Rebel:. Zoe Archer

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      Astrid shouldered past the pain she felt for him to be separated from his family at so young an age. All that mattered at this moment was now.

      “The race of changers are called Earth Spirits,” she said. “I have heard the legends, too. But I learned long ago that there is much more truth to legends than society would have us believe. Often, the truth surpasses the legend.”

      He stalked toward her. She had no desire to be chased like a rabbit around her cabin, so she held her ground as he loomed over her. “Tell me what the hell you’re suggesting,” he demanded.

      She looked up at him, careful to keep her own gaze steady and serious. “I’m suggesting nothing. I am telling you.”

      “Telling me what?”

      She stared at him for a moment, understanding full well the implications of what she was about to say. Not only would his life change completely, but hers would as well. Damn.

      “You are an Earth Spirit.”

      Chapter 3

      Transformation

      Laugher. Anger. Astonishment. Astrid expected any one of these reactions from Nathan Lesperance after revealing to him that he was not a mere man, as he had long believed, but a shape-changing Earth Spirit.

      Instead, he stalked around her cabin, throwing open her cupboard, hauling up the ticking-covered mattress so that the bedding tumbled everywhere, shoving books out of her bookcase.

      “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.

      “Looking for whiskey,” he growled over his shoulder. “Either you’re drunk, or I need to be.” He threw more books onto the floor, heedless.

      Astrid stomped over to him, determined to keep him from wrecking her once-orderly home. She grabbed his arm. “Stop it.”

      He whirled to face her, and only a few inches separated them. “Thank you,” he said, low and fierce. “I didn’t say that before. Thank you for finding me out in the wilderness and bringing me here to your cabin. I probably would’ve died if you hadn’t taken me in. I know you don’t want me here. So, don’t think I’m not grateful, because I am. But like hell will I be lied to or mocked. You think I’m a stupid Indian—the way they all do.”

      “That’s not what I think,” she shot back. “I’m not lying. I’m not making fun of you.”

      He glanced down to where she still held his arm, his eyes narrowing at the sight. His arm was tight and hewn with muscle. Warmth flooded her, and she pulled her hand back.

      “Explain yourself,” he rumbled, “before I smash this cabin into matchsticks.”

      She cast a quick look around, as if actually assessing whether he could reduce her sturdy cabin to kindling. At the moment, he was so ferocious, she almost believed it was possible.

      “When I found you,” she said, “you were covered in cuts. Not little scratches, but actual wounds that might need stitches. And now look”—she gestured to his chest, forcing herself to consider the sleek contours of his skin—“they are practically vanished. Healed within hours.”

      “Always been a fast healer.”

      “No one mends that quickly. Not without some assistance.”

      He shook his head. “So my wounds are almost gone. That’s not enough to convince me I’m some kind of man-beast.”

      “I did not say you were a man-beast. A man who can change into an animal. That is different.”

      His bark of laughter held no humor. “Stupid of me not to see the difference.”

      Astrid held up her hands. “I know this is difficult to comprehend—”

      “Difficult?” His mouth twisted. “Try ridiculous.”

      “But it is true,” she persisted, clenching her teeth. “Edwin, the trapper who was outside, said a wolf attacked a group of Englishmen. The wolf bit someone and clawed them. You had blood in the corners of your mouth and under your fingernails. Blood that wasn’t yours.”

      This made him pause, but for a bare moment. “Still a damned far leap to make. Maybe an animal attacked me when I was wandering around.”

      Astrid wanted to pummel him. She had not spoken this much at one time in years, and the effort cost her patience. “Somewhere, buried in your stubborn head is the memory of your abduction and escape. In that memory is the truth.”

      He swung away from her, gripping the blanket to his waist. “The laughable truth that I—me, a man—can shift forms into a wolf—an animal.”

      “Exactly,” she said.

      “Not ‘exactly,’” he fired back. “You may consider me some ignorant heathen savage—”

      “I never said that!”

      “But the stories my mother told me are just that, stories. I knew it as a child and I know it now. This is a world of steam engines and gunpowder. Magic isn’t real.”

      “Trust me,” Astrid said darkly, “it is.” And she had the loss to prove it.

      He glowered at her. “Trust. You’re asking me to trust you. Based on what?”

      She should have expected resistance from him. After all, a person wasn’t told he was a supernatural being every day. Even so, his stubbornness was a stone wall she battered herself against. How unlike gentle, soft-spoken Michael this man was. But then, she realized belatedly, Lesperance was much like her. She always demanded proof, would never give her trust readily, even before her husband’s death. Michael had been the one to believe, to befriend everyone, while she guarded herself and him like a tigress. Lesperance had the same wariness.

      “You said it yourself,” she countered. “I could have left you to die, but I did not. Even if your wounds did heal quickly, you were in the wilderness alone and dazed.” And naked, she silently added.

      “If I could turn into a wolf,” he said as though humoring a fanciful child, “I think I’d know. I’ve never done it before.”

      “Things change,” she said, grim. “People change.”

      “But not into animals,” he countered. “Just find me some damned clothes and I’ll get the hell out of here. I don’t care how beautiful you are, I’m not going to listen to you—” He stopped, tensing, then inhaled deeply.

      Her heart, already racing, began to knock forcefully in the cage of her chest. “What is it?”

      His eyes met hers, ebony to steel. “Trouble.”

      “Can you hear something?”

      “I smell it.” He drew in another breath through his nose. “The men who captured me. It’s their scent.” A moment’s rare bewilderment crossed his face. “I don’t know how I know, I just do.”

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