A t-shirt hit him in the chest. With a sinking sense of inevitability, Buck shook it out, taking in the image printed on the front. He sighed.
“Got a different shirt?” he asked without much hope.
“If you’re going to go around crash-landing on other people’s roofs, I don’t think you have the luxury of being picky about your apparel.”
Buck looked down at the wordsCamp Thunderbird,and grimaced again. Since the alternative was parading his graying, unnaturally ripped chest through a camp full of lithe college-age counselors, he pulled the t-shirt on.
Decent at last, he went to the edge of the roof. Some insane instinct almost had him stepping off into thin air before sanity kicked in. Ignoring his itching scar, he climbed down the ladder.
Zephyr waited at the bottom, amusement quirking one corner of his mouth. He too wore a camp t-shirt, along with an enamel name badge. The wordDirectorwas written underneath in smaller letters.
Zephyr’s dark eyebrows rose as he took in the chain dangling from Buck’s wrist. “That’s new. You’re lucky you didn’t lose a hand.”
Buck started undoing the clips to retract the ladder. “Next time, I’ll wrap it around my neck.”
His nephew’s jaw tightened. “Don’t. You’re a lot bigger in your other form, you know. And I don’t think throttling yourself will prevent the shift. Uncle, how many times has this happened now? Three?”
Buck grunted, noncommittal. In fact, he’d just beencaughtthree times. Depressingly, he was getting damn good at sneaking bare-assed through the woods, all the way back to his shitty rented trailer.
“Ignoring your problem won’t make it go away.” Zephyr folded his arms. “Speaking as the camp director as well as your family, this can’t continue. The rest of the campers arrive tomorrow. Shifters have a relaxed attitude to nudity, but the parents won’t be happy about a naked man crashing their kids’ dorms. We have to find a solution.”
“I’ll drive down to the big hardware store today.” Buck shut the ladder with a snap. “See if they’ve got any heavy-duty logging chains. Must besomethingthe motherlover can’t bite through.”
“Tying yourself up isn’t a solution, Uncle.” Zephyr blew out his breath. “Have you considered that perhaps your animal is trying to tell you something?”
“I don’t have an animal,” Buck said sharply. “I have an unfortunate medical condition.”
Zephyr gave him an exasperated look. “Well, yourconditionhas its own instincts, and trying to deny them just makes it harder to control. No matter how hard you fight, it keeps bringing you here. Haven’t you wondered why?”
“Because it’s an enormous furry asshole. That’s why.”
Zephyr let out another sigh. “I’m beginning to think your alter ego is the reasonable one. It’s becauseI’mhere, and the kids. People who care about you, and who you care about in return, much as you try to deny it. A hellhound—”
“I amnota motherloving hellhound.”
“True, but you were bitten by one,” Zephyr said, unruffled. “Your ‘condition’, as you put it, may be unique, but you seem to be manifesting at least some of the standard hellhound instincts. Hellhounds need a pack, Uncle.Youneed a pack.”
“What I need is a shark cage in my bedroom.” Buck tucked the ladder under his arm. “See you around, Zeph. Hopefully, with pants.”
“Wait.” Zephyr caught Buck’s elbow, halting him. “Please stay, Uncle.”
Buck shook him off with an irritated twitch. “Give me one good reason.”
He expected Zephyr to trot out yet another maddening line about embracing his fate. Motherloving shifters couldn’t imagine anyonenotwanting to share their head with a feral animal. They were all convinced that if he just stopped fighting, he’d learn to control his condition. Evenenjoyit.
Fat chance.Buck had spent over five decades as a standard-issue human being, thank you very much. He knew who he was. Whether fighting wars or wildfires, he’d always been able to count on his own strength and self-control.
He’d already lost his career and his crew. The only thing he had left was himself. He wasn’t about to let the monster take away that away too.
Any weak-ass platitude about accepting change, Buck would have easily swatted aside. Instead, his nephew said the one thing that would always stop him in his tracks.
“Because,” Zephyr said, “I need your help.”
CHAPTER2
Honey was beginning to suspect that Camp Thunderbird might not, in fact, be a perfectly normal summer camp.
In retrospect, she probably should have realized this earlier. There had been the total lack of a website or social media presence, for example. And the camp director, who—even just during Honey’s brief interview with the man over a glitching, low-res video call—had come across as distinctly quirky. Not to mention the rather odd question on the application form, asking Honey to describe her “inner animal.”
