Chapter 27
Leonie hadn’t wanted to admit it to Shan, but his imminent departure really had dumped a whole pile of extra work on her plate.
By the time she’d finished rearranging the cabin duty roster, fielding inquiries about whether his room was now up for grabs, and reassuring worried counselors that the mystery of the camp ghost really had been definitively settled for once and for all—not to mention patiently talking Don down from an anxiety spiral—the moon was high in the sky, bathing the camp in silver light.
Don’t get your hopes up, she told herself as she walked through the still, quiet campground. You already said your goodbyes. He’s probably long gone by now.
But he hadn’t. She found Shan sitting alone at the staff firepit, staring into the dying embers. It was ridiculous, but despite everything, her heart still quickened at the sight of him.
“You waited for me,” she said, stupidly pleased that he hadn’t slipped off without a final farewell. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes.” He was wearing his sunglasses again, the silly man. Firelight glimmered from the lenses as he looked up at her. “I did.”
“Well, I’m happy you’re still here.” She took a seat on the log next to him, setting down the bag she was carrying with a clink. “I stopped by the lake to fish out the cooler I pretend I don’t know the other counselors have hidden under the dock. Want a contraband beer?”
He accepted the offered bottle, looking somewhat quizzical. “You knew I would stay?”
“Oh, no,” she said lightly, cracking the cap off another beer. “If you’d already gone, I was just going to drink these by myself. But I’m glad you stayed.”
He regarded her, face in shadow. “Truth.”
“Is that a statement or a toast?” She held out her beer to him. “Either way, cheers. Here’s to solved mysteries.”
Shan nodded, clinking his bottle against hers. They drank together, side by side, both watching the fire.
The last log crumbled into ash, sending up a shower of sparks. Leonie fidgeted with her beer, taking another drink just to avoid having to speak. Everything they hadn’t discussed sat like a boulder between them.
She should apologize. For forcing him to go along with her silly plan in the first place; for letting herself forget the difference between what was real and what was just pretend.
For accusing him of concealing the truth.
Especially for—oh God, her face heated just at the memory—what had happened in the freezer.
I’m sorry, she should tell him. I’m sorry for getting you involved in all this. I’m sorry I made things awkward. I’m sorry you had to stay so long.
But he could taste lies. And really, there was only one thing she regretted.
I’m sorry I’m not your mate.
Shan broke the silence first. “Truth or dare.”
Leonie almost spit out her beer. She spluttered, alcohol burning the back of her sinuses. “What, really?”
Shan nodded slightly, still watching the fire. “Truth or dare.”
As far as she could tell, he was completely serious. She coughed, taking another swig of beer to clear her throat. “Uh…truth, I suppose.”
“Tell me about your sister.”
“My sister?” She blinked at him. “Which one? Lola?”
Shan rolled the beer bottle between his palms, not looking at her. “Yes. I think so. You said she lives in Alaska?”
“You have a good memory,” she said, impressed. “That’s right. She’s a smokejumper. On the same crew as one of Conleth’s brothers, in fact. They’re off on a job right now, I think. Why do you ask?”
Shan shook his head. “Tell me more about her.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re getting a lot of mileage out of one question here, Agent. When do I get a turn?”
“Please.” He looked at her at last, though all she could see in his face was her own reflection. “It’s important. At least, I think it is. Tell me about Lola, Leonie. Not her job, or what she does. Who she is. What she means to you.”
“Well…she’s my twin,” she said, still baffled as to why he was so interested.
“We’ve always been close, even though we’re very different people.
She’s a lot fiercer than me, and more adventurous.
She’s more independent, too. I suppose we complement each other.
When we were growing up, I couldn’t imagine ever being apart from her. ”
“And you miss her,” he said. “Very much.”
“Yes, I do.” Her chest ached; the old, familiar stab of absence. “But it was inevitable that we’d end up separated. I love building a community, like the camp, but Lola thrives on danger. That’s just our different natures, I suppose.”
Shan had his elbows on his knees, listening intently. “She is not a lion shifter, like yourself?”
“No, she’s not.” His focused attention was unsettling. “She’s an eagle.”
For a long moment, Shan just looked at her.
“Leonie,” he said. “Why are you lying?”
