Shifter's Moon (Paranormal Shifter Romance) Page 4

  Lia nodded. “I’ll go check what we have.”

  “I should probably head out too,” Jake said, standing, “those novels aren’t going to write themselves. Thank you again for the tea.”

  “Oh, you’re most welcome. Anytime. Remember what I said,” Lorelei said, waddling forward and taking his hands in hers. Her palms were heavily callused but there was a careful deliberation in the movement of her fingers.

  Outside Jake helped Lia pull the Triumph out of the back of the car and she set it on its kickstand as he climbed into the front seat.

  “What did she mean by that?” Lia suddenly asked, and he looked up and saw her with her hands on her hips again. “What did you two talk about?”

  “Are you feeling a bit paranoid?” he joked, and Lia switched her weight onto her other leg. The fabric of her jeans groaned.

  “Around her, I’m always nervous.”

  “She just talked about raising you. After your parents-” he stopped when he saw a pained expression spread over her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

  Lia tried to shrug it off. “It’s fine, it’s in the past. Anyway, she likes to talk, she doesn’t get many visitors. I think she was glad to meet you. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

  “Not at all,” Jake said, waving it off, “what will be embarrassing is if I can’t get this started now.” He turned the ignition and the car gradually brought its aching engine up to speed. Jake mimed wiping his brow, and Lia smiled.

  “Thanks again, for the ride,” she said awkwardly.

  Jake gave her a salute and shifted into reverse. “You can make it up to me by taking me for pie some time,” he hollered back through the open window, “you know where to find me.”

  As he drove back down the road he was surprised at the lightness in his chest. He had become so used to feeling a heaviness, as if the weather itself was somehow pressing down on him perpetually. But as he rounded a bend and pulled back onto the main street of Barrelgrove he found himself switching on the radio and tapped his fingers to a grainy rendition of a Beatle’s song. For so long he’d lived in a state of dreary non-committal apathy, training himself to be avoid any emotion because of how things like loneliness or sadness might overwhelm him. He pushed his chest out and felt his sternum crack with the stretch. In the process of turning himself off from the world, though, he’d also neglected things like happiness and joy.

  He still didn’t have the wherewithal to claim that what he was feeling now was happiness, but it did feel as though the chains with which he’d bound himself – both to work and to his domestic life – were beginning to slacken, just enough for him to take a deep breath for the first time in a long time.

  Chapter Five

  That night Jake had another dream. He was alone in the woods sitting on a bed of moss. The sounds of the trees creaking in the wind was followed by the sound of soft paws moving over pine needles, and when he turned he saw a shadow flit between the columns of trees. He wasn’t afraid, which in retrospect seemed odd.

  He called out to the shadow but there was no reply, and he didn’t recognize his voice. It was as if the cords in his throat had been shortened or lengthened, just enough to give the timbre of his voice a slight deviation. He tried to call out again.

  “Who’s there?” he shouted.

  There was only more stillness, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the shadow slowly pull into view again. He squinted and tried to discern its shape, but the shade of the forest canopy was playing tricks on his eyes. As the figure stepped closer he saw it was the same black wolf from before, only this time she was far more vivid. He noticed the elegant curve of her spine and the way it bent into strong powerful haunches, and the way the wolf moved was almost as if it were trapped underwater. There was a fluidity and slow motion to it, as if each movement was indistinct from every other movement – it was like watching black flame curl over the moss toward him, and for the first time he felt a pang of fear, but it was a kind of latent fear, one which had a hard time forming any concrete threat in his mind.

  “Who are you?” he shouted again, and the wolf figure stopped at the edge of the small clearing he was in and cocked its head, as if not understanding his language.

  It lowered the slender barrel of its head and its yellow eyes blinked and he thought for a minute he caught a whiff of the warm smell of its fur. There was something innately familiar about the wolf, and yet he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  In the dream he remembered standing up and walking toward it, and then realizing how gigantic it was. It was larger than a timber wolf, and its head was almost at his chest level. As he approached the wolf took several steps back, as if cautiously calculating whether he was truly friend or foe.

