by Zoe Chant
He stopped and turned to face her. The wind was whipping his dark curls around, peppering them with snow. Even standing without touching him, she could feel that electric intensity between them. Like something vibrating in the air, making her shiver in a way that had nothing to do with cold.
"You're like me, right?" she said, looking up at him. "You ... you have an animal."
"Yeah." He smiled, a quick warm flash and the glimmer of a dimple. "I'm a grison."
"A ... what?"
"A grison. It's a South American weasel-like creature. Sort of like a ferret. That's where my family's from—Argentina. Though I've lived in the US most of my life." He grinned again, this time almost shy. "Sorry, I'm babbling. It's not every day you meet your—er—you felt it too, right?"
"I felt something," she said cautiously.
He tipped his head to the side, looking at her curiously. It was almost like the bright-eyed stare of a ferret. Except much manlier.
"You're not used to being around other shifters, are you?" he asked gently.
The gentleness almost undid her. It would have been easier to handle if he'd simply swept her off her feet for a passionate weekend rebound fling, with that amazing body and the electric way it made her feel.
But he was kind.
She found herself blinking back tears, telling herself it was only the wind.
"I've met a few," she said, trying to make it sound offhand.
Her school guidance counselor, for one. Mr. Delano had made a habit of locating shifter kids at the school and talking to them about how to keep their animal side in bounds. It was the only reason why she had any idea about what she was at all.
"But you spend most of your time around humans," Mauro said.
Hester nodded wordlessly. The hat slipped down to cover her eyes.
"Oh balls!" she said, and then felt herself flushing hotly, all the way up to her eyebrows and down to her collarbone. Her arms were full, so she squirmed, trying to toss her head back and get the hat out of her eyes. She only succeeded in making it fall even lower, nearly covering her mouth.
From under the edge of the hat, she glimpsed Mauro setting down one of the bags. Then his hand touched the hat, gently pushed it back, freeing her face. His fingers brushed her hair and, very briefly, his skin touched her cheek.
It was all she could do not to lean into the touch. Instead, she pulled away.
Prickly. Be the prickle. Feel the spines.
"It's okay," Mauro said, drawing his hand back. He had felt her pull away, and he was giving her space.
She wished he wouldn't.
She wished he would.
She had a sudden wild urge to kiss him. She could picture it so easily—leaning forward until her lips touched his—the cool sharp tang of snowflakes melting on his lips—
He was leaning in toward her, too, a careful tilt forward.
But the last move was hers, closing those last couple of inches, and his lips brushed hers.
It was the lightest of kisses, but it set her on fire. A rush of delight tingled through her body. She had never in her life been so intensely aware of her own physical presence, from the softness of his lips to the sharp little pings of chill as snowflakes settled on her face. It was as if time had stopped so that her mind could record every last detail of the scene, the burdens filling her arms and the wind tugging her hair under the edges of that stupid hat—but mostly, especially the heat of his lips on hers, flooding her body with a vibrating energy that drove out the chill and the exhaustion from the long, stressful drive.
His hand cupped her cheek, and she closed her eyes and leaned into it. His mouth opened against hers. It was as if every part of her had become a laser focused on her lips, an electric current grounding against the heat of his touch.
His lips coming unglued from hers was like a switch flipping. She came back to herself abruptly, eyes snapping open, swaying a little. He was grinning at her, his face still close to hers, snow in his hair and on his dark lashes.
That got her back a little closer to actual reality. "We're neither of us dressed for this," she managed breathlessly.
He smiled and nodded a little. "We ought to get back inside. I'll make a fire and get a room ready for you."
And yet, they both lingered, as if neither wanted to separate for even that long.
"So you still haven't told me what your shifter animal is," he said, and somehow that was the question that snapped her out of the spell induced by the falling snow and those gorgeous green-hazel eyes that could have swallowed her entirely.
"I don't want to talk about it," she said shortly, taking a step back. "You're right. We should get back inside."
