Beneath the Skin Read online

  I ripped off my Chucks and threw them in the backseat and Murphy started to laugh. He took a hand off the wheel and reached out to touch me, but I managed to move my arm at the last second so his hand fell short. I tried to make it look natural, as if I turned to look out the window rather than avoid his touch, but I didn’t really care much either way.

  My clothes felt tight, and while the fire inside was cold, I was hot on the outside. Burning up.

  I shrugged off my jacket then sweater. It took me five miles, but I managed to wriggle out of my jeans too.

  It was better in my underwear. I could take a deep breath.

  “I don’t want to go too much farther,” I told him, and my voice was different. Lower pitched, sultry, wild.

  He looked at me, gauging how close I was to losing control over whether I would shift and concluded I was on the edge.

  When he pulled the car off the road, I was out the door before he’d turned off the

  ignition.

  “Wait for me,” he shouted, but fuck that, keep up if you could, asshole. Now he’d find out and I didn’t care. My wolf had been silent inside me for too long, and the remembered joy of her being welled up until I felt as if I might split in half from the sheer exhilaration.

  I ran until my legs were a blur. I saw rocks and trees, and through the gaps in the branches, the stars.

  My ears felt as if they were scorching off, and when I looked at my palms, they had hair.

  Silver gray hair.

  A grin of absolute delight nearly split my jaw in two and I threw back my head and

  howled.

  Murphy howled back. He seriously lagged behind, the pussy. But then nobody could keep up with me when I ran if I had a big enough head start. In wolf form, I was uncatchable.

  I splashed through a small brook and the cold water shocked me so much I fell down and that did it. I ripped off my bra and panties with fingers that were more claws and let the shift sweep me under.

  It hurts to shift. It’s not as bad as some of the movies project. My bones don’t crack and my spine doesn’t shorten--well, I suppose it does, but the shift is accomplished more on a meta level outside of this realm than here on the earth. It’s as if I blink out into somewhere else as a human and blink back in as a wolf.

  Sure, some of the shift occurs on this plane. Some fur, fingernails turn to claws. It hurts, but before it really starts to become horrific, I blink out.

  Coherent thought changes after the shift. It’s not so coherent. I forget my name but not who I am. Only I’m not who I am. I am Me. Wolf.

  Smell everything. Me smell Other. Friend. Friend? Know eyes. Like. Friend. Jump on Friend. Friend growl. Me no friend? This Me, Friend. This Me! Play with Me! Run with Me! Run fast. Run, run, run, run... Smell! Smell longlegs, little longlegs run over leaves. Eat longlegs.

  Him crunch. Smell! Smell dirt. Smell round thing from tree. Eat. Crunch. Friend! Smell Friend!

  Play, Friend! Play! Run, Friend. Run, run, run, run.

  Oh, tired. Oh, can’t run. Fall on grass. Smells good. Friend here. Friend warm. Friend lick Me. Cold on my face. Friend has good breath. Lots of smells. But Me tired. Me tired, Friend.

  Put head on Friend. Friend soft. Friend breathes. In. Out. In. Out.

  Me want. Me want...something.

  Me want.

  Me cold. Me shiver. Friend warm. Friend hold Me. Fur gone. There is skin.

  I’m naked. No wonder I’m cold.

  “Freezing.” I burrowed myself close against Murphy’s body. We lay on the grass. He was on his back, I was curled up against him, head on his chest. Our fingers were entwined and our hands were filthy. Covered with dirt.

  “How the hell do you run so fast? Are you a cheetah or a wolf?” Murphy asked in an

  exhausted voice. He sounded kind of pissed. He was cold but sweaty. We both were. My clothes were back in the car. I always hated the part of shifting back when I realized my clothes were back in the car. Because I was never near the car and it was almost always cold. And I was always exhausted.

  “I’m exhausted,” I complained.

  “Because you ran for I don’t know? A year? A month? Six hours? I don’t know. I can’t keep track of time when I shift. All I know is you never stopped.”

  “I obviously stopped. We’re not running now.”

  “You didn’t stop, you collapsed.”

