Shifters in the Snow

by Jacqueline Sweet

  It’s done.

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s living a normal life.”

  “What?”

  “She wasn’t taken,” I heard, and every word he heard after that felt like gunshots to my soul. “The Council decided that Wonderland clan, and in particular, you Patrick, were becoming too…influential in the valley. We decided to weaken you by taking Cat away.”

  Suddenly, my bear was in control and I was shifting, roaring and groaning in the less than three seconds it took me to change. My bear advanced on the Council members and roared in their faces, causing some to shift, also. The mighty sounds of struggle were bouncing around the chamber when Paul rang the bell. We all hunched down immediately, attempting to cover our heads to keep out the sleep-inducing noise from triggering the reaction. Once it was silent, I changed back to human and walked up to Paul.

  “Just tell me where she is,” I pleaded, not caring at all what that made me look like as ‘Patrick the Great’, a nickname my clan had given me.

  “She’s in Dixon, working at a place called ‘Cheaters’.” My mouth dropped open.

  “What the fuck?”

  “We wanted her to assimilate since we didn’t know how long it would take for you to…come around.” I forced my bear back down.

  “What else?” I said, rubbing my forehead. I knew there had to be more.

  “We gave her the Lost spell,” Paul said, and he had the decency to glance down when I looked at him with what I’m sure was total astonishment on my face.

  “For how long?” I gritted out.

  “One year.”

  Three days later, Christmas Eve

  The strobe lights hit her skin like fireworks in the night sky, making her even more beautiful. Her body was flawless – her legs were long with just the right amount of muscle, her stomach was flat, her arms strong. And her breasts made my mouth water. I wanted to suck on them.

  Tonight, I told myself. It’s been one year exactly, tonight. I can finally tell her who I am.

  I watched her gyrate slowly around the pole. She still had her tiny bottoms on, and her huge, clear, plastic platform hooker heels. I hated those things but all the girls wore them here.

  When she’s with me she won’t ever wear them again.

  She rubbed her tits and my dick got harder; this was agony. I sat at the rail and stared up at her. I only came here for her and she knew it. She took more time with me because we had a special bond, even though she didn’t remember it anymore.

  She knows that we belong together, just like I know it.

  I smiled as I thought about how surprised and happy she would be when she found out about all of the plans I’d made. I know she was going to love them, and me, once the spell ended. And then, we could finally touch each other.

  She kneeled down in front of me and spread her legs, pulling aside her panties so only I got to see her beauty. I glanced around at the other men with a scowl on my face, and she laughed her twinkly laugh and reached over the railing to ruffle my thick, dark hair. She leaned close to me and pushed her tits together, and I carefully slipped a dollar in between her skin. I won’t touch her without her knowing who I am—it would be disrespectful. She winked at me, her special wink that no one else ever saw, and got up to dance around the stage again.

  She has to do that—she doesn’t want to, I reminded myself as the rage I felt at our situation threatened to take over for maybe the millionth time, since three days ago when I’d been told that Cat was given the Lost spell for one year. That meant for one year, Cat hadn’t remembered that she was a bear shifter, that she had a mate, she didn’t recognize or remember anyone or anything about her life in Wonderland clan. Just thinking about it, the agony I endured while I wondered if she was safe, never mind what she actually experienced when she was gone, made me want to kill someone. There it was. ‘It’, again. ‘It’ hadn’t gone away after I found out about Cat, like the Council had hoped it would. ‘It’ made me dangerous, and dangerous men seldom made good alphas in a bear clan. But, I didn’t give a shit. I hid ‘it’ from the Council this time, otherwise they’d bind me there again and I wouldn’t have been able to find Cat. And if I couldn’t have Cat, I didn’t want to go on.

  Chapter 2

  “Hey Cat, your stalker is here.” I looked up at my name and rolled my eyes at the stripper that had spoken. She was a bitch, and loved to give me a hard time.

  “Patrick’s not that bad.” I defended him not because I care about him, but out of reflex because I hated this place and everyone in it. But truthfully, Patrick was the best guy in a sea of sharks.

  “Don’t complain to me when you’re naked and chained to a pipe in his basement on Christmas Eve,” she responded while blowing smoke out of her nose, making herself look like an angry cow prowling for a date in the red-light district.

  She’s right, it is Christmas Eve. I forgot. No one to celebrate with.

  Something was niggling at the back of my mind, a memory that I tried my hardest to retrieve. Frustrated, I gave up. No one had come for me in the last year, so obviously no one missed me. Christmas, alone.

