up.

  Where had he been going last night? Why such a hurry? And why so damn rude? It was hard to conjure much indignation, however. She was too busy wondering what might have happened if they’d stood there, together, another moment or two. Because she had the oddest feeling he’d been about to kiss her.

  Something inside her did a flip-flop at the thought of kissing James. Down, girl, she chided herself. It was just plain old-fashioned physical attraction and nothing more. “He doesn’t even know me. I don’t know him. We don’t have a relationship, just a very bizarre hit-and-run acquaintanceship.” And still she wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

  “That’s enough!” Jillian pulled at her hair with both hands. “I’m not hanging around here with my raging hormones. I’m going to dig in the dirt at Birkie’s.” And if that didn’t cool her thoughts about James Macleod, she could always throw herself into Birkie’s fishpond.

  The dream had long since faded, but James couldn’t seem to wake up. Instead, he drifted slowly toward full consciousness like a diver rising in measured stages from the depths of some dark ocean. The wolf was there too, with him and part of him at the same time. Despite the strange duality, James knew he wasn’t dreaming anymore. And he found himself able to ponder the meaning of the dream. Memory. It wasn’t a dream, it was a memory. And if it was a memory, that meant he had killed Jillian’s attackers. Even though he had never taken human life before, even though it was forbidden to do so by Changeling law, he had no regrets. Not only was he certain the men would have preyed on others if left alive, the protection of another Changeling or a pack member was a higher law. Protection of a mate superseded all.

  A mate. Why did that cross his mind?

  The wolf stirred within. Mate. Mine. Ours.

  Not that again. Look, hanging around with Jillian is going to put her in danger—

  Protect her. Mate. Ours.

  Stop saying that. We need to leave her alone, do you hear me?

  Alone, danger. Together, safe. Mate. Ours.

  Goddamn it, since when do you know how to talk? I can’t believe I’m arguing with—

  James woke at last, but the wolf was gone. At least his awareness of the wolf was gone; he could no longer be certain that the damn wolf ever really left. Exasperated, he rolled over and opened his eyes—and froze as he realized two things simultaneously. One, he was in the hayloft at the animal clinic again. And two, he was human.

  He sat straight up, ran his hands over his face, his fingers through his hair. Human. No mistake. He must have Changed in his goddamn sleep, because he certainly hadn’t done it on purpose. Had the dream brought it on somehow, or had the wolf called the Change? And just how the hell had he managed to get all the way back to the North Star Animal Hospital?

  James struggled to his feet, feeling disoriented and strange, needing to get to the window and determine the time of day—of whatever the hell day it was—by the angle of the sun. He leaned a hand on the window frame to steady himself.

  It was early morning, maybe six o’clock or so at this time of year. And considering just how far he’d run as a wolf when he’d left this place, he’d lost at least one day, maybe two. But that was a minor concern compared to other things. James gulped in the fresh dew-moistened air and took stock of his impossible situation.

  Connor didn’t seem to think that wolf and human personas could separate, but for James, the evidence was indisputable. And if Birkie was correct—and he had no doubt now that she was—then his wolf side had indeed recognized Jillian, sensed her, and come to her aid in the past. And now the wolf was trying to maneuver James into complying with its current plan for survival, a plan that centered around Jillian.

  James was dead set against the idea, yet there appeared to be limits to his choices. He could control his human side. The wolf, however, had become a wild card and was becoming bolder in its determination to take the lead. If James had no control over his wolfen side, could not order it to stay away from her, then Jillian was already in danger. Sooner or later the presence of a white wolf would interfere with her life in any number of ways. And such a large creature couldn’t stay hidden forever. Eventually it would attract the attention of her fellow humans, and from there it was only a matter of time before someone either figured out the secret or sensed it. Birkie could discern a Changeling as surely as she could sense rain approaching—she couldn’t be the only person with that gift.

  Mate. Mine, the wolf had declared. But Jillian was a human woman, with human needs and wants. What if she went out on a date, what if she fell in love, what if she wanted to make a life with a human male? The thought rankled, brought a deep growl to James’s throat even though he was in human form. He feared to think of what the wolf might do in the face of direct competition.

  A mate. Even if he wanted such a thing, he didn’t deserve it. Not after what had happened to Evelyn. Weary in body, heart, and soul, James sank onto a bale and dropped his head into his hands. The crushing weight of guilt on his shoulders was as familiar as the endless litany that echoed through his mind. Should have known there was danger, should have been more alert, should never have left Evelyn alone. Should have been strong enough to walk away from her in the first place, should never have gotten involved with her. His fault, all his fault, accusing him every time his human awareness surfaced within the wolf. Small wonder that he’d lived as a wolf, hunted and howled as a wolf, lived and breathed and existed solely as a wolf.

