Mate Bond(32)

"You've formed the mate bond," Kenzie said, excited.

"Yes," Bianca answered, laughing and crying at once. "Oh, Kenzie, it's so wonderful. I've never felt anything like it . . ."

Kenzie's throat closed up abruptly as she whirled between several  emotions at once. One was gladness-Shifters mating and forming the bond  was the most joyful event in Shiftertown.

The second emotion was stark envy. Then grief. The mate bond came so easily for some. But for Kenzie and Bowman . . .

Bianca's face fell. "Oh, Kenzie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . ."  Bianca enfolded Kenzie in a sudden embrace, her flowing tears wetting  Kenzie's cheek. "I didn't come here to make you feel bad. I just . . .  It's so exciting . . . I've never felt so happy, and I don't know what  I'm doing. I'm crying again. Marcus says I'm the biggest crybaby.  'Course, he keeps doing it too."

"No." Kenzie took Bianca by the shoulders. "Mate bonding is a good  thing. I'm so happy for you. Bowman will be too-even if a Lupine is  mating with a Feline. He'll tease your asses off, but he'll still be  happy. I know he will."

"I've always loved you, Kenzie. You're the big sister I never had."  Tears streamed down Bianca's cheeks again, and she broke from Kenzie to  wipe them away. "I have got to stop crying. But I'm so emotional. We  think . . . We hope . . . No, we really do think . . ." Bianca slid her  hand down to her abdomen, her eyes shining with joy.

Kenzie forgot about her envy. Cubs were the best things of all.  "Goddess, that's wonderful." She placed her hand on Bianca's belly. She  felt nothing, but a mother always knew when a cub was there. The spark  was unmistakable.

"Are you having a cub, Bianca?" Ryan asked, interrupting the female  tears. He punched the air, then danced around in a circle. "Woo-hoo!  That's awesome. Hey, when he's big enough, I'll teach him how to ride  the zip line!"


* * *

"You want to know the attractions of living out here by myself?" Turner  looked unperturbed by the question Cristian so bluntly asked.

They were seated in his office-like living room again. By the light of  day, Turner seemed nothing more than an ordinary man. His thinning hair  was partly gray, his blue eyes clear, though he peered nearsightedly at  things through his thick glasses. He wore a sweatshirt, jeans, and  running shoes-casual clothes for a casual setting.

Turner had given them cups of his excellent coffee before settling in on a chair and drinking one himself.

"I'll tell you why," he said. "I am finishing my book, remember? I need  to have it done soon. I have soft money, you see. That means grant  money," he explained. "I have a grant from the NEH-National Endowment  for the Humanities-for my research into Shifters, their social history  as far back as I can take it." Turner relaxed into his chair, crossing  his legs comfortably. "When you accept grant money, however, you agree  to produce something with it, like a book or articles published in  peer-reviewed journals. That's so the grantees don't simply take the  money and run. You have to account for every dollar spent and produce  something that contributes to your field. With me, that means a thick  tome with all my findings, charts, maps, and so forth. I only have a few  months to finish the book and get it to the press that's publishing  it." He heaved a long sigh. "So this year, I took a sabbatical and moved  here to get away from phones, research assistants knocking on my door,  endless committee meetings. You wouldn't believe how many committees I  have to be on, and how many meetings each one generates." He looked  pained.                       
       
           



       

"So this is your hideaway," Cristian said. He set his cup on the table next to him. "And we are disturbing it. Our apologies."

"Not at all," Turner said pleasantly. "I always have time for Shifters.  You're my subject matter, after all." His eyes twinkled with his smile.

Bowman had said little, letting Cristian ask all the questions.  Cristian, he had to admit, was much better at dealing with humans than  Bowman was. For a man who hadn't seen a city until he was a hundred  years old, Cristian could be urbane, and people liked his accent. Humans  thought him cultured and cosmopolitan, when in reality, he'd been  raised in a cave in Transylvania.

