by Elsa Jade
A twinge of excitement brought Gin up to her tiptoes, rolling the berries thoughtfully between her fingers. “You’re doing this as much for yourself as for me.”
“Not for me. For the clan.” He glanced away from her, the starlight not reaching his hooded eyes. “The mate bond makes us vulnerable. I want to give them some protection before I leave.”
Her enthusiasm dimmed at the sorrow in his voice. Wasn’t he doing the same as she was, seeking to defend his family from all threats, whether from outside…or in? The heart was at the center of the body for a reason—when its sanctity was broken, the end was inevitable. All those dreamy idioms of “wearing his heart on his sleeve” or “her heart was in her eyes” were all a warning for how dangerous it was to be so vulnerable. And she could change that.
She tightened her hand around the berries. They were tough little things, not giving in to her grasp. Very promising. “I’ll have to do some research and testing before I know how this integrates with my potion,” she cautioned. She wondered if he could tell that she was reining in her own expectations as much as his. But even if she couldn’t incorporate the shifter practice into her spell, the berry would still make another interesting footnote to her studies, and the circle would consider that during her ordination.
“Regardless of what you find, you fulfill your half of our deal,” Thor demanded. “Stay away from my cousin.”
“I want no claim on your big, blond, bachelor bear,” she assured him archly. “I’ll be in touch.”
He turned away from her. “Don’t look for me again,” he said, his voice even more of a growl than it had been. “When it’s ready, I’ll find you.”
She pursed her lips at his high-handed tone, but she supposed he was king.
And as he walked away into the night, beyond even reach of the starlight, she thought he might be the loneliest figure she’d ever seen.
Chapter 11
Ben was annoyed, and so he baked. He started with vanilla bean scones, since he had all the ingredients on hand, and at least his vexation would result in something good he could sell at the next farmers market. Plus, maybe the soothing scent of vanilla would take the edge off his temper.
When that didn’t work, he mixed up three test batches of batter for Marcia to try. She’d asked him to bake an engagement party cake. When he balked, saying he didn’t have the skills for anything as fancy as a pop-the-question cake, she waved him off. It didn’t have to be anything elaborate, she told him, although if he could do one layer in all the colors of the rainbow… But no artificial dyes, she warned him, since Elaine was sensitive. But as much butter and sugar as he wanted.
He wasn’t sure he could come up with all-natural food dyes for every layer, though he could probably get close. He wondered if witches had any spells for cake.
He scowled to himself as he slapped a spatula across the bottom of the bowl with more intensity than was necessary. If he asked for Gin’s help, she’d probably just rant about the foolishness of love. Anyway, she’d only be able to tell him how to make black.
He hadn’t seen her since That Night—dang it, even in his mind the words had capital letters—and he couldn’t believe she’d ditched him so easily in such a small town. Her sister and his cousin were mated; did she really think she could never see him again?
His bear growled a low warning.
Yeah, that was exactly what she thought.
The bear rumbled again, another warning, and Ben realized the timer was going off on the second batch of scones. Cursing, he grabbed the pan, forgetting to grab a hot mitt first so he cursed again as he burned his hand. He used the hem of his T-shirt instead, which wasn’t thick enough, so he burned himself again. He’d placed the triangles of scone dough too close together, and they’d puffed up, touching each other so he’d have to pry them apart, which would leave ragged, unsightly edges.
Kind of like his night with Gin.
With one last deflating, defeated curse, he slung the pan of scones across the counter and sank down onto a stool, his head buried in his unburnt hand.
“Hey, cuz. What’s up?” A hearty slap across the shoulder knocked him half off the stool.
“I fricked up my scones,” he muttered. “And my chances with Gin.”
“Just add more of that sugary frosting,” Mac said. “That always works.”
Ben lifted his head to eye his cousin sourly. “With the scones or females?”
Mac shrugged. “Both?” He grabbed one of the red cupcakes cooling on a rack. It was actually more of an earthy pink due to the beet juice food coloring. “Brandy was freaking out about setting a date for the wedding, so I got her a slide rule from the thrift store in Farmington.”
