Torn From the Shadows (19 page)

“When a shifter stays in their animal form too long, it’s hard to get back into being a human again—speech, walking on two legs, interacting with others, it’s all a struggle.” He scratched his head. “But if that’s the case, it means this kid has been living as a dog for a long while. I can spend weeks as a wolf and have no problem assimilating back into my human life, but you’re right. He seems to be struggling with everything.”

“I didn’t notice, but did he have scratches on his side?” The dog was injured while protecting me. If the boy had the scratches, it would confirm our assumptions.

Papan nodded. “They’re almost healed, but there’s no doubt he’s Freddy. Let’s wait for him in the kitchen.” He took my hand and led me upstairs.

“Are you coming, Willow?” I asked, peering over my shoulder.

“I’ll be up in a sec.” She ducked back into her bedroom.

“She’s really freaked out.” I laid my silver dagger on the tabletop.

“Uh, that’s probably not the best place to put it. Unless you’re trying to scare the hell out of that kid,” Papan said with a small grin. “Silver and shifters don’t mix.”

“You don’t seem to have a problem with me carrying this around.”

“I know how you feel about me,” he said with a wink. “Otherwise I’d be keeping my distance.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

Papan released my hand and wrapped his arms around my waist. “Yeah, you’re right.” He lowered his mouth over mine and kissed me so thoroughly I felt weak at the knees.

When we pulled away, I was breathless and a little dizzy. “Wow. You sure know how to make a girl forget all the bad things in her life.”

He squeezed my ass and whispered, “Didn’t my diversionary tactics work last night?”

A rush of heat—a combination of pleasure from our lovemaking, and guilt over my sex dream—made my heart speed up.

“I’ll be right back.” I turned away, raced back to my bedroom and stuck the dagger under my pillow. I double-checked the archive closet door was still locked, and that no noise was coming from the other side, before heading back downstairs.

My skin was flushed from Papan’s touch and kiss. So when a flash of slick brown skin filled my mind, I paused on the step. I held onto the wooden banister, squeezing it tight as a pulse of satisfaction swept through me.

“Are you okay?”

I looked up to find Papan leaning against the hallway doorway, staring at me.

“Sure.” I released the banister and plastered on a smile. “Just trying to figure this out,” I lied. “With the kid, Vixen being locked up, and everything else, we sure have a full plate.” Not to mention all of the other stuff I still hadn’t dealt with—Juliet’s death, Mace being a phantom, Henry’s untimely demise, and the Alliance order.

“I have an idea about how to deal with Vixen.” Papan pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the darkened hallway. “But you’re not going to like it. Hell,
I
don’t like it.”

I took another step down, until we were at eye level. “What is it?”

He held my gaze while running the back of his fingers over my cheek. “Fox,” he whispered.

I enjoyed his warm touch but didn’t like the somberness in his stare. His hands now cupped my face and he looked like he was about to say something. I couldn’t stop my heart from racing. I had a feeling I already knew what his plan entailed.

“Tell me.” My mouth felt dry.

“I think she’ll be better off with the pack,” he finally said, dropping his hands.

My heart stopped for a second. I opened my mouth to protest but shut it, clenching my teeth together. I wanted to tell him the only way to deal with Vixen was to kill her. She’d done so much to deserve it, but neither one of us were cold-hearted killers. I might have blood on my hands and would probably acquire more in the future, but I couldn’t kill without being provoked. Self-defense, self-preservation, collateral damage—I could deal with those, but not with killing in cold blood.

I licked my lips. “What do you mean?”

Papan finally looked me in the eye. “After we get some answers from her, I’m going to take Vixen to the Blue Mountains. I’ll introduce her to the pack. They have doctors, mentors, cages if necessary. My father made sure they were equipped to take care of our developing wolves, strays, and other shifters that might need help. Someone will be able to rehabilitate her.” He squeezed my hand. “She can become their problem, not ours.”

“So you’re just going to dump her over there?”

“Foxy…” He slid his fingertips over my skin, wrapping them gently around my arms. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” I asked, like some sort of childish fool. “Better still, call someone and have them pick her up without you having to get involved.”

“I’m already involved,” he said with a sigh. “She tried to kill you last night, and she won’t stop…especially if you’re right and she’s somehow connected to Mace.”

He’s so right, but everything about this feels so wrong.

His green eyes were shiny. “I know this isn’t what we planned, but I have to go back anyway. I need to deal with what happened to my father.”

“You’re going to honor the will and become their leader, aren’t you?” It hurt to ask the question. I hated this conversation. If I convinced him not to follow his instincts, he might grow to resent me. If I encouraged him to go, I might end up losing the man I loved more than anything in this world. What if he went to the pack, they welcomed him back with open arms and he realized he belonged with his own kind?
 

What if he chooses them over me?
 

“Fox, look at me.” He held my arms gently before letting one hand move towards my face. “I don’t want to be their leader. My life is with you—you’re my mate. I love you and that’s never going to change.” His thumb caressed my bottom lip. “I’ll be gone for a day or two, that’s all.”

“Are you sure your wolf isn’t going to decide it’s the best place for you?”

“My wolf already knows where the best place is.” He kissed me quickly. “It’s wherever you are.”

I nodded, though my heart ached. There was nothing left to say. I had to let him do this. It reminded me of that saying:
“If you love someone, set them free. If they come back they're yours; if they don't they never were.”

“So you’re okay with this?”

“Sure,” I lied. “I wish I could go with you.”

“The same thought crossed my mind, but there’s so much here for you to deal with already. And you’ve got Willow.” Papan shook his head. “I hate to leave when that bastard Mace is back in the picture, but like I said, I intend to get back ASAP.”