“I’m not!” she protested, stung. It was true—at least now. “Why on earth would I be lying about my sister’s animal?”
“I don’t know.” His hidden gaze stayed steady on hers. “But you are.”
“Or you’re just getting confused by the taste of cheap lager,” she retorted. “Okay, my turn. Truth or dare?”
For a moment, Shan looked like he might argue. Then he let out his breath. “Truth.”
She should ask him about his mate. That was definitely something he needed to confront. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was stupid, but the prospect of Shan extolling the virtues of another woman made her want to bite someone. Possibly him.
“What happened with your parents?” she asked, and immediately felt that she’d overstepped. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer. I know that must be a sensitive subject.”
Shan looked away. He set his nearly untouched beer down by his feet, then flexed his hand. Firelight reflected from his claws as they retracted.
“My mother was human,” he said quietly. He adjusted his glove, pulling the torn leather over his fingertips. “My father was not. He was like me. Qiongqi.”
“Did he struggle to control his animal, too?”
He let out a breath of laughter, low and harsh. “No. He did not try. He saw no point. He looked as human as anyone else.”
“Did your mother know what he was?”
“Partly.” He gave her a thin, humorless smile. “She knew he was qiongqi. But not that he was a monster.”
“Shan.” She wanted to touch him, but he’d only pull away. “Your animal does not make you a monster.”
He shook his head. “You misunderstand. My father was a monster. On the surface, he seemed charming, caring, compassionate. But it was all a lie. All he truly cared about was satisfying his hunger. He never loved my mother. But she loved him. Very much.”
She did take his hand then. Shan started to draw back, but she didn’t let go. She prised his fist open, lacing her fingers through his to stop him from cutting himself on his own claws.
“Tell me what happened, Shan,” she said. “Please.”
He let out a long sigh. “My father was good at manipulating people. Gaining their trust. Uncovering their secrets, so he could savor their pain. I don’t know what first attracted him to my mother.
Maybe it was just that she was kind, and compassionate, and open-hearted.
Easy prey for someone like him. Until I was old enough to taste his lies. ”
“He must have known you’d be able to do that if you turned out to be a shifter.”
“Yes. He was always testing me. He would tell my mother that he’d been working late, or that the bloodstains on his shirt cuffs were from a nosebleed, or that he loved her. Watching me carefully the whole time. To see if I flinched.”
“What happened when he realized?”
“He didn’t.” Shan gave her another of those tight, humorless smiles.
“I learned to control myself. I waited, biding my time. I gathered all his secrets, all his lies, until I was sure it would be enough. And then I went to my mother. I showed her my qiongqi. And I told her the truth about my father. All of it. I told her he didn’t love her.
That he never had. When I was done, she just looked at me. And she said, I know.”
Shan stopped, breathing out.
“And in that moment, I knew exactly why my father had done it,” he said quietly.
“Why he’d spent so much time and effort winning her heart, only to betray her again and again.
Because every time she told him, I love you, it carried a trace of that flavor.
The taste the qiongqi craves. Truth. And pain. ”
He’d been a child. Younger than the campers, even. Just a child, trying to help his mother. Never suspecting she already knew the truth.
“Oh, Shan.” She wished she could gather up that long-lost boy in her arms. “You didn’t know. It wasn’t your fault.”
He pulled his hand out of hers. “But it was. I made it impossible for my mother to keep lying to herself. She was forced to confront my father at last. That conversation, I did not hear. But he left the next day. That was the last time I saw him.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of a loss.”
“No.” He fell silent for a moment, rubbing his fingers over his claws.
“He tried to convince me to go with him. He said we were alike, that he could teach me how to be qiongqi. I pushed him away. Shouted at him that we were nothing alike, that I would never be a monster like him. He just laughed. And he said, we are monsters, my son. Never forget that. Every word like honey. It was one of the only true things I ever heard him say.”
She digested all this. “Is your father still alive?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Shan breathed out the faintest of laughs; a real one, this time. “I did not have a hand in his death. But I admit that I was glad when I received news of it. I am even more glad, now.”
“Yeah, it would be awkward if you had to hunt me down for murdering your sperm donor. What a…” She hesitated, ingrained habit battling against anger. Anger won. “What an absolute piece of shit.”
His eyebrows shot up. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear.”