Page 95 of It's You
“Assez proché, Peaumarcheur!”Close enough, Skinwalker.
Jack whipped his head to the right and found the butt of Tombeur’s rifle pressed up against his cheek.
“Downshift.Maintenant.” It wasn’t a request. It was a demand.
Jack took a deep breath and closed his eyes, concentrating. His claws and fangs began to retract. The prickly fur receded back under his skin. His blood rushed, hot and unfulfilled, fighting the downshift, but losing. A moment later, he stood dirty and naked next to Tombeur in the woods behind his cabin.
“Jacques?”
“Oui.C’est moi,” he replied through clenched teeth.
“Well, damn. Why’d you come shifted?” Tombeur asked in English, his familiar twang welcome in Jack’s ears. He lowered the gun and turned to face Jack. “That ain’t friendly, son.”
“I…” Jack took a deep, steadying breath, then looked down, feeling ashamed. “I lost fucking control.”
“Whew! Guess so.” Tombeur raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Wait here. I’ll get you some pants. Don’t want you scaring my girls.”
Tombeur headed back to the cabin, and Jack put his hands on his knees, finally catching his breath for the first time since he went inside.
She left me to die.
She’s just angry.
She left me todie!
Yes, she did.
The voice stepped back into the shadows. It didn’t have a move. There was nothing left to say.
He didn’t want to talk to Tombeur about Darcy. He didn’t want to think about her right now. He was angry and hurt. He was scared that the binding wasn’t holding, after all.
“Here you go.” A pair of jeans fell at Jack’s feet, and he picked them up and pulled them on, buttoning the top button. They were a little big and slipped down his waist to rest on his hips.
“Where’d you leave your car?” asked Tombeur.
“Halfway down the road from Portes de l’Enfer.”
Tombeur nodded. “I’ll drive you back down in a bit.”
“Thanks. Sorry about that, before.”
“You came all the way up here tonight? You know I’ll be down for the Gathering tomorrow. Got something under your skin, Skinwalker?” Tombeur grinned, tilting his head to the side. “You want to come in and have a beer?”
Jack nodded and followed his friend through the rest of the woods toward his cabin. At forty-nine, Tombeur had more gray than Jack remembered him having, but he was still as big as ever. Easily six feet, five inches tall, broad-chested and covered in sinew of muscle, Tombeur was one of the fiercest,most respected, most forward-thinking Rougs in the Northern Bloodlands. He was also Jack’s mentor and more of a father figure than Jack’s own father had ever been, despite a relatively small twelve-year age difference. Tombeur had insisted that anything he asked Jack to do, he’d do himself too, and together they’d learned the limits and boundaries of control.
Jack followed his friend into the dimly lit cabin that smelled of cinnamon and cloves.
“Chantal made some sort of bread. Pumpkin, I think. You want?”
Jack’s mouth watered, and he nodded, taking a seat by the fire as Tombeur opened two beers and brought them over.
“Chantal, honey, you remember Jacques?”
Tombeur’s sixteen-year-old daughter gave Jack a shy smile from the kitchen as she cut two large slices of the bread and brought the plates over to the men, then retired into her bedroom.
“She’s pretty, huh?”
“Very,” answered Jack, tearing off a slice of the warm bread. “She have a mate in mind?”