  Patrick been coming here for the last three nights and almost immediately after he entered Cheaters, it was obvious he had come just for me. He was very intense but also very good looking, so I didn’t mind the attention. Sometimes, he could get creepy and stare other men down that looked too closely at me, and that’s when I would pull back from him. He doesn’t like that, so he would entice me back with a big tip and some free drinks—then, I’d reward him with a lap dance in the private room. He never touched me. I admit there have been times that I’ve wanted Patrick to touch me, but then he’ll show his obsessive side and I’ll pull away again. But, something was different with Patrick, and I laughed when I thought how contrived that sounded. But, it was true. When he was there, I knew it.

  Lots of the strippers here had customers as boyfriends. Of course, the customers all had wives and some even had wives and a mistress already, but this was a hard life. I’d learned over the last year that if you could get someone to ease your burden, who was I to judge? But Patrick seemed like the kind of guy that would insist I quit and I wasn’t sure about that. This place was the only place I knew in the world.

  I walked out of the tiny dressing room and headed toward the bar. Patrick was there, like I knew he would be, waiting for me. A small tingle ran through me at his shy smile, and I wondered if starting something with him might not be such a bad idea.

  “Hey, love,” I said to him, giving him a quick hug that he didn’t reciprocate. When I pulled back, his handsome face was bright red and I smiled wider.

  “Hi, Cat,” he said in his deep voice, his eyes running up and down my body.

  “You look beautiful,” he continued, gesturing to the stool next to him. As I sat down, he signaled to the bartender for my usual drink, a rum and Coke. This was our routine—the exact same hello, one-sided hug, rum and Coke, every night that I worked.

  Nothing’s ever going to change. My life will always be the same – stripping, desperately working for a dollar at a time, with no one ever loving me.

  “I have a surprise for you,” he said. I took a sip of my drink, watching him closely. This was a change, and suddenly I was wary. In my experience at Cheaters, surprises were never good.

  “What is it?” I responded, trying to keep the skepticism from my face and tone of voice. Patrick didn’t seem to notice though. He looked excited; his fingers were tapping incessantly against the dirty, linoleum-covered bar, and his eyes were laser-focused on mine.

  “I can’t tell you. That ruins the surprise,” he said. He reached out and for the very first time he touched me, his hand gently rubbing my knee. I don’t move, the shock of his skin touching mine sending warmth and pleasure throughout my body. I was astonished. I never thought that a simple touch could feel like that, and I stared at Patrick, really cataloging him for the first time. His eyes were bright blue, a stark contrast to his pi
tch-black hair. His tan cargo pants had seen better days, but they molded against his muscular legs where his knees were bent. His upper body was encased in an old t-shirt, so faded that I couldn’t make out what used to be on it, but his muscular chest and arms were clearly defined, making my stomach clench. But best of all, he had no tattoos on his arms like every other guy here. His arms were smooth and clean, with just a dusting of hair.

  He pulled his hand away, and I lifted my eyes to his. He was staring in his intense way, with an almost feral look on his face, and my sexual awareness of him turned to wariness, once again.

  “I’ve got to go, baby,” I told him softly. He smiled at me and I slipped back into the ‘dressing room’. It was more like a closet—tiny with no windows or ventilation. If there were ever a microcosm of my misery, this room would be it. My next set was coming up so I shoved my ‘poor me’ bullshit away and got into my white, lacy outfit. I was supposed to be a virgin in this one.

  My music came on and I walked out onto the stage with Drake singing about how I was a good girl and I knew it. This was one of Patrick’s favorites. I would know even if he hadn’t already told me, just by the amount of money he stuffed in my G-string during this set. He usually gave me a couple of bucks at a time during my other sets, but I was guaranteed to get at least $20 from him now. He loved the whole ‘Cat’s a virgin’ thing.

  I locked eyes with Patrick as I walked slowly to the end of the stage. Strangely, after he touched me at the bar I felt drawn to him unlike I had before. I should have been scared of that look in his eyes, and I was certainly wary, but I knew the bouncers wouldn’t let him get too out of hand here. I gyrated in front of him while he stared up at me, his eyes slowly running down my lingerie-clad body. I reached up and slowly pulled one of my straps down, the strobe lights and bass from the song making it feel intimate. I never looked at another man while I danced – I didn’t move away from Patrick at all. It was like we were alone, and without seeing his lap I knew he was turned on by me. A rush of power flushed through me, and it was heady as hell. He wanted me. Right now, I wanted him. His fantasy had become my own. I pretended I was a virgin and I was undressing for my first lover. I was shy and slow, revealing my breasts one at a time. He reacted as if he’d never seen them before, licking his lips while I gently squeezed my nipples. I was turned on, and I wondered briefly if he would notice the wetness in my panties when I removed them. This had never happened before either—it was a night of new experiences for me in this world of never-ending sadness. As I continued the set, I wished Patrick was my first, that my life hadn’t somehow led me to this dank and dingy strip club, taking my clothes off for strange men five nights a week. I wished my life was different, I felt like it should be different, and I let myself go into the moment of make-believe, and suddenly I was free. I was Cat, the girl that had memories of being raised by nice people, not just stories told to me that felt like they must have happened to someone else, for all I remembered them. Patrick was my boyfriend and he loved me. He had patiently waited for me to be ready to make love, and now was the time. I was going to give myself to him because I wanted to.

