Page 16 of Shift of Destiny
“Shit.” Chance moved her back and stood up. “That’s my phone. Shepherd said he’d text me when he got here.”
Her eyes widened. “Shit!” She bent to scoop up her pants and T-shirt and mentally added a dollar to her swear fund. Where was her damn bra?
He pulled on his pants, then tossed her bra to her. “You can get dressed in the bathroom. I’ll stall him.”
She grabbed her athletic shoes and socks. “My backpack.” She’d been so distracted by acting on her sexual fantasies and Chance’s belief in magic that she’d lost track of it. She couldn’t afford mistakes like that. Cold reality was a ruthless wolf with sharp teeth.
He hopped around on one foot, pulling on a sock. “Near the stairs. I’ll bring it to you.”
She kicked his boot to him, from where it had somehow landed near the door. “Thanks.” She wanted to kiss him, so he’d know she meant to thank him for more than just the backpack, but there wasn’t time.
Luckily, the bathroom proved to have enough toilet paper for a hasty cleanup, and Chance thoughtfully gave her his big red bandanna to use as a washcloth. The slightly age-fogged mirror showed she looked only slightly ravished by the time she got her clothes back on and used her brush to flatten the wavy dark wisps around her hairline. She’d have liked to undo and re-braid her hair, but she heard loud boots clomping up the stairs. Chance was probably giving her as much warning as he could.
She stuffed Chance’s damp bandanna in her front pocket, zipped up her backpack, flushed the toilet, and stepped into the hall, just in time to see Chance and Shepherd hit the top of the stairs. Chance carried a full stack of folded bright blue tarps, and Shepherd had an armful of white plastic pipes.
“Shepherd offered to help put together the trash drop.” Chance smiled, and Shepherd blushed.
She beamed at them both. “The more the merrier. What can I do?”
Chance tilted his head toward the stairs. “Bring up the last two tarps and my tool bag from the office, and see if you can find the switch for the lights out back.”
Bless the man for accepting her help and not relegating her to the sidelines. It was annoying to have to prove her capabilities time and time again. She put her backpack next to the bannister, then practically skipped down the stairs.
When she returned, she found the men at the window they’d be using for the chute’s entrance.
“...thought about hanging the frame from here instead of nailing it to the outside,” said Shepherd, tapping the window frame, “but I’m worried the wood won’t hold.”
Moira put the toolbox and tarps on the floor, then stepped closer to the window. “If you have any winch wire or furniture straps, you can do what we rigged after the hurricane. Put a folded blanket over this”—she patted the sill—“to protect it, and bolt the straps to the framing studs below. We have to replace the plaster anyway, because of the new ducting and insulation.”
“That’ll work,” said Chance, crouching to rap on the wall with his knuckles. He smiled up at her, like he couldn’t help it. She knew how he felt. Just seeing his thighs flex under his jeans as he stood up made her want to kiss him, then lead him back to the bedroom again.
“Now all we need is the lights.” He pointed toward the window.
“Oh yeah. Lights. On it.” She made herself leave the bedroom before she lost control altogether.
Shepherd’s gravelly voice echoed after her. “Your mate is a clever woman.”
“She’s not my… here, hold this,” said Chance.
Moira paused at the top of the stairs, hoping to hear more, but they stopped talking. She thought about the words as she went down the stairs. If “mate” was a slang term for “hookup,” then she was glad Chance wasn’t the type to lick and tell. She didn’t even want to think about the implications if Shepherd meant “mate” like shifter romance novels used it.
She remembered seeing a bank of light switches near the loading dock, so she turned right at the foot of the stairs and headed through the wide doorway, into the cooler air and motion-activated lights of the workroom, still pondering her growing connection with Chance. He was definitely crazy-hot, and she wanted him again, soon, but he might also be crazy-crazy, and she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if their relationship made him worse.
It wasn’t until she got well past the entryway, into the middle of the big room, that she remembered Mr. Maxen had told them to stay out. She froze, meaning to turn around, but was suddenly beset by flashes everywhere, as if dozens of paparazzi cameras flashed in her face. She slapped her hands over her eyes, and the flashes vanished. She counted to ten, then angled her hands away briefly. More flashes dazzled her before she blocked her eyes again.
She couldn’t go forward or backward playing blind man’s bluff without running into shelves full of irreplaceable antiques. From the thumping she heard above, neither Shepherd nor Chance would hear her if she called out for help.
Besides, it was too embarrassing. She’d just been feeling smug about being treated as an equal, and they’d start thinking she was fragile. She didn’t want to be a sheltered princess in a tower, she wanted to be a self-rescuing princess who shot back at imperial stormtroopers and led the rebel alliance. Who stood up to evil, rather than running from it.
Chance had said the flashes were caused by her magic, trying to help her see the truth. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The secret truth that she’d hidden away for so long was, shewantedto see. Wanted to believe what Chance believed, and not just because she wanted him.
The idea of a hidden world—and acceptance for the rare, the unique, the impossible—filled her with a deep longing to be a part of it. She loved her foster parents dearly, but they’d never quite understood her. She’d always thought it was because she’d had to grow up fast and was twelve by the time she landed on their doorstep, but maybe it was because she was truly different. Not special, like all teenagers dreamed of, just different. She didn’t need the attention, or thirst for revenge against everyone who told her to shut up and keep her freaky eyes down. She just wanted to be free to be herself. Free to be like Chance and Shepherd, even if they were both shifters. Or even if they weren’t.
Wanting to believe and actually believing were two different things, however.
Maybe she should start with the flashes. A quick peek through her fingers said they were still there. If they were a hallucination, she’d see them whether or not her eyes were closed, meaning they were real.
Mr. Maxen had told her to quit trying so hard not to see what was in front of her.
