Page 6 of Mating Season
“Can you walk on it at all?” I know she was walking, sort of, not that long ago, but if she lets it tighten up she could lose that ability quickly.
She half hobbles around the den, but it’s something at least. I had a human friend who once sprained his ankle so badly he couldn’t walk without crutches for three months. This is decidedly less serious. I help her back to the chair.
I proceed to rub a healing salve that has been in my family for generations onto her ankle. Shifters usually heal instantly, but there are wounds made with silver weapons that require first aid.
It isn’t true that a silver bullet or weapon will necessarily kill us merely because it’s silver. It just slows our healing to that of a human. An injury that would be instantly fatal to a human is only fatal to us with silver. And an injury that wouldn’t kill a human, won’t kill a shifter either—even if silver is used. Even after a bullet is removed, the exposure to the silver has a lasting effect. So, I keep a first aid kit everywhere—just in case.
I’ve never been grateful for this shifter weakness, but without it, I wouldn’t have anything to tend to Rosalie’s injury right now.
“That smells rank,” she says.
“That’s how you know it’s working.” I massage the salve in and try not to develop a foot fetish. Then I wrap her ankle, grateful I keep such an extensive first aid kit.
“Well, I can’t be your mate, because that would be tragic.”
“How so?” Maybe she isn’t attracted to me. I’m well aware of my charms and the effects I have on women, but maybe I’m not her type?
“Humans don’t live for centuries. Why would you want a human mate when I’m just going to age and die much sooner than you? I mean… sure I’m twenty-five now, but in a couple of decades I’ll start to get wrinkles and gray hair and then start falling apart while you continue to look like this…” she gestures at my body.
I know she’s just humoring me, playing devil’s advocate. Everything in her tone tells me she thinks I belong in a mental ward. So since she already thinks that… I may as well keep dropping facts about my world on her.
“My bite will take care of your aging problem,” I say.
Her expression closes off and she jerks her foot out of my hand. “You’re fucking crazy, and I want to go home.”
Nightfall can’t get here fast enough. I get up and go through the cabinets and pull out some protein bars and bottled water and place it on the table next to her. “This is all I have right now, but as soon as the sun goes down and I shift, I’ll go hunt for us.”
And by hunt, I mean steal some packaged deli sandwiches from the gas station. Bob and Brenda will be amused by my new “healthy diet”.
She eyes me warily but opens the water and one of the protein bars. “What about you?” She’s regrouping and seems to be going for appeasement now, though I doubt it will last long with her sharp tongue.
“I ate plenty last night. I’m good for a while.” I’m used to intermittent fasting, but I don’t tell her that. The bear thing is probably enough for now. She doesn’t need to know about my psycho diet and workout regimen.
“Did you eat my attacker?” she asks conversationally. And at this point I’m not sure if she’s starting to believe me a little or if it’s still part of her sarcastic cross-examination.
“Gross. I don’t eat humans, Rosalie.”
“But you keep your ancestors’ skins. I’m sorry, but it’s difficult for me to keep up with the ins and outs of your magic world.”
I roll my eyes. I highly doubt it’s difficult for this woman to keep up with anything.
But she’s not done. “So, tomorrow when you’re a real boy again, where exactly are you taking me?”
Yep, she is definitely not on board with any of this. She’s trying to get information to plan her escape. No doubt she’s heard all the warnings about your kidnapper taking you to a second location. Though technically wouldn’t my den be the second location?
I can’t really blame her. Even with her being my mate, I’d probably lose some of my attraction if she was just going to take my word for all of this and follow me around like a lost star-eyed puppy.
“My penthouse in the city,” I say.
“Oh, so you’re arichwerebear? How nice for me.”
“Don’t call me a werebear. I am a bear shifter. And yes, I’m rich. Old money. It isn’t just vampires who can use the wisdom of time and compound interest.”
I’m really not sure why the stereotype is that all vampires are rich and all shifters are living simple humble lives out in the woods. Being a bear doesn’t make me like a penthouse view any less.
She snorts. “Vampires are real, too?”
“Yes.”
