Page 12 of Trapped for Her Blood
My body stiffens. “Do you…do youchangewhen the moon is full—or new? Is that why you were a bear before? Because of the moon?”
His shoulders bounce like he’s laughing, but he makes no sound.
“Is that funny?” I lean back and draw the blanket more tightly around me. “I don’t know anything about werewolves or…were-bears? Is that what you are?”
Turning toward me, he laughs again, and he’s an entirely different person like this, his eyes flashing, his powerful body less scary. But his burst of laughter is short lived.
“Werewolves are a myth.” He puts another log on the fire.
“But, before I found you, I saw men down here who turned into wolves…”Was that all in my head?“And you…”
“Shifters,” he says. “Shiftersexist. Shifters change form between human and our animal counterpart. We’re real, but the human myths about werewolves are not.”
I’m not sure I see the distinction, but it’s clear that there’s an important difference in his mind, so I don’t argue. “So, the moon has nothing to do with the…shifting?”
“I didn’t say that.” Leaning back, he looks up. Then he sighs and turns toward me. “Moon cycles are important in some shifter cultures. Wolves in particular have a moon fetish.”
He rolls his eyes. “But my clan doesn’t—” He looks down. “We didn’t have any traditions tied to the moon. I had no concern about the moon’s phases until…” He looks away.
I wait patiently, hoping he’ll elaborate. “This is hard for you to talk about.”
He nods.
“Take your time. I want to understand.”
“Why?” He turns toward me, his gold eyes seeming to light from within.
“Lot’s of reasons.” I shift, putting my legs to the side. “Beyond simple curiosity, I want to understand the other…other people I’m trapped down here with. And…and I want to better understand you.”
His gaze is piercing.
“You’ve been so kind to me,” I continue, hoping to clarify. “That’s why I want to know you better. You said before that you were many things. I don’t mean any offense by asking questions, but if I don’t understand what you are, then how can I avoid saying the wrong thing, ordoingthe wrong thing? Or…” I shake my head “…beingeatenby something or someone down here?” I’m babbling, but can’t stop.
I pull my legs into my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “Look. I’m scared and alone. I just want to understand what I’m up against. I want to know what kind of monsters I’m stuck down here with.”
He’s quiet, staring into the fire.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you a monster.”
He shrugs, but doesn’t respond for a long time, and I realize I’ve made a huge mistake by pushing. I’m about to apologize again, but he starts to talk.
“I was born a shifter. Grizzly clan.” He says this like it’s something I should understand. “My clan lived in what humans call the Pocono Mountains for as long as time. We lived there peacefully, happily, until…” His head drops down again and his hair falls forward, hiding his face.
His body language exudes pain, and I want more than anything to sit next to him, to touch him, to encourage him to tell his story. “Until what?” I ask softly.
“My clan was attacked.” He looks up into the fire again, his eyes unfocused as if memories are flooding through him.
“By humans?”
He shakes his head. “No. By a vampire.”
“A vampire can take down a clan of bear shifters?” The vampires down here seem afraid of Axe.
“No.” His shoulders straighten and his chest widens. “Not a chance. In bear form, a grizzly can decapitate a vampire with one swipe, and in the forest, wooden weapons are plentiful, hearts are easily staked…” His voice trails off and his shoulders rise and fall slowly. Clearly the memories flowing through him are painful.
“What happened?”
“The vampire was helped by someone—bysomething.” He leans back onto his hands and his chest expands. The firelight accentuates scars on his chest. In contrast to the stripes on his back, his chest scars look more like brands, intentional.
