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Neal gazed over the lawn, a slight smile at his mouth as he sat thoughtfully on the picnic table where he and Graham and Breck had shared so many meals.
It hadn’t changed a lot in the year he’d been gone; though the hotel was no longer staff housing, it didn’t look any different. The jungle still held proud sentry uphill, and the sun, high in the sky, beat down on the sunny lawn.
Neal closed his eyes. The air still had the same green taste and warmth, with just the slightest tang of salty seawater.
But so much was different.
He was different.
He’d found his mate, his reason for happiness. He’d made peace with his estranged red-maned wolf and reclaimed the life that had been stripped from him.
He hadn’t returned to the Marines, though he’d reconnected with his teammates. Instead, he and Mary built their own life together, in the small town of Lakefield where she taught math to disinterested middle school students. He took his talents with machinery to a civilian job operating big equipment, and found satisfaction in working for a modest construction company, running excavators and graders.
It was a life he could never have accepted without his time at Shifting Sands, time he had desperately needed to put his ten years of captivity in perspective.
Neal opened his eyes at the sound of unfamiliar footsteps.
A big man, nearly as broad at the shoulder as Neal himself, was approaching the picnic table, stride determined. He was wearing an elegant silk shirt, perfectly pressed khakis, and expensive shoes.
Neal stood up, already guessing who this must be. “You must be Conall,” Neal greeted him, remembering to look clearly in the other’s face as he extended his hand for a shake.
Conall was Gizelle’s mate, a famous classical musician who had built a small business empire in the wake of an accident that left him deaf. When Neal had first heard about him, he was deeply skeptical that such a man could in any way be a good match for Gizelle.
If Neal had been badly damaged by his years in a madman’s menagerie, he could only imagine how it had been for Gizelle, who had been there longer than anyone could remember. For months following their release, she had remained in her gazelle form, and when she had finally shifted to human, she had no memory of her time in her cage, and she continued to be timid and traumatized.
Neal looked at Conall with thoughtful evaluation. He had not believed that a disabled man could possibly be what Gizelle needed, but his friends assured him that Gizelle had blossomed with this man’s love, and was more calm and centered than anyone had ever imagined she could be.
Scarlet had kept him apprised of Gizelle’s status, but her emails were brisk and impersonal, much like she was. Graham and Breck, no surprise, had not proved to be good correspondents. There had been a lot to catch up on in person, and they had been quick to assure him that Gizelle was happy and well.
Neal had to take that on faith, as Gizelle had been avoiding him since his return to the resort.
“You’re Neal,” Conall replied, and Neal thought his gaze was as suspicious as Neal’s had been. “It’s good to meet you.”
His handshake was strong, his fingers calloused. He had fine clothing and a haughty tilt to his broad jaw.
They assessed each other for a long moment after they reclaimed their hands
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Neal said, self-conscious about the shape of his mouth as he spoke; Conall had to lip-read his words without Gizelle to help him hear.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Conall echoed him with challenge. After a moment, he added, more gently, “Thank you.”
Neal was surprised. “For what?”
“For your part in the liberation of the zoo,” Conall explained. “For helping Gizelle feel safe again. She is very fond of you, and she missed you when you left.” He spoke grimly, matter-of-factly.
He might have been jealous, Neal thought, or protective. Either would be understandable. “I’d like to see her before we leave,” Neal said with a neutral nod. “If she wants to.”
“She does,” Conall said with a similar nod. “It just takes her a little while to work up to things sometimes.” He said it with warm patience that put Neal’s last reservations to rest. This was a man who understood Gizelle, who was willing to accommodate her quirks and love her for all her unique characteristics, not just in spite of them.
“Whenever she’s ready,” Neal agreed. “I... missed her, too.” The two of them had been the last of the zoo to leave the island; that alone would have given them a bond. The shy gazelle had been Neal’s real remaining tie to the resort, and he never would have left if it hadn’t been to follow his own mate to another life. He sometimes felt guilty for leaving Gizelle behind, knowing how hard her trust was to win and worrying that he had betrayed it with his departure.
Conall frowned at Neal’s mouth and then seemed to understand, giving a crisp nod.
It was tricky ground to navigate; admitting fondness for another man’s mate was not particularly straightforward, and it was burdened by social norms that simply didn’t apply. Neal had to trust that Conall would realize that their affection was platonic, as Mary did.
“So, ah, how are you liking Shifting Sands?” he asked, recognizing a place for small talk.
“Hard to complain,” Conall replied briefly. “Er, looking forward to your wedding?”
“I am,” Neal said, and it was true. There was something satisfying about the idea of standing up in front of their friends to make the bond that he and Mary had official. “It would mean a lot if you and Gizelle were there.” He was sure that Mary had distributed invitations, but it seemed polite to invite Conall in person since he was there.
