by Elsa Jade
“It’s fine where it is,” he said, a clipped tone to his voice. “I’ll have Mac take me over tomorrow morning and then return the bus. You should have Rita check you out. That sort of exposure can come back and bite you when you don’t expect it.”
She frowned, wanting to protest, but he wasn’t wrong. Between the spell and the weather, she’d nearly come to a bad end. “Thank you again,” she whispered.
“I was going to say any time, but…” He flashed a smile, but there was no dimple. “Good night, y’all.”
It had been a great night, and then terrible, and then great again, and now…
She watched him walk out the door.
Rita shut it silently behind him. “So. Explain.”
“I finished the potion.” Gin set the hatbox in the doorway to the parlor, suddenly too exhausted to hold onto it. “The next time the circle gathers—”
Brandy interrupted, “I think she means the part where Ben saved you.”
“Oh.” Her two older sisters—by minutes only!—gave her that look they shared when they thought she had been reckless.
“The big O doesn’t save anyone,” Rita snarked. “I thought that’s what your potion was supposed to prove.”
Bry cleared her throat. “Well, shifter orgasms do have remarkable powers, so—”
“The energy on the mesa was too much,” Gin said over her sisters’ sighs—one rapturous, one aggrieved. “Almost too much. I see now why Aunt Tilda decided to center the circle here.”
Rita frowned. “The circle has already discussed this. We’re not tapping into the shifters’ power.”
Brandy smirked. “I tapped it.” She waved one hand in a go-on gesture when they both glared at her.
“Anyway,” Gin said, loudly enough that her sisters shushed her, pointed toward Aster’s room upstairs. “Ben pulled my ass out of the fire—or the snow, actually—and brought me home.”
Rita shook her head. “That snow was part of your spell?”
Brandy shook her head in unison, like the next-eldest triplet she was. “Mac and I were…uh, awake and saw the clouds over the mesa. He knew it wasn’t right and went back to his cottage to talk to Thor.”
It was Gin’s turn to shake her head. “His cousin will have more explaining to do than me.”
“The king bear was involved?” Rita crossed her arms. “The circle discussed him too, and he’s part of the reason we’re staying far away.”
“Can’t get that far in this town,” Brandy pointed out.
“I’ll write it all up in my grimoire and share it for my ordination,” Gin promised. “But right now, I just want—”
A low rumble, as if a badly maintained Harley was parking outside, silenced her. When a second, worse-tuned Harley answered, her pulse began to slam.
She hadn’t heard the VW pull away. “Ben.”
Rushing to the door, she slapped her hand on the latch.
But Rita was there first. “It’s one of the beasts.”
“It’s Ben.” Gin nudged past her sister. “Something’s wrong.”
She swung open the door.
Ben stood at the bottom of the porch stairs, his back to the house, his body angled protectively.
Because across from him…
Thor was half shifted, somehow managing to hold onto what was most misshapen about each shape, like a deadly ragdoll stitched together of rage and ugliness.
Brandy gasped—a small, frightened sound. “He’s rogue. Ben needs to get out of there.”
If anything, Ben widened his stance. “I told you once, my king, this is not your fight.” The ominous undertone in his voice was the rumbling that had reached through the house.
“What fight?” Rita muttered.
Gin could guess well enough. “It’s my fault,” she whispered. “The spell.”
“Dammit, Gin. This is why the circle decided to stay separate from the shifters.”
“I’m not part of the circle yet,” Gin reminded her. Ignoring her sister’s glare, she sidled out onto the porch. “Ben,” she hissed. “Come inside.”
“That’s exactly what I’m stopping him from doing,” Ben replied without looking back at her. “And what I want you to do.”
“You,” Thor echoed, the echo of a beast speaking through in the snarl and his alarming amber glare fixed on her. “You got your spell. Now you go.”
After seeing Ben’s sleekly stunning bear, pure as the snow, Thor’s beast was just…beastly. His three-quarter pose, one massively clawed hand braced on the ground between his strangely bent back legs, only emphasized the distorted hump of his shoulders and the heavy hang of his head. “It’s not done quite yet,” she hedged. “I still have to—”
“Go. Now.”
