Page 41 of Shifters Reckoning

“You’ll get it back.”

How many more shifters would lose members of their family before we bested Acheron?

“I’ll return it,” I promised, biting back a rush of tears.

“You will not,” he said, “but the cause is worthy.”

Marcus arrived at midday.

The Ville Platte truck came up the track with a shifter I’d met at one of the recent conclaves. Della, Marcus’s second, was a broad-shouldered woman with a deep voice built for calling cattle across a parish. She parked the truck, climbed out, and assessed twelve bears and one multimorph with a single sweep of her gaze.

Sandy-haired Marcus opened the door, unfolded from the passenger seat on his own, and slammed the door behind him. Carefully, he moved with one hand trailing the truck’s panel line like it was a banister he was too proud to grip.

His face turned toward the clearing. His eyes pointed at nothing at all.

“Niece,” he said without leaving the side of the vehicle.

“Alleged niece.” I crossed to him, irritated that he’d called out the secret I wanted to keep under wraps. “Trying to keep that quiet, thank you.”

“Huh,” he grunted.

The bears soon found urgent business elsewhere and filtered into the forest with a tact I wouldn’t have credited to creatures the size of hay balers.

Every soul in the camp had sworn on the ancestors’ blood to keep what happened in each camp to themselves. It wasn’t the alliance Marcus feared. It was his own pride.

“You came,” I said.

“You summoned. It was a novel experience. I decided to encourage it.” He tilted his head, listening to the clearing. He clearly was mentally cataloging the creek, the bears, and the wind in the brittle leaves. “Twelve warriors. One of them slightly favors his left side. Your cornbread is almost gone, and Torbin still hasn’t bothered to install a generator behind his home. You see? I’m useful already.”

“Sure, you are,” I muttered, touching his elbow. “Please come with me. I’d rather discuss my request in private.”

Ignoring Torbin’s bear-eyed stare was easy enough as I led Marcus into the only semiprivate location in Bear Trees.

We made our halting way to the entrance of Torbin’s hollow, Marcus trailing after me. When we reached the opening, I caught his hand and placed it on the wall of the tunnel and then continued ahead of him, making small talk so he could follow my sounds. Once inside, we settled at the table in Torbin’s hollow, double-bagged Earl Grey between us since Torbin didn’t keep much coffee. At least the solar-powered kettle worked well.

Della planted herself outside the doorway like an opinionated bouncer at Vixen’s.

Up close, Marcus seemed worse than he had at the creek, thinner, the beachy, blond-brown hair pushed back carelessly. A new chain gleamed at his collar. He held his chin at the angle of a man who would rather die than be led anywhere by the elbow. Or at least like a man who expected a sucker punch.

I’d stared into hundreds of animals’ eyes in my exam rooms. Fuck me. Marcus reminded me of Sully-Boy back in Willow Creek… If Callie’s wily old barn cat had ever been blinded, it would have killed his body by murdering his soul, and I was beginning to suspect Marcus wasn’t much different.

The current Ville Platte alpha lifted his chin, his amber eyes directed over my shoulder, still focused on nothing. “Why am I here, Multimorph?”

“I need your help,” I answered. “I’m training every clan that’ll stand still for it. You earned special training by sending warriors, you know that, but I need ears better than mine and a meaner head for tactics than Torbin’s. You’ve fought Acheron’s magic from the inside of you. Nobody else alive can teach that.”

“Flattery.”

“Recruitment.”

“Mmm.” He bounced his hand over the tabletop as he hunted for his mug. When he located it, he turned the cup a slow quarter-circle and lifted it to his lips for a sip. Then he continued, “In exchange, I’ll be obliged to stay away from Ville Platte for some weeks, unable to attend to my clan, my challengers, and the many friends sharpening their false enthusiasm for my homecoming.” The smile that crossed his mouth had no humor in it, but there was obvious relief underneath.

“It might be a way to keep your alphahood until I can find a way to heal you. That counts for something.”

He grimaced, but his face cleared almost immediately. “I accept.”

“Della can manage the cat herd while you’re assisting your multimorph. The reckoning in Ville Platte can wait,” I added quietly.

“Reckonings rarely do. It’s their defining feature.” He set the tea down. “You have questions about your mother.”