Chapter 19 Raoul
Raoul
I almost want to laugh. Perhaps I would if I weren’t in this form.
It’s deeply ironic that my family tortured me for years, believing that pain and fear were the key to unlocking my second form and getting me to shift for the first time, when in actuality, all it took was a threesome with a god and a vampire.
I should have been able to shift forms whenever I wanted to, starting as early as age five or as late as age twelve.
But I haven’t changed once, not in my twenty-two years of life, until now.
I didn’t even know what my form would be—wolf, raven, stag, cat, or some other creature.
An unlucky third cousin transformed into a large black moth for the first time and was immediately burned to powder in a nearby candle.
Centuries ago, a full-blooded púca could take multiple forms and shift between them as needed. Now each púca has two shapes—one human, one creature. My second aspect is a wolf—the most respected form among the shifter hierarchy.
The Phantom and Christine are staring at me, but he approaches first, his hand outstretched. His eyebrow, the one not concealed by his half mask, is bent in a frown, but it’s contemplative interest, not anger or fear.
“Not so long ago, I would have been able to easily discern what you were the moment I met you, but that power of mine is gone or suppressed,” he says. “I knew you were hiding something, though. This is incredible.”
“What the hell?” Christine’s voice trembles.
“Our tender poet is a wolf shifter, probably descended from Laignech Fáelad, king of Ossory. You’ve heard of the werewolves of Ossory?”
Christine nods slowly, her face white.
The Phantom is partly right about my ancestry, though my family abandoned Ireland for France centuries ago and took up residence near the Mercoire Forest, in the region of Gévaudan.
When one of our kind went mad and slaughtered scores of people in the area, my ancestors fled France and made their way to the Americas, arriving first in New Orleans and then spreading throughout the South, with several of the largest shifter families settling in the Nashville area.
I want to explain, to tell him those things, but now that I’m in this form, I’m uncertain how to leave it. And I can’t speak as a wolf.
“Beautiful,” murmurs the Phantom. His eyes gleam with admiration as he gently touches my neck.
I growl, a reflexive response, but he only grins wider and sinks his fingers into my fur.
“A shifter,” Christine says slowly. “My parents told me there are shifters in the city, a close-knit, powerful pack. They said we should always steer clear of them. They’re dangerous, ruthless, like the Mafia. And they hate vampires.”
She’s backing away, heedless of the steps leading down from the sleeping area. She’s going to fall.
I bound forward, and she shrieks a little, teetering on the edge of a step. Quickly, I dart behind her, my bulk propping her up, keeping her from falling.
The next second, I’m back in human form, standing behind Christine, with her smooth body in my arms. I barely had to think about the shift. Now that I’ve done it once, the transformation was as smooth as blinking.
When Christine cringes away, it hurts me deeply. Mostly because everything she said is true.
“Did you know?” she asks, her voice quivering. “Did you know what I am? Could you smell it?”
“No,” I assure her. “I had no idea. I noticed your scent would change occasionally, but I didn’t understand why until I saw your fangs this morning. The alteration in your scent happened because you were drinking other people’s blood. You would take on notes of their scent for a while afterward.”
“What about your family?” she retorts. “Are you part of some huge pack here in Nashville?”
“We call it the Shifter Collective,” I say. “It consists of five families. It’s much smaller than it once was.”
“I can’t believe this.” She’s pulling on her clothes in an anxious frenzy while the Phantom looks on, his arms folded across his broad chest. “Shit…I just got out of one messed-up supernatural cult. I don’t want any connection to another big, toxic family, especially not one that hates my kind. You should have told me, Raoul.”
“I didn’t know you were a vampire at first! And even after I found out—only a few hours ago, by the way—I didn’t think it mattered, because until just now, I haven’t been able to shift forms. This was my first time as a wolf.”
She hesitates, staring at me.
“Being with both of you—it fixed me,” I say quietly. “You unlocked something inside me that I’ve been struggling to resolve for years. I’m grateful.”
For a second, her dark eyes soften. But she steels her expression again. “I’m sorry. I just can’t handle this on top of everything else.”
“Christine.” The Phantom’s voice is both caution and command.
