“But I thought you said shifters were born that way.”
“Most are.” Buck tapped the scar on his arm. “Not hellhounds, though. They can turn regular folk. Just like the old tales about werewolves.”
She stared at the scar, properly seeing its shape for the first time. Four deep, puckered puncture marks, spaced wide apart; smaller jagged indentations linking them in two curving lines. The whole formed an uneven circle, like…
“A bite,” she breathed. “You were bitten?”
“Yeah. By one of my own damn fire crew, for maximum irony.” Buck rolled his eyes. “Motherloving shifters. Other people get a cheap watch or a tacky mug as a retirement present. Me? I get goddamn lycanthropy.”
She barely heard him. Her mind was too busy racing ahead, down unexpected avenues of possibility. If what Buck said was true… this was it. The solution to all their problems.
“Buck.” She grabbed his arm, heart thudding with excitement. “Could you biteme?”
She’d seen many expressions on Buck’s face. There were the infinite shades of his scowl, from ‘mildly irritated’ to ‘ready to fight the world.’ She’d seen his lips draw back in feral rage, and quirk with slight, secretive humor. She’d seen those black eyes soften with protective tenderness when he looked at the kids, and narrow in suspicion at the dragon’s arrival.
Now, however, his face went utterly blank. It wasn’t incomprehension, or confusion, or even wariness. He had the complete lack of expression of a sheer stone cliff.
Her rising hope broke against that impassive wall. She let go of his arm, stepping back.
“I’m sorry,” she said, mentally kicking herself for being an idiot. “That was a stupid question. Obviously, if that was a possibility, you would have suggested it the moment you found out I wasn’t a shifter.”
His expression cracked, just a little. He looked down at his scar, his fingertips tracing the ridged mark.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said. “Honey, I was a hotshot firefighter, and a Marine before that. Not to go into any details, because I don’t want to give you nightmares, but I’ve been through a lot of shit. And this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Being able to turn into a magnificent winged creature sounded wonderful toher, but there was no denying the pain in his voice. Honey tried to set aside her own feelings, and see it from Buck’s point of view. He was always so thoroughly, confidentlyhimself. She could only imagine how hard it must be to have all that self-control ripped away without warning.
“You said the hellhound who bit you was one of your firefighters,” she said. “Why did he bite you against your will?”
“To save my life.” Buck’s mouth quirked, a little more expression returning. “Heart attack. Hazard of the job. You spend a few decades breathing in burning forests on a daily basis, crap tends to build up in your chest. It’s why I retired when I did. Advanced cardiovascular disease. Prognosis: Don’t bother to renew your insurance. I didn’t tell anyone. Not even Zeph.”
She didn’t have to ask why. She knew. It was the same reason she put on a smile and a cheerful voice for her own kids, when they remembered to call.Me? Oh, I’m fine.
“You didn’t want anyone to worry,” she said. “Especially not your family.”
He met her eyes, and she knew he understood everything she’d never said. He nodded; a slight, brief gesture of acknowledgement.
“Didn’t see the point in people making a fuss.” Buck looked away, rubbing his scar again. “Figured I’d retire, get my crap in order, and drop dead in peace. Almost got away with it, too. Five more minutes, and I wouldn’t have had to deal with any of this. Motherloving shifters.”
No wonder he fought his animal so hard; why he went through the world like he had a personal grudge against every breath of air. He was a man who’d known the way ahead, even if it had been short and bleak. And here he was, forcibly shunted sideways onto a different path, all that certainty ripped away. She knew how that felt, all too well.
“I understand,” she said. “You didn’t ask to be changed, and you would never do the same thing to anyone else. But Buck, Iamasking. If that’s why you didn’t suggest it—”
“It’s not,” he cut across her, harsh as the fall of an ax. “Look, when you were face to face with the monster, did it try to bite you?”
She remembered winged wolf’s bright, attentive gaze. “No. It wasn’t aggressive at all.”
“Huh.” Buck sounded surprised, and more than a little suspicious. “Well, given the teeth on the thing, let’s both be grateful it didn’t decide to try to Turn you. Maybe it can’t, on its own. It’s a creature of instinct, and I’ve been told the bite has to be done purposefully, with conscious intent.”
Now she understood the problem. “And you don’t stay conscious when you shift.”
“Right. I can’t bite you, because I’d have to do it when shifted, and doggy instincts take the wheel the moment I drop to four paws. So it’s not an option.”
“But if you did learn to control your shifting,” she started.
“Woman, do you think I enjoy waking up with roof tiles up my ass?” he snapped. “Believe me, I’ve tried to control it. If I had a way to muzzle the damn mutt, we wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place. Speaking of which, will you please let me get some motherloving pants?”
The reminder dragged her back to reality with a bump. The kids must be wondering what on earth was taking her so long.