  He wished he was in lupine form now. Being a wolf was easy. Too easy. It was certainly tempting to submerge himself beneath the wolf persona right now and not have to feel anything, think anything. Shit. Wasn’t that exactly how he got into this impossible situation? He’d buried the man deep inside the animal, so deep that now the animal was determined to take over not only his life but Jillian’s too.

  He couldn’t allow that. Nor could he allow Jillian to be harmed in any way. He had brought danger to Evelyn and their unborn child, danger and death. And he would bring the same to Jillian if he didn’t find a way to stop the wolf within. But the only way he could think
of was to remain human, and that he could not bear.

  James pounded a fist into one of the heavy bales, knocked it flying off the top of the stack. Pounded another until it burst. And another. His heart was going to explode, he was going to explode. He beat upon the heavy, hard-packed bales, dozens upon dozens of them with all his Changeling strength, until his hands were bloody and not a single bale was left unbroken. He fell to his knees in the midst of the straw and howled, a long ululation from his very soul. Howled again. And again.

  But he did not Change. He dared not. He couldn’t trust the wolf, couldn’t make it stay away from Jillian, therefore, he would not be a wolf. He would damn well walk out of this town—and her life—on two legs, if he could believe for one moment that the wolf would let things be, would give up on its quest to be near Jillian. But James knew now that wasn’t going to happen. The first time he fell asleep, the wolf was likely to take over and make its way right back here.

  Jesus Murphy. Looked like he was not only stuck with being human, but stuck with staying here.

  “Fine,” he said aloud, baring his teeth in defiance at whatever Fates insisted on screwing up his life. “If that’s what has to happen, then fine.” He felt anything but fine about it. Frustrated, pissed off, apprehensive and even—if he admitted it—pretty much scared shitless at the prospect of resuming a human life. But he wouldn’t shy away from this decision. He would protect Jillian from the wolf and from anyone or anything else too. At all costs.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Connor hadn’t been at the North Star Animal Hospital for a week. The tall vet had drafted Caroline for an annual trip to a number of small isolated communities further north. And that meant Birkie and Jillian had been running the clinic, and running, literally. Today had already included two cesareans (one cow, one dog), four pet spays (two dogs, one cat, one ferret), an overweight hamster, a snake with a skin condition, a goat with a broken leg, and a blur of vaccinations and check-ups.

  As much as Jillian enjoyed the work, was stimulated and challenged by it, the sheer volume was something she had never experienced before. She couldn’t imagine how on earth Connor had managed it on his own for such a long time. She wasn’t certain how she had managed it in his absence, but fortunately she’d continued to sleep well. She blessed Birkie’s name frequently for that. Although Jillian had been skeptical at first, the herbs seemed to be doing the trick. Even the dream catcher seemed to be working, since she couldn’t remember a single dream. She smiled at that. The dream catcher’s power probably lay in suggestion, but that was fine by her. Whatever worked.

  However, she had to admit she was certainly tired now. A headache was throbbing behind her eyes, probably because she’d had nothing but coffee since breakfast. Come to think of it, there hadn’t been any breakfast. As soon as the clock struck five, she had plans to go straight to her apartment and either eat or lie down. Maybe eat and lie down at the same time. The ancient Romans were said to have dined like that, so maybe she could too. Connor and Caroline would be back sometime tonight and would be at work in the morning. She only had to get through the rest of today. . . .

  Jillian made her way to the front reception area to ask Birkie something but what was coming through the door made her forget all about it. A very small woman with blood-spattered jeans was dragging in the largest dog Jillian had ever seen, a Great Pyrenees. The giant breed was often used to protect livestock from predators—and this one’s thick white fur was soaked and matted with blood. One of its ears was mostly torn off. Even injured, the dog looked formidable as it growled with lowered head and showed its sizable teeth.

  The woman jerked the leash as they cleared the door. “Goddammit, quit that snarling this minute.” She looked up from under a broad-brimmed hat, nodded at Birkie, then fixed bright black eyes on Jillian. “You’d be the new one. Name’s Ruby. We had a little trouble with some coyotes. Cujo’d taken care of most of them by the time I got out there with the .22, but as you can see, the coyotes got a piece or two of him.”

  Jillian directed the pair to an examination room, and Ruby hauled on the leash like she was leading a recalcitrant steer. Cujo followed his mistress but glanced back at the vet and growled all the way down the hall, in spite of the trail of bright blood he was leaving.

