My Shifter Hero: Whispering Hills, #2

MY SHIFTER HERO

by Tabatha Austin

MY SHIFTER HERO

Tabatha Austin

TabathaAustin.com

All Rights Reserved ©2019 Tabatha Austin.

First Printing: 2019.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Author’s Note: All characters in this story are 19 years of age or older.

Reviews Appreciated!

If you notice any errors, I’d greatly appreciate a heads up.

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Chapter One

Truman

I held out my right hand steady and whispered with concentration worthy of the telepathic Professor X, Move. The mental command repeated in my head while a cartoon bear comic laid flat and still over the glass display case. One of a hundred copies companies send to comic book shops for Free Comic Day. If I tore it accidentally, it was a small price to pay if I discovered something new about shifters. I wouldn't risk Amazing Fantasy Fifteen; Spider-Man's first appearance, but a comic about helpful bears was fine.

I nodded to Mike – the short, bald older Omega with a white handlebar mustache. His green eyes studied rows of old plastic bagged comics and pulp novels from the seventies. I don't know if I looked like a superhero to him even without my unsuccessful telekinesis. My slender and shorter build was more sidekick than the main hero. It's superhero law with a capital red S. The headline hero is always taller, well-chiseled, and more handsome.

My frame is what they give the agile secondary character; not strong, but fast enough to dodge a fist. My face went up as I imagined my future Alpha; tall, thick, All-American jaw and glasses like Superman. The kind which isn't a great disguise but still works. Thoughts on conventions we could go to and costumed cosplay ideas went through my head as my hand continued to shake as if it were a broken machine. Everyone knows their ideal mate. If it weren't for this town, I would have settled for someone back in Hawaii instead of coming to the South. I guess that's why Whispering Hills is a blessing and curse, I muttered.

On the far side of my comic book shop, Mike spoke loudly. That it is. He walked away from the rows of back-issues and faint green eyes surrounded by fine wrinkles stared at the unmoving comic. We were both Omegas – technically – and ran on the short side. He wasn't tall when younger and the multiple decades took a few more inches off him. If this were the four-color world of the comic or the pulp books he liked, I'd think he was my future self-sent back to guide me. That means I lost my light-brown hair though and I wouldn't look like a sidekick anymore. Comic book law said bald characters were villains. Well, the old ones did. The new ones like to deconstruct old stereotypes. Hence my telekinetic try.

A deep voice that commanded the workers in his restaurant boomed out. Still not moving Truman?

No, deep down I didn't believe it would, I think.

Tina and Dawn would say that's why. You got to believe with all your heart for it to come true. Even a small amount of doubt is enough. He shrugged, "What do I know? I'm not a practitioner or a swamp witch. I ask this rhetorically, but you know telekinesis is not in our powers?"

Well, what if it could be? My fingers rub together as I collected my thoughts. Okay, you know how humans trigger Disbelief? His semi-smile disappeared before I continued. What if, it could work in the other direction? He repeated my last two words slowly. Okay, we expect to turn into a wolf. Everyone here knows what a shifter is: someone that turns into an animal. Decades back Westley told you what would happen and when you and Mike got together.

Mated.

Yes, you got your powers; like they were described to you.

Because that's what happens, he said. The people here before us were shifters. They passed on their stories because it's what shifters do, we well, shift.

Yes, but what if it were the result of stories from something eons ago and got refined until this is what we expect to happen?

Or, said Mike. The first shifters are what we now see around the world. Somehow, they came into existence. They created more and so on until they spread out.

Humans tell stories. I pointed at the walls of my shop decorated with significant issues: first appearances, new artists and character deaths. Comics are the natural progression of stories we told around the campfire. Women with mystical powers, creatures that drank blood, and men who transformed into animals. Now you got Dawn and Tina, Westley, and you. What if there's a collective belief, like uh eons ago, somebody or a town was so sure there was a monster in the hills. Their collected conviction created the first werewolf.

That sounds far-fetched. He smiled, and his handlebar mustache rose with him.

Well, I'm sure somebody of your age has seen plenty of far-fetched things.

My age? He repeated.

My shoulders slumped, I'm sorry, I forgot that older people don't like to be reminded. I sighed. I've been practicing, but it's hard–

I saw the barest hint of a smile I memorized to mean he wasn't too upset.

What I'm saying, I continued, "is maybe we don't have to limit ourselves to what we think a werewolf can do. You look at Sheriff Holliday. He's older and he can–"

"Truman Thompson, I wouldn't talk on about what Holliday can and cannot do. He put a hand on me, and I fought the urge to pull it away. There was nothing repulsive about him; quite the opposite. He was the closest thing I had to a father, but I wasn't used to being touched. All the books I read said touching was part of the human experience and I suspected more so with my kind. Thoughts on how I was different raced through my head before I pushed him to the side. Truman, he said, Once you mate, you'll–"

Transform? I asked.