Ben squinted. “A slide rule.”
“You’ve seen them, those rulers that old-timey nerds kept in their pocket protectors.”
“That’s… Brandy liked that?”
Mac nodded. “She’s a super-smart accountant, ya know. That’s pretty nerdy.”
“Not even accountants use slide rules anymore, Mac.”
“I know that. It’s the thought that counts.” He snickered. “Get it. Counts? Cuz it’s a ruler.”
Ben winced. “Yeah. I got it.”
Mac sauntered around the kitchen counter to grab one of the yellow cupcakes. At least the turmeric had resulted in a good yellow, almost as bright as the Wick women’s VW. “Ha. I gotta remember to tell Bry that one.”
For a moment, Ben could almost sympathize with Gin’s desire to end love forever.
“You been over to the ol’ Victorian lately?” he asked with forced nonchalance. “How’s the oak doing?”
Mac shot him a grin. “You mean how is Gin doing?” He sidled down the counter another few steps to grab a pale green cupcake. Then he looked down at it. “What are these dark spots?”
“Kale.”
“Kale cupcakes?” Mac gave him a sorrowful look. “And you’re wondering why a girl doesn’t like you?”
“It’s for…never mind.” Ben huffed. “So have you seen Gin or not?”
“Brandy said she’s working on her final test for the circle.” Mac studied the cupcake another moment then shrugged and started peeling the paper. “It’s a big deal for her, so she’s probably buckled down. But if you want—”
“No, I do not want,” Ben said with enough testiness that he knew no one would believe him. “I was just wondering.”
“Wondering, wanting…” Mac surveyed the war zone of butter, flour, and sugar. “You’re missing some colors.”
With a fulminating stare at his cousin, Ben pushed to his feet and started cleaning up.
He usually found cleanup a calming, even meditative part of baking. A time when the work was done and he could set his world to rights before indulging in a well-deserved snack.
If he was going to figure out this thing with Gin, maybe he had to do the same with her.
It was either that or frost her.
***
After work, he cruised by the old Victorian. The overgrown garden hid most of the house, but the place seemed quiet. Driving through town, he’d seen Rita through the front window of their aunt’s shop, and Mac had told him he was taking Brandy and Aster out to dinner at Gramma’s and Grandpa’s diners. Which left Gin alone somewhere in the old house.
Ben frowned. Unless she wasn’t home.
Maybe she was somewhere else, with someone else, going her own way like she was so determined to do. Her ambition stirred up a strange brew within him, pride and wistfulness like a froth of vinegar and baking soda. She was the youngest in a line with an unwavering tradition, yet she’d found a place that was both part of that history and uniquely her own. And here he was, still in Angels Rest, just gardening and baking and wishing he could find someone to share his cookies, someone who thought that a gardening, baking bear was enough.
He almost kept driving, leaving the Victorian in his rearview mirror. But as he passed, he spied a flicker of black under the oak leaves tinted red
by the last of the sunlight. Without his conscious thought, his foot came down on the brake, and the truck eased to the side of the road. Still, he sat for a moment, both hands on the wheel. “What am I doing?” he whispered.
His bear growled a repeat of the question, but with more asperity.
“If it was that easy, everyone would have the love of their life,” he growled back.
Of course, he hadn’t thought it would be this hard. A little fun in the sun with the ladies of Angels Rest, some easy summer flirting and, sure, the drinks would help—and as the days grew shorter, the nights longer and darker, he’d planned to have someone to snuggle down with through the cold and windy winter.
Instead, here he was, still hot and bothered, with that spot of black like an inescapable mote in his eye.
And maybe in his heart.
His pulse thundered twice as fast as usual—half his, half the bear’s—as he shoved out of the truck like he was heading into battle. Maybe he was, with his bachelor bear status the prize he wanted to lose.
