One True Mate 7_Shifter's Paradox Page 2

  Six one true mates had been found, one of them Willow, who was fated to Bruin, who was a bear. Four more had been fated to wolven, all cops, all KSRT, Khain Special Response Team. You couldn’t be a cop unless you were wolven, and you couldn’t be a KSRT team member without a prophecy. Then one more mate, Heather, had been fated to Graeme, the dragen.

  Harlan slid into the booth and threw a handful of Burton’s crudités in his mouth. Fucking vegetables. Fuck he hated vegetables. Which explained why he was eating them on this shitty day, maybe? Why the fuck not, right? Get out of his groove, shake shit up, eat a fucking carrot and see what happens. He’d go vegetarian if that would get him into a fight with someone. No, not vegetarian, he’d go Vegan. You hear that Rhen? Light? I will stop eating animal products, meat and eggs and milk and fucking cheese if you just make something happen today. Something interesting. Something dangerous. Something I can dive into headfirst. Forget it all…

  “One true mates, Burton,” he mused softly, crushing a second carrot stick in his palm with his fingers and dropping the mush onto the table. Orange smear on his palm. Yuck. Food should not be orange. He wiped his hand on the tablecloth that normally did not grace this simple wooden table. “Who else is meeting their mate soon? Do you know?” He spoke idly, but you never knew what Burton was going to say. He shouldn’t be encouraging Burton but the fucking carrot was sitting in his stomach like a piece of orange plastic and throwing him off. Oh, and today was a day for opposites, remember? Today was shake-shit-up day. Do what you normally would not do. So let’s ask stupid questions of the most powerful Citlali we have, the one whose been bat-shit crazy since his adoptive daughter died with all the rest of them, and see what he says. Why not?

  Harlan slumped in the booth. What a fucking life. Eating carrots for kicks. Maybe he should work patrol today. Keep busy, at least. But he couldn’t. He had duty out at VF later, which was what Rogue and Mac called Trevor’s farm, where all the other KSRT males who had found mates so far had moved to, even Bruin and Willow, even though Bruin was a bear and he and his mate would be traveling for months.

  So who else was still getting a one true mate? Not him, no, his mate was dead and he didn’t want another. Jaggar, yes. The beast was getting a mate for sure. The Beast Anchors Time. A voice in his mind scolded him, trying to make him face his own prophecy, but that was pointless. Who else? Canyon and Timber? Maybe? Sebastian? No way any female was gonna see anything redeemable in that sour ass. Fate would have to make her blind and deaf and maybe stupid. Any patrol officers? Maybe. Blake. Trent and Troy? No, not possible. More bearen? Maybe. They were strong fighters when you could get them to fight. Pacifists, most of them, which was unfortunate because they were massive and powerful. Most of them had to be talked into it, amped up for it. Like, it was hard to stoke a bear’s bloodlust, maybe cuz they were so damn massive, it took them a bit to get going, but once you managed? Watch out. Bruin was the exception. But no one had to stoke his bloodlust. He just got it. He knew sometimes fighting was all you had left. Felen? The slinky big cats who didn’t seem to care if they mated with humans? The ones who oozed sexuality with every slide of their body, even the males. How would that work? Foxen? No way. Never happen. Foxen were the bad guys, some people thought.

  It had been almost a year since Trevor, the leader of the KSRT and the first shiften to find his one true mate had met Ella. Their young had just been born. Twins, Track and Treena, born conjoined at the torso, but separated, and both were healthy. That was enough to thaw even a first class grump like Harlan. Young. There were young again. The wolven would not die out. Even if he had no future, there was a future to be had. He could drive on, keep working, for the young.

  Burton didn’t answer Harlan’s question. He set the table with the good china, his ma’s china, ignoring Harlan’s moodiness. He was probably used to it.

  Harlan heaved to his feet to help him with a sigh. He loved Burton like his very own father, and he would never give up on him. “Jaggar is taking them to the airport now, Bruin and Willow. They are going to head over to the West coast and then—”

  Burton dug in his mental feet, his tone like that of a child. “Jaggar is coming.”

  “Not for a while he’s not.”