  “You kept up. I’m impressed.” I went on the offensive and wriggled closer to him. He was cold, but I was colder.

  Suddenly I remembered.

  “You growled at me,” I accused, going up on one elbow. It was on his stomach and that prevented him from answering right away. It also pretty effectively destroyed his desire to be anywhere near me, especially my elbows.

  He got to his feet and headed back in the direction of the road. I rolled over on my stomach and was still for a moment. Crickets chirped in the bushes and above me the stars whirled in dizzying spray of glittering light. It was beautiful, but it didn’t matter. My wolf might be a little rambunctious and not as focused and well-mannered as most, but that was no reason for his wolf to have snarled at her.

  Murphy belatedly realized I wasn’t following him and turned back.

  “Are you coming?” he called, sounding impatient. It was too cold to be naked on the ground. Goose bumps pimpled my skin.

  With a sigh I got up and walked toward him. He waited until I was beside him before he started to walk again.

  “You didn’t have to growl at me.” My tone was haughty to indicate how offended I was and he grimaced.

  “I’m sorry I growled at you.” He didn’t sound particularly sorry, and swore under his breath when he stepped on a rock. I nimbly avoided it and shivered as the wind picked up and blew my hair around my face until I was sure I resembled a witch. I felt like one.

  “I don’t understand why you did it, Murphy.”

  “I’m sorry I growled at you.” He sounded rather like a martyr, and that pissed me off, because I was the victim,

  “You think I should just ignore the fact you bared your fangs at me?” I elevated my eyebrows and swiped hair out of my face.

  “I’m sorry I growled at you.” He sounded like a CD with a scratch on it, constantly jumping back to the same lyric.

  “You’re not,” I accused. We both shivered as the wind moaned through the trees, which showered us with dead leaves. What a goddamned gloomy night it was. His morose expression didn’t help anything. “It’s not nice to growl at people’s wolves.”

  “I’m sorry I growled at you,” he shouted. His hands balled into fists, and I was both proud and guilty that I’d finally provoked him. Through the trees ahead, I saw the car. Murphy had led us straight to it. The Pack always have a great sense of direction. I can’t remember the last time I was ever lost. I might sometimes misjudge distances, but I always knew the way home.

  “Why did you do it then?” I demanded.

  “You weren’t my pack,” he said. Finally, a different answer, but this one really pissed me off. How dare he?

  “Lame, Murphy. Lame answer,” I had my arms wrapped around myself and I made little

  hops and jumps every few steps in the hopes that would stimulate my circulatory system and warm me the fuck up. “Just like it was lame to shift in middle of November when it’s freezing.”

  “Doesn’t it get freezing in Boston?” he snapped. “And it’s not a lame answer, Constance.

  Just because you act more like a dog than a wolf doesn’t make me a monster.”

  “A dog?” I stopped dead at that insult. “A dog? First I’m a fucking cheetah, now I’m a dog? Just because I wanted to play with you since you were a friend? I knew your eyes. That made you a friend. And bond mates are sort of a pack, aren’t they?”

  “You’re not in my pack,” he insisted, but his face was sad, or maybe that was the

  moonlight.

  “Well, excuse me for the dog I am. I don’t want to shift with you again. You’re mean.” I tr
ied to make it sound like a flippant joke, but I was actually choking up, and in about five seconds I would cry. He didn’t like my wolf. I’d been afraid he wouldn’t and now it was confirmed.

  “I’m sorry about the dog comment. You’re not a dog.” He tried to take my hand, but I evaded him and gave another hop into the air. “And I’m sorry I growled. I just...I-- I’m used to shifting with my pack.”

  “You and Sorcha didn’t shift alone?” I mocked, because I was so humiliated. He got

  angry.

  “Leave Sorcha out of this discussion. In fact, let’s not have it. Why do you have to analyze every last goddamn thing, Constance? So I growled at you. What does that mean?”

