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Authors: Stacy Mantle
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took a lot of work for me to get out of a citation.
“Alex — are you listening to me?” Richard’s voice held a sharp edge of frustration and I tried to refocus my attention.
“Not really,” I admitted.
He exhaled loudly and I could hear the chair creak as he leaned back. “I was asking your opinion on why the chimera hadn’t shifted in so long.”
I blew past another row of cars. “He’s young — barely out of his teens. And something scared him. I couldn’t get the whole story—I’m not sure he even knows what happened to him, but he’s been in hiding for months. Richard, he sort of overwhelmed me.”
“What do you mean he overwhelmed you?”
I considered how to explain. After all, I didn’t really understand what had happened myself. “He was a little too good at broadcasting. It clouded things a bit and I couldn’t be in there for too long.”
“ Too good at broadcasting,” Richard repeated. I could almost hear him thinking as he processed my statement. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe I’m just tired and losing my ability to regulate the signal.” Of course since I have no idea how I even get a signal, let alone regulate the skill, this scenario was highly unlikely.
“Doubtful,” he muttered, echoing my thoughts. “You’ve been growing stronger, not weaker.”
And he should know. Every six months, I was subjected to a battery of tests that included everything from mental and emotional exams to gathering DNA — another requirement from the Council when I took over as Shepherd of the Southwest Territories. Since there were no reliable records of female Shepherds anywhere in history, the other Council members took a few too many liberties in assigning random conditions to my appointment. Richard had volunteered to monitor the results of my testing and report back to the Council with any unusual findings. And since he is one of the few humans that both the Council and I trust, it was allowed. It was all done in the name of safety, but everyone knew the real motivation was control. The Council was terrified I might do something to jeopardize their good name.
And rightfully so.
“I don’t know, Richard. Sometimes the animal is just a good communicator, maybe I was more focused than usual.” A quick glance at the freeway signs told me my exit was fast approaching and I changed lanes, waving my hand in apology at the Buick I had cut off. “Either way, the situation is handled. Daniel has instructions on how to find me, Meg’s safely tucked into bed, and Bren’s out of the neighborhood.”
He didn’t offer any thanks. That’s not Richard’s style. Instead, he exhaled loudly. “All right. Get some rest tonight. I have a few leads we need to follow up on tomorrow. I’ll be in touch.”
I took the exit at nearly 90 mph and, with no further sign of the black sports car following, I headed home. Right now,
I just wanted to get some sleep before meeting with Billy. While domesticating strays is my first duty, hunting them is a close second…
Billy relaxed against the antiquated silver Mustang that was not so inconspicuously parked in the lot of our previously agreed-upon meeting place — the same coffee shop we always met at so he could get his maple-flavored bear claw and I could get my almond-flavored café au lait. He grinned as I eased the Pontiac into the space next to his restored Mustang, which was still sans muffler.
I could never figure out how he tolerates the thunderous car. The engine was deafening to humans, and a shifter’s hearing was far more sensitive than any human. But, it never seemed to bother Billy so I just tried to do as much of the driving as possible.
Despite an upbringing a serial killer would envy, Billy is one of the most laid-back people I’ve ever met. A casual stance and a tight black t-shirt emphasized his corded muscles and broad shoulders. A bone-handle knife protruded from the sheath at his waist, gleaming
“Alex — are you listening to me?” Richard’s voice held a sharp edge of frustration and I tried to refocus my attention.
“Not really,” I admitted.
He exhaled loudly and I could hear the chair creak as he leaned back. “I was asking your opinion on why the chimera hadn’t shifted in so long.”
I blew past another row of cars. “He’s young — barely out of his teens. And something scared him. I couldn’t get the whole story—I’m not sure he even knows what happened to him, but he’s been in hiding for months. Richard, he sort of overwhelmed me.”
“What do you mean he overwhelmed you?”
I considered how to explain. After all, I didn’t really understand what had happened myself. “He was a little too good at broadcasting. It clouded things a bit and I couldn’t be in there for too long.”
“ Too good at broadcasting,” Richard repeated. I could almost hear him thinking as he processed my statement. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe I’m just tired and losing my ability to regulate the signal.” Of course since I have no idea how I even get a signal, let alone regulate the skill, this scenario was highly unlikely.
“Doubtful,” he muttered, echoing my thoughts. “You’ve been growing stronger, not weaker.”
And he should know. Every six months, I was subjected to a battery of tests that included everything from mental and emotional exams to gathering DNA — another requirement from the Council when I took over as Shepherd of the Southwest Territories. Since there were no reliable records of female Shepherds anywhere in history, the other Council members took a few too many liberties in assigning random conditions to my appointment. Richard had volunteered to monitor the results of my testing and report back to the Council with any unusual findings. And since he is one of the few humans that both the Council and I trust, it was allowed. It was all done in the name of safety, but everyone knew the real motivation was control. The Council was terrified I might do something to jeopardize their good name.
And rightfully so.
“I don’t know, Richard. Sometimes the animal is just a good communicator, maybe I was more focused than usual.” A quick glance at the freeway signs told me my exit was fast approaching and I changed lanes, waving my hand in apology at the Buick I had cut off. “Either way, the situation is handled. Daniel has instructions on how to find me, Meg’s safely tucked into bed, and Bren’s out of the neighborhood.”
He didn’t offer any thanks. That’s not Richard’s style. Instead, he exhaled loudly. “All right. Get some rest tonight. I have a few leads we need to follow up on tomorrow. I’ll be in touch.”
I took the exit at nearly 90 mph and, with no further sign of the black sports car following, I headed home. Right now,
I just wanted to get some sleep before meeting with Billy. While domesticating strays is my first duty, hunting them is a close second…
Billy relaxed against the antiquated silver Mustang that was not so inconspicuously parked in the lot of our previously agreed-upon meeting place — the same coffee shop we always met at so he could get his maple-flavored bear claw and I could get my almond-flavored café au lait. He grinned as I eased the Pontiac into the space next to his restored Mustang, which was still sans muffler.
I could never figure out how he tolerates the thunderous car. The engine was deafening to humans, and a shifter’s hearing was far more sensitive than any human. But, it never seemed to bother Billy so I just tried to do as much of the driving as possible.
Despite an upbringing a serial killer would envy, Billy is one of the most laid-back people I’ve ever met. A casual stance and a tight black t-shirt emphasized his corded muscles and broad shoulders. A bone-handle knife protruded from the sheath at his waist, gleaming
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