Page 20 of Research with Rivals
Ambrose had called itinstinctual. To me, it was an incomplete analysis. It was running in any direction without a clear destination. It was like the cat wanted to escape the city, escape anything that might tether us to this continent.
I hated it.
This, however, was how I found myself on the northern side of Sandrin Bay, tearing through the woods, restless and unaware of what I sought, before sunrise the following morning.
As the pads of my paws pressed against the dirt and the tree trunks and low bushes flew by, my heart raced. It beatwith the excitement of exploring something new—something undiscovered.
I didn’t know what led me, and that might have been the worst sin of this form. As all four of my legs propelled me forward, my mind seemed intent on conjuring images of a certain researcher and his vest and his stupid notebook.
What was that about?
He had been on my mind since we’d separated last night. It probably had to do with the confusing mix of emotions he evoked. When he wasn’t calling my research dangerous, conversations with him were the most stimulating I’d ever had.
Letting him tend my cut had been a mistake.
That tiny, barely there scab on my finger throbbed like it was a broken bone. The feeling had worked its way into my chest. A constant pulse that had woken me in the early morning hours and finally—finally—sent me curling in on myself and dropping to all fours in my veil cat form.
Again, I asked—what was that about?
Some might inquire,Evelyn, isn’t your shifter form inherently you? Can’t you control it?
I didn’t know. Maybe? It wasn’t as if I’d taken How to Shift 101. I’d had precisely zero help in figuring out how to cohabitate with this beast. And this fixation on Ambrose was new—well, new outside of the library.
Apparently, I was being uncharacteristically honest in my self-reflection this morning.
My breath heaved as I ran, but my veil cat assured me we were fine. She pressed onward with no hesitation. It had been hours since I shifted, and there seemed to be no end in sight.
Greenery surrounded me: bushes, trees, the hard-packed dirt beneath my paws, and nothing else. I’d paid enough attention to realize we were north of the city. In the months since I’d startedshifting, this was usually where I ended up. So far, I hadn’t run into another shifter.
I had a lot on my mind. Managing my shift was not going well. Determining how the animal itself fit into the political landscape of the continent, now that I knew the Vesten Point also changed into a veil cat, seemed impossible. Any hope I had of competing for the Vesten historian position relied on it remaining my priority focus. The unhelpful thoughts of my competition’s abnormally large frame or the comforting heat of his touch notwithstanding.
This list didn’t even touch on the sensation that felt like a pinging in my chest as I pressed forward toward … something.
I needed something else to think about for a while. This must be why my thoughts cycled to my father. I rarely thought about the day he left. It was a scene I’d replayed incessantly as a child, when I was young and foolish and had still thought he might return.
We had been playing in the yard. The three of us lived in a small log cabin just outside one of the northwestern villages. My fire magic had manifested very early. At five, my father was already teaching me how to call and dismiss the flame. We played a game where he set up candles along the top of the fence, and I lit them from increasingly farther distances.
It annoyed me to think about how happy the scene was. He would smile broadly every time I succeeded. He would even shout encouragement and correction when I made a mistake. We could have had thousands of nights like that. He could have been there the first time I shifted. He could have reassured me. Perhaps he could have helped me control the change instead of letting it control me.
But he hadn’t been around for any of that.
The evening before he left, another shifter had arrived. The only other one I’d seen at our cottage. Or, at least, the only oneI remember. A bear lumbered out of the forest, and while my father put himself between me and the animal, he didn’t pick me up—we didn’t run. He waited patiently for the bear to change into a fae male.
My father glanced over his shoulder at me, nodding with something that tried to look like reassurance. His chin lifted in a gesture toward the back door of the cabin. He wanted me to go inside. I did as I was told, but the rapidly whispered words with sharp inflection behind me were indicative of anger. It drew my attention like a moth to flame. The other male shook his head, his lips curling in distaste. Seconds before my father realized I hadn’t left yet, I understood that anger, that … disgust was directed at me.
Father shooed me inside then. I ran directly into Mom’s arms. She picked me up and pressed my head to her shoulder. It occurred to me later that she’d watched the rest of the scene unfold outside the window. I relished the comfort of her arms when the look on the fae’s face had made the world outside suddenly seem so cold.
Father had left for work the next morning as he usually did. But that time was different—that time he never returned.
Now, I knew the other fae’s opinion of me wasn’t uncommon. Half-fae hadn’t been accepted at that time. Mom, Father, and I had lived in relative isolation. The bear shifter’s arrival signaled that the real world had caught up with us. No matter Father’s feelings for Mom, or the little fantasy he thought he could live out in the woods, that moment had reminded him that wasn’t the continent’s reality.
I’d pointed this out to Mom a hundred times. I’d clarify that it wasn’t her—it was me. Fae could slum it with humans, but they couldn’t have children with them. Mom stubbornly refused to hear any of it.
I cleared the depressing thoughts from my head as the sparkling blue water of Sandrin Bay finally came into view. This northern part of the bay was familiar to me. I wasn’t far from the ferry that crossed to the city. Maybe the veil cat would shift me back so that I could ride it again this morning.
That pressure still pulsed in my chest. I ran in the same direction—until the pulsing slowed, and the pressure lifted slightly. Something warm and insistent cascaded through me. Fire burned, not unpleasantly. This was it; the shift was finally done. I knew the change was complete as my hand reached to rub against my sternum. The sensation wasn’t … painful … but the discomfort lingered.
My fur was gone. My hand pressed against skin. I’d shifted into the tank top and shorts I had been wearing to sleep. Though not particularly the outfit I wanted to wear on a ferry ride across the bay, I had to admit it was better than shifting nude.
