Page 25 of Wolf's Fate

I could see him in my dreams; could he see me?

I wasn’t a shifter. A doctor and a spirit guide, or shaman as they called him, had confirmed that I was one hundred percent human. There was no reason why Caleb would be tied to me.

But he was.

How?

I was normal, the whole psychic thing aside. That wasn’t even right. I wasn’t psychic. If I was, I’d have picked some numbers for the lottery and already been on the beach in the Caribbean by now. No, I wasn’t “gifted.”

So why the heck was I linked to him? Luna? What did she need me for? Because I could draw? I was sure there were plenty of shifters who were just as talented as me.

What did I offer that they couldn’t?

My humanity?

No. Shifters may not be human, but they were not monsters. They didn’t need me for their moral compass.

Caleb had no family left, and neither did I… Was it because we were both orphans? From the little they had told me, his dad died ten years ago, so was that his last familial tie?

Surely he would “go rogue” then? A person can do extreme things because of grief. Had Caleb?

He called himself a murderer. Who had he killed? Was it figuratively or literally?

My God, I had so many questions. The most important beingwhy me?The next,why him,and the follow-up, bonus round questions,where is heandhow do I break this link?

Another follow-up question would bewhat is wrong with him?

The shaman had called itrogue. To me, a rogue was someone mischievous, perhaps morally gray, a rebel maybe. To shifters, it seemed it was far more dangerous. I remember someone, possibly Royce, telling me that it meant the rogue had turned their back on pack life. That they had embraced the darkness that came from being alone too much. That their anger and hate had morphed them into a shadow of themselves. Which sounded terribly dramatic and kind of far-fetched.

I couldn’t imagine Caleb giving in to that. He was so stoic andstrong. He was more likely to be avoiding all their negativity.

Couldn’t we all feel “dark” if left with no social connections or interactions? It didn’t mean we were dangerous. When I asked that, I was told I wouldn’t understand because I wasn’t a shifter.

Patronizing, but maybe it was true. I wasn’t prepared to give up on him though, and while they said they hadn’t, I didn’t believe them. I thought of the sketch from this morning. What had been surrounding him? Wind? It felt more than that…like the manifestations of our thoughts.

“That’s deep, Willow,” I said with a shake of my head as I approached the bakery.

Manifestations…I stopped walking. Like spirits?

Turning in the street, I looked down Main Street, sure that I would somehow see a sign that I was right. Instead, I saw my fellow residents, carrying out their normal day-to-day lives.

Chewing the corner of my bottom lip, I detoured from the bakery and headed to the library instead. I needed a book on spirituality before I started talking about shit I knew nothing about. As I walked, I couldn’t stop thinking about spirits and Caleb. By the time that I got to our small public library, I was convinced I was right.

He wasn’t lying on the ground, watching the elements; he was lying on the ground surrounded by the spirits of those he had lost. No wonder he was miserable.

I needed to help him.

“You’ve been quiet,”Lorna said as she tidied the dinner table. “Are you okay?”

Looking up from my empty plate, I nodded. Pushing my seat back, I got up to help. “Yes, disappointed that theindependent womandidn’t happen today,” I told her truthfully.

Reaching over, she rubbed her hand over my arm in a soothing gesture. “You’re an independent woman, honey. Admitting to yourself you needed one more night isn’t a weakness. It’s a strength.”

“You’re too kind.” I started handing her dishes, and thankfully, she’d apparently gotten over the need to do everything forme. I followed her to the dishwasher, and I rinsed as she stacked.

“I’m not kind,” she told me, taking the dirty dishes and putting them into the dishwasher with the care and precision of a heart surgeon carrying out a triple bypass. “The boys rarely helped me, so it’s nice to have a hand.”

Frowning, I looked at her to see if she was serious. “Bad parenting,” I scolded, only semi-joking. “They should have had chores.”