  A police vehicle drove past the window to the red cabin in the acre of the property, Canyon driving. He would not come for the “anniversary party,” avoided it every year, but he would come by later for poker, which Harlan could not stay for. As soon as Jaggar got back from airport chauffeur duty, they would head out to VF.

  Harlan didn’t know what VF stood for. Something stupid probably, like Victory Farm or something. Rogue, Mac’s mate, was ok, tough and smart and deadly, but when she was around Mac, she was as annoying as he was. Loud and brash and didn’t give a fuck if she hurt your feelings or not. Harlan’s feelings were unhurtable, at least on the outside, hardy har, but not everybody’s were. He thought of Beckett’s mate, Cerise, so innocent and sweet, and Willow too, but Willow and Rogue were best friends already, and Cerise was toughening up, and fascinated with Rogue. Followed her around like Rogue was giving badass lessons and Cerise had a closet full of leathers just waiting to be worn. Rogue probably had her out in the forest smoking cigarettes and swearing.

  The police vehicle pulled into the hidden driveway that would take it to the little red cabin in the back. Another vehicle pulled into the driveway, a dark jeep. Wade and Lorna. “Burton,” Harlan scolded. “Wade should not be here. There’s a million things going on right now. He should be at the hospital with the young, or at the cabin with Heather and Graeme.”

  Burton shushed him. “Don’t worry. Wade is just coming for a second. To drop something off, then he’ll get back to Crew. Lorna is staying for poker.”

  “Burton, Crew’s an adult now. He’s fine. He doesn’t talk to Khain anymore, remember? That all happened a long time ago. Now Wade has to get back to Track and Treena.”

  Burton’s smile slipped just a bit. “Oh, that’s right. Track and Treena.”

  Kalista pulled in the driveway in her little sports car. Harlan was glad Jaggar wasn’t there. She wouldn’t stay for long, she never did, but she was as old guard as they came, wolven or not. She was a felen, a mountain lion, or a catamount as they called themselves, and the leader of the Pumaii.

  Burton bustled off to grab something from another portion of the house. From the record room, he shouted something. Harlan couldn’t quite hear him. Had he said the name Evie? Please no, don’t let it be one of those days. He couldn’t talk about Evie today.

  The doorbell rang. Harlan went to it, opened it. Speak of the wolf, Crew was there. Had he come in with Wade and Lorna? He handed Harlan something. A box. Harlan took it. Tossed it on the couch. He’d give it back to Crew for next year, later when Burton couldn’t see. “Sorry,” he told Crew. “I didn’t think he was going to do it this year.”

  Crew pushed his way inside. “No worries. We’re all used to it.”

  The Old Guard, the ones who had known Burton Risson as a strong and competent leader, they were used to it. There weren’t many of them left.

  Crew gave him a report. “Dahlia’s with Heather who is still laboring hard, but Remington says it’s today. She’s constricted or something. I’ll explain to Burton that we might have to leave quickly.”

  Crew headed off to find Burton. Maybe they would end up on the range till cake time, maybe not. Burton was only allowed on the range with someone else, and Crew was his favorite. Something about him soothed Burton.

  The smell of chocolate reached him. Burton made a cake every year on the anniversary of his and Evie’s mating. Every year it was chocolate with white frosting. Burton used to buy the cakes from the store, but after year fifteen or so, he started making them himself. The “Congratulations, Harlan and Evie,” in pink and black piped icing was in his handwriting, and it didn’t make Harlan cry at all last year.

  Kalista climbed the porch steps and arrived at the door, all dappled hair and slinky bod
y suit and high heels. Her uniform. Harlan gave her a hug. “Burton’s in the record room.” She nodded and looked around. “Jaggar’s not here. He’ll be back soon.”

  “I can’t stay long,” she purred. Literally purred. Yuck. Not his thing. He liked his females rough and tumble and straightforward, not slinky and purring. Kalista headed into the house to find Burton.