  “You’re honest and pure when you’re wolf. Your true nature shines through and your

  true nature doesn’t trust me. I’m a dog. I’m not Mac Tíre, I’m some fucking misfit from a tiny little misfit pack. I don’t know my proper wolf manners. I’m too much. I run too much. I play too much. I’m just too much. I know, Murphy, you don’t have to tell me. Jonathan told me a hundred million times. He and Vaughn and sometimes Callie too.” I swiped at my leaking eyes and cursed that I cried yet again in front of this man. Finally it was out in the open. I didn’t want to be ashamed of my wolf, because there was nothing wrong with her, but his reaction let me know he thought there was. With a keen sense of loss, I mourned for Grey.

  “Did Grey tell you that you were too much?” Murphy’s voice was soft and curiously

  soothing but I was still jolted. Could the bastard read my mind?

  “No,” I admitted as I eyed him warily. “But he...he was my bond mate. He understood.”

  “Well, I’m your bond mate now and I want to understand too. I do not think you’re too much.”

  Fucking liar.

  “Yes, you do. You do. You said so. I ran too much.”

  “I kept up, didn’t I?” He gave me a boyish grin, but I didn’t smile back.

  “Murphy, the first fucking time I shifted, I spent the whole time screaming in what was probably supersonically high-pitched canine squeals because I was scared of this drum. This big huge drum that chased me, and the faster I ran, the louder it pounded and it wouldn’t go away.

  You know what it was?” I swiped at my eyes again.

  “No.” He shook his head. “What was it?”

  “My fucking heart,” I said with true bitterness. “I was scared of my own fucking heart. I am a dog. Jesus.”

  He tried not to laugh. He tried so hard. But in the end he crumbled, and the next thing I knew, I laughed too.

  “It’s not funny. Goddamn you, it’s not.”

  “It so is.” Murphy had to stop walking and cover his face he laughed so hard.

  I took the opportunity to shove him and he went down, but he dragged me with him and we rolled over and over in the cold wet grass, laughing and wrestling, until we stopped rolling and he ended up on top of me.

  I waited for him to kiss me, but all he did was smile before giving me a hand up.

  I had the sinking feeling I was never going to understand this man.

  Chapter 8

  The shower was separate from the tub in the suite. I took the tub and he took the shower.

  He finished cleaning himself before me. I really had managed to encrust so much dirt beneath my nails I spent a good fifteen minutes casting my mind back, trying to remember if I had been digging, and why in the hell weren’t Murphy’s nails as black as mine.

  The memory of the rabbit flashed into my skull about the time I realized my skin was pruning and I sat in about six inches of filth. Poor rabbit. That’s why my stomach felt the way it did and my breath was not minty fresh. It all fell into place.

  Since Murphy was long gone, I took a shower after my bath and, wrapped in a towel, I made my way to his bedroom. The door was closed, the light off, and I could hear his heavy breathing. He wasn’t exactly snoring, but it wasn’t a romantic sound, either.

  I said to hell with it and twisted the doorknob, and that’s when I discovered he’d locked it. Feeling microscopic, I retreated to the master bedroom.

  Instead of a lavish breakfast spread, the next morning there were croissants, fruit and yogurt. And lots of coffee and water. No orange juice.

  There was also a huge container of antacids.

  I helped myself to a handful and crunched them up, telling myself I was not going to puke. I was not going to do it.

  “Usually, I like French food, but I don’t think I’ll be ordering rabbit again anytime soon.”

  I pulled out my chair and fell into it.

  Murphy went a shade paler than he already was, but his lips quirked.

  “I’m usually a little more finicky.” He poured me some coffee. “But three years of

  thwarting that part of me definitely pulled away some of my usual control.”

  “I’m always like I was last night. I don’t have any control when I’m wolf.” I helped myself to a croissant, but once it was on my plate I stared at it instead of eating it.

  “I’ll work with you on that if you want.” The offer was light, but sincere. He paid more attention to his water glass than me when he made it. I’d known our truce was too good to be true. Of course he wasn’t going to let my wolf be what she was. He wasn’t Grey who had always let me do what I wanted with her.

  My jaw tightened. “I’m thirty-two years old. I’ve been shifting for twelve years. I don’t need a teacher.”