Technically yes but... He leaned his head back and looked off into the distance. "It's like describing sex to somebody who never had it. It's changing into something else and finding a part of you that was always there. It magnifies the senses, you get stronger both in and out of wolf form, and there's an honesty about it. You won't need to overthink, and you'll just know."

Being able to read somebody else and not have to worry if I didn't smile enough or too much, sounded like a dream come true. Of course, you'll have a cute man that loves you, his hand went out to mime a full stomach, then there are the babies. He winked.

"See? That's what I want. Somebody I can come home to. I can be the Robin to his Batman like you are with Todd.

His arms crossed, and he tilted his head. So I'm Robin?

Well, you're the Omega.

Yes but Robin never laid an egg.

We don't do that. We do it through our–

He held his wrinkled hand out. Figure of speech, but don't let my husband know you consider him Batman. I love the man, but I don't need him to refer to himself like that for the next few weeks. His eyebrows pinched together. "You know you could have that. You don't have to be alone. Nobody should be."

I'm not, I said. I have this town I pointed to all my back issues, new arrivals, and graphic novels. Then there's my stories.

"You need a boyfriend, not a superfriend."

I shook my head no. Still waiting for my Alpha and I'm skipping the boyfriend stage. This town promises if you're patient, your soulmate will come. We were all drawn here.

He frowned. I sometimes wonder if it's more curse than a blessing. What a cost.

They needed to fuel the magic. I shrugged. Isn't it great knowing that most normals will forget about us? It's a secret identity that works.

"It doesn't work easily for people who are sure their soulmate is out there and wait."

But he is there... look at you and Todd. I mean you argue but, you love each other?

That man is a pompous fool who can't cook worth a damn and messes up a house faster than a Texas Tornado. Of course, I love him. I couldn't imagine my life without the big lug.

It's the magic of this place.

"No, it's the price, Truman. Some people here have wasted their sorry existence waiting for Mister or Miss Right when they could have had a good enough life."

What if Todd didn't wait?

He opened his mouth and then said nothing for several seconds. We got lucky, and we almost didn't get together despite being soulmates. You're still young and not set in your ways, but you won't be forever.

Comics have taught me many things Mike, like you can't go looking for it. Roughly eight-six percent of all characters that searched for powers ended up being the villains or having tragic stories.

Life isn't the comics.

No, but it's drawn from human experiences. Chances can make or break a life. I jerked my head to the wide picture window and through my red and white 'Comics' neon sign. Through pasted flyers, and colorful stickers I saw them, our newest couple. Jake – the cowboy-handsome man with the white hat, plaid shirt, and jeans. That man was country Alpha to his core. The shorter dark-haired man with curly hair was at his side. Short and slender like me but from New York City instead of Hawaii. They met and soon after had a kid.

Jake and Alex, said Mike. That smaller feller's all right. I never believed what they said about him on television. He doesn't seem the type to hurt someone that doesn't deserve it.

He was on the run from the law and romance was the last thing on his mind. Westley picked him up too, and now they're together.

You're choosing examples to justify your argument.

I know comics aren't real, but one day I'll get the equivalent of getting splashed with electrified chemicals like Barry Allen – The Flash. I'll become something better and what I was meant to be.

Don't look for chances. I'd rather you be the Flash than Bruce Wayne. His parents got shot... His mouth opened for several seconds. Oh, Truman. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have used that example. Damn it.

It's okay. I smiled the appropriate amount of time.

He leaned in and sniffed long before his nose wrinkled. No, it's not. You smell like rotting vegetables. Come on, I made you sad. He gestured toward the graphic novels. Tell me something you'd think I'd like.

He was more of a science fiction book reader than a fan of the four-color comics. I wouldn't say it was a pity purchase. I didn't need the money. My parents' trust-fund payout made sure I had enough to buy this building and the living quarters on the second floor. Most of the adult shifters weren't comic fans – although a few were. Their pups loved me though.

I glanced back at the short man with waggling eyebrows that looked like he should be teaching his apprentice a spell. Maybe he is? The cool thing about having him as my friend was the ability to practice with other people. I was ninety percent sure he was doing this to be polite which meant he cared about me. I inhaled deep and wished it wasn't necessary to create algorithms and formulas to understand what should come naturally. Although if I had wishes, I'd use them for other things.

I handed him a graphic novel called Copperhead. It's a Western but set in space. The female protagonist is a single mother, and it's got aliens, and robots. It's an allegory for racial injustice. Especially in the second part when they discover–

He reached up and put a hand on my shoulder. It sounds perfect Truman and don't give away the story. His voice softened. Let people discover it on their own.

I put it in a bag with a red 'Pow' graphic on the outside. You know one day–

Your prince will come, he finished. "It is nice, even when – and they will – irritate you. His brows drew together before smiling. You're a good kid Truman. Any Alpha would be lucky to have you."