He strode up the cobblestone walk, gathering himself while he knew he wasn’t visible to the house… And then stumbled like a bumbling bear at the sight of Gin sitting on the front steps.
Oh, what chance did he have with her, when she’d already told him to get lost? He certainly felt lost, staring at her like a bewildered bruin pinned in the butt with a zolazepam dart.
She was wrapped in some sort of flowing black robe, currently hiked up above her knees, and her red hair was bound in a spiky knot on top of her head. A few tendrils had escaped, curling around her temples in the evening heat. He could all but feel the loose little coils winding around his fingers.
And tighter than a bear trap around his heart.
The beast inside him sighed, a sound of such surrender and pleasure Ben almost went to his knees.
But Gin’s sharp glance sent another jolt through him—an antidote to the yearning.
Leaning back on one hand, she took a deliberate drag on the cigarette between her fingers, and the spicy earthen scent of cloves drifted toward him. “What are you doing here?”
The bear lolled happily in her focus. It didn’t mind her temper, of course—it was a frickin grizzly.
Ben, however, wanted to prickle back. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
“You don’t really know me at all,” she pointed out. But then she shrugged. “Haven’t smoked since college, but I’ve been working in the spellatorium all day, and I had the makings for one stick, so… I wouldn’t do it in front of Aster.” She held it out.
He accepted the cigarette and took a slow drag. The tobacco was obviously uncut, and the clove oil was smooth. He hadn’t had a cigarette in forever.
Gin just watched him through narrowed eyes. “I’m surprised you’re willing to sully the temple of your body with smoke.”
He took another puff. “Which do you think I am? The good-time bro bear? Or the goody two shoes gardener?”
She glowered. “You could be both.”
He handed her back the cigarette. “At least you acknowledge I have hidden depths.”
She looked down at the cigarette as if it must suddenly contain hallucinogens. Carefully, she flicked out the cherry. With equal care, he ground the ember into the soil with the toe of his boot.
“Smokey the bear,” she muttered.
“Smoking hot,” he agreed. When she cast a jaundiced glance at him, he grinned, making sure to flash his dimple. “The weather today, I mean. You got any sweet tea?”
“Completely out.”
Completely shutting him out. The bear chuffed. It reminded him that griz courtship involved less talking and more wrestling and biting.
Since his skin was thinner than the bear’s, Ben chose to keep talking. “I was a bit of a rebel in high school,” he informed her, bumping one thumb into his chest. “I even drank once under age.”
“Ooh, bad boy,” she murmured.
“But my mom caught a whiff—literally; she had the best nose in Saskatchewan, always found the first strawberry of spring. She cuffed me so hard, knocked the melanin right out of me.” Shooting her another wry grin, he ruffled one hand over his hair.
Her gaze tracked the motion, then arrowed back to his. “Where’s your mom now? And your dad?”
“They’re still together, still up north.” He couldn’t help the twinge of hope that she was willing to talk back.
“How did you end up down here?”
Okay, that slight sneer in her voice didn’t say much for Angels Rest. “My parents fostered me to Thor’s father. He was king here at the time.” Ben was careful to keep the grief and anger out of his voice.
Gin tilted her head. “I guess I didn’t realize that the clan was truly dynastic.”
With a soft, meaningful cough, he noted, “There’s more to all of us than meets the eye.”
She snorted back at him. “So your parents sent you to the Four Corners for its outwardly cosmopolitan sheen?”
“My parents’ home territory is even more remote,” he explained. “They sent me here hoping I’d be happier, find a better life for myself.” He shrugged. “What most parents want for their kids.”
She looked down at the dead cigarette in her fingers. “So I’ve heard.”
He’d gleaned enough of her family history from the things she and Brandy had said—a father who had left no memories, a mother who had also left, leaving worse—so he understood her unwillingness to trust these feelings he knew were growing between them, like a seed reaching downward with roots and upward with its first new leaves.
“Sometimes people make mistakes—choices, even—that hurt,” he said. “But it doesn’t have to make the world a darker place if you don’t let it.”