  “You can tell by the name that Ruby’s a die-hard Stephen King fan,” explained Birkie. “Most of the time, Cujo’s actually quite a friendly and loveable fellow. But he hates this place. Some animals just get bad associations, no matter how good we are to them. Last time he was here, he’d been in a fight with a black bear and had the skin peeled off one of his hindquarters. Connor had to roll it up like a big sock and sew it back on. Time before that, one of his feet was bitten clear through.”

  “Dog’s a real warrior then.”

  “Has to be. Ruby runs the biggest sheep operation in northern Alberta. And there’s nothing a Pyrenees won’t do to protect his flock.” Birkie stood up from her desk and straightened her pristine lavender jacket. “Connor just called to say he’s still finishing up inspections at that new bison processing plant. He’ll be back tonight, but it’ll be a good six to eight hours at the very least. Caroline’s with him of course, so there’s just you and me and Ruby. I figure if we all pile on Cujo, we might be able to get a shot into him. But it’ll have to be an elephant tranquilizer—that boy doesn’t go down easy.”

  Jillian took a deep breath and considered her options. Although she appeared old enough to be someone’s great grandmother, Ruby was clearly tough as nails. Tough enough to put a muzzle on her injured pet? Or hold it down? The heavily muscled dog had to weigh in at over 200 pounds, bigger than even a St. Bernard and certainly a lot heavier than Ruby. And although Birkie was adept at restraining small animals, throwing an arm around this beast promised to be a real rodeo.

  Jillian ran both hands through her hair and thought out loud. “I’m reluctant to give him a tranq or even a muscle relaxant. He may be on his feet, but his eyes look shocky to me, probably from blood loss. I wish we could wait for Connor, but we’ve got to stop that bleeding. Plus, that ear’s got to be stitched back together quick or we’ll lose it,” she said. “And if Cujo hasn’t eaten us by then, every one of those bite wounds will have to be washed out and sewn up, or there’ll be infection from hell.”

  She grabbed a large muzzle and walked quickly down the hall—sideways to avoid the blood—and entered the surgery. Ruby had both hands on the dog’s collar and was trying to pull him into a sitting position, but he snarled and lunged at the vet the moment she appeared. The massive jaws snapped shut with a chilling ring, as Ruby swore like a construction worker and muscled the animal back a couple steps. He twisted free and ran to the other side of the steel table, where he crouched behind a chair, dwarfing it. There he continued to bare his teeth and growl, even at his owner.

  “Just leave him be, Ruby. Move back away from him for now. He’s in pain and he’s pretty scared, plus I think he’s in shock. Sometimes injured animals will lash out at their owners without meaning to. Birkie. . . .” Jillian knew the receptionist was close behind her. “I don’t want you to come in here right now.” Knowing her only hope lay in gaining the animal’s cooperation, she stood still and spoke quietly to the dog. “Hey Cujo, you’re not very happy to be here, and I don’t blame you a bit. But you need a little help, so we’re going to see what we can do for you.” Slowly she began to move, intending to try to restrain the animal herself, when suddenly a tall, broad-shouldered man pushed roughly past her. For a moment she thought it was Connor—and then her brain registered the blond hair. “Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  He shushed her with a backward wave. All his attention was on the dog. He didn’t communicate with four-legged creatures in quite the same way as his brother—Connor could have whole conversations with animals if he wanted to—but James’s Changeling abilities could easily quiet a dog, even a monster like this one. A few murmured words and a light touch was all it took be
fore Cujo’s lips relaxed back over his teeth, and the growling ceased. A muzzle was no longer necessary, but James knew the humans in the room would feel a whole lot better with one in place. Quickly he took a roll of heavy gauze from the wall and tethered the threatening jaws with a simple but effective figure eight, then lifted the dog to the stainless steel table. “Atta boy,” whispered James and lightly placed a powerful hand on the animal’s thick neck while sending soothing thoughts. Cujo lay quietly on the table as Jillian approached, remained still while she tended to the injured ear. Ruby talked incessantly about the sheep market while her dog was stitched up, but James paid little attention to the monologue. He was too busy wondering why Jillian was so angry. Fury radiated from her in waves.

  In fact, Dr. Jillian Descharme didn’t say a single word to him. Not until she was done, her patient was on his way home with his owner, and Birkie had left the building.

  “Okay, what the hell did you think you were doing?” Her sea green eyes were bright with indignation as she wiped down the table with antibacterial spray. “I don’t need untrained people jumping into dangerous situations like that.”

  James went over to the sink and washed his hands, even though they really didn’t need it. Every movement was calm and deliberate, not just because he had to remember how to do this task—and the water felt strange, almost ticklish on his human skin—but because he was trying to measure out how to respond to Jillian when he didn’t have a clue what the problem was. “Exactly right, doc. It was a very dangerous situation. The owner was in danger, and your receptionist. And so were you.”