  He didn’t understand where he had acquired the confidence, but his footsteps were sure and deliberate, and soon he was standing right in front of the strange black animal, who raised its muzzle and sniffed the air at him.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, extending his hand slowly in friendship.

  The wolf sniffed at his fingertips, paused, and then tentatively licked at them. What happened next was a blur. The wolf suddenly seemed to stand up on two legs, and he remembered having to crane his neck to look up at it as it began to twist and change, its fur seeming to come loose and writhe as if it had a mind all of its own.

  Fearfully Jake stumbled back, but his legs felt as if they were filled with molten lead, and he felt himself falling onto his elbows. There was a sound like steam escaping from a tea kettle, only louder, as if it had been magnified by a jet engine, and when he stared back at the spot where the wolf had been there was only a curious lingering smoke that clung to the ground like a fog. As it began to clear he could make out the dark naked form of a human girl, bent over in a fetal position.

  Her long legs were pulled up to her chest and her hair was a messy shock that trailed down over her face, hiding her features from him. She seemed to quiver as he moved closer, and he noticed a small lighter colored scar on the bare side of her abdomen, running over her ribcage. As he peered closer he realized they were actually three vertical lines, as if something had clawed her.

  He bent down and reached toward her. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

  The naked girl shuddered, and suddenly turned her head towards him and her eyes flashed open. Jake jumped back, feeling his heart skip several beats. The woman in front of him was Lia, except it wasn’t Lia. Her eyes were a fiendish yellow, and they seemed to lock onto him like crosshairs on a target. She let out a wild snarl, and he opened his mouth in a silent scream.

  ***

  Jake sat up with a gasp. The clock on the bedside table informed him it was five-thirty in the morning. He let out a long sigh and rubbed his face. Sweat was standing out on his forehead and he felt the sheets clinging to him uncomfortably. He wiped at his eyes and swung his legs over the edge as his vision adjusted to the dark. Christ, what a dream.

  The images of the wolf haunted him, but more than that, it was the presence of Lia in his dreams. No, not Lia, he had to remind himself. He went to the mirror and stared at himself. His hair was frayed and stood on end, and if he was an advocate of the bedhead look it might’ve suited him, but all it did was remind him of the dream again. He splashed his face and started to laugh. All writers are neurotic. It just comes with the territory, he mused, wiping his face and bare chest with the towel.

  Downstairs he poured himself another cup of coffee and walked over the typewriter to fit in another piece of paper. His fingers began to move over the plastic enamel of the keys. Suddenly his thoughts had gained a degree of focus, and before long he was surprised at the width of the manuscript he had written.

  It must’ve been several hours since he’d startled awake. Outside he could detect the crisp hue of the pond catching early morning sun and there was the sound of chickadees pecking absently at the empty birdfeeder. He stood up and stretched, and then gave another proud look at the type-written pile of pap
ers. It wasn’t a novel, by any means, but it was a good start.

  “I think I deserve some pie,” he said to himself.

  ***

  Barrelgrove was already bustling as much as a small town could by the time Jake had shaved and dressed. He pulled into Irma’s and was greeted by a large middle-aged woman with a big a yellow apron behind the counter.

  “Hey stranger! What can I do you for? Our blackberry is straight out of the oven,” she beamed. “You just passing through?”

  “I’m actually in town for a little while. One of your patrons recommended you,” he said, admiring the home-made pies behind a plexi-glass display.

  “You don’t say?”

  “Yeah, Lia?”

  The woman’s face brightened even more, which Jake didn’t even realize was possible. “Oh, Lia! The dear, well she certainly knows her baked goods, that girl has an appetite like you wouldn’t believe. I keep feeding her and, just between me and you, it don’t matter how much butter I put in the recipe, she never seems to gain any weight. To have the metabolism of youth,” she said, dramatically waving her arm.

