Kelley Armstrong - Broken

The sixth book in the Women of the Otherworld series, 2006

A huge debt of thanks is owed to my agent, Helen Heller, and my editors-Anne Groell at Bantam US, Anne Collins at Random House Canada, and Antonia Hodgson at Time Warner UK-for putting up with my endless fretting and fussing on this one. They were as patient and supportive as any writer could want…though I wouldn’t blame them if, at times, they wanted to throw me in a dimensional portal.

Thanks to my readers, Laura, Raina, and Xaviere for catching my gaffes, and saving me the embarrassment of answering “how come?” questions from confused readers.

Finally, this time around I want to give a shout-out to Xaviere Daumarie, the cover artist for all my online novellas and stories. In 2005, I did a short story a month, and she somehow managed to do a wonderful piece of original cover art for each…even when all she had to work with some months was “I haven’t written the story yet, but I think it’ll be something about…”

CLAYTON DOESN’T DO “UNOBTRUSIVE” WELL. NOT EVEN when he tries, and that afternoon, he was trying his damnedest. He was downwind of me, at least two hundred feet away, so I couldn’t smell him, see him or hear him. But I knew he was there.

As I stood under the oaks, I couldn’t suppress a twinge of resentment at the pressure his presence added to an already gut-twisting situation. Yes, I’d been the one to suggest the run, leaping up from the lunch table and declaring I was ready. He’d asked if he should stay inside-possibly the first time in our fifteen-year relationship that Clay had been willing to give me space. But I’d grabbed his hand and dragged him out with me. Now I was blaming him for being here. Not fair. But better than to admit that what I felt was not resentment but fear-fear that I would fail, and in failing I would disappoint him.

I took a deep breath and filled my lungs with the loamy richness of a forest emerging from winter, the first buds appearing tentatively, as if still uncertain. Uncertain…good word. That was what I felt: uncertainty.

Uncertainty? Try abject, pant-pissing, stomach-heaving terror-

I took another deep breath. The scent of the forest filled me, called to me, like Clay’s presence out there, beckoning-

Don’t think of him. Just relax.

I followed the sound of a rabbit thumping nearby, upwind and oblivious of me. As I moved, I saw my shadow and realized I was still standing. Well, there was the first problem. I’d undressed, but how would I Change if I was still on two legs?

As I started to crouch, a pang ran through the left side of my abdomen and I froze, heart pounding. It was probably a random muscle spasm or a digestive complaint. And yet…

My fingers rubbed the hard swell of my belly. There was definitely a swell there, however staunchly Jeremy swore otherwise. I could feel it with my hand, feel it in the tightening waistband of my jeans. Clay tried to avoid the question-smart man-but when pressed he would admit I did seem to be showing already. Showing, when I was no more than five weeks pregnant. That shouldn’t be. Yet one more thing to add to my growing list of worries.

At the top of the list was this: the regular transformation from human to wolf that my body required. I had to Change, but what would it do to my baby?

My fear over losing my child came as a revelation to me. In the nearly three years I’d wrestled with the thought of having a baby, I’d considered the possibility that the choice wouldn’t be mine to make, that being a werewolf might mean I wouldn’t be able to conceive or carry a child to term. I’d accepted that. If my pregnancy ended, I’d know that I couldn’t have a child. That would be that.

Now that I was actually pregnant I couldn’t believe I’d been so cavalier. This was more than a collection of cells growing in me, it was the actualization of a dream I’d thought I’d lost when I became a werewolf. A dream I was certain I’d given up when I decided to stay with Clay.

But I had to Change. Already I’d waited too long, and I could feel the need in every muscle spasm and restless twitch, hear it in my growls and snaps whenever someone spoke to me. Twice I’d come out here with Clay, and twice I’d been unable-or refused-to Change. Make it a third, and Clay and Jeremy would be flipping coins to see who locked me in the cage. That was a safety precaution-being Change-deprived makes us violent and unpredictable-but given my surly behavior this past week, I wouldn’t blame them if they fought over the privilege.

Just Change, goddamn it! Get down on your knees…See? That feels fine, right? Now put your hands on the ground…There. Now concentrate-

My body rebelled, convulsing so hard I doubled over, gasping. Change into a wolf? With a baby inside me? Was I crazy? I’d rip, tear, suffocate-

No!

I pushed up onto all fours and cleared my head, then opened the gate only to thoughts bearing the pass-code of logic. Was this my first Change since I’d become pregnant? No. It was the first since I’d learned I was pregnant, two weeks ago. I must have Changed a half-dozen times between conception and testing.

Had anything happened during those Changes? Bleeding? Cramping? No.

So stop worrying. Take a deep breath, smell the forest, dig your fingers into the damp soil, hear the whistle of the April wind, feel the ache in your muscles. Run to Clay, who’ll be so happy, so relieved…

My skin prickled, stretching, itching as fur sprouted-

My brain threw up the brakes again and my body tensed. Sweat trickled down my cheeks. I growled and dug my fingers and toes into the soft earth, refusing to reverse the process.

Relax, relax, relax. Just stop worrying and let your body do the work. Like constipation. Relax and nature takes over.

Constipation? Oh, there was a romantic analogy. I laughed, and my changing vocal cords squeezed the sound into a hideous screech, more worthy of a hyena than a wolf, which only made me laugh all the harder. I toppled sideways and, as I lay there, laughing, I finally relaxed.

The Change took over, spontaneous. My convulsions of laughter turned to spasms of pain, and I twisted and writhed on the ground. The pain of a Change. Yet some still-panicked part of my brain convinced me this wasn’t the normal kind of pain-I was killing my child, suffocating it as my body contorted.

I must-Must stop-Oh, God, I couldn’t!

I tried to stop-fighting, snarling, concentrating on reversing to human. But it was too late. I’d waited too long, and now my body was determined to see it through.

Finally, the pain ended, gone without so much as a lingering ache, and I lay on my side, panting, then leapt to my feet.

Damn it, not so fast! Be careful.

I stood there, motionless except for my tail, which wouldn’t stop whipping from side to side, as if to say “Well, we’re Changed. What are you waiting for? Let’s run!” The rest of my body didn’t disagree with the sentiment, though it let the tail do the shouting, settling for subtler displays of restlessness: heart tripping, ears swiveling, muscles tensing. I refused to move, though; not until I’d taken inventory, made sure everything was as it should be.

First, my belly. No obvious signs of distress. I panted, letting my chest rise and fall, testing whether the movement seemed to hurt anything. It didn’t, though my stomach did let out a growl as that nearby rabbit’s scent wafted past. You wouldn’t know I’d just devoured a three-course lunch. Ungrateful stomach. But the other part of my belly, newly filling with life, felt fine.