He hesitated, frowning now, and picked up the suitcase again. "Did I upset you?"
"No—no, it's not that, it's just—"
She tried to reach for him, and nearly fumbled Mom's makeup case and a bottle of soda. But he waited, looking at her with that intent head-tilted expression.
"What's wrong?"
"Mom doesn't know," she said. "You can't tell her."
Mauro frowned. "You mean your mom doesn't know I'm your mate?"
Mate? What? She shook her head, dismissing that part for now. "No, she doesn't know that I—I turn into an animal."
That seemed to throw him for a loop. "Your mom doesn't know you're a shifter? Isn't she one too?"
"I'm adopted. I've never told her. Please," she begged. "Please don't tell her."
"No, of course I won't," he reassured her. "But—that's an important part of you, you know that, right? Keeping it hidden isn't good for you."
Hester felt herself bristle.
"I've been doing it my whole life. It didn't hurt me."
"Listen," Mauro said gently. "It's too important a part of yourself to hide forever. Suppressing your shift animal can make you sick."
"That's none of your business, so just ... don't." She turned and began to flounder toward the stairs leading up to the porch of the lodge. Her fingers were starting to go numb.
She managed to get everything in her arms tucked up against her chest to try to open the door with her elbow—just as it flew open, and her mom stood there, with her coat off and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
"Oh, there you are!" Peony said. "I was about to send out sherpas to find you. Wow, it's really coming down, isn't it? Come on in, you're caked with snow."
"I'm fine," Hester muttered, but her mother already had her in hand, drawing her inside and taking her armload so that she could shed her snow-plastered coat.
Mauro set down the bags just inside the door and closed it behind them. He brushed snow off his coat. "I'm just gonna leave these here for now, okay? And I'll go get some wood to make you two a fire, and heat up some water for coffee or tea, whatever you want."
"You don't have to wait on us," Peony said, with an arm around Hester, oblivious to her daughter's attempts to fend her off. "I know it's not your job."
"I know it's not, but ..." He smiled abruptly, a brilliant, dazzling smile. "I'm the only one here, aren't I? So I'll just have to wear all the hats that the lodge staff would normally wear."
"Hats?" Hester said. Defensively she clapped her hand to the stupid-looking knitted hat.
"Right," Mauro said. He was beaming now. "A chef's hat, a housekeeper's hat—or I guess that should be an apron, and right now I'm going to put on a, uh, a fireman's hat." He mimed setting a hat on his dark hair.
Hester found a giggle bubbling up in her chest despite all her efforts to keep it down. "I thought firemen put out fires."
"Oh, you're right." He mimed taking off the hat, flipping it around, and putting it on backwards. "Reverse fireman. There you go."
Hester was actually laughing now. "Yes," she said when her laugher died down. "We would really like a fire. Thank you."
Mauro saluted, looking like she had just granted him a tremendous gift. "I'll be right back," he said, and, opening the door, he slipped out into the snow.
Just as Hester started to make a move after him—wanting to say something, she didn't know what—he opened the door and popped his head back in. Now that he had mentioned ferrets, she couldn't get the image out of her head, of a ferret or ermine popping its head out of a hole.
"Coffee, tea, or cocoa?" he asked.
"I ... um ... cocoa?" she said, a little bit helplessly. "If you have anything to spike it with, that'd be great."
"And you, Mrs. Hatherill?" he asked Peony.
Peony looked like she was trying not to smile. "Spiked coffee would be lovely," she said.
Mauro nodded and vanished out the door into the storm.
For a moment, mother and daughter simply stared at the door.
Then Peony tugged at Hester, urging her toward the couches and chairs in front of the fireplace. "Come on, let's get you warmed up."
The heat was starting to come up slowly in the lodge's vast lobby. There was a pile of neatly folded blankets on the end of the couch.
"That nice man put these out before he went to find you," Peony said.
"I'm not going to get lost walking to the car, Mom." But she accepted a blanket around her shoulders, and another to towel off her damp hair. "And don't do this."
