30. Isobel
I don’t know what the heck is going on. One minute I’m walking inside the barn where Paw Paw, Dane, and Dillon are unloading the truck, the next minute something is flying toward me, and I’m knocked to the ground. But instead of falling onto the hard floor or into the sharp tools lining the wall, I’m cradled in a pair of warm, strong arms, and cushioned on a rather hard, muscular, and above all, human body.
“ISOBEL!” my grandfather screams, and then there’s nothing but noise as the pallet crashes to the floor amid cursing and panicked yells. Footsteps thunder around the side of the truck toward where I’m lying just as the body underneath me groans.
I inhale, and the scent of sun-baked earth and dust mixes with the feline musk of a lion, and it’s edged with the aroma of scorched cloves and burnt pine. He smells like someone’s set a Christmas wreath on fire, and I have to say, I like it.
I lift my head to examine my sudden rescuer. I blink in shock, and then blink again. Nope, my eyes are not deceiving me, and the pain in my wrist when I pinch it tells me I’m not dreaming, either.
Storm isn’tthe same supposedly wild animal I woke up with this morning.
Storm, that wily lion, is definitely a prime specimen of a shifter male. If I wasn’t already mated, I might be tempted by his brutal beauty.
Paw Paw and my brothers round the end of the truck and stomp to a halt at my feet. The three of them blink in stunned surprise, much like I had only a moment ago, as they take in the display.
“Izzy-bizzy, are you okay? You aren’t hurt, are you?” Paw Paw barks at me, kneeling to check that I’m in one piece. While he’s down there, he stares at Storm, his eyes flashing with the tarnished gold of his cougar.
“Not that I’m ungrateful to you for saving my granddaughter, but who in the blazes are you, and what the hell are you doing with her?” Paw Paw growls.
The only response Storm provides is a deep and exhausted groan. His arms tighten around me for a moment before relaxing, and as Storm’s grip loosens Paw Paw swoops down to lift me into his arms.
“Uh, Paw Paw? I think that’s Iz”s shadow, the lion she’s been calling Storm. Seems he’s not just a lion. Why don’t we help him up and then he can explain why he’s been stalking our sister in his bestial form?!” Dillon’s voice rattles in a furious growl, but he restrains himself from acting as he runs his gaze over my body, checking to make sure I’m unhurt. Dane is the only one to help Storm upright, shoving his jacket at the naked man to protect his modesty.
Not that shifters really care about that, but then again, I’m not really a shifter.
Paw Paw stomps his way back to the house, leaving my brothers and the strange shifter to follow along behind us. Once we’re inside, Paw Paw settles me gingerly onto a chair, brushing his hands over my body to settle his own queries about possible injuries.
“You alright, Izzy-bizzy? You ain’t cut up or bruised none, are you? I’m sorry about the pallet, I didn’t know that the straps were so worn down.”
I smile up at the grizzled, wrinkled face that’s so dear to me, doing my best to soothe his fears.
“I’m fine, Paw Paw. Storm protected me from it all. He knocked me out of the way of the strap, and then shifted to catch me when I fell. If he hadn’t, I would have landed real bad on the tools in the barn. Instead, he made sure he bore the brunt of my fall. So, go easy on him once the boys get him settled, okay?”
Paw Paw’s grumbled response is drowned out by the clomping of boots on the deck outside. The footsteps belong to Dillon. His arm is slung around the shifter’s back and under his arm, half-carrying and half-leading Storm into the house.
“Right, I’m just gonna take Storm—or whoever the hell he is—into the bathroom. Dane shouldn’t be too far behind us. He’s gone to get some clothes for this guy. Once he’s dressed and suitable for polite company, we’ll bring him back out and try to get to the bottom of this.”
Dillon then continues to haul the shifter through the house, the thumps and thuds as they maneuver around the furniture signaling their journey.
I’m filled with nerves and a compulsion to act somehow, so I busy myself with boiling the kettle and making a small mountain of sandwiches. I know how much my brothers can eat, and Paw Paw isn’t a slouch in that department, either. Add in another shifter, one who’s been limited to eating as a lion, and I’m sure they’ll demolish the lot within minutes.
Dane bangs through the door, not stopping as he heads straight for the bathroom, a pair of sweats and a t-shirt bundled in his hands. The hinges of the bathroom door creak as it opens and the low rumble of voices within cut off as it once again slams shut.
I’m assembling sandwiches from my second loaf of bread by the time the three of them return, and while I’ve been occupied Paw Paw has contacted my father. Thank the gods he’s unable to turn up, seeing as he’s at work, but I’ve got no doubt that he’ll be heading straight here the moment he has the opportunity. I just hope that everything is out in the open by the time Da arrives. Dane and Dillon got their overprotective tendencies from him, after all.
A soft shuffle of bare feet on hardwood ushers the lion shifter into the kitchen, and I get my first chance to really take him in.
He’s tall, well over six feet—about the same height as Dane—and he rivals my brother in size as well. His hair is a dirty blond and could do with a trim. It hangs down in messy curls around his ears and neck, almost hiding his eyes from view. The amber-gold glow of his eyes is almost unnatural, and my skin prickles with awareness. His lion is close to the surface, and I can’t tell if he’s angry or sad or confused. His expressions are hard to make out as his facial features—at least those that aren’t hidden by his hair—are covered by a thick beard.