She doesn’t pay him any attention. Instead she runs past me, down the steps to the living area, where she snatches up her shoes. “I’m leaving. You’re not going to stop me.” She points to the Phantom. “And you’re not going to follow me.” She fixes me with a determined glare.
The Phantom swirls a velvety blanket around himself and stalks down the steps toward her, every inch of him radiating fierce power. Christine stands her ground, but I can tell she’s trembling in his presence.
I came here to free her. And yet in this moment, I want him to make her stay, just long enough for me to help her understand, to reassure her.
But instead of a display of dominance, he only bends to kiss her softly on the mouth. When he straightens, he says, “I’ll have one of the ghosts show you the way back to your room.”
One of the ghosts? Right…because he’s the god of the dead…or rather the former god of the dead.
At the Phantom’s call, an honest-to-goodness ghost materializes, its wispy form gliding ahead of Christine as she vanishes into the gloom.
She doesn’t say goodbye.
With her gone, there’s a gap between me and the Phantom. The three of us are a puzzle, and with Christine’s piece missing, we’re incomplete. I know he feels the same way—his broad shoulders sag, and his head hangs forward as he stands immobile where she left him.
“And you, poet,” he says without turning around. “You will leave me, too?”
“I should go,” I reply. “People will be wondering where I am.”
“Of course.” His voice is heavy, defeated.
I clear my throat. “Or you could give me my phone back, and I could text a few folks, make some excuses so I can stay a little longer. I could use some moral support while I practice shifting. And I have more to teach you about what you can do with the digital piano. There are a couple programs I want to show you as well, for composing and arranging music.”
He turns around, his golden eyes bright. “I will fetch your phone.”
When he passes me on the way to the sleeping area, I confess, “That was the best head I’ve ever gotten.”
“I am pleased it was effective. I’m out of practice.”
“Maybe you should practice more.” I feel blood rising to my face.
He gives me a sidelong grin. “I think that can be arranged.”
While he goes to one of the dressers in the sleeping area, I stare down at my body, my hands still trembling a little.
I’m struggling to believe this is real. In fact, it’s harder for me to grasp than the Phantom being a god or Christine being a vampire.
Her revelation shocked me, yes, but it explained a lot, too.
I was relieved that my senses weren’t going haywire—her changing scent had a reason behind it.
But I worried that once she did find out about my shifter nature, she might hate me. Turns out I was right.
Maybe supernaturals have an innate perceptiveness, an instinct that draws them to others with mythical heritage.
It can’t be just luck that pulled me and Christine and the Phantom together.
Somehow we felt the otherness we each possessed, an ineffable similarity, and we attracted each other like magnets.
I never expected that threesome to unlock my full potential as a shifter.
Part of me is resentful, to be honest, because I suffered all those years at the hands of a family who thought I was broken.
Maybe what I needed all along was kindness, touch, and intimacy—not the sexual kind, just the human kind.
Maybe if my family had accepted me and loved me unconditionally, I could have shifted much sooner.
I can feel my wolf form in my head now, just beyond a filmy barrier. All I have to do is press through that barrier, and—
With a jolt, I land on all fours. I shake myself. The ripple of fur and canine muscle feels weirdly natural.
The Phantom returns with my phone in his hand and the blanket tied around his waist. He pauses at the sight of me.
“Good boy,” he says with a faint smile. “You did it again.”
Exuberance rushes through me from head to tail, and my jaws open, my tongue lolling out. He approaches slowly, extending his free hand.
“I never interacted much with animals,” he says. “I’m more connected to plant life. But you’re not really an animal, are you? And I must say you are rather intriguing in this form.”
I stand stiff-legged and quaking with anticipation, trying to wait for his touch without letting my black plumed tail wag, doglike.
Wolves don’t wag their tails, do they? So why do I feel the strange urge to do so when his hand slides over the fur between my ears?
He curls his fingers, scratching me lightly, and I push my head harder against his hand to show him how good it feels.
“There were dark tales of the púca when I walked the earth,” he murmurs. “Some of them devoured humans, while others hunted vampires for their flesh.”
I pull back from his hand. A whine escapes my throat.
“I do not believe you are a danger to Christine,” he assures me.
That’s a relief, I suppose.