Her eyes rolled so hard he feared they’d go bouncing down the Victorian’s steps without her. “First, that is not how the world works. And second, I want it to be a darker place. I’m a shadow witch.” She rubbed at her temple. “Or I will be soon.”
She’d been working so hard; exhaustion was probably the only reason she was still sitting there talking to him. But he wasn’t above taking advantage of the situation.
He ambled toward her and up the steps. When she twisted sharply to watch him, he put a hand on her shoulder. “Scoot down one step.”
“What…” She trailed off when he rubbed his thumb into the trapezius muscle connecting the back of her neck to her shoulder. “Ooooh…”
As he suspected, the muscle was a tight knot instead of a smooth flow. She sagged forward, her butt slipping down on the stairs and making room for him behind her. He slid into the spot and put both hands on her shoulders.
The bear wasn’t wrong about wrestling and biting; this was just a slower, gentler version.
He dug his fingers into the muscles, not deep enough to hurt, just enough to make her moan.
Which…yeah, this was kinda hurting him.
He squirmed to loosen the stricture in his jeans, careful not to disturb Gin’s bent-over limp posture. Under his hands, the silky black robe slid across her skin, and he found himself mesmerized by the red hairs fluttering at her nape like tiny flames.
If he put his teeth right there…
“Harder,” she mumbled.
Yeah, oh yeah, definitely he was harder.
He leaned into the massage. “How much more do you have to do?” That would give him a timeline for how quickly he needed to make his move. Bears might be a bit lumbering in getting up to speed, but once they hit their stride, nothing could stop them. “Is the diablo rose going to be any help to you?”
If he hadn’t had his hands on her, he might not have noticed the subtle change in her tension. She shrugged, whether trying to dislodge his hands, demand more pets, or indicate her uncertainty, he didn’t know.
“Still finding a place for Mesa Diablo’s unique flora in my shadow circle grimoire. Which is fine, since my aunt and the rest of the circle are still out of town. I think Aunt Tilda is enjoying having Rita around
to babysit the shop.” Gin tilted her head forward. “I think Rita likes it too. And of course Brandy and Aster are making this their home.”
Her tone—not a sneer this time, but something more desolate—made him pause. “You don’t think they’ll be happy here?”
“Oh, I’m sure they will be.” She took a breath as if she were going to continue, but then exhaled without another word.
“And you couldn’t be?” he prodded.
“Happy? Shadow witch, remember?”
“Does shadow always mean unhappy?”
“No, of course not.” Her shoulders hunched under his hands. “Just that I think there’s more to life than being happy. No dimple is deep enough to make everything okay.”
The implied criticism pierced him like a thorn. “Is that why you won’t let me closer?”
Ah yeah, she definitely stiffened at that.
Swiveling around, she bumped his hands from her shoulders to glare at him. “I let you put your paws all over me,” she reminded him. “And I told you then, one time was all it was ever going to be.”
The bear huffed, and his jaw jutted with its obstinance. “Could be more.”
“Life isn’t always about more either,” she said. “The shadow is about understanding what is enough, making peace with the darkness and the stillness.”
Suddenly, he understood. He let his hands fall to his sides but held her in place with his stare. “Gin. You are enough. Just as you are.”
She tucked her chin. “That’s not what I—”
“Isn’t it?” He saw it now, in her unrelenting directness, her chosen colors at once stark and yet a bold declaration, her dedication to the shadow. “When our loved ones leave us—father, mother, sisters—of course we wonder if there’s something about us, if it’s something we did, or didn’t do.”
Her glare was incendiary. “My father left because no man can stay with a witch. My mother left because her love for him broke her. My sisters are leaving me—” Her jaw clenched almost as hard as his bear’s. “They are staying here because it’s the right place for them. I don’t feel abandoned. I’m free.”
She was slipping through his fingers like desert sand. The bear flexed its claws. “Free to be alone? Gin, you should want more than that. Yes, you might get stung when you dive into the honey, but it’s too good not to take the risk.”