I move toward him, convincing my brain to treat him like I love him rather than like I fear him, and it sort of works. My knees feel weak when I crouch in front of him, and my hand shakes when I reach out, but there’s no hesitation in my steps, and my movements flow smoothly.
I brush my fingers into the hair on top of his head, and Phineas watches me without moving. It’s a miracle and a joy to touch him. A spark of something connects us, and even though he grumbles, it’s a contented sound, not one of annoyance. I lean in with both hands, letting my knees fall to the floor on either side of his head. He’s so warm and soft; he’s amazing. I find myself leaning over him and eventually just resting against him like he’s mine and I’m his, and we’re meant to be close and together. We’re meant to be connected like this as much as we’re meant to love each other in his other form.
We attract each other like magnets; like gravity. Our collision has always been inevitable, and now that I’m here with him in his bear form, it’s clear to me that we were always meant to be.
“I love you,” I mutter, pressing my face into his fur.
Phineas grumbles back and shifts until he has me wrapped in his arms as he rests on his back with me lying atop him.
That is how Gael finds us, and when I hear his noise of distress, I look up with a flat glare. “Unsurprisingly, the lack of communication between species has caused something of a mix up. Phineas is Phineas, no matter what form he’s in.”
“He’s so big,” Gael whispers, smiling broadly. “I can see why my people might’ve not understood that shifters don’t become animals. Look at you, Phin. You’re beautiful.”
As Gael steps closer, my eyes land on his shirt, which is torn and stained with blood from a deep gash under the torn clothing.
“What the fuck happened to you?” I demand, scrambling off Phineas.
Phineas joins me on his feet as I yank Gael’s shirt off to reveal the huge messy gash.
Gael sighs, grimacing. “I went to talk to the person who held Phineas’ oath.” He pauses with a sour look on his face. “He was quite hostile to the idea of allowing Phineas out of his oath so that we can make a life together with unfettered communication.”
A rumble from Phineas grinds into my bones and tries to make me fear him. My love for him stands in contrast to all the instincts telling me that a predator is in the same room as me and I should run, and I lean into that love hard in order to keep my feet planted.
“How do we deal with this?” I ask seriously.
“A blowie should be enough to fix the damage,” Gael assures me, leaning in for a sweet kiss, but then he pulls back and rests a hand on Phineas, looking him in the eye. “I’m sorry, my love. I was forced to defend myself, and as aggressive as Arden Mathan was, he was not sturdy. I ended up killing him, which is why your oath is broken. He apparently held the oath for all the adult shifters in this area, and the shifters are in chaos because they no longer have a leader. Apparently, for shifters, when their oath-taker dies, the ones who owe the person their oath all shift. I warned them that the oaths we make are going to change so that we can at least talk to each other, and then all the shifters started shifting, and you called me. I didn’t stick around long enough to evaluate whether they were sapient.”
“So they're going to change the oaths you all take?” I ask, hopefully.
Gael’s always warm-sexy-fun eyes harden to cold, blue ice. “We’re going to make them.”
A Week After the Funeral
Gael
My Grandfather’s Legacy
Grief makes everything stupid and weird. I miss Sin and Phineas. I need them here, but I don’t want them tainted by this spectacle. I couldn’t bring them even if that wasn’t an issue. Sin would have been welcome at the funeral, but he would have wanted to stay, and I can’t have him here for that. It would violate the laws of the mare for a human to be involved in the passing of our species leader.
My grandfather should have lived another thirty years. I don’t care what the doctor says, he did not die of natural causes. He was healthy. Someone killed him. There’s no other explanation, because that man was a rock, solid, and there’s no way he would kill himself with Grandma still breathing.
I peer at all the people gathered in my grandfather’s grand room where the estate lawyer is about to read his last will and testament. The place is crowded with people against the walls, here merely as witnesses to this event, but every person sitting in the seats is someone who could have been named his heir. The best possibility is my uncle, who’s my grandfather’s second child. My mother is his firstborn, but she and her father never got along well. My mother doesn’t carry with her the same idea about power that my grandfather always had. He taught me that the role of a leader was to care for our people, protect them, and keep them safe, even if that means keeping them safe from themselves. My mother always used her own power to enforce her own opinions. My grandfather didn’t like how she treatedher responsibilities to the clan, but she always accomplished her duties, so he never removed her from her leadership position.
My uncle, Hubert, isn’t a particularly useful member of our clan, but he might surprise us when he steps into my grandfather’s shoes. If neither of them are chosen, my grandfather has my three cousins, and all his nieces, nephews, and their children to choose from. I haven’t been home much since I was nineteen, so I don’t know who Grandpa Vernon spent his time with after I left. Hopefully whoever he chose will at least know how to honor his legacy.
The lawyer stands at the front of the room, holding my grandfather’s will, and as soon as everyone quiets down, he begins reading the document. I’ve taken up space behind him, looking out at my family so I can see what they’re thinking as the will is read.
It’s a fairly standard opening, with my grandfather dividing his assets among his heirs. If one of us killed him, I’m going to see it. Someone will react to the contents of the will. Either they’ll get what they want, or they won’t and they’ll get angry about that.
The lawyer’s words fade into the background, as I focus on the only nervous face in the room. It’s not that Uncle Hubert’s husband, Ron, looks nervous, but he’s putting off palpable nervous energy. My uncle is siphoning it, but even I can taste it and I’m not trying to feed in this room. Ew.
“What?!” Ron exclaims, jumping out of his seat.
I narrow my eyes at the man. He’s angry now. Not nervous. He’s livid.
“What’s wrong, Ron?” I ask over the noise in the room.
Every person silences at my question, and Ron glares at me. “What’s wrong? You haven’t been here for seven years! You don’t even know what’s happening in the clan! My Hubertshould be the heir! He’s the only person qualified for the position!”
