Page 27 of Truthfinder’s Promise
It had been so long since Jensen had worn the human form he’d been born to that he was afraid he’d forgotten the way back to it. It happened sometimes, Shifters driven by grief or necessity into their animal form for an extended period, until eventually they forgot they’d ever been human. But though his magic resisted him at first, he held tight to the memory of being human, of having two legs instead of four, and hands that did things. The once-familiar prickle of the shift danced through his paws.
The pins and needles grew from unpleasant to painful as his fur melted, giving way to skin. Then agony replaced pain as the crunch and grind of his bones breaking and regrowing swept through his body. Time ceased to have any meaning as his body reformed, but he suspected it took longer—far longer—than it should have for him to shift.
When it was finally done he was sweaty and panting, still hunched on all fours on the tile kitchen floor. He looked up. Meredith’s eyes had gone wide, moving through the different stages of confusion, disbelief, shock, and finally fury.
Slowly and deliberately, as if afraid he might lunge for her, she backed away, her magic wrapping around her and growing dense, like a shield. She back up two feet, then four, then six.
Just as slowly, just as deliberately, he stood. She hadn’t run away screaming or thrown anything at him. Based on his experiences with people confronted with the existence of Shifters for the first time, that was a good sign. But he didn’t like the wariness in her eyes.
“Jensen?” She whispered his name, the two syllables laced with confusion and incredulity.
If he’d had more time, he would have prepared what to say to her. As it was, he didn’t know what words would put her at ease, if any could. So he went with what he’d wanted to say since he’d found her again. “Hey, darlin’.”
The strangled noise that came out of her mouth bore no resemblance to anything human or animal he’d ever heard. Considering he’d grown up in an enclave of Shifters, that was saying something. She spun to the right, grabbed the first thing within reach—a toaster, as chance would have it—and hurled it at him.
Fortunately for him, her throw was hampered by the fact that toasters were not particularly aerodynamic, and she’d neglected to pull the plug from the outlet before lodging it at his head. It was a testament to the energy she’d put into the throw that it still reached him.
He caught the toaster easily and placed it on the counter nearby. It would serve as a decent shield in the all-too-likely event she decided to throw something else at him.
He broke out his most soothing tone, the one he used on kids who had just come out of their first Shift and were wild-eyed and a little feral. “That’s a reasonable reaction. I can understand why you’d be upset. But I think if we just—”
“You can understand why I’d be upset?” she shrieked. Yes, shrieked was definitely the right word for that tone of voice. And he was willing to wager that pretty, polished Meredith had never once shrieked in her life. “You’ve been living in my house and it didn’t occur to you to try and communicate that you’re a freaking werewolf?”
She stiffened, as if her own words had made her come to some inner realization, and before he could muster a reply she said, softly, almost to herself, “Werewolves don’t exist. Everyone knows that.” She took another step back, away from him and closer to the butcher block of knives sitting on the counter. “And whatever you are, you can apparently look like anything you want. What game are you playing at? I haven’t done anything to hurt you. I helped you. I don’t fucking deserve this.”
“I’m not playing a game, Meredith. And I’m just a Shifter. Nothing else.”
She gave a low, dry laugh. “It’s convenient, how you pulled on a human skin after I mentioned missing someone. Are you a Memory Reader?” She scanned his body, as if trying to find something that would indicate he was indeed a Memory Reader—whatever that was.
“I don’t know what a Memory Reader is. I’m just Jensen.”