  “I take it you’re Irma?”

  “At your service, Mister…?”

  “You can just call me Jake. I’ll take one of your blackberry pies to go,” he said, thumbing a twenty-dollar bill across the counter. “Keep the change.”

  “Dashing, handsome, and generous… Lia sure knows how to pick ‘em,” Irma said, and Jake was reminded of Lorelei’s mischievous wink. These two probably know each other very well, he thought.

  “Pick them?” he repeated, playing dumb. “She’s just a friend. Sort of. I guess, she more often chews my head off.”

  Irma gave him a knowing look and slid a white cardboard box across the counter. “That means she likes you, dear. Don’t be dense.”

  Jake walked out of the bakery feeling like he’d just been given a talking to by his grandmother, and he could feel Irma’s wistful eyes following him all the way to the car. There was something compelling, almost enticing, about Lia, but it seemed far-fetched to think of her as anything other than an acquaintance. She fixed my car, forced me to drive her home, he thought to himself. At the same time, he wasn’t fooling himself. Clearly there was some kind of chemistry between them, but it was such a vague off-beat sort of connection, unlike anything he’d ever had with another person, that he couldn’t immediately recognize it as chemistry.

  As thorny as she was, he couldn’t help but admire her, though. He shook his head and slipped into the front seat, setting the pie down beside him. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and tried to refocus on his writing. As he was about to pull out he heard the loud treble of motorcycles again and saw a jet of dust approaching down the main street. He immediately recognized the four bikers from the other day as they rumbled noisily down the pavement and pulled in at the convenience store down the way.

  Jake watched them warily, and noticed that the leader had finally put on a white T-shirt under the iconic leather vest, but it did little to assuage his appearance as a post-80’s low rider wannabe. Jake followed them with his eyes and saw them pull up to the convenience store again. A few people on the streets seemed to hastily retreat indoors, and he found himself frowning. He shifted into reverse and pulled out, and then caught sight of Lia’s blue Triumph motorcycle parked beside theirs and he stopped. Crap, that’s not good, he thought, and accelerated forward. As he approached he saw Lia come out of the convenience store and the leader of the bikers stood in front of her. Déjà vu.

  He pulled in, parked, and got out. So far neither Lia, the leader, or the other bikers seemed to notice him. And what the hell are you going to do, anyway? he thought. He could handle himself, but he still felt a nagging worry – there were four of them and one of him, what could he really do? He walked up on the sidewalk down from the convenience store and pretended to be reaching for a newspaper from one of the racks, and meandered close enough to overhear them.

  Secretly he hoped they were just your everyday dirt bags and that nothing would transpire, but he couldn’t ignore the odd sense of impending violence that had stirred up inside him.

  Lia hadn’t noticed him, but stopped when she saw the black-haired biker. They stood facing each other again, and Jake saw something like fear creep across her features. She was good at hiding her true feelings, but she couldn’t hide the way her wrist shook as she clutched the paper bag of groceries against her chest.

  “I thought I recognized you,” the biker grumbled, and his voice was like wet shale.

  “Well, I don’t know you. Excuse me,” Lia said, and tried to step past him, but he was quicker and moved in front to block her.

  “Not so fast. You and I have some business,” he said and reached out, grabbing her wrist.

  Lia let out a small cry and dropped the bag which hit the pavement. Several oranges tumbled out and rolled into the street. “Leave me alone!” Lia shouted back, her eyes suddenly wide.

  Without warning Jake rushed forward. His mind was blank as he threw himself at the biker and felt his fist impact the other man’s jaw. The biker reeled backward, tripping and slamming against the side of the convenience store, blood trickling from his mouth. The other four bikers held their ground with one look from their leader, who on his feet in a split second and ran at Jake, body-checking them. The two men hit the hard surface of the street on their sides and Jake felt the air escape his lungs as he gasped. The leader reached down and punched Jake hard across the face and stood up.

  “You just opened a can of worms you should have kept closed,” the biker said.

