Page 53 of Claimed By the Guardian

Husband and daughter stared for two full seconds, and then burst into laughter at the same exact moment.

“Good one, Mom.”

“What were you doing out in California? Is this a new Internet challenge or something? See if you can get your family to believe in werewolves?”

Cecilia narrowed her eyes, watching denial play out right in front of her. It was the blindness, for lack of a better word. No one would think that Abby was talking about a TV show or some Internet challenge. It just didn’t work with the situation. And yet there they were, laughing as if she’d just told a good joke.

Which is when Abby turned to Hank. “They aren’t going to believe unless they see.”

Hank nodded, obviously already aware, but he held up his hands. “I shifted yesterday. I’m burnt until tomorrow.”

Abby looked to Cecelia, but what could she do? “I just found out yesterday.”

“Mom—” the girl began, but her mother straightened and took on that Mom tone that every child knew well.

“Listen to me. Both of you. Brittany, your grandmother can change into a bear. And now, apparently, so can you. Sort of. Not completely. It’s why you had furry hands, remember?”

Brittany just stared at her. Peter, too. Both of them just froze, as if their minds fuzzed out for a second, maybe more. And then Peter turned to his daughter. “All the kids at school have been asking about you. I’ve got your phone somewhere.” He started patting his pockets. “I’m sure you want to see it.”

“Yes!” Brittany cried, reaching over to her father. “Did I miss the history test? I hope so because I haven’t studied at all.”

He finally found her smart phone and handed it over. Brittany thumbed it on and then promptly buried her face in the screen while Peter looked on with an indulgent smile. He looked so relieved. His daughter was well. They both seemed to have forgotten that Abby was even there.

What now? She supposed they could wait a bit until Brittany was stronger. Abby apparently was thinking the same thing because she sat back on the bed with a defeated huff. But again, Hank understood things better than they did. He spoke in a low tone.

“She has to understand now. Otherwise, something will spook her, she’ll shift, and you’ll be right back here again, forced sedation and all.”

Abby spoke, her voice choked. “But maybe she won’t change again. My brother never did.”

Hank shook his head. “Hybrids can change at will. No apparent limit as far as we can tell.”

So they had to show her and Peter. It was the only way through. “Is there anybody you can call?” Cecilia asked. “Someone who can…” Her voice trailed away at Hank’s expression. He didn’t even speak, but she knew the answer. The city was insane right now. All the shifters were probably out patrolling, trying to keep the city and the secret safe.

“She has to see it happen,” Abby said, her expression taut. “They both do.”

Clearly, she was thinking something. Cecilia watched as her jaw tightened, and her eyes narrowed in determination. It was as if she was steeling herself to do something. But what?—

Oh hell. It all happened so fast. And once started, it still took Cecilia a moment to process what was going on.

Abby grabbed the pitcher of water—of tainted water—and starting guzzling. Hank reacted first, leaping forward with a jerk.

“No!” he cried, but Abby was prepared. She twisted away, draining the pitcher with surprising speed. Peter looked up, startled. Even Brittany set down her phone.

“Mom! Thirsty much?”

Abby set down the empty pitcher and looked at Cecilia. “I’m going to change now, right? That’s what you said.”

Double hell. “It’s what we guess, Abby. We don’t know for sure.”

Peter shot to his feet. “Did you just infect my wife?” he demanded. “With the Detroit Flu?”

Infect? The woman had just guzzled it of her own choice. Meanwhile, Hank stepped protectively in front of Cecilia. “Calm down, Mr. Randolph. Your wife is just trying to make you see something.”

“Don’t tell me what my wife is trying to do! Who are you exactly? Why are you here?” The man’s voice was rising in anger, and Cecilia watched with a fascinated kind of horror. The man wasn’t acting rationally at all. Was this how the magic worked? First with laughter, as if everything was a joke, then with misplaced anger. Hank hadn’t done anything, and yet Peter was suddenly furiously aggressive. And on a man of Peter’s size and build, Cecilia ought to be afraid.

Except she wasn’t. Hank stood between her and Peter, a large, intimidating presence all his own. But instead of adding to the tension, he remained a quiet mountain of stability simultaneously protecting her and speaking in soothing tones.

“I understand your concern,” he began. “But you need to focus on your wife. See her clearly.”