  “Jonathan may have been a prick, Constance.” Murphy reached for the antacids. “But he should have mentored you a little bit. I’m surprised Grey didn’t do it.”

  “I told you last night. Grey understood me,” I snapped. I pushed the croissant plate away and it clattered against the centerpiece of autumn flowers.

  “Just a little control, Constance,” Murphy said in a soft voice that pleaded for me not to blow up on him. “Believe it or not, it makes the experience all the better.” He crunched up a handful of antacids. “Especially the morning after.”

  I thought about the uncomplicated joy of being wolf, of the wind in my face and run, run, running everywhere, full of the sort of profound happiness that I never, ever felt anywhere else. I supposed I was like a child when I shifted, and maybe Murphy was telling me it was time to grow up. I was too much. Everybody had always told me that, but I’d been too stubborn to listen, Grey and Elena had indulged me. But they weren’t here anymore, Murphy was. And he wanted to work with me to help me gain control. The man had bonded with me to save me and the least I could do was work with him. He was not going to indulge me like Grey and Elena had. We did not have that sort of bonded relationship. He’d given up a lot for me. Maybe I needed to give back, or I’d end up alone again. My wolf would lose either way, but at least if I worked with Murphy I stood a chance of belonging again.

  “All right,” I said, but my face must have reflected something of my sense of loss, because his own became shadowed.

  “That wasn’t like you. Not even a small skirmish, let alone an epic battle?” He pushed my croissant plate back in front of me but I had no appetite.

  We went shopping after breakfast. He brought me to dress shops and five different shoe shops. I tried things on because he seemed so eager for me to do that, but I didn’t like anything. I didn’t want anything. All I could think about was my wolf and how I might lose her. How I would betray her when all she wanted to do was run, play and be with her friends.

  There was a Christian Louboutin shop on the rue de Grenelle, and Murphy chuckled

  when he saw it and gave me nudge toward the door.

  “I’ll buy you any pair you want, Constance. Go on. You’ve always wanted Louboutins, haven’t you? Here’s your chance.”

  I went in but even the lure of feathered peep-toes and studded gladiator sandals couldn’t puncture the poisonous cloud of self doubt and grief that suspended me within its depths.

  I wished I’d never come to France, or decided two years was long enough to be alone.


  What was wrong with being alone, anyway? Now I wanted to be in Boston, walking along the Common, watching the lovers, because I wouldn’t envy them at all. Not even a little bit.

  Surrounded by six boxes and twelve shoes, Murphy asked me which ones I wanted. I

  knew if I said I didn’t want a pair, he’d be more upset than he already was. He tried not to show it but he was awfully angry at himself and he shouldn’t have been, because he was right. I was irresponsible and immature, and he was only trying to help me.

  I pointed at random and ended up with a pair of grey metallic peep-toe pumps in a water snake pattern. They were gorgeous. And expensive.

  Murphy didn’t even wince when the clerk told him the total was nearly eight hundred euros. He paid and joked around in French.

  Outside in the sunshine, I lifted my face to it and decided I needed to stop being such a baby. I didn’t want to be alone, and maybe he was right. Maybe my wolf would like to work with his. If I didn’t at least try I would never know. “Thanks, Murphy. I’m hungry. Do you want lunch somewhere maybe?”

  His face lit up when I spoke to him and he brought me to a small brasserie nearby that served wonderful quiche. We drank an entire bottle of white wine between us, which I thought was rather decadent for one in the afternoon, and when we walked back out onto the sidewalk, the sun had disappeared. We hadn’t taken more than twelve steps before the sky split open and a deluge gushed down.

  Parisians and tourists scattered. Murphy grabbed my hand and we dashed for the Metro, plunging down the steps into the artificial light below.

  “Can’t get your Louboutins wet,” he teased as he bought us tickets at the counter.

  “They’re in a bag,” I pointed out, but I was secretly relieved to be out of the rain. They were very nice shoes. Nice shoes? Hell, the nicest shoes I’d ever, ever had.

  We managed to find two seats together on the train and I sat by the window, clutching my new shoes to my chest.