There’s no hiding the rest of him, though. His bulk is pure muscle, his skin bulging and striated with the power of the tendons and muscles contained within. Ink covers both of his arms, as well as the knuckles on both hands, and hints of color peek and curl up around the left side of his neck. His right arm depicts four lions—shifters, if the human half of their faces are to be believed—and his left holds the image of six others: a snow leopard, saber-tooth, bear, wolf, and two other lions.
“Um, why don’t you take a seat and have something to eat. You must be hungry; I know shifting tends to burn through the calories.” I gesture to the overladen platter, passing over a plate for him to load up. I slap Dillon’s hand as he reaches out himself, glaring at him until he retracts the appendage.
“Let Storm fill his plate first. You lot cleaned me out of bacon and eggs this morning, and you need to run to the store and restock for me. So y’all can wait until our guest has had his fill before stuffing your own maws.”
Storm glances up at me, his chin dipping in a minuscule nod as he cautiously reaches one hand out, moving a selection of sandwiches onto his empty plate. I fill up a glass with sweet tea and pass it over, smiling softly in encouragement at his hesitation. He accepts, settling both the plate and glass down in front of him before his gaze darts to each of the faces watching him from around the table.
“Thank you.”
His voice is soft and deep, with a scratchy note caused by disuse.
“It’s fine, Storm. Just eat up, and then you can explain everything to us, okay?” I stretch out my hand, but let it drop before it reaches him. I don’t know if he likes to be touched, and I don’t want to scare him off or make him feel threatened.
“I promise, nobody here is gonna hurt you.”
Dane snorts and rolls his eyes while Dillon continues to glower, his arms crossed over his chest and his lower lip sticking out in a disgruntled pout. I glare at the both of them, silently putting them in their place, before darting a look over at Paw Paw. His face is devoid of emotion, but I know my grandfather. His brain is likely racing a mile to the minute, trying to figure things out himself before it can all go to Hell in a handbasket.
“Simon.”
My attention returns to the man seated at my table, eating food that isn’t raw meat for the first time in weeks.
“I beg your pardon?”
He swallows the mouthful of sandwich, washing it down with half the glass of sweet tea.
“My name. It’s not Storm. It’s Simon.”
He stares intently at me, his eyes flickering from the amber-gold of his lion to the clear blue of a summer sky and back. His lion is present, and it sends shivers down my spine.
“Well, hello there, Simon. Please, eat your fill, and then you can tell us your story, if you’re willing?”
I don’t even need to see my brothers to know they aren’t a fan of my suggestion, but shuffling under the table followed by a pair of muffled thumps lets me know that Paw Paw has my back.
“You were close, though,” Simon softly states between bites of sandwich.
I’m confused, and it shows.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your name for me. Storm. It was close.”
Close?I wonder to myself. How is the name Simon anywhere near being close to Storm, except for the fact they’re both five letters long and begin with “S”?
“My lion. His name is Tálstrom. It means maelstrom. Strom and Storm are fairly close sounding. So, you weren’t far off.”
The husky rasp of Simon’s voice is rather alluring, and it takes me a moment to actually comprehend what he’s just said.
“Your lion has his own name?” Paw Paw finally speaks.
Simon simply nods as he demolishes the last of the sandwiches on his plate. I automatically refill his glass with sweet tea as he reaches out and piles more food on his plate, then gestures my brothers to the still-laden platter. They dive in with alacrity.
“So, if your lion has his own name, and you can survive in his form for several weeks while weakened and injured, that must make you something special. Something… altered, am I right?” Paw Paw’s blunt and direct questions don’t appear to unsettle Simon, who simply nods again.
“Yep. I’m an Altered shifter.”
Paw Paw sits back, his gaze roaming over Simon’s body, his eyes calculating.
“Seems to me, Altered shifters go one of two ways. They either become some mutated genetic throwback, or they turn Mythic. Now, your lion, he’s a beast to be sure. But he ain’t no mythical lion or chimera or some such. Neither is he one of those prehistoric lions or other cats you might find. So, how can you be an Altered lion without having any obvious physical changes?”
Silence falls over the table as we all wait for Simon’s response. He polishes off another two sandwiches before he answers.
“Because I didn’t become an Altered shifter until a few years back. I’d already well and truly had my first shift, and the type of Altered I am isn’t well known. In fact, I believe the Shifter Council only has two of us on record.”
Paw Paw sits back in his chair, consternation and confusion flicking across his face in rapid succession. I don’t blame him. While I know about Altered and Mythic shifters, I always thought that the changes in them happened before their first shift. I’ve never heard of an Altered shifter occurring after they’d shifted. I wonder what this means for our kind.
“My story is not pretty, nor am I an innocent victim of circumstance. The events leading up to my Altered state are completely my own fault, although I’ve been told the consequences far outweigh my actions. I don’t know if I believe them. Nevertheless, I am who I am now because of what I did, and I accept full responsibility for my misdeeds. It is now my purpose in life to make what amends I can, and to try to prevent such cruelty from ever occurring again.”
Simon is speaking in vagaries and obfuscations, and I’m not the only one who feels disgruntled with the lack of transparency.
“How’s about you stop spinning the bullshit, and actually tell us something, dude?” Dane snarls as he licks ranch from where it’s dripped onto a knuckle.
Simon sighs.
“What it means is pretty simple. I did something only a dickish asshole would do. The consequences of those actions were so dire that they Altered me. I’m happy to tell you all the whole sordid story if you’d like, but I’d rather do it after I’ve eaten. After all, if you’re going to either throw me out on my ear or try to lynch me for my past, I’d prefer to have the best chance of surviving.”
What. The. HECK?