Chapter 2
T he Shamrock Safari Wildlife Park was a godsend for shifters like Declan McCarthy.
For all shifters, probably, but foxes and golden eagles might be able to at least stretch their legs or their wings in the wilds of Ireland. There were even a few forests left that larger shifters—wolves, deer, even the occasional tiger or bear—could trust the leaves and underbrush to hide them in.
There was absolutely nowhere to hide a brilliant blue peacock. If a tiger was glimpsed in the woods, well, that was mental, as the Irish would say. Madness. No one would believe it. But there were enough peacocks strutting around the various zoos and parks that a stray would be seen as an escapee who had no business in the wild. Worse, its gorgeous plumes might make it a target for either the aforementioned-foxes (although hopefully not shifter foxes; Declan couldn't imagine the horror of being hunted by a fellow shifter!), or humans with worse intentions than 'return lost peacock to zoo.'
So any time he wanted to strut his stuff—and he had to face it, he was a peacock; 'strutting his stuff' was baked into the contract—Declan would hop the train out to Anavee Island where the wildlife park was located, and spend the day preening and showing off to the tourists. He even had an annual pass to the park, to save on costs, although there were enough shifters out there that he bet he could find somebody who would let him in for free.
It was a good cause, though. Like any zoo or wildlife park, Anavee could always use whatever little bit of income they could find. An annual park fee was more than worth being able to shift safely whenever he needed.
He had not anticipated that an off-season afternoon at the park would lead him to his fated mate.
In fact, if there was a 'last thing' he expected, it was that. He'd come to the park today to stretch his feathers, yes. But more, there had been hijinks around the place lately. Seamus, one of his fellow shifters, had lost a handful of tail feathers at the weekend, and had ranted about it at the pub last night. Declan, being a free sort of spirit with no day job to tie him down, had taken himself out to Anavee this morning to have a look into the whole mess.
Because on the one hand, shifters healed from most minor injuries with a shift or two. That meant, for shifters, somebody breaking off peacock tail feathers wasn't an injury. It was an indignity . But true peacocks didn't recover from that kind of heartless behavior nearly as quickly as a shifter would. Seamus had no idea who was behind it. He knew somebody had yanked a handful of his feathers out while he'd been showing his tail off, but turning around to find a guilty party was a big deal when you had that much tail to work with. It wasn't like he could just look over his shoulder and see anything except his glorious feathers. So by the time he managed to get turned around, there were at least a dozen people nearby and none of them looked guilty, or had a tail feather sticking out of their shirt or anything. Seamus also overheard some of the staff talking about how they kept an eye out for lost feathers but hadn't seen any in days, which was unusual. They thought somebody must be picking them up.
But it wasn't like he could go to the police about it. Somebody should, because trafficking in real peacock feathers—even collecting them—was full-stop illegal. But a shifter couldn't feck off to the guards and say some langer had robbed his tail feathers, now, could he? So Declan reckoned it was up to himself to sort it out.
Except there she was, his fated mate, distracting him from the matter at hand in the most wonderful way possible. She was at the cheetah area, leaning on the fence and taking pictures with a long lens on her camera. When she lowered the camera, it was with the slightly blank gaze of somebody who had been traveling a lot, although from time to time she would smile and lift the camera again to take more pictures. There were cubs right now—Anavee had a spectacularly good breeding program, to the point that they often had more cheetahs than they knew what to do with—and a few of them were messing about, bouncing around on each other and taking off in short bursts of speed before tripping over their own feet. His mate was entirely absorbed by them.
Which was grand, because it meant she didn't notice the peacock staring intently at her from around a shaded corner.
She was absolutely lovely , Declan thought. Yes, she had a bit of the unwashed hair and weary pallor of somebody who'd gotten off a plane recently, but that didn't stop her from being just lovely . Not too tall, he thought; it was hard to tell from a peacock's vantage, especially when he was trying to stay more or less normal-peacock-sized so as to not draw attention. But not too tall, and a lovely soft roundness to her whole figure. She had incredibly thick honey blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail that dripped down her spine to mid-back. A round face with a pointy chin, a quiet smile, and dark eyelashes so long they had to get in the way when she looked through the camera's viewfinder. He couldn't tell what color her eyes were without getting closer, and he didn't want to be weird about it.
Of course, he was a bird right now, and it wasn't weird for the peacocks at Anavee to wander up to people in hopes of food. Bolstered by this realization, Declan fluffed his feathers and marched around the side of the cheetah enclosure.