Bowman continued to sip coffee and let Cristian and Turner talk while he  watched. And sniffed, covertly. He still couldn't figure out the scent  layers here.

"And you knew nothing of the large animal in the woods?" Cristian asked.  He hadn't brought it up-Turner had-asking them what all the fuss and  distant fire had been about.

"I thought I saw something skulking around, but we get bears back here,  so I didn't investigate. I leave bears alone and hope they leave me  alone. Wild bears, that is. I've met one or two Shifter bears, but they  were not keen to talk to me. Scary fellows, but fascinating."

Cade would be flattered by the description, Bowman thought.

"We do not yet know what the beast was," Cristian said. "But it is dead, so it is not likely to, as you say, skulk, any longer."

"Well, that's a relief, in a way. But I'm a softy about animals, so I  can feel sorry for it. I suppose that's why I'm so interested in  Shifters-an offshoot of my being an animal lover. A girlfriend in  college told me I'd decided to study other cultures and how they  interact because I was bad at interacting myself." Turner wheezed a  laugh. "She was no doubt right. I'm going to ask you what I've been  dying to, but I'm trying to be polite. I'd love to interview one or both  of you for my book. A chapter straight from the Shifter's mouth, so to  speak, would be just the thing. You're so long-lived you must have seen  amazing changes in human history."

Cristian gave him an indulgent smile. "No asking our ages, please. It is  impolite. I will say that I danced the waltz in Vienna when it was  first introduced. I watched Napoleon march across Europe, and Hitler do  it again a hundred and more years later. Making many of the same  mistakes, I would like to point out. But mostly, Shifters kept to  themselves and let humans live their own lives."

Turner listened, his eyes filled with the same kind of eagerness that  fired the women and men who came to the Shifter bars. Turner was just  another groupie, Bowman decided. Except he wanted knowledge rather than  sex. Well-hopefully he didn't want sex.

"If I could get some stories from you, it would round out the book,"  Turner said. He switched his gaze to Bowman. "Have you read the part I  gave you?"

Bowman stilled. He'd caught, as Turner moved his eyes, a flash inside  them, of something Bowman couldn't decipher, an emotion he couldn't  pinpoint. Turner hid it well, and in the next second, it was gone. But  the flash made Bowman come entirely alert.

Cristian also had seen it, Bowman could tell, though Cristian was more  skilled at hiding his reaction. "My niece has the manuscript," Cristian  said, pulling Turner's attention away from Bowman. "Kenzie-you met her.  She will read and let you know."

"Good. Excellent. I look forward to it."

Cristian took this opening to rise to his feet. "Then we will leave you to it. Thank you for the coffee, Dr. Turner."

"Wayne, please." Turner stuck out his hand.

Cristian pretended to not quite know what to do with the offered hand,  then become delighted that Turner was including him in the human custom.  He looked hard into the man's eyes as he performed the handshake.  Trying to read him, Bowman knew, but Turner didn't seem to notice.

Bowman drained his cup and gave Turner a polite thanks and good-bye,  then he and Cristian left the house when Turner opened the door for  them.

"I don't think you sucked up to him enough," Bowman said once they were  well into the woods. "Sure you don't want to go back and sniff his ass?"

"I was, as you say, buttering him up, not sucking up," Cristian said,  not offended. "I wanted to know what he knew. He is, on the surface,  harmless."

"On the surface, sure. What about underneath? What did you get from him?"

"I don't know." Cristian looked troubled. "A very evasive man. He didn't  lie to us-we would have scented that-but he did not provide the entire  truth."                       
       
           



       

"That's what I got. That this whole setup is a lie." Bowman shook his  head. "But it's not. He really is a professor at Asheville. Associate  professor, whatever that means."

"It means he is tenured-he has a secure position at the university-but  has not achieved the rank of full professor, which would give him great  status and higher pay. It is my guess that with this book and all his  research, he seeks to move up the next rung in the ladder."