Prophecy? And she did have a human form. She just didn’t have it right now.
Max shook his head, clearly unconvinced. “First, you can smell she’s shifter. So of course she has a human form, Derrick. Second, when was the last time Aunt Eva screwed up a chicken noodle soup reading? She’s legend and you know it.”
His Aunt Eva read chicken noodle soup? Chicken noodle soup was good for the soul. Not your eyes. What sort of whackadoodle read soup? What in all of hell?
Yet another reason to hate being paranormal. All sorts of crazy rules and legends and nonsense, but absolutely no explanations.
Derrick’s lean face went grim and dark. “Fair.” He looked to Martine, his blue eyes scanning her face. “It might be a good idea if you shift now. So we can talk. There’s nothing to be afraid of. But we really do need to talk.”
If she could let out an exasperated sigh in her cat form, she’d blow it right in Derrick’s face. She couldn’t shift.
She hadn’t shifted in six solid months.
And it didn’t look like that was going to change anytime soon.
So now what, Derrick?
Chapter Two
Derrick weighed his options as he watched the cat, the color of ebony, stretch out her front paws and yawn again, settling down on the coffee table to curl into a ball as though he’d bored her to death. They’d waited a full fifteen minutes for her to shift while they made coffee, poured her a bowl of fresh water, and all to no avail.
There were two possible reasons why she wasn’t shifting. Fear or avoidance. But there was no doubt in his mind, now that he’d adjusted to her scent, that she was half human. Well, mostly no doubt. She smelled half human, but then again, there was plenty of trickery to be had in the paranormal realm.
If this was some damn stupid joke his friends were going to heckle him for on poker night, if he was talking to nothing more than a domestic cat they’d somehow managed to disguise with a human scent, who didn’t really understand anything he was saying, he’d kick the shit out of every single one of those yahoos.
Yet, that didn’t sit right with him. Eva didn’t play on chicken noodle soup night. When she read a prophecy, she meant business.
So, that left him with two choices. Tell her she was his life mate while she was in shift and take the chance she’d be so freaked out, she’d never shift again. Or take her back to his place and wait it out.
But how fair was it for her not to understand why he’d brought her here to begin with? How scared would she be if she didn’t at least have some information to work with—like who they all were? Taking another gulp of coffee, he decided on the former.
He gave her ear a light tap, for which she responded by lifting her chin, haughty disdain in her enormous glasslike green eyes. “I’m just going to lay this on the line for you. I don’t know why you’re not shifting, but it’s only fair you know why you’re here.”
JC was back in the living room at the speed of light, dropping onto the sofa. “Hold that thought, Master of The Delicate Words. I want to be here to lend support to…her. Sorry,” she apologized to the cat. “But I don’t know your name yet.” Then she rolled her hand in the air to gesture Derrick should continue, patting the place beside her when Max brought her a steaming cup of coffee.
Derrick leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “So here’s the deal. I’m a werewolf. I don’t know if you can tell, because you either can’t or won’t shift and tell me so yourself.”
JC ran a finger across her throat, shaking her head. “Ixnay on the accusatory.”
He fought the well of impatience boiling up inside him and forced himself to display some restraint. “Sorry. Anyway, I have an Aunt Eva. She reads our pack’s prophecies, and as werewolves, we’re all expected to find life mates. If you know anything about werewolves, you’ll know we’re part of a pack. Our pack, the Adams pack, was cursed in retribution for saving werewolves who’d been used as experiments. So when we’re sent on our life-mate journey, the curse ensures the journey to finding a mate will be next to impossible—in the hopes that we’ll die trying. Which is probably true at this point, because just look at you, not shifting.”
JC tapped her coffee mug with a fingernail and gave him the same frowny face he’d often seen his sisters give him. That meant bad Derrick. “Decidedly not delicate. No finger pointing,” she said, sending him fiery signals with her eyes he didn’t understand.
Christ. He’d apologized more in two hours than he had in a lifetime. “Sorry—again. So, like I said, the curse dictates our life-mate journeys are next to impossible. As an example, we’ll use Dr. Phil here on the couch.” He gave JC a pointed look. “And my brother Max, who’s also the alpha of our pack. Max’s prophecy was read last month. He had to find his life mate, and when he did, he found JC. JC is a human.” He waited for a reaction, maybe a flick of her tail, a tuft of hair out of place.