Page 6 of Midlife Tiger’s Last Chance

CHAPTER FOUR

Brock

There is a lot of debate about the origins of tiger shifters. Oh, there is a lot of debate about the origins of shifters in general. Maybe it’s wrong to say there is debate about tiger shifter origins. Maybe a better way to put it is that there exists only one type of tiger shifter as far as anyone can tell. While there are lion shifters that are African lions as well as lion shifters that are North American mountain lions; there are only tigers. There are three distinct types of leopard shifters, four if you call a jaguar a leopard. So, you will find snow leopard shifters as well as regular continental African leopards. You’ll find one type of tiger shifter.

There are almost a dozen types of horse shifters.

One tiger.

There are shifters who are birds of prey. Eagles, hawks, and even kestrels.

One tiger.

There are bears, polar bears, and grizzly bears.

One tiger.

And that’s the debate. Some believe our animal is a tiger that no longer exists in the wild, the tiger from which the nine known subspecies of tiger descended. Three of those subspecies are extinct. The other six all have different sizes and different characteristics. My animal is pretty much what everyone learns in school to be a tiger, with orange fur and black stripes. Of course, my tiger is almost nine-hundred and seventy-five pounds, more than twice the weight of your average Siberian tiger.

It isn’t strange for me to think about my animal as I pull off the highway and onto the logging road. I own this road. In fact, I own the land on which the road is placed. The first owner, my great grandfather, knew shifters need a place to shift. His purchase is now expanded from eighteen hundred acres to twenty-eight thousand acres. I guess I tend to expand all of the family holdings. Though officially, this land is for lumber harvesting, we don’t use it for that. In fact, I harvest only enough to keep the land safe from forest fires. The canopy of the trees provides perfect cover from the air and the distance from civilization provides the rest of the cover my family needs.

I’m here today for one reason.

Minerva.

Four weeks after our first meeting, I cannot get his woman out of my mind. I see in her face the struggles she tackles every day raising her children alone, but she shows up to work and does a better job of it than anyone else. Out of curiosity, I had Jeanie crunch some numbers for me and they confirm what I suspect. Minerva saves this company more money than any other claims adjustor. She does it with honesty, too. In fact, she approves claims faster than any other adjustor. There are many who just reject everything in the first round and then approve later when they really have no choice. She doesn’t have to do that. She just has an eye for a payable or non-payable claim.

I drive a few miles down the road and pull off into a clearing. I step out of the car and take my clothes off. The ritual of taking my clothes off, folding them, and placing them in the driver seat is unique to me, at least in the sense that I’m the only shifter I know who does it every time.

I do it because the act of undressing is symbolic to me of shedding my human form and the act of folding it and placing it carefully on the seat is symbolic that the human part is still a part of me and will always take an equal place in my life. I’m not discarding my human, merely setting it aside for a while.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath of the cool mountain air. I shift slightly, just enough so my nostrils become the tiger’s nostrils and when I breathe again, I pick up the scents of the world around me and feel the animal awaken.

I start to run and as I run, I finish the shift. When I am completely my tiger, I roar in exultation. The sound echoes throughout the trees and flocks of birds take to the sky. Their cries echo with mine and I run under them, roaring joyfully.

I bound through the forest, swerving around trees and leaping over fallen logs and gnarled roots. A deer looks at me with alarm and freezes in position. Fortunately for the animal, I’m not hungry and I’m not here to hunt, just to run.

One of the things I enjoy most about shifting is the chance to forget about human concerns for a little while. When Serena left me, I ran every day, and even running alone instead of with Serena allowed me to maintain composure when I otherwise would have collapsed.

Today, I can’t quite shake all of my human concerns.

Minnie is everywhere in my thoughts. I roar and leap and bound and imagine her by my side. I know she’s not a shifter, so I know she wouldn’t really run with me but I imagine her watching as I show off my majestic stripes and the luxurious beard that identifies me as a mature male. I imagine roaring and strutting for her while she gazes at me in awe. I imagine walking together in my human form, holding her hand and talking about nothing important, simply enjoying each other’s company.

I recall how Serena and I used to walk together like that when we were young and newly in love. The thought brings no sadness. I don’t even feel nostalgia and I’m surprised at that. I have no desire to rekindle things with Serena but up until meeting Minnie, I reminisced often and fondly about the early days of our marriage when everything was still new and exciting and wonderful, and I never had to question how she felt about me.

Now, I can think about those memories and appreciate them but not feel any grief that I’ll never make another memory like that with Serena.

I feel a lot of excitement at the possibility of making memories with Minnie. I realize Melanie is right. I am ready to move on and I know exactly who I want to move on with.

I return to my car and shift back into human form.

Before I dress, I retrieve my cell phone and dial Minnie.

“Hello? Mr. Matheson?”

At the sound of her voice, I grow instantly hard and if there was any doubt of my attraction to her, there’s none now.

“Good afternoon, Minnie,” I say. “Have I caught you at a bad time?”

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