He turned to the door and walked out. Within seven minutes he would be at the convenience store his mate managed. They'd talk, argue, and then he would head off to his restaurant. I wondered what that would be like, having somebody to share my life with forever. I didn't cry, but I felt the sting in my eyes. Sometimes I wonder what I look forward to more. Getting my shifter powers or finding someone who gets me. A soulmate would do that.

I glanced around the empty store and wondered if Mike was right. Maybe just someone, I whispered.

***

Chapter Two

Luke

Tall green trees and black and white speed limit signs zoomed past me as I drove down the straight two-lane country highway under the orange-yellow evening sky.

Inside the Lexus was dead silence. There's an old advertisement that says the only sound you should hear inside a BMW was the clock ticking. Different cars and decades but I got the mentality. Wish I could get the money back for it.

I set the cruise control for the speed limit. Years of Dallas living and the Texas Highway Patrol taught me a valuable lesson about speeding. My right leg went out, and I grimaced as I heard a familiar crunch and pop. It hurt, but not doing it pained more. The evening sun glinted over my Super Bowl ring. I rotated it around my finger then glanced at the pile of unsold autographed photos in the passenger seat.

The snapshot was from after I got signed, but I still looked the same – although the smile was bigger on him. I had a Quarterback body since I played that position. My light brown wavy hair was the same, but I didn't wear glasses like I do now. I kept my upper body strength and developed as I did when I entered college. My thigh muscles were huge in that photo, and I suppose most people would find them impressive, but they still slimmed down slightly over the years. Well not being able to run will do that.

I drove around a slow-moving semi-trailer and lowered the sun visor. I peeked in my rear-view mirror to the truck behind me and wondered what he did on his long trips. I knew one thing, it gave you time to think and ask questions about your life. The showboating younger self gave me a messed-up knee and twisted foot, but I wondered how unlucky I was when compared to my former teammates. Most football players get an NFL career measured in the single digits. The league likes to say the average is six years, but I got four years of memories, a Super Bowl ring and a persistent limp.

Even the ones that don't have an accident still get slapped around by life. Many go bankrupt within two years of retirement. On a sad level, it made sense. Give a kid who never made much money before, a professional salary and they don't know how to handle it. Hell, I was one. I bought this car but didn't make any other financial mistakes. I didn't snort my winnings up my nose, or party endlessly. Too many of my teammates had to deal with costly divorces.

Technically, I could have gotten married, but my mom didn't need that stress, at least right now. Maybe later I could tell her about me, but it was a moot point. I couldn't afford a husband, and I didn't feel like leeching off somebody. My post-Super Bowl life had too few opportunities. Being in professional sports was enough to charge for photographs but not too many. The convention promoter gave me a very polite, We'll see about coming back again. Translation. It's not worth it for me and you.

Again I wiggled my leg and didn't hear a softer follow-up pop. It felt as if I had one more in me, but it wouldn't do it. I looked down to the center box, frowned and opened it. I shook the orange vial, and muscle memory twisted it with one hand, and two chalky white pills dropped in my mouth. There is nothing to wash it down with, but I never had much of a gag reflex. My future husband – if there is one – should appreciate that.

On the surface, taking pain pills while driving was foolish although I would argue only mildly. They didn't work like they used to and didn't make me feel better just less terrible would be more accurate. It also kept the crankiness away.

A momentary thought on how another pill or several more might solve problems came and lingered. Besides the semi-truck I passed, there wasn't much traffic around, and I wouldn't hurt anyone. Another swallow would still be within my regular medication.

I had several insurance policies and made sure not to get any that were too high. If you get a million-dollar payout, they fight your beneficiaries. I got a few smaller ones so they wouldn't contest an accident. I had upcoming conventions so it would look good for any investigation. Shame went over my body. It wasn't anything I'd do, but road travel gives you nothing to do except think, especially if they're thoughts you shouldn't have.

I felt my frown grow. There wasn't anybody around to hear, but I had to say it. I couldn't do that to Mom. Speaking of which. I waited five minutes to make sure the anxiety leaked out of my voice before I called her. She was always sure something was wrong and didn't need that grief in her life. Two bars of signal strength glowed back in the evening air. I better make this quick.

She picked up on the second ring, and I heard a familiar, warm Southern voice. Hi, Mom. The smile stayed on my face as she told me how good it was to hear from me. As usual, it segued into reassurances I was eating well, taking my vitamins, and making sure not to drive too fast.

Once happy that I was taking care of myself, she described a road trip with her girlfriends down to New Orleans. I frowned when I heard the guilt in her voice when she mentioned losing twenty dollars. I never was much for gambling, but I couldn't see myself getting upset over that little.

Sometimes you got to take a chance, I said and winced. I had that same thought before I busted my knee and twisted my foot. Did you get the bank deposit? I said to change the subject.

Her tinny southern accent whispered from the phone. Mister Miller says it wasn't verifiable. He said something about batching out, but I didn't follow.

It's there. I'll call tomorrow.

One good thing from my football career is that I set up paperwork to care for my mom and dad and then just for one