gazed at the aisles and special offer signs as though drinking in a beautiful tropical vista.
“Colors,” he said, voice soft with wonder. “So many colors.”
“Come on, big guy. We’re blocking the door.” Darcy poked Fenrir in the ribs. “What are you looking for, anyway?”
Fenrir shook himself, seeming to come out of his trance. He started walking again, though his head turned constantly, trying to take everything in at once. “Christmas presents.”
“Uh…you do know it’s February, right?”
Fenrir huffed his deep, gentle laugh. “Yes. But missed—I missed Christmas. Pack went—my friends went overseas. Back home to see their families.”
She noticed his self-corrections, but didn’t comment on them. She knew he was sensitive about his abbreviated speech patterns.
He worked so hard to speak normally, but he still tripped up sometimes. His slips seemed to come not from lack of knowledge, but something deeper; a unique mindset that kept peeking out, no matter how he tried to hide it.
Those little glimpses into his head fascinated her. She wished he was willing to talk about himself…and not just because she needed his memories to help her find Lupa.
“Most of the crew come from England, don’t they?” She’d actually learned more about Fenrir’s buddies than about him by now. “Doesn’t seem like them, to go off leaving you behind all alone. Didn’t they invite you along?”
“Did. But I couldn’t. Too busy looking for L—Lu—” Fenrir jerked his head, as though a hornet had buzzed past him. “Too busy looking for my sister.”
He’d stumbled over Lupa’s name before, she realized. She still hadn’t heard him actually manage to get it out. It was like he had a mental block on it…or like he automatically started to say a different name and had to force himself to stop.
Just another mystery. On top of all the others.
Damn it, the man had more layers than a whole bushel of onions. Combined with his near-criminal sex appeal, it was like he’d been designed to drive her crazy.
Of course, according to the shifters, he had been—by fate. If this whole true mate thing was real…
That was one train of thought she did not want to ride all the way to the end of the line. She pulled her attention back to the present, returning to practical matters.
“Christmas presents it is, then.” She led him down the nearest aisle. “Got any ideas?”
Fenrir, it turned out, had a lot of ideas. Some of his choices were easy to understand—like the bottle of bourbon for Buck, or the pin-up calendar of shirtless firefighters holding puppies for Candice. Others were…not.
“Um.” Darcy eyed the frilly gift basket of floral scented soaps that Fenrir had just put into the cart. “Are you sure that’s really Rory’s kind of thing?”
Fenrir’s chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Will make him laugh. First thing I ever said to him was that he smelled.”
Darcy laughed too. “He told me that you two met in the middle of a wildfire. I expect he was pretty ripe.”
“Yes. But that wasn’t what I meant.” Fenrir pushed the cart along, scanning the shelves. “Was the first time I’d smelled a shifter. Was why I followed his trail. Recognized…I recognized that he was like me, in some way. Needed to find out how.”
“Huh.” Darcy stood on tiptoe, peering at the rest of Fenrir’s loot. “Who are the yarn and knitting needles for? Diana?”
“No. Joe.”
The sparkly, neon pink yarn did match the sea dragon’s personality better, Darcy had to concede. But still… “I didn’t know he could knit.”
“He can’t.”
“Gonna have to unpack that one a bit more for me, big guy.”
“Joe likes to learn things.” Fenrir picked up a bottle of body lotion, frowned at it, and put it down again. “Not from books, or with words. He likes to learn with his hands. And he likes to make things, and he likes to give gifts to people. So am giving him something to learn, and to make, which he can give away when he’s done.”
Layers on layers…
“Hmph.” Fenrir’s forehead wrinkled. “Still haven’t found the right thing for Stone—for Edith. Difficult. Already has everything she wants.”
Darcy searched the store signs, looking for inspiration. “How about a book? That’s generally my go-to choice for hard-to-buy-for people.”
Fenrir’s face cleared. “Yes. Not a story, though. One about places, or things. She likes those better.”
They’d already established that Fenrir could read, though not well. Darcy helped him search the non-fiction shelves, reading out the titles for him when he faltered.
Fourth grade? Fifth? Darcy was no expert, but she guessed Fenrir had around the