She had family. She had friends. Her life was full to overflowing.
CHAPTER 11
The next two days were both strange and wonderful for Kirby. First came an envelope from Detective Shona Bay. In it was a note scrawled in blue ink:
Turns out I never returned your file to Records after the last time I checked it out. Bad behavior on my part, but it means it wasn’t destroyed as per protocol. I’m glad I can give you this at least. I only wish I could’ve done more.
—Shona
Below the note was the original photograph found in the fire-ravaged home, of the man Kirby had already seen on the message, a tiny baby swaddled in a white blanket, and a woman with shiny light brown hair and an enormous smile, her eyes turned lovingly toward the child in her arms.
Joy blazed from the image, and it was enough to heal the last of the ragged wounds in Kirby’s soul. “I have her face now,” she whispered to Bastien, the two of them sitting on the edge of the aerie balcony, her wild lynx friend curled up by her side. “I can see with my own eyes that she loved me, that they both loved me. One day, I’ll discover her name, but until then”—tears smeared her vision, turned her voice husky—“I’ll just call her Mom.”
Enfolding her in his arms, Bastien said, “I dared call Mom by her name once when I was a cub. It did not end well for young Bastien.”
Kirby laughed, the sound wet. “I think my mom would’ve been the same. My dad, too.” It felt good to say that, to acknowledge the two loving people who’d brought her into this life.
Her grandparents cried when she gave them a copy of the photograph, then asked her to stay with them in the guest aerie they’d been assigned on DarkRiver land. She hated being separated from Bastien—in this, she was her father’s daughter, she thought, her throat thick—but hungry to get to know more about her family, she acquiesced.
However, when her grandmother asked her to come to Canada, join their pack, she didn’t hesitate to shake her head. “I want to visit, meet my aunts, my cousins, spend more time with you, but my place is here.” With Bastien, his name branded on her heart so deep, she knew nothing would ever erase it.
Mate. The lynx swiped a claw inside her mind, a little exasperated at the human half’s thickheadedness. Mate!
Oh!
Champagne in her bloodstream, her joy effervescent, Kirby had to force herself to stay in place rather than running to pounce on Bastien. Enid had been explaining the more intimate facts of changeling life to her during their time together, things a parent would normally teach his or her growing cub. Kirby had been reticent with her questions at first, but Enid was so matter-of-fact about it, having already brought up a son, her daughter apt to be as curious when she grew older, that there was no awkwardness.
One of the things Enid had spoken to her about was the wonder of the soul-deep connection that was the mating bond. So Kirby understood the precious gift of it.
More, she felt the beauty of it deep within.
Once, she would’ve worried that Bastien hadn’t initiated the bond because he wasn’t sure he wanted her for life. To think that now would be an insult to her leopard, strong and loyal and so insanely protective that she knew they were going to butt heads about it on a regular basis. She couldn’t wait.
“What?” Her grandmother scowled at her. “Your far-too-charming leopard refuses to relocate to our territory?”
Kirby knew full well her “far-too-charming leopard” would do anything to make her happy. She felt the same about him. And Bastien’s bonds to his family, his pack, had grown over a lifetime, would hurt to rip out, while hers were just budding. Care for his heart was the most important, but not the only reason for her decision.
Closing her hand over her grandmother’s, she said, “This land has become my home.” An absolute truth. “I’ve made friends”—she stroked her fingers through the fur of the wild lynx who’d followed her to the guest aerie—“started to put down roots, been treated as a packmate.”
It was her grandfather who placed his hand on her shoulder, squeezed. “I always knew my boy would sire a strong cub. Strong as another lynx I know.”
Making a face, her grandmother patted Kirby’s hand. “I’m proud of you for building a life for yourself, but I’m greedy to have you in mine, too.” A kiss pressed to her forehead, the older woman’s eyes narrowed as she said, “I expect you to visit several times a year. Bring your leopard so we can make sure he’s treating you right.”
In her grandmother’s voice, Kirby heard the resonance of old pain, of the agony of waiting for a young family that had never arrived. “I will,” she promised. “I’ll comm call every few days, too, if you don’t mind.” Never would she take this gift for granted.