Anna Leonard - Shifter's Destiny

“Not your problem, Mustang,” he told himself. “You need to get home, and deal with this rut once and for all, and get your life back in line, not caretake two complete strangers.”

The rut was inevitable, undeniable and a pain in the… He swore, and adjusted his jeans for comfort as he walked. A pain in the everywhere. The itch to shift was shivering over his skin, coaxing him into taking his four-legged form again. Another time and place he might have given in, but not here. Not now. In that form he thought with his instincts more than his brain, and the rut made that—made him— too dangerous, especially out here, surrounded by strangers.

The itch didn’t care, crawling around inside him like an entire farm of fire ants. To distract himself, he kept thinking about Elizabeth and Maggie. He wondered how much cash the girls had on them, if any—they had been dressed well, but not that well, and their backpacks were hardly stuffed with bills… and did they know enough not to use credit cards, so they couldn’t be traced? Did they have a plan, someone they were running to, rather than simply running away?

Not your problem, he reminded himself, kicking apart the branches that had been their bedding, and moving on to where he had left his pack. It was still there, as expected. Not that he had much—a bachelor stallion traveled light, and when the rut had summoned him, a few changes of clothes had seemed enough weight to bear. He regretted the books and knickknacks he had left behind; hopefully he would be able to reclaim them from storage when he was done.

Or, he wouldn’t be worrying about them at all if the rut wasn’t dealt with, soon. Days, he estimated.

No, Maggie and Libby were not his problem anymore; he had his own crap to deal with, and the clock, as the clichés went, was ticking. He had waited too long already.

Mustang had been minding his own business up until fourteen days ago, working on a fishing boat, the sea air as unlike his home as possible, when the need hit him. He woke in his bunk, sweating, a hard-on that could break cement pulsing between his legs, the sound of feminine laughter echoing through his dreams, and dread in his stomach.

Rut. Every member—every male member—of the herd went through it. But you never quite believed it was going to get you, until it did.

He had finished out his contract, and when the boat docked, tossed his belongings into storage and set out for home. It was purely bad luck that found him within Maggie’s reach; the itch to change had gotten so bad the night before, he’d been afraid he would make the shift in his sleep. The thought of waking in a motel room, the bed broken around his hooves, was not a pleasant one. He’d chosen to sleep outside, rather than risk that and the inevitable discovery. Because of that choice, he had, apparently, been within calling distance.

Maggie. Sweet, tired-looking Maggie. And Elizabeth—he preferred that to the earlier Libby—of the long legs and the firm hands. They were on the run—why? Because of Maggie, he guessed. Magical Maggie. The danger came from those men? From whoever sent those men? Either way, there was little chance they could escape, not without help.

He hoped they had help, somewhere.

The thought stayed with him, no matter how much he tried to dislodge it. Barely an hour later he stopped in his tracks, blew out an exasperated sigh and turned around, heading… not west, the way his rut was telling him to go, not back toward home, but south into town, after his runaways.

The need to go home, the urge to find an appropriate mate along the way, could wait a little while longer. At least long enough to make sure that Elizabeth and Maggie were safe.

“Baby, stay here, all right?”

“I’m not a baby,” Maggie said, but it was an automatic objection. Elizabeth would be calling her that when they were both ancient. “And yes, I’ll stay right here—” and she stamped the pavement with her sneakered foot in emphasis “—until you give me the all clear or a truck barrels down like it’s gonna hit me. Or a forest fire blazes at me. Or a bear…”

“All right, all right, I get it. You’re smart enough to stay out of trouble. Sit.”

Maggie sat, clearly pleased at having made her sister smile, despite their worries.

They had walked several miles down that county road into Patsmilling, a small, traditional-looking New England town, and found the local police station without too much trouble. It was on the aptly named Front Street, across from the post office and town hall, and down the street from the two-engine fire department.

Elizabeth looked up and down the street, her heart beating faster than it should have. There were a few people out, running errands or heading back to work, but nobody was looking at them, nobody pointing or making furtive cell-phone calls. The police station didn’t look very impressive: a two-story redbrick building with a small wooden sign outside that identified it, and two squad cars parked at the curb outside. Still, they didn’t have to be an armed fortress to do their job: anything larger than a break-in or vandalism case, and the cops probably relied on the county to handle it, but Patsmilling looked and sounded sleepy enough that it was likely they didn’t have anything larger very often….

“Libby?”

The one word in her sister’s voice said, clearly, Why are you standing there? Why haven’t you gone in yet? Is something wrong?

Elizabeth risked looking over her shoulder. Maggie was sitting, as she had promised, on the bench outside the post office. One woman was forgettable. Two females, obviously sisters… someone might remember that. Maggie should be perfectly safe here, in full view of government employees, right? There wasn’t anything to stop Elizabeth from going inside and asking for help Nothing excerpt her own nerves and uncertainty, anyway.

Maggie talked to animals. Elizabeth dreamed. Unlike her sister’s ability, Elizabeth didn’t put much stock into her dreams. Yes, they told her things that were going to happen, or might happen, but dreams were tricky things and she wasn’t comfortable trusting them. And this wasn’t even a dream, just a feeling that going into that building would be a very bad idea. Involving the police had not been her original plan. She had no proof to give them, only fear and coincidence, and she was terrified that they would think that she was the crazy one, unfit to care for Maggie.

But what were their options? Ray, and maybe all of the Elders, wanted Maggie back at the Community, and were willing to snatch her in a public place to accomplish that. Elizabeth had cash, but not an endless amount, and no way to access their bank account without Ray using that to track them down—the Community didn’t rely on computers and such, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t and wouldn’t use them when needed. And just running as fast as they could wasn’t an option anymore, not with Jordan and his goons so close on their heels—he shouldn’t have been able to find them so easily, but he had. Why should she assume tomorrow would be any different? Anywhere they went, he could find them.

They needed something official standing between them—someone with the ability to hold Jordan off, make life uncomfortable for the Community if she and Maggie weren’t left alone. Her instinct, honed by Community tradition, was to never involve outsiders… but she was about to become an outsider herself. So it made sense, didn’t it?

Yes. This was a smart move. Three generations of good public relations, being known as “that little village of the folk who live off the grid but don’t make trouble,” would be gone if the media picked up a “runaway returned against her wishes” story. No matter how much they wanted Maggie back, the Elders would never let Ray cause that sort of trouble. Once she walked into the police station, she and Maggie would be safe.