She glanced at Ben to gauge the tension in his body. Yeah, apparently this degeneration wasn’t good. Her mind spun, thinking of a spell of reintegration. Bear claw flower to represent the beast, a gemstone of imperial golden topaz to match the trapped soul, maybe a hunting rifle or two to defend herself… She didn’t have time to put any of that together, obviously.
“If you are king,” she said slowly, “you have to want what’s best for your people. You are like a father to everyone in your clan.” She grimaced. “That’s hard. No wonder you want to give it away.”
“Gin,” Ben cautioned. “That’s enough.”
She focused on Thor. “It’s never enough though, is it? Always someone wanting more from you. That’s why my mother abandoned us. That’s what you want to do to your clan.”
The man-beast reared up. God, he was huge, bigger than Ben in both his shapes combined.
There was a reason he was rex ursi.
But somewhere in there was Ben’s cousin. “My dad left us too,” she said in a low voice, knowing he’d hear even over the hoarse rasp of his breaths. “I always said I didn’t care, that we shouldn’t need a father who clearly didn’t want us. But… I was wrong. More than that, he was wrong. Wrong to leave us just because it was harder to stay.” She glared at him, a risk and a challenge. “Are you that wrong?”
With one slash of his paw-hand, he reached up and tore a limb from the oak. It had taken all of Ben’s standing weight to break a lesser branch.
Rita took a long step forward, joining Gin on the porch. “Rex ursi you may be—for now—but this is not your place. Leave here, Thorburn Montero, and don’t return until you can hold onto one shape and a civil conversation.”
They should probably settle for any conversation considering how many teeth he had in his jaws.
Brandy stepped up beside them. “Yeah. What they said. Except…your cousin is marrying me in September, so it’d be really wonderful if you had your shit together by then.”
Rita and Gin swiveled to stare at her, aghast.
She winced. “Too much honesty?”
Thor roared, the sound cracking the pre-dawn night and shaking tears of ice water from the leaves of the oak, ash, and alder. He charged.
Ben met him halfway in a silent rush.
The clash of muscle, fur, and flannel was too swift and brutal to follow, and Gin jolted forward with a desperate cry.
Ben had grabbed the downed limb and swung it in a hard, sharp arc, forcing his feral brother to leap back almost to the sidewalk. “Gin, get inside. All of you, go!”
She ran for the house. One vault took her up the steps and she dropped to her knees at the hatbox. She dumped it, ignoring the amphora rolling out of the black velvet across the hardwoods. Somewhere in this mess—
“An anti-love spell won’t stop him,” Brandy warned.
“No, but bear spray will.” Gin grabbed the canister. “Stay with Aster.” She hadn’t been dumb enough to head back up to the mesa unarmed, knowing Thor might be lurking there.
Hadn’t guessed he’d be lurking in her garden.
Rita was still on the porch, looking like she’d defend the house with her crutches. And probably win too. But she yielded the space to Gin when she spied the spray.
; “Go get him,” she said grimly.
Assuming she meant Thor but wishing she meant Ben, Gin bolted down the steps.
Chapter 15
From the corner of his eye, the gleam of red was an irresistible beacon. Ben found his gaze sliding sideways to catch even a glimpse of Gin.
He groaned as Thor’s massive paw slammed into his shoulder. He spun with the blow before his maddened king could dig in with his claws.
Thor wouldn’t kill him—Ben was semi-sure—but his rogue beast didn’t have the restraint of the man. It fought him like it would fight any other dominant bear that challenged it.
And Ben couldn’t back down, couldn’t let it threaten Gin.
But now here she was, right in the snarling face of the threat.
He groaned again, more a growl as his own bear fought to emerge. It wasn’t interested in wearing down the other male or trying to tease out the lucid man. It would rip the beast apart for coming between it and its mate.
Thor’s heavy head swiveled, tracking the flash of red, and Ben took the opportunity to smash the oak branch behind the half-rounded ear.
Clutching one paw to his skull, Thor staggered a step away. Toward Gin. When he shook his head, snorting, she darted closer.
