Muriel’s eyebrows flew up. How odd. She’d never heard of a woodland spirit claiming by claws and teeth. Samuel’s and Wolf’s hadn’t, neither had Daniel’s. But they’d been claimed by woodland birds. Perhaps cats claimed differently.
“Yeah. It bit over my shoulder. And clawed down my arm. Hurt like hell and left a scar.”
Gracie was already nodding. “Can I see the scars?”
A frown gathering, Muriel leaned back in her chair. What was Gracie after? Proof that her father had been claimed? But she’s already said she believed him and didn’t need proof.
He studied her face for a moment, as if wondering the same thing. But then he pushed back his chair and stood. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he pulled it up and over his head.
Muriel’s eyes widened as his lean chest and six pack abs came into view. He’d filled out very...nicely...since high school. For the first time in endless cycles, sensual heat stirred. But then, the first scar carved into his flesh caught her eyes. Then another and another. The heat dwindled.
Good Goddess...
The man was a walking road map of physical damage. What inHee-nes-cehad he been up to since leaving theBrenahiilo?
Amid the bronze skin and corded muscles of his right shoulder were two scars. Punctures, they looked like. Fangs. They were neatly spaced apart, each quite large with a slight curve. And if that wasn’t proof enough that he’d been bitten... Her gaze drifted to the right. On his bicep, above the tattoo of a snarling mountain lion, were four ragged furrows. They started at the top of his shoulder and disappeared beneath the lion’s head. And Goddess help her, they sure looked like claws marks.
But other scars peppered his torso and arms, too. A multitude of scars. Round, puckered scars that looked like bullet holes peppered his body. There was a cluster of three, below his last rib on the left, and then single ones high on his left shoulder, and another next to his right hip bone. A longer, withered scar carved one of his abs. Another wrapped around his waist. She was almost certain those two had come from knife wounds.
By the light of the Blue Moon Mother...what had the man been doing since he’d left theBrenahiilo? She’d stroked every inch of his firm, smooth, eighteen-year-old torso during that heady night. None of these scars had been present back then.
None of them.
Her gaze returned to his shoulder and bicep, lingering on the bite and claw marks. When had the cat claimed him? It must have been between their night and the next morning when he’d announced the spirit claiming during their final day of high school.
Gracie’s chair shrieked as she shoved it back and stood. Without saying a word, she circled the table, leaning in for a closer look. “How long did it take the claiming wounds to heal?”
Muriel’s confusion deepened. Her daughter was so fixated on the bite and claw marks; she hadn’t even noticed the other scars.
O’Neill cocked his head, his gaze narrow and intense as he stared back. “Two weeks...give or take. About the same time as it would take to heal from the bite and claws of a waking world animal, I guess.” He pulled his shirt back over his head and tugged it down. Suddenly, he leaned toward Gracie and sniffed. “I can smell it on. Your woodlands spirit animal. When did it claim you?”
Gracie’s breath caught. Her neck bent until her face fell into shadows.
“You can?” Her voice was almost inaudible.
“I can. I smelled it as soon as you opened the door. I thought it was a secondary scent. A pet...or something. But it’s not...is it?”
“No.” Gracie’s voice started out subdued, but quickened. She peeked up at O’Neill through the shield of her bangs. “I can smell theheschrmalon you too, and I know what it is...even though I’ve never smelled one before. Is that...knowing...is it part of the great mother’s gift?”
“It is—” Before O’Neill could continue, Muriel’s shrill voice landed.
“What?” Muriel’s voice was close to a shriek. Their conversation had only just registered. She must have misunderstood. Please, Moon Mother, let it be a misunderstanding. “Gracie isheschrmalclaimed?”
“No.” O’Neill’s voice caught. “She isHo'ceeclan.”
“What!?She’s a wolf?” Muriel’s protest was even shriller...even louder. “No! That’s not possible! How can you possibly know that?”
O’Neill pulled back and sat again. His glance toward Muriel held sympathy, but his face remained neutral. “Those chosen by predators carry the gift of scenting. We can smell and identify other hunters. It’s instinctual. I smelled theHo'ceeon her the instant she opened the door. Sheiswolf clan.” He turned backto Gracie, studying her. “Why did you ask about theheschrmalclaiming?
Gracie fidgeted with the hem of her bulky sweater, then suddenly lifted her hands, maneuvering the neckline aside until a thick, white bandage became visible. “Because I was bit too, and I don’t think it’s healing.”
Muriel was still processing the first revelation when the second bomb dropped.
“Bit?” Muriel shot up from her chair so fast, it toppled over. “Let me see!”
Muriel reached Gracie without even realizing she’d moved and reached for the hem of her daughter’s cheerfully checkered sweater. Her efforts to pull it off were countered by the arms Gracie clamped around her abdomen.
“Seriously mom? You’re going to strip me right here? In front of him?” Her voice sharpened with sarcasm. “Pretty sure my new dad doesn’t want to see my boobs.”
