Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 121389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Soleil would hate him to the end of time for that cruelty, and she wouldn’t feel bad about it.
But as of this moment, she was out of time.
She’d sensed the faint hum of a car coming closer half a minute ago, now heard the engine shut off.
The alpha of DarkRiver was here.
Chapter 27
I don’t know how Lucas Hunter does it. Then again, he’s a cat. They find the strangest things funny.
—Valentin Nikolaev, alpha of StoneWater, to Silver Mercant, director of EmNet
IVAN HAD KEPT his breathing even by sheer force of will until Soleil reappeared in the doorway through which she’d exited the kitchen. He’d known she was safe, was still inside the house, but he wanted her close to him when she spoke to Lucas Hunter.
Then there she was, dressed once again in borrowed clothing, her hair tumbling over her shoulders and her eyes coming directly to him. Ocelot eyes, her humanity still only a surface skin, the cat at the forefront.
Rising to his feet, he said, “Are you all right?” It was an inane question and Ivan didn’t ask such questions. Except he just had, his need to look after her a burn in his blood.
“I’m perfect.” Her gaze went to the four children at the counter, her face soft.
The twins had remained in their human forms, while the two ocelot cubs had stayed in cub form. All, however, were gathered together, huddled around a plate of cookies as well as two glasses of water—and two shallow bowls of the same.
Scratching one cub’s head, Tamsyn had said, “Your tummies won’t have room for milk and cookies since I happen to know that some small people in this kitchen already had dessert tonight.”
The twins had grinned, while the ocelot cubs had butted Tamsyn’s hand for more scratches and pets.
Ivan had watched the scene with a quiet fascination; he’d never thought about the small things that would be different in a changeling household. Never thought that when a child was in animal form, they’d prefer to drink from a bowl instead of a glass. Of course a loving home would have accommodations for either form.
To a changeling, they were both parts of the whole. It was only the Psy who so often thought in strictly limited terms, as if the world could be squared off into neat boxes. But that structured world was also the one in which Ivan knew how to exist, how to function—rules had been a necessary lifeline for a boy who’d been half-feral by the time he came to Ena Mercant’s attention.
“I don’t know what to do,” he’d said to her as she walked him to his first lesson with a tutor, the corridor around them bright and clean in the sunshine pouring through the large windows to one side. “Mama’s man said I was stupid.”
Ena’s silvery blue eyes on him. “Yet he is the one who ended up dead in the morgue from a drug overdose.” She’d paused, held his gaze. “You are a very clever child, Ivan. Never allow the words of others to steal your worth—always remember that it is the weak and cowardly who attempt to devalue others. The strong uplift without fear, share their knowledge to help others grow.”
Ivan had thought then of how Grandmother had taught him to use a knife and fork, how she’d told him that he didn’t have to hoard food, that he could always get more from the kitchen, and how she’d instructed him to put his dirty clothes in the laundry chute.
It had been so hard for him to let go of those precious possessions. He’d only really believed they’d come back to him when he found them ironed and placed on his bed for him to put away. The same day, he’d gone back for a second serving of breakfast and no one had ordered him to stop. Cousin Canto, who’d told Ivan he’d just “escaped” the infirmary after an operation, had even winked and put extra dried fruits on top for him—because he knew they were Ivan’s favorite.
Ivan had realized he could trust Grandmother to tell the truth. “I can’t be clever if I don’t know what to do,” he’d pointed out, trying to make her see. “I only know how to be the other Ivan.” The one from his life before Grandmother, before a kitchen stocked with food, and a bedroom full of sunlight where no one touched his things.
A long pause before Grandmother’s face became hard in a way that he’d already learned wasn’t about him. “Of course,” she’d murmured that day. “Very well. I shall teach you how to behave in specific situations, give you the tools to handle them as they arise—they will give you structure as you adapt to your new life.”
Ivan had long ago adapted—but he still preferred structure. It was why he’d never quite fit into Silver’s pack, though the bears had welcomed him as a relative of their beloved Silver Mercant. He saw the bears’ generosity and warmth of heart, understood the incalculable value of such beings—but he’d rather shoot himself in both feet than live in the midst of that joyous chaos.