Lure of Oblivion

Andie seemed to relax a little at that, Gwen noticed . . . as if the cougar realized that Zander had been telling the truth when he told her about their acceptance of loners.

“Why don’t you wait in the common room while I take Andie for a tour?” Dawn suggested to Gwen.

Yeah, right, like that would happen, especially since Andie didn’t appear fond of the idea. Gwen smiled. “Thanks, but I’d be interested in coming along to look around, if that’s okay with you.” She thought that sounded a lot better than, “I don’t trust Andie’s safety with you yet.” But Dawn’s eyes narrowed, as if she’d easily read between the lines. Still, she didn’t seem offended, just understanding.

Zander sidled up to Gwen, his arm brushing hers. “Bracken and I will come too.”

“All right,” said Dawn. “We can—”

Bracken suddenly shuddered. “Whoa, just got a horrible chill down my spine.”

“Someone walked over your grave,” both Gwen and Makenna said in unison. Then the two females looked at each other, chuckling.

Zander frowned. He’d expect that from Makenna, since she was incredibly superstitious, but not Gwen.

Bracken held up a hand. “Wait, you really think me feeling a chill means someone walked over my grave?”

Makenna snorted. “Obviously. Jeez. Come on, Gwen, you’re going to love this place.”

Gwen listened avidly as Dawn told them about the shelter while they walked. Apparently when her mother started it thirty years ago, it had been just a day center—a place loners went to simply sit, drink coffee, eat a decent meal, and talk with other loners. With the help of funding, Dawn’s mother had gradually expanded it. It was certainly expansive.

Dawn guided them around each of the floors, except for the attic, since that was where Dawn lived. The first floor had a common room, cafeteria, communal toilets, and private rooms for those with children. Females slept on the second floor, and males slept on the third—both floors were dormitories. All supplies were kept in the basement.

Gwen had been surprised to learn that many slept in the dome-shaped tents that were scattered around the land at the rear of the building near the children’s play area. Dawn sure made use of every inch of space, both inside and outside the shelter.

“How long are people allowed to stay here?” Gwen asked.

“There’s no time limit,” said Dawn, pausing in a hallway. “Although Makenna can attempt to get them a place somewhere, like with relatives or with Alphas that are willing to adopt or foster loners, many prefer to remain loners. We do what we can to help them find an apartment and blend into the human community, but some wish to stay here long term.”

“You allow that?”

Dawn nodded. “In exchange, they work here—there are always plenty of things that need doing at a shelter, like cleaning, cooking, and laundry. It’s understandable that they might wish to stay. You’re a human, so you may find it difficult to understand just how isolating the loner lifestyle can be. Shifters aren’t built to live alone. Some residents find the same comfort in running the shelter as they’d find in belonging to a pack or pride, for instance.”

Dawn turned to Andie. “I want you to know that you’re not the only person here who’s had problems with humans—not by a long shot. Being without a pack, pride, or whatever it may be means that loners are vulnerable to other shifters and humans. People often assume that a shifter would only be a loner if they were cast out by their Alphas. Not always. Some are runaways, others are in hiding, and many are simply lost after the death of their mate. Many loners here will be able to relate to your situation.”

Makenna tilted her head at Andie. “How did you become a loner, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Andie cleared her throat. “I was adopted by humans as a baby. My parents didn’t know what I was. When they realized, they kept me.”

A bell suddenly chimed, and Dawn smiled. “Time for lunch. You should eat with us.”

Minutes later, they claimed one of the plastic tables in the school-like cafeteria. Gwen was surprised to find that the food wasn’t bad. Thankfully, Andie seemed to enjoy it. When they headed to the water fountain after they’d eaten, Gwen asked her quietly, “Well, what do you think?”

“It’s restful here,” replied Andie, her voice just as low. “I didn’t expect that. It’s kind of nice not to be looked at with scorn for being a loner.”

“It’s got to be a hell of a lot better than the cabin in the marsh, but if you don’t want to stay, that’s fine.”

Andie twisted her mouth. “My cat likes it here. She’s intrigued by all the strange scents, not nervous. I didn’t expect that.”

“Why don’t you give it a trial run?” suggested Gwen. “Stay here for a few days, see what’s it like. If you can’t settle here, if you want to come back to the marsh, all you have to do is call, and I’ll come get you.”

Andie’s face softened. “You really would do that, wouldn’t you?”

“I would.” The girl had been through enough. Reaching the water fountain, Gwen filled a plastic cup and passed it to Andie before filling a cup for herself.

Andie rolled back her shoulders. “I’ll stay, give it a shot.”

“I thought you might.” And Gwen was glad, because she liked the shelter too. It was clean, secure, and well run. The people looked relatively relaxed.

Andie leaned into Gwen. “I wasn’t gonna say anything but, um . . . taking on Zander? Bold move. He must be a handful.”

Gwen’s mouth curved. “He has ways that compensate for that.”

Andie chuckled. “I’ll bet he does.”

“Aw, look, Andie’s smiling,” said Makenna, sitting beside Zander at the table. “That’s a good sign.”

Zander’s gaze had been on Gwen. He liked to watch her. Liked to see her big eyes light up. Liked to see that lush mouth curve, and watch how she used those elegant hands as she spoke. Liked knowing he was the only one who touched her.

He didn’t like that she was wearing a shirt that covered his mark, but he suspected she’d done it so that Makenna wouldn’t tell tales to his pack. He’d told Gwen that he didn’t care if they knew, that it was likely Derren would have told Nick anyway. But she clearly hadn’t been convinced.