Before Ben could scream for her to get away, she unleashed a torrent of pepper spray right in the bear-man’s snout.
Ooh, that had to hurt.
Ben and a couple kids up north had taken turns bear spraying each other once—fun was thin on the ground in their corner of Saskatchewan—and it had left them crying and pawing their faces long enough for his mother to sniff them out and cuff them for their ridiculousness.
In retrospect, maybe his parents sending him to foster down south was more than just hoping for a better life for him…
Watching his cousin choke, his chest seized in helpless sympathy. The world was a cold, hard, unforgiving place where it wasn’t a burning wasteland of dust—but he’d do everything in his power to brighten up and sugarcoat his little corner of it.
If not as a king, and not as a fated mate, then just as a bachelor bro bear with a green thumb and a sweet tooth.
When Thor lashed out viciously, more in pain than purpose, Ben plucked Gin off her feet and set her on her sturdy little boots out of harm’s way. “Really,” he said. “You’ve done enough this time. I’ll take him from here.”
After a moment, she nodded. “If you need help…”
He nodded back, stiff-arming the slavering fiend who’d been his friend until she slipped up onto the porch. He knew she wouldn’t go inside, but she clutched the banister like she had to stop herself from coming back.
In testament to a king bear’s strength, the fiery crimson of Thor’s bloodshot eyes was already shifting back to furious yellow. His snarl of fury gusted back the hair on Ben’s head, but he refused to change to match beasts. That was what Thor wanted—once the beast was ascendant, Ben wouldn’t be able to stop the fight to a kingship.
A fight to the death.
They circled warily, the quiet drip of water from the leaves the only sound now.
“Don’t do this, Thor,” he pleaded. “Don’t make me do this.” Abruptly he stopped, facing his cousin. He dropped the broken oak branch and straightened. His bear nearly spasmed in dismay, and his fingers twitched with the urge to turn clawed. He turned his hands palms out, stretching away the cramps. “I can’t… I’m not a king, cuz. This is all I am. Just me. That has to be enough. For you, for the clan.” He glanced over his shoulder. “For everyone. Even me.”
He let out a slow breath. And it felt right.
The rex ursi stared at him. The blistering stink of capsicum on its huffing breath made Ben’s eyes water too.
Or maybe that was tears of relief that he’d reached the man inside the rogue male—
No roar this time. Thor just shot toward him, blindingly quick. His claws sank into Ben’s ribs—the worst sort of bear hug. And his jaws cranked open, teeth whiter than corpseberries.
Ben wrenched up one arm to block the mauling mouth aimed at his throat. Enormous canines clamped around the meat of his forearm, but he was wretchedly aware of the arteries and veins pounding close to the surface. If Thor sliced his fangs sideways, even an inch…
Bracing himself for a savage shaking, Ben pushed his arm harder into his cousin’s jaws to minimize the damage. When Thor snarled and pushed back, Ben had to go along with the motion, dropping to his knees in front of the bigger bear.
“That’s one way to be king,” he said through his own gritted teeth. “Just force your wishes on us. But I don’t think it’s me you’re trying to compel to be king.”
Those yellow eyes glared into his, livid and almost poisonous.
But the teeth… Blood welled up from the punctures in his forearm as the pressure waned.
He only had seconds before the smell of blood enraged the beast—er, enraged it more.
“It’s your way, Thor, not mine,” he said in a low voice. “I won’t fight you for it. Two feet or four, you’re the only one who can walk it.”
For a heartbeat, the teeth tightened again, stopping the blood until Ben’s fingers began to tingle.
The unmistakable racking clatter of a gun stopped everything.
“Put the nice bleeding man down gently and back away,” Rita said from the porch, her voice even lower than his. “I don’t want to shoot you… Well, I do. But I won’t if you do what I say.”
Ben closed his eyes. So, this was how he was going to die.
To his surprise, the fuming snorts of Thor’s breath stopped. Then he opened his mouth.
