Night Shift (Kate Daniels #6.5)(29)

But it was all right, Kirby holding on just as hard. Then she was being hugged by a man of medium height with snow-white hair who had tears in his eyes and called her “my cub’s cub,” a hundred, a thousand words spoken over one another as they tried to catch up on a lifetime.

“My son,” her grandmother said an hour later, the three of them walking alone in the woods behind the healer’s home, “he was a strong, wild one, and he loved you.” Her hands touched Kirby’s cheeks. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

Throat scraped raw from the emotional storm that had passed, Kirby nodded, asked, “My mother’s name, can you tell me?”

“No, kitten, I’m so sorry,” her grandmother said, squeezing her hand. “The silly boy, he was so possessive—called her his mate in the message he sent.” Old sorrow in her gaze, before the pale gold filled with determination. “But now that we have your name, we should be able to use it in concert with our son’s to trace your mother.”

It might take time, Kirby realized on a crashing wave of hope, but it was very, very doable. Kirby’s birth must’ve been registered somewhere. Those records would exist. Even if not, there had to be travel records, or a rental agreement, a co-signed loan . . . Taking a shaky breath she hugged both her grandparents in turn. “Thank you for searching for me.”

“We will always be there for you.” Her grandfather held her close with one arm around her shoulders, while his mate stroked Kirby’s hair back with gentle hands and said, “We have something for you.”

It was a gift beyond price.

“A recording of my father’s last message home,” she said to Bastien that night. “Will you watch with me?” She couldn’t imagine sharing this painful, beautiful instant with anyone but her green-eyed leopard, strong and protective and her rock.

“I’d be honored.” Slotting in the data-crystal, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and they watched the comm screen fill with the image of a handsome blond man with unusual green and yellow-flecked hazel eyes that lit up when he spoke of his mate and child.

“I can’t wait for you to meet my beautiful mate.” His pride poured out of the screen. “She’s small and human, but fierce as any lynx. And our cub? A gorgeous, wild thing.” Love filled his expression. “You’d laugh to see me, Mom. I’m gaga over my girls, can’t bear to be parted from them. We’ve explored the world together, but our baby will be shifting soon, and we want her to be able to play as a lynx with her cousins, grow up surrounded by pack like I did.”

Pushing a hand through his hair, he pressed two fingers to his mouth, then onto the screen. “We’re roaming the long way home, but we’ll be there soon. Then you can tell me what a fool I was for thinking I’d never want to bond with anyone.” Laughing, his self-deprecating smile contagious. “I love you both. See you in a month.”

Kirby cried again in Bastien’s arms, for all that had been lost, for the fact she’d never meet her mother and father, and for the joy of having found her grandparents, of knowing she had never been unwanted.

She was Kirby.

She was changeling.

She was a lynx.

She adored a certain possessive red-haired leopard.

She had family. She had friends. Her life was full to overflowing.





CHAPTER 11





The next two days were both strange and wonderful for Kirby. First came an envelope from Detective Shona Bay. In it was a note scrawled in blue ink:

Turns out I never returned your file to Records after the last time I checked it out. Bad behavior on my part, but it means it wasn’t destroyed as per protocol. I’m glad I can give you this at least. I only wish I could’ve done more.

—Shona

Below the note was the original photograph found in the fire-ravaged home, of the man Kirby had already seen on the message, a tiny baby swaddled in a white blanket, and a woman with shiny light brown hair and an enormous smile, her eyes turned lovingly toward the child in her arms.

Joy blazed from the image, and it was enough to heal the last of the ragged wounds in Kirby’s soul. “I have her face now,” she whispered to Bastien, the two of them sitting on the edge of the aerie balcony, her wild lynx friend curled up by her side. “I can see with my own eyes that she loved me, that they both loved me. One day, I’ll discover her name, but until then”—tears smeared her vision, turned her voice husky—“I’ll just call her Mom.”

Enfolding her in his arms, Bastien said, “I dared call Mom by her name once when I was a cub. It did not end well for young Bastien.”

Kirby laughed, the sound wet. “I think my mom would’ve been the same. My dad, too.” It felt good to say that, to acknowledge the two loving people who’d brought her into this life.

Her grandparents cried when she gave them a copy of the photograph, then asked her to stay with them in the guest aerie they’d been assigned on DarkRiver land. She hated being separated from Bastien—in this, she was her father’s daughter, she thought, her throat thick—but hungry to get to know more about her family, she acquiesced.

However, when her grandmother asked her to come to Canada, join their pack, she didn’t hesitate to shake her head. “I want to visit, meet my aunts, my cousins, spend more time with you, but my place is here.” With Bastien, his name branded on her heart so deep, she knew nothing would ever erase it.