Chapter Two
Jillian
My guest didn’t seem to have any idea how he got here or what was happening to him, and I didn’t have any answers for him. At least none he might believe.You are a wolf shifter, like me…Even if I had the ability to speak to him about it, I had no more information than that, and as he sat at one of the two chairs at my little table—the one nobody had ever sat at because I had no guests—I worried that the rickety furnishing might not hold his weight. Not that he was fat. Or even overweight at all. While I’d tried not to stare at him, I’d have had to be blind not to notice how handsome the strange, lost shifter was when in human form.
Wolf form, too, although he’d been hurting, but I could tell, the next time he shifted, he’d be magnificent. But as a man, with those long, straight limbs and broad shoulders, eyes as blue as the midsummer sky, and black hair with lighter tips. Natural, because his wolf had similar coloring.
I checked the pot hanging over the fire and hoped there was enough stew for him to have another serving. It didn’t matter if I ate any, despite what I’d said or rather nodded. My visitor probably hadn’t had a good meal in some time. Of course, that was a guess, but his bloody paws told me he’d been in fur and on the move for miles and miles. Where had he come from?
Was someone missing him?
“It’s kind of you to take me in.” His voice, coming from behind me, was startling, but I didn’t turn around. “What’s your name?”
I bit my lip, wondering how to respond and decided to do it by refilling his bowl. Silently.
“Thank you, but where is your serving?” He arched a brow with his question. They were also black as a raven’s wing with the same silvery ends to the hairs. I’d never seen anything like it before but it was intriguing. “I don’t feel comfortable eating your whole dinner.”
I waved toward the pot and picked up my other spoon then dipped it in and took a bite of what was left. In truth it was very little, but I didn’t want him to know that, so I tried to fake it.
He seemed to buy it, which made me happy. I was rather proud of my stew, and the fact I’d brought the deer down myself with a single arrow, and the herbs and things were mostly foraged. After I’d faked enough spoonsful, I grabbed an armload of the least ragged comforters and a pillow I’d made and stuffed myself. I made up a pallet in the corner opposite my own bed, which was in fact little better. I did have a bedframe I’d made myself, and I would have offered it to him if I thought my stretched ropes under the straw mattress would support him.
“So, I’m Dean, and last I remember, I was attending a local college. Maybe not local to here. I have to figure out where here is.” He ate some more stew, continuing to talk until finally he stopped, cheeks flushing. “But I am totally dominating the conversation. You must think me awfully rude.”
I shook my head.
“I know you don’t talk much, but what is your name? Can you tell me that, since you’re being so kind to me, I’d like to know.”
Well, shoot. I didn’t want to have him know just how poorly educated I was. I did communicate by writing sometimes but only with those who I thought wouldn’t make fun of me. Which almost everyone did. But somehow, not having him know my name seemed wrong. Then I spotted a piece of paper where I’d been practicing writing my name. I thought if I could at least do that well, I’d be able to sign anything ever required of me.
Even if I couldn’t imagine what that might be. But I picked up the page and showed it to him.
“Jillian? Is that what it...it’s so dark in here.”
My cabin, like most of the ones in the woods around here, didn’t have many windows, and it did have thick walls. With only the kerosene lantern and fire to see by, I hoped he’d think that was what made it hard to read my writing.
To my dismay, Dean—what a nice name!—took the page from me and held it close to the lantern on the table. “You were writing your name over and over?” He flashed me a smile. “I like to doodle as well, Jillian. Especially in philosophy class when I’m bored out of my mind.”
Philosophy. He had said he was in college. He would think I was so unintelligent or at least uneducated, and he’d be right.
After eating the last bite of stew, he pushed the bowl away and sighed. “You’re a great cook. It can’t be easy cooking over a fire like that. But I have a question for you?”
I nodded.
“Jillian, would it be horribly rude if I turned in? I see you made me up that very comfortable-looking bed near the fire, and I can barely keep my eyes open. But can I help with the dishes or anything before I sleep?”
I shook my head and took his hand then led him over to the pallet. I was always so nervous around people, ready to jump out of my skin and, while I wouldn’t say I was entirely comfortable with Dean, I liked the feel of his hand in mine.
A little while later when I was tucked in my own bed, I cast a glance across the room at where he was resting with one arm on top of the covers. I didn’t know if he’d be there in the morning, but for now, things felt right. Maybe I was just pathetically lonely. But a new shifter and one who seemed to not have any idea what it meant to be one would need a friend who understood.
Maybe I could be that friend.
And maybe he would be mine.