  Harlan left the door open, heading toward the kitchen. His room was on this main floor, and so was Burton’s. Evie had commandeered the entire top floor when she’d lived there, and neither one of them had been able to take her things down yet. A glance up the stairs afforded him a peek at the entrance to her room. He looked away quickly, back to the kitchen. He walked in and sat down, and waited for someone to tell him what to do. For someone to give him a mission. He was still a soldier, still functioned best when he had a job to do. The sitting around was the worst. That was when he would see the little places where the past touched today, where the younger Evie reached through time and patted his face softly, promising a younger him someday, they would share a few hours of stolen sweetness. His Evie had never been known for her sweetness, but she could be sweet with Harlan.

  And little girl Evie, he could see proof of her, too. Like in the painting of the little fairy girl on the wall, with the flower hat, balancing on the drop of dew on a spider web, her delicate feet not breaking the surface of the tear-shaped drop. Evie had stolen it from a local gallery when she’d been five, giving it to Burton for his birthday, wrapped in paper she’d colored herself. He’d made her take it back, so she’d earned the money with a sly lemonade stand and bought it for him for $91 a month and a half later.

  How he could stand to live in this house, he didn’t know. Evie peeked at him from everywhere.

  Laughter from the back room hit him hard. Life just kept pushing forward, and that was the part that hurt the most if you let yourself think about it. That you could lose the person who was the most important to you in all of eternity, and life would just keep pushing forward, making your hair go gray and your mind go stiff and sweeping your memories out one at a time, the oldest ones first, but still the old hurt would be there, and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it but feel it. He wasn’t good at that feeling shit. So the pain poked at him daily.

  Lorna and Wade showed up at the front door. Wade eyed him warily. Lorna gave him a pitying smile.

  Harlan kept his eyes still with effort. The carrot had told him no eye-rolling was allowed once you were over 50 years old. Your eye tendons were too creaky and would freeze that way or something. “It’s been 29 years. I’ll make it, I swear,” he said and stalked away. They were family, he didn’t have to show them in. He didn’t even have to fake a smile.

  “Burton is in the record room,” he told them. This was all for Burton. It certainly wasn’t for Harlan. He would rather forget this day ever even existed. He headed into the kitchen for some cake to wash down that carrot with.

  Burton came out of the record room, followed by Crew and Kalista. Kalista was already saying her goodbyes. She waved to Harlan, said hi to Wade and Lorna who had come into the kitchen, then she was gone. Harlan listened with one ear only. Burton came into the kitchen, peering around the room. “Where’s Evie?” he said.

  Harlan’s chest seized. Lorna took Burton’s arm. “Burton, don’t you remember, Evie died. Almost thirty years ago, you remember, right?”

  Harlan dropped into the booth. Shit. The carrot was a little fucking orange liar. This was the same old shit, different day. Crew slipped into the booth across from him and shot him a commiserative glance. Yeah, it sucked, it all sucked, and it didn’t help that Burton couldn’t remember what year it was.

  Harlan nodded at Crew as if he’d spoken. “Hey, me and Jaggar have duty tonight at VF. Canyon and Timber are tied up with duty. If Burton gets worked up, can you run with him tonight?” Crew nodded and popped a grape in his mouth from Burton’s fruit tray. He looked happy. And why the fuck not? He would not sleep alone tonight. He had Dahlia, the third one true mate to be found. She’d come right around like they all had. They all felt that pull toward their fated mate as strongly as the males did.

  Burton dropped into the booth, ate a blueberry, then shook his head and raised his voice. “She’s not dead, she’s in Rhen’s meadow.”

  Harlan held his breath. Burton had come up with many versions of “Evie’s not dead, Evie’s coming back,” over the years, but this was the first time Harlan had heard the phrase, “Rhen’s meadow.”

  He shot a look at Crew. Crew’s eyes were wide and he was staring intently at Burton. He caught Harlan looking at him and nodded his head, then mouthed four words.

  “Real place. Been there.”

  Harlan stiffened. He stared hard at Crew, then Burton, who was picking the top off a strawberry, then back at Crew. Crew shook his head, speaking the last four words out loud. “I never saw Evie.”

  3 - Time Needs Anchoring, Beast

  Harlan leaned against the tree in the forest at VF, far from the small stone cabin, the cool air soothing his skin. He hoped the young was born soon, he could use something to cheer him up, something to quiet the constant state of friction in his mind. It was hard to worry when you had a pup in your arms. This wasn’t a pup though, it was a dragen, and it seemed like it wanted to heat the earth up a couple of hundred degrees before it showed up.