A cough behind him broke the moment.

Willow was standing in the doorway. “He’s in the kitchen.”

I wondered how much of our conversation she’d overheard. “Let’s go and interrogate the mysterious boy.”

Papan grabbed my hand before I could get past him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah…”
As okay as I’m ever going to be about you leaving.
“It’s the right thing to do,” I added, more for my sake than his.

We headed back into the kitchen and I sat on one of the chairs while Papan headed for the kettle. Minutes later he’d laid out a cup of tea and biscuits in front of the boy.

“The honey and lemon tea will help you talk,” he said.

I wish there was some freaky tea able to uncomplicate my life.

The teenager accepted both with a nod, keeping his gaze downcast.

Papan prepared coffee and toast for the rest of us. Willow sat across from Freddy, pretending she wasn’t looking at him every other second. The boy nibbled on a biscuit and sipped his tea.

I tried to clear my mind of everything. It didn’t work.

“Here you go.” Papan placed a hot mug of coffee in front of me.

I flashed him a smile. “Thanks.”

He laid another one in front of Willow with a wink, before placing a plate filled with buttered toast in the middle of the table. With his own mug in hand, he took the empty chair beside me and squeezed my hand under the table before reaching for a piece of toasted bread.

I wasn’t hungry, so instead I took my time sipping the coffee. The warmth helped heat my skin but did nothing for the freezing inside my stomach. For a long time I’d thought Ebony was a whiz at making coffee but Papan had surpassed her skill. At least I could take comfort in that, because a good cup of coffee could perk up any situation.

“How long before he can talk?” Willow asked, breaking the silence.

I shrugged. Any curiosity I’d had upon finding this poor boy had faded to the background of my own violin music.

“Can you tell us your name?” Papan asked, leaning forward.

The boy nodded, cleared his throat and said, “Michael.”

“So it’s not Freddy?” Willow sounded disappointed.

He shook his head. “But you can call me Freddy if you like.” He managed a lopsided grin, which Willow returned.

“That’s okay. There’s always Michael Myers.”

“Who?” The boy obviously didn’t understand horror character references. The only reason I did was because Willow had spent months drumming them into my head.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Sixteen, almost seventeen,” he said, coughing.

“Oh yeah, when’s your birthday?” Willow asked, excited.

“Halloween—”

“Really? Mine too!” It looked like she’d forgotten all about her naked-boy phobia. Now that he was clean and dressed—even if the clothes were baggy on his emaciated frame—it was obvious he was a cute kid. “I’ll be eighteen.”

“Cool,” he said, taking another sip of his tea. “Hey, this stuff really works.”

“I’m glad it’s helping, but don’t be shy—eat some toast.” Papan was looking from Willow to Michael with an amused expression.

“Yeah, looks like you might not have eaten for a while,” I added behind my mug.

He looked at me, his caramel eyes no longer filled with fear. “Willow fed me a few times, but dog food isn’t my favorite.”

I tried not to grimace, though Willow said, “Gross.”

“So, what’s your full name?” Papan asked, stretching his long legs under the kitchen table.

“Michael Dunn.” He plucked a piece of toast and polished it off almost instantly.

“Sorry I called you Freddy,” Willow said.

“That’s okay.” He shrugged, smiling a little too broadly.

“Michael, my name is Jason Papan, this is Sierra Fox, and you’ve already met Willow Moss.” Papan was in full interrogation mode and I couldn’t help but swoon because he always looked so sexy when he got like this.

“It’s great to meet all of you, and I appreciate you offering me a place to stay without knowing what I really was.” He lowered his eyes.

“What exactly are you?” I asked.

“I’m a pooka.”

“What’s that?” Willow looked as confused as I did.

I looked at Papan. A frown darkened his handsome features. “This can’t be a coincidence. I thought you smelled familiar.” Papan stood and pushed both hands through his dark blond hair. “Michael, why didn’t you shift from dog sooner? Pookas don’t need the sway of the moon. You’re like any full-blooded shifter.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

He shrank back into his chair and the cup he held slipped from his grasp, smashing on the tiled floor. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

Papan placed a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down. You don’t have to be scared anymore, but you do need to tell us what’s going on.”

What was I missing?
Pooka, dog, fear, shifting…
What did Papan already suspect?

“I should clean this up,” Michael said, pink darkening his cheeks.

“No, I’ve got it.” Willow flashed him a gentle smile on her way to the laundry downstairs. She returned with a dustpan and brush. He’d drank most of his tea so there was nothing to sweep away but the ruined cup.

The fear was back in his eyes. Whatever Michael had been through, it was enough to still affect him.
And what’s a pooka?
I was pretty sure I’d never heard of one.

Willow dumped the pieces in the trashcan and disappeared again to put the dustpan away.

“Okay, why doesn’t someone tell me what a pooka is?” I asked before the thread of this conversation went any further. “And by the way, when I first asked you about Freddy, you said he didn’t smell like a shifter. But now you’re saying he is.”

“I’d like to know too.” Willow couldn’t take her eyes off Michael as she dropped into her chair.

Papan sat, pushing the chair back enough to stretch his long legs. “Pookas aren’t like other shifters because, although they can change into a variety of animals, the type of animal is passed down from generation to generation.” He paused and the teenager nodded. “A pooka is born when they mate with a human. Whereas most shifters lose their potency if they mate outside of their kind.”

“My father’s pooka,” Michael said. “My mother’s human.”

I doubted that was what made him look as exotic as he did with olive skin, black hair and almond-shaped eyes. He was a very nice-looking boy and I suspected it had more to do with his ethnicity.