Slow Shift, Nazarea Andrews [english love story books TXT] 📗

Lucas nods once and Tyler stands. Chase doesn’t seem that surprised to be tugged up by the wrist and hauled to the porch swing, and he doesn’t seem surprised to be pulled against the older man—he acts like being manhandled and cuddled by Tyler fucking Reid is normal.

John is wondering if maybe he does need to pull out his gun, before Lucas says, “Chief, if you’d like to join us? Chase will explain everything.”

They’re watching him, expectant and hopeful, and John’s never been able to deny Chase when he looks at him like that.

He sits down in the rocker next to them while Lucas presses one foot against swing and sets it in motion. “You're up, pup,” he says.

Chase takes a deep breath. “The Reid accident, I told you that it was intentional, that Tyler knew it was, that he’d seen something, but you could never find a motive.”

“I looked,” John says, and Lucas is unnaturally still, his eyes glittering strangely in the deepening light. “But the Reids were loved in this town. There was no reason for the accident.”

“There was,” Chase says. He stares at John and for just a heartbeat, John feels like he’s teetering, about to tip into something he can’t crawl out of. “The Reids are werewolves. They were being hunted.”

~*~

“Get out,” John says.

Lucas is surprised to realize that the man isn’t even angry. Tyler’s grip on Chase tightens.

“Dad,” he starts.

John shakes his head. “Chase, they’re lying to you. You can’t—”

“They’re not. God, Dad, don’t you think I’d know?”

“I think you were a child when they found you and you would have believed anything.”

There’s the anger, Lucas thinks.

“I’m not a child now!” he shouts.

Tyler sighs. “Chase,” he murmurs. Chase snarls at him.

“He’s not lying,” Lucas says, “He has no reason to lie. None of us do.”

“Werewolves aren’t fucking real!” John barks.

Lucas can hear it, the thread of fear that fury is not quite covering. He looks at Chase. This is Chase’s father, and Chase is his Shaman, and this might have been what they should have done to start with—but it is Chase’s choice, always. He waits, then slowly, Chase sighs and pulls away from Tyler with a nod.

“Show him,” Chase whispers. John starts to curse, and Lucas—

~*~

The shift burns like a healing fire. Not like Mia’s fire that night in the woods, but a warm wave of sweet familiar heat, the magic of what he is changing, remaking him. He stares up at them, in his wolfskin while Lucas shifts on two feet in beta form, and John—

John curses and pulls his gun.

~*~

Chase gives a wordless shout and leaps forward between John’s gun and the monsters behind him. Fear rips through John as Lucas—Jesus fucking Christ, that’s Lucas—reaches for him, clawed hands wrapping around him.

Chase shoves the older man behind him without even looking, heedless of the claws and fangs and the glowing fucking eyes, and stares at his father. His heart is pounding and his hands would be shaking if he weren’t clenching his gun. He wants desperately to yank Chase into his arms, to put himself between his son and these creatures.

“Dad, I know this is shocking, I do, but I need you to put the gun away.”

“Step away from them,” he grits out, fear making his voice shake. “Chase, they—that thing could kill you.”

Tyler snarls and Lucas growls, low and vicious. How the hell two creatures that terrifying can look that offended is completely beyond him.

“They won’t,” Chase says, “They can’t.”

That jerks John’s attention away from them and he looks at Chase, who’s standing between two werewolves and him, looking like he belongs there.

“I can show you, but I need you to give me the gun first.” John hesitates and Chase waits calmly. “Trust me, Dad.”

He doesn’t like it, but they’re all waiting, patient and not threatening and that—Chase’s quiet hopefulness and the confidence in his eyes—makes him slowly hand the gun to Chase. He disarms it quickly and tucks it away with a familiar ease that makes the wolf—Tyler—whine at him. He pets the wolf’s head, then steps off the porch, and for a moment, the loping graceful figure doesn’t look like his son.

It doesn’t look like Chase.

Chase, who touches his wrist, quick and easy, the evening air shimmering. Chase, who turns and smirks at Lucas and says, “Show him,” and this time it’s taunting and smug.

The werewolf grins, a mouthful of fangs on display. He roars and charges at Chase, and John shouts and—

Lucas gets tossed back, landing on his ass on the porch steps with a sharp crack that sounds like bone more than wood. John blinks at him and Tyler snarls, leaping at Chase who laughs and flicks his fingers and the wolf flips in the air, slamming into the ground with a whimper. They throw themselves at him over and over, and each time, Chase tosses them back with almost no effort. The one time Lucas gets close, Chase is quick, darting, jabbing at him and twisting away before a flick of his fingers throws him into the railing of the porch with bone rattling force.

Chase grins at them and rubs his wrist, the air around him shimmering a little before he crouches next to Lucas, “You ok, big bad?”

“You could pull your punches a little, pup,” he wheezes.

Chase snorts and stands. “Shift back,” he says easily, watching his father again, “And get Tyler some pants. I’m willing to bet Dad has some questions.”

~*~

John gets two drinks in before Chase takes the liquor bottle from him and sits down. The Reids are in the kitchen cleaning and John thinks that’s the most absurd thing to happen all night, and that includes finding out that werewolves are fucking real.

“No more of that,” Chase says gently.

John looks at his son like he’s never seen him before, because he doesn’t know what the hell this man before him is. “How long have you known?”

Chase stares at him, calm and still. “Remember the Halloween Lucas had seizures?”

“Jesus Christ, Chase. That