"Don't do what?"
"Do not matchmake me with this man." A shiver rushed through her as she said it, triggered by a vivid sense-memory of the heat of his lips on hers. She tried to convince herself that it was only the cold.
"I wasn't matchmaking," Peony said with a slight smile. She reached for another blanket and put it across her lap. "It's only—if you could have seen the way he was looking at you—"
"Mom!" Hester moaned. She realized why the toweling wasn't working: because the hat was still on her head. She was rattled from that kiss. She pulled it off and dropped it beside the couch.
Any man who wants to kiss you wearing THAT HAT is a real find.
But she wasn't looking for a find, or a catch, or any other metaphor. She wasn't looking for a boyfriend, period. She was taking some time off from that particular merry-go-round.
But she couldn't stop thinking about that kiss, or the warmth of his eyes, or the way that his presence filled up her chest, as if there was a hole that was just the right shape for him to fill.
This wasn't going to be a pleasant vacation weekend, it was going to be a constant struggle against temptation.
We're only here for one night, she told herself firmly. As soon as it's daylight and the snow stops, we're driving right back down that mountain.
You couldn't lose your heart in one night.
Could you?
Mauro
Okay, Mauro thought as he collected wood from the shed. So she didn't know much about shifters, she'd been raised among humans, and she didn't know about fated mates.
It was all right. He could work with this.
There was a side door for bringing in wood so it wasn't necessary to tramp through the entire lobby. The fireplace also had a trap door to feed it from the outside, chucking wood directly in for the same reason: so the lodge guests didn't have their rustic vacation atmosphere spoiled by someone getting between them and the fire to dump in logs. It wasn't easy to start the fire from that angle, though.
Both women jumped when he came in from the other direction lugging a large piece of deadfall and some smaller kindling.
"It's just me," he said. He dropped the big chunk of wood—a limb from an oak downed in a storm a couple of years ago—into the fireplace and began laying out a small kindling fire next to it. The wood was seasoned and dry, so it would only need a little bit of attention to get going.
"So it is an actual, wood fire," Peony said. "I'm surprised it's not gas."
"We talk about converting it over to gas every year," Mauro explained as he placed kindling on top of crumpled newspaper. "But the wood we burn in it is mostly deadfalls and debris from clearing on the mountainside that would just go to waste otherwise. And the owners like the traditional quality of a wood fire."
He was suddenly aware of a presence at his elbow. Hester had come to crouch there. Her brown hair was fluffed up from the hat. It looked incredibly soft.
"Can I watch?" Hester asked. "I've never seen someone start a wood fire before."
"Sure. Actually, you can do even better than that." He handed her a long-tipped barbecue lighter. It was plastic and about ten inches long with a small trigger on the handle. "You can light it."
"I don't know how," she protested.
"It's just like lighting a charcoal barbecue grill, if you've done that. Easier, even." He pointed to the twist of newspaper that he had poked underneath the kindling. "Just set that on fire, and blow on it gently."
Hester struggled with the lighter. Mauro carefully laid his hand over hers. She stilled instantly, looking up at him with wide brown eyes.
"Like this," he said gently. He was powerfully aware of the warmth of her skin under his hand. She had short but capable-looking fingers, like someone who used their hands a lot. "You look like you'd be good at this. Just flick—"
He guided her thumb. A little flame flared at the tip of the lighter.
"Hold—" Depressing the trigger kept the flame burning, fed by lighter fluid.
"And light."
He guided her hand forward. The flame touched the paper, and it flared up. Hester gave a delighted little gasp.
"Blow now?" she asked.
"Gently. It'll help the wood catch."
There was enough newspaper wadded up underneath the kindling that it probably didn't need it, but he was glad he'd suggested it when he saw her face practically glow as the fire flared up under her cautious little puffs.
Once the fire had well and truly caught, he swung the spark-catching glass doors into place. Warm, flickering light filled the room.
"See?" he said. "You started a fire."
