His eyes absorbed me, the book in my hand, my expression, the neat and tidy desk, and the cluttered board in one smooth sweep.
“Told you he was good,” he said, gesturing to the book. His eyes gravitated to the sketches placed around Dillon’s snarling form: the little boy being yanked from a still-smoking car crash; a fight scene featuring three against one; a small figure sitting in a waiting room chair; and finally, a child looking out a car window as he was driven away from a family standing by the curb. I’d had a hard time drawing these—examples throughout my life of why people couldn’t be trusted.
I put the book back and moved to settle in the chair. As I stared at the drawings from my youth, I recognized the irony. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. If I don’t trust, I can’t be trusted. A vicious cycle. That damned board was my heart and soul, laid out for all to see.
The last sketch on the “bad” side of the board was of Keen before I got her, abandoned as a puppy along the highway. I pictured her darting between cars, looking for the familiar face that had left her there to die. That one was the hardest to draw—it made me so angry that I’d run to the washroom and dunked my head in cold water. When I looked in the mirror, I saw solid irises with only the corners showing white. Instead of my usual mishmash of color, they’d turned a vivid, emerald green.
It freaked me out.
Now, as I sat watching Chris, the man who’d decided to help me through, I wondered what he made of it.
“Foster care?”
“Yes. From the age of six. I only remember my parents in flashes, mostly around my birthday or Christmas.”
He didn’t look at me but kept his gaze on the board. I had a feeling, though, that he didn’t miss much. “Does it still evoke strong reactions?”
I huffed out a breath and nodded. Speaking of it was beyond me. “According to my ex-girlfriend, I have commitment issues.” I shrugged. “She wasn’t wrong. But I don’t resent growing up that way because it made me resilient. Those pictures remind me of that.”
Now Chris did look at me. “Very introspective of you. It’s not easy appreciating how adversity can be our friend.” His gaze moved to the image of the puppy among the cars. “Is that your dog?”
“Someone abandoned her on the highway. A woman found her running between vehicles.” I swallowed, hearing the anger in my voice.
Chris glanced my way. “Look at me, Liam.”
I did, knowing with a sick twist of my stomach what he’d see. He didn’t comment on my eyes, though. Instead, he said, “That makes you angry. What that person did to your dog.”
“Any dog. Any animal.” My voice sounded hoarse. “Humans can be cruel.”
He nodded again, looking to the drawing of Dillon. “You did a good rendering of him. Captured the anger well. Why does he bother you? Because he bit you?”
“I got in the way. He attacked Keen.” I scrubbed a hand through my hair. “In fairness, she lunged at him first because she was trying to protect me.”
“So you’re not angry at him for biting you, and you understand why he went for Keen.” Chris fingered his chin, his eyes sliding to the final picture on that side of the board, the duplicate of which was also on the good side. “Chloe.”
“She blames herself for Dillon. But he’s obsessed with her, and he pinned her on the ground while in wulfleng form.” I knew my eyes must be blazing, because I shook, the rage was so strong. “He’s dangerous, and she still thinks he’s her friend.”
I didn’t see him move, but suddenly Chris crouched before me and grabbed my hand. To my horror, the flesh moved like a thousand crawling ants, reshaping with tearing pain into the distinctive toe pads, my fingernails warping into claws. Beside me, Keen backed away, whining.
No, it’s too soon; I’m not ready. I began to panic, and Chris shifted his hold to my arms.
“Liam, listen to me. I want you to focus on the images on the good side of the board. See the pictures of Keen playing? Of Peter on the porch? Think of your work and the animals you help.”
I struggled through a red haze, my eyes drawn to a photo of Keen as a puppy, rolling in something disgusting that had taken me hours to get out of her thick fur. The memory took solid form in my mind, and others rose: her growing up, coming to work with me, meeting Peter for the first time. All good memories, and I sensed the rage receding. When I looked at my hands, they’d returned to normal. Keen slipped up to me, licking my arm until I dropped fingers into her fur.
“Christ, I was changing.” I closed my eyes as the panic threatened to resurface. “How is that possible?”
“To tell you the truth, I have no idea,” Chris said. He released my arms, and frowned at me, his mouth twisting. “When Josh told me your eyes had changed, I thought he must have imagined things, but he was right. I’ve never had someone start so soon.” He sighed, glancing at the board. “Well, the good news is that the visuals work for you, perhaps a little too well.” He met my eyes. “The bad news is we have to get you set up in the cage. And we have to accelerate your training, to make sure you’re ready.”
So this isn’t normal. My heart pounded, but I had to know. “Chris, what happened with Alec?”
You had to be watching for it to see the flinch.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. Josh is just worried about you.”
One side of Chris’s mouth twitched upward. “Josh is always worried about me.” He sighed. “To be honest,
