Page 33 of Trees Take the Long View

He gave me a probing look. "And you want to do that? I thought there was no circumstances under which you'd consider it."

"Of course I'd consider it. Is there a point, though? I don't really want to shift in front of him."

Dean considered it. Sometimes I wished he'd make up his mind about me faster. And sometimes, I really didn't. "Well, it's really up to you. I'll run interference like before if you wish. But as I said, unless he's on the property right now, I'm not sure there's a point tracking the tiger. I don't want you doing it if you don't think it's a good thing to do—just as a favor to me, for instance. I'm not sure it's necessary. On the other hand, if your instincts are telling you to go for it, maybe we'd better listen."

"I don't know what my instincts are telling me, but it's a very fresh trail. I could follow it." I looked at him helplessly.

He took a deep breath, and squeezed my elbow. "You look like you want to try it but aren't sure why. Okay. Let's do it. You call it off as soon as you're not comfortable. I'll explain the situation." With another pat on my side, he left me to return to Martins.

To give him credit, Amos Martins hadn't intruded once he saw we needed to confer. But he'd been watching with bright-eyed interest all the same. I had the feeling he was cataloguing me somehow, and I wondered if I'd like what he was deciding. There was nothing hostile about him, he was just so freaking curious...

I tried not to listen, but words drifted over. "My partner would like..."

"Of course, of course," said Mr. Martins, a note of triumph in his words. He was probably really into shifters.

Maybe he'd have liked it if he'd known the white tiger was a shifter. Okay, I was going to skeeve myself out if I thought about that any more. Actually I didn't get those sorts of creepy vibes off Amos, like he'd want to lock up a shifter; I just couldn't quite figure out what to make of him. He was definitely nosy, I'll give him that. As Dean and Amos walked past, Amos said, "I'll give you privacy to change," as if it was his idea. His eyes raked over me with a satisfied, intimate sort of way. "I suspected you were, you know. Something about your eyes. And you're so very alert and in tune with your surroundings."

That was a weird thing to say, but I let it go.

Dean looked annoyed as he followed me into the small bathroom. It was lavishly outfitted with fixtures that, if they weren't gold, sure looked like it.

"You okay?" I asked, as I began to undress. He gave me a tight nod and accepted my clothing, piece by piece, trying not to look.

You could've had your fill of this earlier, but no, work was more important. Work, and being a fucking gentleman. I wish you'd get it out of your system already.

I tried to silence these bitter thoughts. I'd said I'd wait as long as he wanted or needed to, and I couldn't change my mind now. Besides, he was only trying to do the right thing. I just didn't know how long I could stand on one foot, waiting to breathe. That was what this was beginning to feel like, the tension between us growing to be more than about the physical, and less pleasant.

As I shifted into my wolf form, it felt like falling—the indignation and irritation leaving me and a heavy, bereft feeling taking its place. I might be grumpy with him in my human form, but apparently it was covering this. I was starting to believe he didn't want me. That he was just holding out on breaking it off, and trying to be kind while I hung around him. But really, I'd been wrong: he wanted someone else, someone more pulled together than me, someone who could give him more of what he needed or wanted.

But really, I could be what he needed. Why didn't he see that? And he would definitely know we had some crazy sexual compatibility, if he could smell pheromones as well as I could. I think even as things were, he had an inkling. But he was scared to test it...because he really wanted to walk away. Or was it just being a gentleman? Right now, that theory didn't look too realistic.

It was far more likely that he didn't want a long-term relationship with a wolf. I had too much baggage, was too much hassle, or something else. He didn't want to deal with me for the rest of his life, and when it came down to it, his procrastination was just a way of putting off the final decision. To be kind. To spare one or both of us, or some shit. But still, just a way of putting it off.

Would he say it soon, or just wait for me to figure it out myself?

I gave his wrist a despairing lick as I walked by him, and waited for him to open the bathroom door and let me out, my tail hanging low.

He sighed softly, as if letting out a breath he'd been holding, and opened the door. I walked straight over to the exit in the back, where the man was waiting to let me out. He gave me that bright-eyed curious look all over, like he was seeing something amazing and breathtaking. Good thing he knew I was a shifter and not for sale, or I'd probably have ended up in that glass cage—with a provisional freedom to wander his land, once he trusted me, or had a high enough fence.

Try and keep me in, I thought savagely.No fence is big enough.

I brushed past him, head held high, letting my tail thump him on the way out. He needn't see how forlorn and small I was feeling.

And then I was on the trail and he didn't matter anymore. The tiger smell was nose-wrinklingly fresh. Tigers, apparently, have a very strong smell, the sort of smell that fills a room. It was repulsive in a strange way: too big, far bigger-smelling than any sort of cat I'd ever run across. I got more of the impact in this form, more of the sheer power. This creature dwarfed me, and could probably kill me with one swipe of its huge, gorgeous paw.

But I was able to smell more of the undercurrents now, too, and one reason the tiger stank was because it smelled of fear and worry, the sort of scent that, on a human, would make their sweat stink in a particular sort of way, raw and pure with the anxiety and stress of this. Something like that came through the tiger's scent as well.

I'd pictured the white tiger as sleek and well-fed and rather arrogant, getting sold and bought over and over and escaping, like a smug gentleman jewel thief, where he was the jewel and stole himself. He didn't smell well-fed, and he smelled scared. He also seemed a little bit younger than I'd expected, my age or less. Probably less.

I got all of this from scent alone, which meant it wasn't necessarily accurate, but those were my impressions. Considering I'd never met a tiger shifter (or any sort of tiger) before in my life, it seemed they were likely to be slightly less accurate than most of what I could tell at a sniff, but I was betting not a lot less accurate. I could smell health or its lack, stress or ease, and there was always a slightly different smell to the young and the mature.

I took another deep, deep sniff, trying to guess his age just for my own self, to see how close I could get. I didn't think in numbers as a wolf, I thought more in terms of life-cycle: pup, big-pawed pup growing into his feet, rambunctious immature but becoming sexually mature pup, or grown-but-barely, the sort of smell of a boy ready to test his wings with college or some traveling, having his firsts. No, just a bit older than that, and not so innocent, I thought.

"What's he doing?" asked Amos in a voice he probably thought was a whisper.

"Whatever he wants," said Dean. "Let him work."

My partner, he'd called me. Was that all this was? Work? I was his partner in the way I'd said I'd never partner with anyone again—a work colleague, responsible to others. He wasn't a cop, but that still wasn't what I'd signed up for. I'd wanted to help. Perhaps he just wanted to rehabilitate me and afterwards he'd say, "See what you can still do? And you enjoy it, I know you do. You should let me hook you up with a new partner after all."