Conall looked at him quizzically for long enough that Neal wondered if he would have to repeat himself, then nodded. “I think we will be there, but it’s always hard to predict.”
Neal laughed, and Conall cracked a smile.
“Thank you,” Neal said sincerely. Then he impulsively added, “Thank you for taking care of her.”
Their second handshake was considerably more friendly than the first, and Neal caught himself thinking that he could like this man, given time.
It was too bad he was leaving in just two weeks. Time was the one thing they didn’t have.
# # #
“I HAVEN’T BEEN RUNNING!” Gizelle blurted, when Neal finally encountered her, nearly a week later, just a day before the wedding.
She was standing at the steps to the beach holding two kittens that didn’t want to be held. A fluffy gray half-grown cat with white paws was squirming under one arm, while its sleeker, cream-colored companion had all four paws on Gizelle and was pushing out against her opposite arm with stiff, determined legs.
“It’s good to see you,” Neal said mildly, walking up the steps with his towel folded under his arm.
She was, as he had been warned, very different looking than the woman who had been a gazelle for so much of their friendship.
She still had wild, white streaks in her wavy dark hair, but it was back in a braid now. It wasn’t a particularly tidy braid, but it was out of her face, and she didn’t seem uncomfortable in her sundress. She moved less timidly, and she wasn’t trembling, or looking for escape. She was still thin, but her cheeks were not as hollow and her brown eyes seemed less haunted.
The gray kitten had oozed itself out of her arms so that only the back legs were still hooked around Gizelle’s elbow, body and head hanging down as she stretched white paws towards freedom. Gizelle shifted her grip, trying to gather both cats together.
The cream-colored kitten had orange Siamese points, and yowled accurately to the breed as it struggled gamely against the indignity.
Gizelle gently tucked paws and tails back into the crook of her elbow. The gray one started purring in defeat. The cream kitten struggled in earnest but Gizelle gently hung on. “These are my Christmas kittens,” she explained to Neal. “The angry one is Tyrant and the other is The Sweet One.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Neal said politely to the put-out, half-grown cats. “Where are you taking them?”
“There are humans on the beach,” Gizelle explained. “They don’t have animals in them, but Scarlet says that doesn’t make them bad people.”
“I heard,” Neal said; he’d been warned not to shift or do anything in front of the unexpected strangers that might cause them suspicion. He wondered what that had to do with the kittens.
A terrible thought occurred to him, confirmed when Gizelle went on.
“I thought I would see if they wanted voices,” she said cheerfully. “Because the kittens don’t have humans inside of them, and maybe they are lonely.”
Neal blinked at her. “You... can’t just mash them together into one body,” he said, as gently as he could. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“Are you sure?” Gizelle asked skeptically.
“Positive,” Neal assured her.
Gizelle wilted. “It seems like it ought to work that way,” she said, sulky.
“Anyway, wouldn’t you miss your kittens, if you gave them away?” Neal said, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate.
Gizelle snuggled them both closer, to squawks of protest. “Yes,” she admitted. “But Tyrant is more Scarlet’s than mine anyway. Everyone thinks that’s very funny except Scarlet.”
She sat down on the steps and pulled Tyrant back down from the shoulder she was trying to scale. “Scarlet also said I shouldn’t bother the human people,” she said, sounding guilty.
Neal sat beside her. “It’s probably not a good idea,” he said sympathetically. “They don’t know about shifters, and they might be frightened.”
“Do you know, when we met, I thought you didn’t have a voice at first?” Tyrant was trying to bolt over Gizelle’s shoulder again, and was tugged gently back to the young woman’s lap. “Your wolf was so far away, so quiet.”
That wasn’t the case anymore, and Neal’s red-maned wolf chuckled in his head.
“He’s made up for lost time,” Neal said wryly.
As if I was the chatty one in this partnership, his wolf said snidely.
Neal waited to see if Gizelle would have anything to say about the comment; he’d heard from Breck that she could hear shifters’ animal voices.
But she only gave him a shy sideways look. “I’m getting better at people,” she said hopefully. “People with voices, anyway.”
“So I’ve heard,” Neal said warmly. “Everyone is so proud of you.”
That seemed to please her.
Tyrant gave a final, frantic squirm for freedom and Gizelle let her go. The kitten bolted away across the broad step, groomed her tail angrily, and then sauntered away as if nothing in the world was wrong. Sweet One remained in Gizelle’s arms, purring, and the gazelle shifter stroked her gently and tickled her face.
“I missed you,” Gizelle said sheepishly to her lap, but Neal knew she wasn’t talking to the cat. “I was lost for a while.”
