Maybe it was because I'd been so young, had done so little.
I was older now.
And as I fell toward the sparkling blue of the ocean and the jagged rocks that lined the cliffs base, images of my past reeled drunkenly before my eyes—the flashes almost too fast for me to even see them. Mostly they were memories of good times. With Rhoan, with other people I'd cared about, and boyfriends of old. And there was Quinn, who could have been something more had he only played it fair.
But with all those memories came something else. Something deeper. Stronger.
Regret.
For all the things I hadn't done, for all the steps I hadn't taken.
And the biggest of those regrets was Kellen.
I should have given him the time he wanted. Should have given him commitment.
I should have shoved the fear aside, and made a grab for my dreams. He'd been right in saying that I was never going to find what I was looking for if I didn't occasionally stop looking and take a damn chance on someone.
Dammit, I didn't want to die!
Not now, not when there was finally someone in my life that I loved, someone who showed every sign of being the one. And even if it turned out that he wasn't my soul mate, then at least I could say I gave it a go. At least I'd know the fear of being left broken hadn't stopped me living life to the full.
I twisted around, grabbing at the cliff as it rushed by. My fingertips scrapped stones, finding no purchase on the slick surface. There was nothing here, nothing at all, that would stop my fall. No grasses, no branches, no tree roots sticking out of the sandy soil. Nothing but slick rock.
I swore and continued grabbing at the cliff face, refusing to give up, refusing to believe that this was the end. But the ocean and the rocks were rushing ever closer, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, I could do to stop it.
I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the death that was speeding toward me, The best I could do was hope that either fate was kind, and made it a quick one, or that by some miracle, I missed the worst of the rocks and somehow found the ocean.
God, how I wished I was a bird. Wished I could just shift shape and fly like the seabirds that drifted around the cliffs. Wished I had wings to ride the breeze, skimming the rocks and riding the wave-tops to freedom rather than splattering myself all over them.
Even as the thought crossed my mind, the tingling of shapeshifting ran across my body. Panic surged and I desperately fought to stop my body shifting shape. My wolf form would have even less chance on the rocks below, her bones more delicate, more easily smashed.
But the shifting would not be denied. It surged on regardless, heedless of the danger, reshaping flesh and bone, until what was falling was something other than human.
Only it wasn't my wolf.
This form felt lighter, freer.
I looked at my arms, saw red-tipped wings—feathers—instead of paws.
A bird, I was a goddamn bird.
Oh God, the drug. It was changing me, as it had changed the others who'd taken it.
No, I thought, no,
Then I shoved it all aside. Shoved aside the fear. I had no time for it, not if I wanted to live. I frantically pumped my newly formed wings up and down. But having a bird shape didn't exactly mean I knew how to fly. Obviously there was an art to it, because I was flapping for all I was worth and still falling. I didn't even think my speed was slowing.
I cursed fluently, but it came out as a weird croaking cry. A cry that sounded an awful lot like that of a sea-gull.
Great. I was going to die in the form of a creature considered little more than a winged rat.
The rocks were so close that the salty droplets of sea spray was splashing up from them and hitting me. There was little time—so little time—for a miracle.
And yet, it came.
The sea breeze hit me, battering me sideways, and momentarily lifting me upward. In desperation, I stopped pumping and spread my wings wide. The wind caught underneath, feathers fluttering as I was lifted up, away from the rocks and out into the deeper ocean.
There the wind dumped me. I landed chest-first in an ungainly, unsightly, and very un-birdlike way. It didn't matter a damn.
I was alive.
I felt like flapping my arms and dancing for joy on the rolling waves. Against all the odds, I was alive.
But it was an exuberance that was short lived.
I might be alive, but the means by which I'd survived had been a dramatic one. The ARC 1-23 drug given to me over a year ago had finally stopped making little changes and started making big ones.
I could take on other shapes, and that was the one thing I'd been absolutely hoping would never, ever happen. Because it meant that my hopes of escaping the Directorate and my role as a guardian were ashes. I was Jack's girl now, like it or not. My only other choice was being sent to the military to join the other half-breeds who'd been affected by the drug in the research centers.
There was no way in hell that was going to happen. At least with the Directorate, I could have some semblance of a normal life—even if my job there could in no way ever be considered normal.
But at least not all my hopes were dead. When it came to Kellen, the how of survival didn't matter. I was alive, and now had the chance to give him—to give us—the commitment we deserved.
Fate had booted me up the rear end with this fall, and I wasn't going to ignore the warning, I was going to make a grab for what I wanted, and hope that it was right.
Movement caught my eye, and I looked up. High atop the cliff top, two figures had appeared. Both men had their rifles slung over their shoulders, but Jorn was looking a little worse for the wear, his arm and leg bloody and hair in disarray.
He'd be easy to track once I got back onto land. The scent of his blood would leave a lovely trail for the keen nose of a wolf to follow.
The two men argued on the top of the cliff for several minutes. I floated on the waves, paddling for all I was worth against the current to remain where I was. It was more tiring than I thought it would be, but maybe that was a combination of the short seagull legs and overall weariness from all the running I'd been doing up until the fall.
Yohan glanced at his watch, but neither of them moved, just stayed there watching the ocean, either waiting for signs of life or confirmation of death.
Exhaustion was creeping over me, and the need to resume one of my regular shapes was growing.
And deep inside, the niggle of concern was beginning. What if I couldn't resume my regular shape? That had been one of the main problems facing the others who'd been shafted into the military—the inability to resume human shape.
But then, they'd apparently gone through multiple shapes, exploring the width and breadth of their new skills, until the cells in their bodies could no longer remember original forms.
I had no intention of being that stupid.
I might explore this new ability, but it would be under controlled conditions, with Rhoan by my side.
Though the form of a red-winged gull was not exactly an enticing one. Why a damn gull? Why couldn't I have chosen something more exotic? Sexy? Dangerous, even? Like a hawk, or an eagle. Hell, even a cockatoo had more appeal than a damn seagull.
Still, the wings of this gull had saved my life. And maybe, just maybe, it might ease my fear of heights. After all, if I learned to fly, I'd never again have to worry about getting pushed off a cliff.
The two men finally moved away. I waited for another five minutes, watching the cliff top, searching for any sign that they were merely in hiding rather than having left, but there was nothing.
I paddled sideways across the waves, riding the surges and letting the current pull me ever so slowly toward the cliff base. To the right of where I'd fallen, the steepness of the cliff eased and the rocks weren't as fierce looking, I paddled closer and let a wave surge drop me on the top of one. My webbed red feet gripped the wet stone securely, and I waddled away from the waves, shaking my body and fluffing my feathers to get rid of some of the water.