  No not a dragen, this was a new species. A dragengel, some were calling the young. A girl, Crew said. It wasn’t every day you saw a new species be born. Harlan would tell his mind to fuck off for a bit. His relentless, never-ending thoughts about how everything was wrong, how he shouldn't still be here without his Evie.

  There’d already been two wolfengel born. Track and Treena. Harlan hadn’t heard much about Track and Treena yet, and had only seen them once. They hadn’t left the makeshift hospital since, but were due to come home in the morning. Their renquas and their status were all very hush hush. All Harlan knew was that they were healthy, hanging in there, getting stronger every day, and that Treena had shifted already and was completely out of the woods and healed, but Track had not. They were worried about him. But he was doing well, they were more worried because he hadn’t shifted yet, and that ran in the family, the other way, at least. Trent and Troy were the uncles of the young wolfengel, and both had never shifted to their human version. They were unable.

  Jaggar pushed a wheelbarrow up piled higher than his head with bags of ice up the path. “Help me you lazy fuckers,” he snarled. “Gotta be a fuckin' bear around here who could do this shit.”

  The sound of glass breaking caught Harlan’s attention and he straightened, snapping his eyes to the cabin. Troy crept into view from behind a tree, staying low and moving quickly, black fur stark against the brown forest, showing his teeth, just in case someone needed to know where their death was coming from. Trent stayed hidden, wherever he was. Harlan moved in close with Troy on his left and Jaggar, minus the wheelbarrow, on his right, eyes roving for any sign of Khain or any noises from inside the cabin that would tell him what was going on.

  Mac and Rogue spilled out of the front door of the small, rustic building Heather and Graeme lived in, out here in the cabin, separate from the rest of the couples, but still close to them. Mac and Rogue were both dressed in the barest of outfits, t-shirts and shorts, bare feet, both of them pouring sweat, Rogue’s brown hair plastered to her face and neck, some of it caught inside the neck of her shirt. She ran straight for the tree next to Harlan while Mac dropped to the ground about half way there. Rogue leaned against the tree and dry heaved a few times. “I smell like baked placenta,” she said, a moan in her voice. Harlan relaxed. It wasn’t trouble if these two were running away from it.

  Harlan didn’t even know what placenta smelled like, but she was right. She reeked like it. Life and metal and blood and fear and hope and hard-laboring woman. All things not meant to be baked. “What happened?” Harlan shouted, his eyes on the cabin, his body still alert.


  “It’s too hot,” Mac said from the ground, rolling over on the forest floor. “The young is too hot.”

  Harlan stared at the still open door. Inside, he could see Remington and Conri working over Heather, who was on hands and knees on the floor, leaning over her big belly, on what appeared to be a nest of pillows. She moved between her nest, the couch frequently, trying to get comfortable. Graeme followed her pressing on her hips as she crawled, kneading the muscles there. Conri and Remington were both dripping beads of sweat on the equipment they were trying to strap to her. As Harlan watched, the contraction monitor went blank, the blue electric lights on it just giving up.

  “The young?” Harlan said, wonderingly. Heat poured out of the door, shimmering the air in a telltale column. “You mean the young that is still inside Heather is too hot?”

  Rogue put her hands on her hips and stared at him, still panting. “The air conditioning unit in the side window gave up. Screeched to a halt, belched smoke, and became an air fucker-uppper. Broke the window back there. Me and my man are gonna go buy another air conditioner.” She gulped fresh air and looked up at the late afternoon sky. “Right, Mac?”

  Mac nodded and gulped air. Rogue peered at Harlan, her eyes narrowed. “You been in there yet? Graeme could use some help.”

  Harlan stared through the open door. Go inside? Did he want to? See the young be born? Yeah, he could go inside and help. Doula Harlan, reporting for duty.

  Mac rolled theatrically in the leaves. “I miss Bruin,” he moaned.

  “It’s been five hours.” Rogue intoned dryly. “And you’ve said that forty-two times. Don’t make me kill you.”

  Mac sat up, a feral grin on his face. “Kill me how? Smother me with your kitty cat? That's how I’ve always wanted to go.”