“I was sorry to leave,” Neal said gently. “But it was time for me to go. I needed to get back out into the world, take back my life, be with my mate.”
“I know,” Gizelle said eagerly, looking up at him. “I know now! I have a mate, too. He’s so splendid and amazing. Have you met him?”
Neal smiled at her. “I liked him,” he said approvingly. “And I’m so happy for you.”
Her face unexpectedly fell. “I gave him the lock to your cage,” she said anxiously. “It was Christmas, and I hope you aren’t angry.”
“Of course not,” Neal told her swiftly. “It was yours to give.”
The relief across her face was like sunlight after a storm.
“I thought you might be mad,” she said honestly. “But it was the only thing I had.”
“It was a beautiful gift,” Neal assured her. “Conall must have appreciated it very much.”
“Yes,” Gizelle said simply. “Because I gave it to him.”
Her eyes were just as Neal had remembered, wise and full of hope, but there was less fear in them now, he thought.
To his surprise and Sweet One’s discomfort, Gizelle leaned forward then and wrapped her arms around him for a swift hug, her head for a moment on his collarbone. “I have something else to give you,” she said, releasing him almost immediately. Sweet One escaped her lap and groomed herself lazily on the step below them.
“You don’t have to give me anything,” Neal assured her.
“I do,” Gizelle said firmly. “Otherwise you will die.”
Then she gazed at him sternly, and he blinked, and she was standing up. “Chef has something delicious for dinner tonight,” she said easily, as if she had not just announced Neal’s potential death. “But no one will eat it.”
“What did you want to give me?” Neal asked, deeply confused as he stood with her. Sweet One was nowhere to be seen.
“I already did,” Gizelle said patiently.
“You said I would die,” Neal reminded her.
“But you didn’t, did you,” Gizelle pointed out.
“I... suppose not?”
Then Gizelle hugged him a second time. “Thank you for coming back,” she said softly. “I may not need you anymore, but I still missed you. You were my first friend.”
Neal carefully put his arms around her in return. “You helped me back every bit as much as I helped you,” he said gratefully, giving her a quick squeeze and releasing her. It was a far cry from the first tentative touch of her gazelle’s whiskers.
Gizelle stepped back and smiled up at him. “That’s what friends do,” she said confidently.
“Will you come to our wedding tomorrow?” Neal asked. “Did you get the invitation?”
“It had frosting you couldn’t lick,” Gizelle said eagerly. “Like sugar, but sharp.” Her face went thoughtful. “I don’t know if I came to it or not. It isn’t long now.”
“It’s tomorrow,” Neal reminded her. “In the evening.”
“No, it’s a little longer than that,” Gizelle insisted. “But not much.”
Neal suspected they were not talking about the same thing. “The wedding?” he clarified.
“No,” Gizelle said with an oddly sad smile. “The end.”
“The end of... what?”
“Of me. Of everything.” Her hands were shaking, and as soon as she realized it, Gizelle tucked them into fists and put them behind her, smiling fiercely. “Nevermind,” she said swiftly. “It’s quiet now. I will come to your wedding. I did carry flowers for Darla.”
“Do you want to carry flowers for us?” Neal asked, not at all sure what to make of her doomsaying. He was pretty sure he shouldn’t take her literally.
“I’ll ask Graham!” Gizelle said enthusiastically, which Neal had to take as a yes.
Then she was gone, flying away on fleet, bare feet.
Neal was still shaking his head when he returned to the cottage he was sharing with Mary.
“Did you finally catch up with Gizelle?” she asked at once, perhaps sensing his bemusement as he laid a kiss on her head.
“She’s come a long ways,” Neal said. The Gizelle who had first transformed to save him would never have given a willing hug, let alone two of them.
“She tried to explain to me that Jenny was the one who taught her how to shift when I finally saw her yesterday,” Mary said, putting aside her book. “What did you two talk about?”
Neal laughed. “I think she has a skewed sense of causality,” he observed. “She also seemed to think she just saved my life.”
Mary pulled him down to kiss her. “Then I owe her a great debt of gratitude,” she purred in his ear. “Because you’ve got somewhere to be tomorrow, and I’d hate to have to marry a corpse.”
“That could be... messy,” Neal agreed with a chuckle. “Depending on the method of death. And we paid a lot for the suit.”
They shared a long, lingering kiss that somehow ended up with both of them wedged uncomfortably into a chair that barely held Neal alone.
“I can’t wait to share the rest of my life with you,” Mary sighed, as they untangled their limbs and pried themselves out the wicker chair.
“Can you wait until we get to the bed?” Neal teased.
Mary kissed him in answer, and they only just made it there.
It was only much later that Neal remembered Gizelle’s odd prediction and wondered what she meant by the end that was coming...