Ben cracked one eye. As if equally surprised, the wounds in his arm looked not too bad…for a second, and then the floodgates opened. Scarlet gushed down his arm, spattering the grass. The oak was getting a better watering than usual this time of year. And hopefully this wasn’t one of Mac’s favorite shirts.
Thor rose to his full imposing height.
“I am king,” he growled.
Not to Ben but to Rita.
“And I’m a terrible shot. But you’re big enough not to miss.” The crutches dangling from her elbows thunked hollowly against the railing and her usually sleek auburn hair was a wild tangle around her head, but she stood steady. She closed one eye slowly, as if taking aim. “I’m willing to bet I can add a few more holes to you.”
Since the man-bear was distracted, Ben edged out of immediate tooth reach. His clawed ribs protested, but a helping hand guided him farther.
“Didn’t I tell you to get out of here?” he mumbled to Gin.
“I did. To get Rita’s gun.”
“Is she that bad a shot?”
“Terrible. But Thor is really big.” She looked up, and up, at the man-bear. “So I’m leaving. Do you hear me, Thor? I have my spell. I’m done here. Just like you told me.”
Ben’s heart stuttered, matching the gurgle of blood from his arm. “Since when do you do what anyone tells you?”
“Since it put holes in you.” Before he could pursue that—how many holes, exactly, until she listened to him?—she rose to face Thor. “You asked me to share the potion.” She held out a small, pointy, glass vessel sloshing with a silvery liquid. Brighter crystals swirled inside the glass, seeming to reflect the light in the paling sky. “Here it is. All of it.”
She was giving up her spell? “Gin, no. You need that for the circle.”
She kept her stare on Thor. “The only stage I haven’t finished… Actually testing it. I’d need a volunteer. Normally I’d start with myself, as witches do, but I never intended to take it, because I knew I’d never fall in love.”
Ben’s bear flinched. Even with its king’s teeth sunk in their flesh, it hadn’t retreated, pushing stubbornly onward instead. But hearing her blithely dismiss what he most wanted cut to the bone, left his heart pulsing out its agony.
Gin strode right up to the king bear, not one cautious step but a flurry, like a changing mama bear. “Take it. It’s yours.” She thru
st the jug into his chest.
Which put her within deadly swiping distance of those maiming claws when she’d just seen the bear-man snap through the oak like it was a swizzle stick. Ben steeled himself to leap between her and Thor, knowing he’d not be able to stop a lethal blow from such close range.
But the big paw wrapped delicately around the jug, claws clacking on the glass. Thor’s shaggy dark head bent over the gift.
Or was it a curse?
“Or don’t take it,” Gin continued, as if she was reading his mind. “Because I think the snowberry you gave me changed it. It’s not just anti-love. It freezes out every feeling, makes a cage of ice around your heart.” She glanced at Ben, her root-beer-brown eyes shadowed. “I thought that was because it was more powerful than I planned, but… It’s broken. Caging your heart doesn’t shield you. It traps you. You think you’re free to go your own way, but really you’re stuck. You can’t reach out. You can’t ask for help. You can’t find what really matters.” Despite the rhythmic intensity in her tone, almost a chant, her voice dropped to a whisper. “Love isn’t just desire and mating—and helpless longing. It’s family and friends. It’s community. It’s the gold thread that binds us together in ways we might never see but that gives us more power together than alone.” She let out a slow breath. “I didn’t understand until I held the antidote in my hands. But love is life.”
As she spoke, the first ray of morning light peeped over the distant horizon. On every lobe of every leaf on the oak tree, thousands upon thousands of dewdrops caught the ray and magnified it, each bead holding a tiny golden sun.
So far away, and yet between one heartbeat and the next, the ray became a thin crescent. One more pulse of silence and then somewhere out in the sage, a coyote yipped, marking the changing of the guard from night wanderers to daytime.
Thor, caught awkwardly halfway between, stiffened, as if he needed to add another few inches to his behemoth frame. When he snarled, the blood on his teeth was viciously crimson in the light of day.
But Gin didn’t back down. “It’s your life,” she told him. “I say choose love.”
His claws spasmed around the glass, surely hard enough to shatter. But the vessel held.