Page 62

Finally alone, I took a deep breath to gather myself, then pulled out of the parking lot and headed home. It was time to sit down and really talk with Typhon. If we were going to get through this, we needed to be honest with each other.

The thought made me sick, knowing I'd have to tell him about Aaron, but it was time.

I looked down at Romulus, drawing strength from his steadfast loyalty. I could do this. No more secrets.

Chapter 22

Typhon

The door closed behind Quinn with a faint click that echoed in our ears. After the chaos and noise of the morning, the silence was almost suffocating.

He should not be going alone. The beast's protests remained the same despite what we'd all agreed, his protective instincts fully engaged. I couldn't fault him. I didn't like this either, but the humans had a point. If those strange men knew what I looked like in this form, things would get ugly. In this shape, I was all but useless.

I agree. But there's nothing we can do until we become you again.

The beast grumbled in reluctant agreement, and it was tempting to try to change back now, but I'd made Quinn a promise.

Getting to my feet, I limped my way to the room he'd set aside for the kittens. The four of them scrambled around my feet, making every step more dangerous than the last as I tried to avoid hurting them. They finally ran ahead when they realized where I was going and started circling their bowls, meowing and carrying on as though they were starving.

"Monsters. All of you," I muttered, but I couldn't help a smile. They were adorable, and it was nice not to be feared by something so small. The beast might not agree, but I liked that Quinn's animals saw me as part of the pack.

Feeding the kittens and giving them fresh water was simple enough, something I'd seen Quinn do a dozen times already. Scooping their litter boxes would have to wait until he got home, though, because I was healing, but not enough to kneel on the hard linoleum floor.

The snake and tortoise were easy, too. Quinn said the snake wouldn't need to eat again for at least a week, and I didn't understand the lighting he'd set up, so I left that tank alone for now. The tortoise got a few greens from the fridge and seemed content with that.

A brisk wind had kicked up, giving the air a bit of a bite when I stepped outside to feed the chickens. They were wandering around the yard, picking at bugs and whatever caught their fancy, but they all came scurrying back when I painstakingly spread their feed. Holding the bag and feeding them was impossible with one arm, so I had to put it on the ground and balance it with my legs, which wasn't much easier with my hip and thigh still aching. I managed well enough, or at least the chickens weren't complaining, leaving me with just one more to worry about.

Hash Brown the mule stood in his makeshift stall, ears flicking as he studied me. Of all Quinn's animals, he was the most suspicious of me. Well, second most suspicious, after the dog. While Romulus was just protective of our human, the mule seemed to genuinely dislike me. I had to assume it was because he could tell I was a predator, even in this weak human body.

"If you bite me, I'm not going to feed you," I warned the creature as I stepped inside his enclosure. Quinn had told me that the mule was an escape artist, which meant I had to secure the gate behind me when I came in. If he decided he wanted a piece of me, there would be no hasty retreat.

He wouldn't bother us if we were me again.

I rolled my eyes. But we're not, so let me focus. Quinn would be upset if we didn't take care of his animals.

Fine, but afterwards, we try to turn back. This body is too weak.

I completely agreed, so I didn't argue. Hash Brown watched me closely while I refilled his trough of grass hay, which proved nearly as difficult to manage as the chicken feed. The bullets from the humans weren't enough to kill me, but they were certainly making life more difficult as I waited for them to heal.

Hash Brown must have been in a good mood this morning, because he only snorted and stamped at the ground with his hoof a few times while I worked. I left him to his breakfast, locking up behind me when I left. I didn't want to have to tell Quinn I'd lost his mule when he came home from work. He was already stressed enough as it was.

The memory of him on his knees by the door still haunted me. He'd said he'd tell me why he'd reacted so strongly, but in the end, it all came down to the same, unmistakable fact: I'd scared him. I'd lost control and let the beast's anger take over. Whatever had hurt him in the past might have worsened the reaction, but that didn't excuse what I'd done.

I thought the humans were here to hurt us again, the beast mumbled in our head as I trudged back inside. A feeling almost like remorse accompanied his words, surprising me.

"I know, but we can't lose control like that. We're not a mindless monster anymore." With no one around to hear me, I spoke out loud, filling the silence in the empty cottage. I'd taken to doing it any time I was alone, practicing the words and remembering how to speak. "If we can't keep control, we can't be around Quinn anymore."

That got the beast's full attention. He is our pack.

"If he's ours, we have to prove we're good enough for him. Scaring him isn't the way."

The beast quieted, stewing on it while I got a drink, then carefully sat back down on the couch. Once I'd rested for a minute, we'd start trying to figure out how to change back, but I needed to catch my breath first. The chores Quinn usually accomplished in less than an hour had taken me the better part of two, hampered as I was by having only one working arm at the moment.

I sighed, leaning my head back and staring up at the ceiling.

Quinn.

The moment we'd first scented the human, we knew we had to find him. I'd never stopped to question the beast's instincts. At the time, I'd been nothing more than a passenger in his body, a flicker of consciousness just barely holding on to myself. I had no sense of self, no idea who I was, or that it was strange for two minds to be in the same body. All I knew was that we had to keep running. Where we'd come from or what we were running from, I didn't know, only that it was bad.