  Lia suddenly broke out of her trance and swung her helmet at the biker, but he was too quick and swatted it aside. With the open side of his other hand he struck her hard across the face and she tumbled to her knees, clutching her face.

  Jake felt rage bubble up inside him and kicked out at the biker’s unguarded knee. There was a sickening crack and the biker’s face turned to one of agony. The other three bikers took one step forward, but the black-haired rogue gritted his teeth and put his hand up as if to indicate that Jake was his.

  There was an audible snick as he pulled a black handled switchblade from the pocket of his jeans and hobbled toward Jake who was bleeding in the middle of the street. Jake felt his stomach turn over and gave the biker a defiant look.

  “That’s far enough!” came a voice, and both Jake and the other bikers turned to see the hefty shape of Irma facing them with a double-barreled shotgun under one arm and a grim seriousness playing across her fat cheeks. “You heard me, son. Get on your bikes and leave. I won’t say it twice,” she said. “Don’t think for a second that I’m afraid to use this.”

  The biker rubbed a streak of blood off his lip and nodded to the bikers who bashfully got back on their bikes. “Mark me and you’ll regret that lady,” he said, pointing his blade at her, and threw his leg over the seat of his own motorcycle.

  There was a roar of engines and another cloud of blue exhaust as they pulled out and headed back down the street toward the main freeway. Jake got clumsily to his feet. Irma lowered the shotgun and moved closer.

  “You alright, there?” she said, and Jake nodded.

  “Thanks,” he replied, rubbing his jaw, and stumbled forward to where Lia was crouched against a parked car, holding her cheek. She was breathing heavily and for a moment he thought she was snarling. He reached out and touched her shoulder and she faced him fearfully, like a wounded animal.

  “Lia, are you okay?” he said.

  She gulped, and seemed to take heed of her surroundings again. Gently he helped her to her feet, and she wordlessly picked up her helmet and moved toward her bike.

  “Lia! Wait, what-”

  “I have to go,” she said quietly.

  “Wait, just talk to me a second.”

  “I have to go, Jake. Please,” she said, and when she turned the look she gave him froze his blood. Part of him had learned to believe that Lia was invincible, but the despe
ration in her eyes was unmistakably vulnerable and it stunned him.

  He watched helplessly as she kicked the old bike to life and pulled sheepishly into the street and back out of town. He gave a helpless look at Irma, who shrugged.

  “What the hell was that?” he said out loud, but Irma had no answer for him.

  Chapter Six

  Jake found that when he returned home he was unable to concentrate on writing. He would sit in front of the type writer for fifteen minutes at a time, get frustrated, and start pacing around the cabin. The events of the morning still haunted him. There were too many unanswered questions. Who was the biker? And more importantly, why had Lia taken off like that without a word? Most of him was just ashamed – he kept running the scenario through his head over and over again, until he wasn’t sure what had actually happened and what he was inventing. The human memory is too unreliable.

  He had considered driving to Lia and her grandmother’s house to check on her, but had decided against it. She was very independent, and that would only have exacerbated his friendship with her. At the same time, he couldn’t escape the notion that perhaps it was his own cowardice that was preventing him from jumping in the car right now and heading over. His eyes fell on the boxed blackberry pie that was on the kitchen counter. He hadn’t had much of an appetite when he got back.

  “This is ridiculous,” he thought out loud, “we’re both adults. If she needed to talk, or needed help, she’d come and tell me.” Somehow, though, this revelation didn’t comfort him.

  He was almost so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t hear the sound of a motorcycle putting up the driveway, and when his conscious mind finally latched onto the sound he felt his stomach lurch again and rushed to the window, expecting the worse.

  However, it wasn’t the biker gang. It was Lia. She had on her round helmet and ground the Triumph to a halt in the gravel. She had on her tight black jeans and big boots again, but now had a matching leather jacket that cocooned her torso in a stylistic assemblage of zippers and lateral cross-stitches.