“We are not seeking asylum from the Council,” Shadow clarified. “We’re seeking asylum with you.”
A hundred gibbering complaints sprang up in my mind. I had a tiny apartment, I was too busy to take care of guests, I couldn’t remember the last time my bathroom had been cleaned, and the list went on and on.
But in the back of my mind, that cold, calm, logical place—the snake part of my brain that I avoid whenever possible—had begun spitting out counterarguments, ways in which having the two in that apartment might somehow end up being beneficial to all of us.
Ultimately, I was too tired to come up with any other ideas.
“I’ll see what I can arrange,” I said.
A final, quiet glance passed between them before Jeremiah spoke. “And please, do not tell my people we have returned.”
“In fact,” Shadow said, “please don’t tell anyone we came to you.”
Her comment gave me pause. I’d worked with enough crime victims to be wary of bringing strangers alone into my home.
I pulled a single breath of the air in the room into my mouth. Acrid fear—a lot of fear—rolled across my tongue, underscored by the tiniest hint of hope. But no deception flavored their words.
As a lie detector, it was far from perfect. But through years of working as a counselor, I had learned to trust it, combined with my instincts about people.
These two might not be telling me everything yet, but they weren’t lying, either.
Despite my conviction that they were being honest, their need for secrecy was a desire I’d want to examine in more detail later. Why wouldn’t they want the Council to know where they were?
“You really don’t want anyone else to know where you are?”
They both nodded, never taking their gazes from my face.
Blowing out a breath, I shook my head. “Fine. I have a sofa-bed. You two are welcome to it tonight. We’ll sort out more tomorrow.”
As if on cue, they each blew out a sigh of relief—and on that, I tasted nothing but honesty.
Great. A hyena-shifter and his Hunter girlfriend—whatever that meant—were coming home with me. Secretly.
In the meantime, I had another hour left in my four-hour shift. I hesitated for a few seconds, then gave the couple directions and a key to my apartment. It’s not like I had anything all that valuable in there, anyway. All my client records were at the CAP-C, my laptop was in my car, and other than a years-old television and a few electronics, anything else worth anything—which pretty much came down to a couple of nice pieces of jewelry my mother had given me when I graduated from college—was out at my parents’ ranch in the safe.
No. The only damage these two might be able to do would be to me, and I didn’t think that was going to be an issue.
Still, I found myself watching them leave my office with more trepidation than the situation truly required.
This was shaping up to be one hell of an evening.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. Nine-thirty. I’d get to go home in half an hour.
Maybe I could get a little extra sleep tomorrow morning.
Once I was sure Jeremiah and Shadow were settled, I’d double-check to make sure my first CAP-C appointment wasn’t until mid-morning, and I’d set my alarm for later than usual.
Then my cell phone rang. It was Kelly, one of the nurses in the hospital NICU. “Lindi, has anyone called you to let you know that Serena’s doctor wants you to come in tomorrow morning to talk to him about some possible new care ideas?”
So much for sleeping in.
Serena had been in snake form for over a week now, and I knew the doctors were concerned about getting her to shift back into her human baby form.
Something I hadn’t actually considered before was the issue of going out in public with these infants. Children have no idea of when it was appropriate to shift and when it wasn’t, so even going to the grocery store with them would be an issue.
I needed to talk to some other shifter parents to figure out how they dealt with issues like that.
And I was right back to worrying incessantly about how I would manage to take care of all of these children and still arrange to have something of a life.
WHEN I GOT TO THE HOSPITAL the next morning, Serena’s doctor was already waiting for me. I’d also called Kade to see if he wanted to meet me for coffee after my meeting, but he hadn’t answered his phone—I was guessing there was probably some kind of emergency. I hoped it was a human medical emergency, and not a shifter one.
“Thanks for coming in,” Dr. Jimson said. “I simply wanted to consult with you about a possible change.”
A change? My anxiety ratcheted higher.
“Thanks for calling me in,” I said, clinging to the usual social niceties in order to ground myself. “What’s the issue?”
“It’s really nothing terribly serious,” Jimson said. “I had an idea about a way to coax Serena into shifting.”
And you couldn’t find some way to discuss it with me over the phone? I managed to keep the thought to myself.
“Tell me about it,” I said. I crossed my legs and placed my hands folded over my knees. We sat in his office, a tiny room right off the NICU. It was the same place I had met with all of Serena’s doctors, come to think of it, so probably it wasn’t specifically Jimson’s office—but I had grown to associate it with him since he had taken over Serena’s care.
“Now let me clarify,” he
