Prologue
Bowie
Taught in school about the differences between shifters and non-shifters, Bowie hadn’t figured out that he fell into the wrong category. His father had no such issue and said he could smell it on him. What that actually meant, Bowie had no clue, because he thought he smelled the same as everyone else.
That didn’t stop the ‘fold’ he was born into from casting him out. His family was one of the oldest breeds of highland cow shifters, and to find their last son could not shift brought disgrace—or so he was told—on the family.
At age eleven, devastated, Bowie discovered the cruelty of not fitting in with others' expectations. Three years in foster care, passed from pillar to post, cruelly rejected, Bowie learned what being different truly meant.
What Phil and Mavis had promised him two years ago were just words. Empty promises. He might not have been able to shift, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have the same heightened senses as those who could. His chest hurt. The tightness camefrom the whispers that filtered through the wall from the next room. Deep inside, he’d seen and felt the shift from caring to disinterest when his adoptive parents had found out they had conceived a child. He blindly clung to the belief he was mistaken, knowing that sometimes he didn’t always read a situation the same as others.
Phil and Mavis had been told long ago that it wasn’t possible for them to conceive, so they’d chosen to adopt instead. When they’d come to visit Bowie in his last foster home, Bowie had found hope that someone could love him for himself for the first time in three years. He looked like Phil, stocky and broad for his age, with dark, wavy hair and deep brown eyes. When they couldn’t find one younger and similar in appearance, they’d chosen Bowie. Yes, he’d heard them talk about that too, but he knew he could be the son they were looking for. He tried real hard to be good. Never to cause trouble. Yet, as he heard them talking about what they were going to do with him, it didn’t seem to be enough.
He wasn’t enough.
He clung to his blue bear, pressing it into his chest, seeking comfort, silent tears streaming down his cheeks as the whispering stopped. Tears dropped from his trembling chin, plopping onto his hands. They glistened in the moonlight streaming through the curtains, left open because being in foster care had left him afraid of the dark.
Where was he going to go now?
Who would want a reject?
Sixteen was too old for another family. And surely, with his adoptive parents discarding him, others would see him as defective. Broken? Damaged?
He rocked back and forth at the reality that it didn’t matter how good he was, or how hard he tried to be like everyoneelse; he wasn’t lovable. He buried his face into his bear, quietly sobbing out the pain of being different.
Two weeks later
As Bowie lugged the last box up the flight of stairsalone, the reality of his new situation hit him like a hammer blow to the chest. Hearing someone coming down the hallway, he put his head down and didn’t look at the guy who silently passed him. The place seemed nice enough, and there was a security system on the door to prevent anyone just walking into the building, but that didn’t stop the worry that someone from inside might try something. Bowie was big for his age and looked older, so he’d been told. His outside didn’t match the inside at all. He was frightened of his own shadow, and everything made him anxious.
Would his size be enough to protect him against any threats?
His jaw trembled as his eyes sheened with tears.
There were many things he hoped for but up to now, most of them hadn’t come true. Would folks look at him, see just how big he was and stop the questions about his age, ones that could lead to trouble? Mavis had talked a lot about making sure not to fall for any scams, or someone attempting to take advantage.
How was he supposed to figure out who that was? He choked on a sob working its way up his throat. Living alone at sixteen was going to be hard enough when Bowie struggled without people around to help guide him. Before his fold rejected him, there was always someone in the family to tell him what to do. Same with foster care. The folks in the homes he’d been in had sometimes begrudgingly shown him the way things were meant to be. The noise, the overcrowding, had made him feel less alone inside, despite how they treated him. With Phil and Mavis, it hadtaken Bowie six months to adapt to the quiet and the unintrusive way they behaved.
Stop thinking about that. It’s just us now.
The voice of his animal side helped ease the ball of panic attempting to choke off his air supply.
I’m trying to.
Try harder.
For the first time in his life, he was completely alone.
“I’m alone.” Saying it aloud made it more real and sent shudders through him, setting his pulse racing so fast he felt dizzy. The following sharp edge of panic sliced at his vulnerable parts as he shut the door behind him. Hearing the lock snick with finality, his legs became unsteady as his gaze swept over the pile of boxes in the middle of the white, open-plan room. The furniture was brown and basic, fitting the space. The bedroom had a single bed and nothing else besides a small built-in closet.
A fresh start.Wasn’t that what Mavis had said?
He didn’t want another fresh start. He wanted the old one.
Was that why neither Phil nor Mavis had wanted to come up and inspect his new home? Check it was nice. Suitable for their—reject.
You have me. We might not shift. But I’m here with you, and we can make this place our sanctuary. We can.
His animal side was more pragmatic. Bowie couldn’t fault Phil and Mavis when they had bought the tiny apartment for him. It was in his name, and no one could take it away from him—or so Bowie hoped, because the paperwork made little sense to him.