Hester looked thrilled. Shyly, she handed the lighter back. "You're right," she said, looking up at him from under light brown lashes. "It was pretty easy."
"I knew you'd be a natural. You look like you work with your hands."
Hester stretched out her fingers, looking down at her hand as if she'd never seen it before.
"I'm an artist," she said. Her voice was tentative.
"That's amazing. What do you make?"
"Jewelry," she said. "Pottery. Fused glass. A lot of different things."
"I really admire people who can do that kind of thing. I haven't got an artistic bone in my body."
"Oh, but most people can, if they try." She was becoming more animated, warming up to her topic. "I teach classes, some to kids but also to adults. I've taught pottery and jewelry-making to a lot of people much older than you. I could—"
The overhead lights flickered. She broke off and looked up.
"Yeah, just to warn you, we sometimes lose power in storms," Mauro said. "There's a generator, though."
"Is the power likely to go out?" Peony's voice asked from his other side.
He almost jumped. At some point, Peony had joined them, wearing a blanket of red-and-green hunter's plaid like a shawl, and was stretching out her hands to the fire.
He had forgotten, for the moment, that they weren't alone. When he was with Hester, the rest of the world seemed to drop away.
"It's not that likely," he reassured them. "If it does, I can have power back on in a jiffy."
He scrambled to his feet quickly, before Hester's warm presence drew him into an embrace, a kiss—all the many things he couldn't help thinking about doing.
"All right," he said instead. "Drinks!"
He all but fled into the huge lodge kitchen—and then through the kitchen, out the back, to his small caretaker's cabin.
It was a lot easier to just fix some cocoa and coffee in his own little kitchen. He knew where everything was, and he even had half a pot of coffee from earlier, although after looking at it, he decided to toss it and make fresh.
He didn't normally have anyone to impress. But these weren't merely
guests. This was his mate and her mother.
He definitely couldn't get this wrong.
He made three cups, one cocoa and one coffee and then—he hesitated over it, dithering: he was more partial to coffee, but wanted to support his mate. Finally he went with half coffee and half cocoa, a sort of mocha.
He had nothing like whipped cream in the cabin, but the lodge kitchen would certainly have that. On his way back through, he stopped to find some, and also found a giant shaker of heart-shaped sprinkles that was part of the assorted goodies that had been laid in for Valentine's Day before the whole thing was called off. He sprinkled the cups and took them out to the lobby.
It was starting to really warm up nicely now that the fire had caught, snapping and crackling cheerfully on the hearth.
"Your drinks, ladies," he said, presenting them with a flourish. He wished that he'd thought of putting them on a tray, maybe arranging them with some napkins. But they both took the cups with exclamations of gratitude.
It was only as they were holding them that he realized he had, without thinking, used the mismatched cups from his own cabin instead of the lodge's nice, matching, branded mugs.
Hester had a mug with a moose on it. That was relatively normal.
But he had accidentally given Peony a mug that read HAVE A NICE DAY! on the side, and then when you tilted it up, displayed—on the bottom—a finger flipping the bird.
Peony took a drink. Hester, who was just about to sip from hers, looked up and saw the bottom of the mug and choked.
Mauro stared at them both in horror.
Then amusement began to dance in Hester's eyes. She turned her own mug around to look at the little cartoon moose, smiled at him, and gave him a thumbs-up.
Mauro blushed. His grison wriggled in delight.
Was her animal a moose, maybe?
No ... she really didn't seem like a moose. A shifter's animal form didn't always reflect their human one; he had once known, for example, a very petite and mellow buffalo shifter. But there was usually some sort of correspondence between them.
She was something cute and fluffy, he decided. A chickadee. A long-haired tabby. A panda.
"This is wonderful," Peony said. She sighed and leaned back on the couch. "Exactly what I needed. You know, if you want to show me where the kitchen is, there's no need for anyone to cook tonight. Hester did most of the driving, and I napped a bit, so I'm quite fresh still. Just let us take our bags up to a room."