“No! I can’t!”
Addy lunged for the door and in seconds she was running as fast as she could across the yard and up into the forest beyond. She thought she heard the man calling to her, but she didn’t look back. As she ran on, the incline got steeper, and her lungs began to burn with the effort to climb. In moments she felt the beginnings of the change that frightened her so much. Soon her legs were reshaping, their muscles and sinews, taking on a new form. As she scrabbled for purchase in the undergrowth, her arms lengthened and her fingers became claws, and soon she was running on all fours, her ears pointed forward, her nose scenting the air, her whiskers sending back signals as she crashed through the underbrush. The mountain lion she had become gobbled up the distance with little effort.
When she reached the giant sugar maple overlooking a wide expanse of meadow, she dropped down into the shade, panting. This was her favorite spot, her favorite tree anywhere on her family’s hundreds of acres of mountainside forest. The cold night had turned the leaves on the outside of the tree to a brilliant yellow, while the inside branches still showed some green. The stark contrast between the bright yellow and the cloudless, clear blue sky beyond made her heart skip a beat. The wildlife at first disturbed by her sudden appearance began to rustle once more as she lay there, still as the rocks, her tawny side barely moving, in and out, as her breathing slowed. Then after a time, she felt the change come on her, and the mountain lion became the woman again.
Addy sighed and remained still, her not quite as sharp eyesight passing over the valley below her. Late summer flowers continued to bloom stubbornly among the grass. She would have to pick some for Granny on her way back. She thought of the disappointment her running off had undoubtedly caused her grandmother and blinked back tears.
“I’m sorry, Granny,” she whispered, “but I just can’t face it.”
Addy had never had any control over this change that happened to her. From the time she was three, anything that made her at all nervous could trigger it, and it wasn’t until she was away from the perceived danger that she would turn back to herself, and even that wasn’t necessarily by her choice. There had been times, however, when running away had not been enough, and as a mountain lion, she had never had enough control of her own actions to stop herself from lashing out.
Addy still shuddered to think about the hikers who had found her in the woods one day when she’d been sixteen. They’d been city boys from the east, by their accents, college boys full of both the arrogance and entitlement that comes from wealth. When the two of them had decided the “hillbilly” girl they’d found was theirs for the taking, Addy had tried to run, only to be knocked to the ground. They had ripped at her clothing, expecting an easy time of what they’d intended to do to her. Not surprisingly, she had changed, becoming a trapped animal of an altogether different nature. She had badly mauled both boys in her attempt to escape.
Later Granny had found the newspaper article about the two hikers who had tangled with a mountain lion. In spite of the Fish and Wildlife Department’s stance that eastern mountain lions no longer lived in these hills, locals had believed the two boys. Both had ended up in the emergency room, one had nearly died. Both had been badly scarred for life.
Addy rolled over onto her back and fought to control her shaking. She’d told Granny what had happened, and her grandmother had forced her to swear never to tell anyone—and she never had. The rest of the family had always preferred to ignore the fact of her father’s nature. Since his death, no one but Granny had even mentioned what he had been—and what Addy had become. Granny had told Addy stories about her father, as he had grown up. For whatever reason, Addy’s mother hadn’t seemed to mind what her husband became on occasion, but then she had been a forest ranger, and had probably been thrilled to marry a man who sometimes became an endangered species. No one had dreamed that Addy would be left alone to deal with what she had inherited from her father.
Addy had almost fallen asleep when the bark of a squirrel announced approaching danger. Addy turned her head to look down the valley and saw a bear coming her way. She sat up, hoping her movement would scare him off. Anyone who lived in these mountains knew that bears were far more interested in their next meal than in tangling with a human being, so she didn’t want to surprise him. He surprised her, though, when he simply continued toward her. There was no doubt he saw her—he was looking right at her—but he wasn’t charging and just looked curious. Addy glanced behind her then reminded herself that climbing a tree wouldn’t do her any good, since the bear, no doubt, could climb a lot better and faster than she could.