Gracie lowers her head and whispers, “So began your life as a rogue, which you settled into quite nicely, until I came along.”
I try to accept Gracie’s reactions to my life story, but are they the doppelganger’s true feelings? Trust, blind-faith, they are powerful words in the human race. I never trust anyone.
“I should’ve walked right out of your diner that morning,” she says.
I want to say something, comfort her, and tell her how much she means to me. But with the growing hunger Gracie stirs in me, that would be unwise.
“I’m sorry,” she says, but Gracie Jean’s eyes hold hope.
Would I scare the shit out of her if I shift and take her now? Would there be compassion in the doppelganger’s fiery red eyes afterward? How do we deal with the knowledge that every time we become intimate, she drops a host?
I am so tempted to find out. At the very least, it will allow us to start from the beginning, creature to creature. But to purge myself of my history is enough for one day.
“We can make this work,” she says, looking at me from somewhere behind her host’s human eyes.
As quickly as the notion to phase into the wendigo makes sense, it’s replaced with reality. When she was CeCe she saw me unfavorably, twice: up close and personal during our only sexual encounter, and she ran. And that was before she knew I was the monster who killed Vicen at Purgatory. CeCe ran that time too, right into the beast’s arms she was fleeing from. And I destroyed her host.
“This is impossible,” I say, and mentally wish I’d had time to get to know the being before it suited up, with or without me shifting into the wendigo.
A doppelganger may be someone else’s nightmare, but it’s not mine. She, it, is my first real chance at something I’ve only allowed myself to dream about. I know I can’t hold the being under the skin its smoky form, kiss it, feel it touch me, but we both need to get comfortable with each other while in our natural form. Love shouldn’t be based purely on physical fulfillment.
“Gaire,” she says. “Since I’ve known you, you’ve escaped being destroyed by a berserker in a bar full of his friends, a paid assassin who turned into a dragon and burned a house down, a serial murdering doppelganger, and your father—the worst of them all. Surely, learning how to talk to the woman you plan on forming a relationship with can’t be as hard as all that.”
Right? The woman I once knew? The one I only got a glimpse of, or the one it is wearing at the moment? It might be a hell of a lot easier if I can address it in a more endearing way, with a real name, not a generic title or a name attached to clothes it wears.
“I’m trying,” I say for lack of anything better.
Gracie fidgets uncomfortably on the couch and I can’t help but think how damn adorable this host is. That angers me.
Gracie
Gaire’s eyes shift with his moods. Fear, sorrow, hurt, frustration, and finally exasperated anger—none of which indicate love, romance, or relationship.
“So you ran,” I say, trying to at least regain the conversation.
Gaire snorts and turns away.
I want to cry. This is not working. He’s clearly having second thoughts about us.
With a small voice, I ask, “And in all that time you’ve never tried another relationship?”
“No. Once was enough.” He tries a smile. A flush of color springs up on his cheeks. He shakes his head and adds, “Until you.” Stoic, fabricated words for what seems to be an uncomfortable moment.
“Gaire, I am not a human. I just wear one, a copy. You did not hurt the host I was wearing that night. I didn’t either.” I look into his eyes. “I double up, remember? No one was hurt.”
He says nothing.
What is he thinking under all that blond, blue-eyed handsomeness? I turn to stare at Gracie’s grandmother, mother, and the two children floating under the doorframe between the kitchen and dining room.
My granddaughter does not need you to find her a man, Nan telepathically tells me. Get out of her body, demon! I abjure you!
Hold on with all that repudiating stuff, and don’t drag out a rosary, I’m not a demon, I belligerently push back. I’m a doppelganger, and your granddaughter is fine. She’s with Hope in Ocala. I’m just borrowing her image to work out something with Gaire.
I squirm anxiously, feet winging out sideways in front of the sofa, knees pointing in, and place both hands between my thighs. My nails dig into the fabric.
Gaire is watching me intently.
I lean forward.
The man is not sure you’re feeling what Gracie expresses verbally and emotionally, Nan offers.
Evidently she’s happy with my explanation.
Are they gonna kiss? the older child tethered to Nan asks.
Her words are loud and clear. I shoot a glance at Gaire.
Hush now, Chastity, this creature has a problem, Nan says and gives the child at the end of her right arm a shake.
Lips unmoving, Nan says, Your man’s a Down Under creature like yourself. What is he?
I know shock flashes across Gracie’s face. I cover it with a smile.