Fluffing ? his peacock asked, outraged. Fluffing? Only fluffing , for our mate? We should sing for her!
Before Declan could stop it, the bird let out an unholy shriek and spread its tail feathers, then shook them wildly and gave another huge scream.
His poor mate gave a startled little shriek, flinching in his direction, then dissolved into a giggle. "Oh, aren't you pretty," she said in a distinctly American accent. "Showing off for me, huh? Well, that's very thoughtful, but I've got the wrong lens on this camera right now. You want to hang on a second while I change it?"
She's talking to us, his peacock informed Declan with smug delight. Then it screamed again.
It was just as well Declan couldn't die of mortification, because he wanted to. Peacocks were beautiful birds, but they did not have nice voices. He said, Shut up, desperately, but instead his peacock shook his tail again and began a strutting, bouncing dance in a circle as feathers rattled around him. Their mate laughed again, and by the time Declan turned back around toward her, she'd put a smaller lens on her camera and was taking pictures. His peacock shrieked happily and shook its tail even harder.
"You really are gorgeous," his mate told him after a few minutes of photographing him showing off, then turned her attention back to the baby cheetahs, one of which was trying to stick its face through the wire fencing.
His peacock gasped in disbelief. Our mate is ignoring us? Don't worry. I'll fix this.
Declan said, No—! but the sound of it was lost, even to himself, under the bird's blood-curdling scream.
He wilted. He wilted so much that even his tail feathers wilted, and inside his head, his peacock gave a squeak of alarm. No! Stop! Be confident and attractive! She won't like us if we can't get it up!
Declan had not previously known it was possible to choke on a fit of laughter as a peacock. His knees actually gave out as he coughed with laughter—birds weren't really designed to laugh—and even his peacock's horror couldn't keep him on his feet. He absolutely had to settle in the grass, wheezing and giggling through his beak while the bird wailed internally and tried to hide its head under their wing. Declan giggled under the wing while the peacock made grievously injured eyes at him inside his head. It would have worked better if peacocks were among the birds endowed with great eyelashes, but their beauty came in other forms.
I don't know why you're laughing, the bird said with great tragic integrity. It's true. Females like males who can get it up.
Declan let go another howl of laughter, which unfortunately came across as another unearthly scream, only this time hidden beneath his wing. He could hear his mate giggling, and didn't dare look to see if it was himself or the baby cheetah that was amusing her so much. It would be himself, he was fairly certain of that. He was making an arse of himself, and at some point he would have to tell her he was a shifter, and that worse, he was that peacock, the one who'd behaved like a loon when he'd first seen her.
We are behaving like a peacock , his bird said stiffly. Not a loon. Loons, it said with great disdain, are boring. Black and white, with short tails.
Aww. Despite his laughter, Declan actually felt sorry for his bird, which was a sensitive, if vain, beast. Yes, you're right. We're behaving like a peacock. A very beautiful one.
The bird sniffed, more or less mollified. Tell you what, Declan said, coaxingly. We can go back to the snack shop and hide behind it to shift, and then introduce ourselves to our mate.
For a heartbeat, while the bird was considering that, Declan had to fight down another laugh. Shifting , in Irish parlance, was kissing, and he tried not to think about that too much when he remembered he was a shifter. Fortunately, the peacock gave a hearty sigh just at that moment and said, All right, which at least allowed Declan to take his head out from under his wing. Of course, as soon as he did, the peacock saw their mate again and tried to shake its tail feathers high. The next half hour was spent mostly with Declan trying to coax it back to somewhere private enough to change shapes while it insisted on following their mate with a resplendent tail aloft in the air. Finally, though, the effort involved in keeping the feathers up defeated even its determined ardor, and Declan turned back toward the far side of the park.
A few minutes later, the peacock whispered, Our mate is following us! She longs to get some tail! and floofed its tail again, parading around as elegantly as it could while Declan all but wept with laughter inside. Their mate stayed a polite distance back, obviously not wanting to alarm him, but eventually they did make it to the snack shop. Declan went behind it while his mate stopped at the front for something, and he let the peacock do one more big stretch with the tail feathers before shifting back to human.
Right behind him, his mate's distinctive American accent said, "Oh my God, what ?" and Declan, heart in his stomach, turned around to discover the woman of his dreams gaping at him in disbelief and confusion.