  My emotions must have shown on my face because Patrick seemed as affected as I was. He leaned forward, his muscular arms resting on the metal railing that separated him from the stage. His face was flushed and it made his eyes look even more blue. He was more handsome than I’d ever seen him. I was kneeling in front of him then, shaking my hair in his face as he breathed in my scent. I was shocked when he leaned just an inch forward and placed his mouth on my neck, hidden from the bouncers view. A jolt of awareness shot down to my pussy, and I moaned involuntarily. Patrick pulled back quickly, his eyes searching mine from two inches away.

  “Cat,” he said just loud enough for me to hear him. Nothing else, just my name.

  “Patrick,” I whisper back, and my hand reached out and cupped his hard jaw. He tensed but didn’t pull back, while I was having an internal struggle over what was happening between us.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  I pulled away and stood up, shimmying my white lace panties down my tan legs. I was showing him the promised land that he’d seen a few times before, but tonight it felt different. I leaned down and removed my clear hooker heels, one at a time. I was completely naked then and feeling vulnerable. He reached over the railing holding a $50 bill and I got on my knees again. I moved my upper body toward him, the beacon of his eyes my port in the storm. I didn’t break eye contact as I pressed my breasts together. He slipped the bill between my breasts and for the very first time, he brushed the tips of his fingers against the swell of my left breast, which caused us both to inhale sharply.

  “Hey, you fucking whore!” A drunk guy screamed from a few seats away. I startled and looked over, seeing a middle-aged man in a dirty wife-beater leering at me. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that Patrick was now standing.

  “It’s okay,” I soothed Patrick, as I reached one hand out to him in a motion to fend him off. I didn’t want Patrick to get into any trouble and get kicked out. Before I could do anything else, Patrick was in the drunk guy’s face.

  “Apologize to the lady, or I’ll fucking kill you,” he said in a low tone, all the more menacing because he wasn’t yelling. The drunk guy apparently had a death wish, because he put his hands up on Patrick’s chest as if to push him away. In the blink of an eye, Patrick slammed him down face first onto the metal railing, cracking his nose. He screamed and grabbed his face as blood squirted everywhere, the other girls start freaking out, and the bouncers came lumbering over to break up the fracas. I was still as a statue on stage, watching from above as Patrick lifted the guy back up and smashed his face with his fist, over and over until he was on the brink of unconsciousness. Fear made my hands and feet tingle as I watched him become a person I didn’t recognize.

  Where’s the kind, patient Patrick?

  “Apologize to the lady!” he screamed this time, his face red with anger, spittle flying from his mouth. I was full on scared now—he looked crazy. Even the bouncers must have thought so because they gave him a wide berth.

  “Shorrryyy…” the drunk guy mumbled, and Patrick took the guy’s right arm and snapped the bone in his forearm by slamming it onto the metal railing. The guy’s scream of agony continued for an unbearably long time, until it finally stopped as he passed out. Patrick dropped him to the ground in a heap and looked up at me. His eyes were wild, his hair was a mess, he was sweating and breathing hard. I was sure I looked terrified because I felt fucking terrified. Any romantic feelings I’d had from before were just washed away. I pulled my eyes from his and ran from the stage, leaving my clothes and all of the money behind.

  Chapter 3

  I dressed as quickly as possible and slipped out the back door of the strip club. The parking lot behind the building was even more sad and decrepit than the one in front. But, I hoped to slip away unnoticed and get to my apartment eight blocks away in less than ten minutes if I ran. I threw my huge bag over my shoulder and started to run barefoot through the freezing, darkened lot. I heard a noise behind me near the dumpster and I threw a fearful glance in that direction, seeing nothing. My heart pounded as I ran, but only a little of that was from exertion. I couldn’t believe I’d softened toward Patrick like that. Fucking stupid.

  A car door slammed and heavy footsteps moved quickly in my direction. I whimpered and tried to run faster, only to be picked up from behind by an arm around my stomach. I cried out and the arm tightened, cutting off my air supply. Quickly, I’m turned around and my back is slammed up against the nearest car. The air whooshed from my lungs and I tried to take a breath but it was impossible.

  “It’s me!” Patrick hissed in my face, and I felt like I might black out if I didn’t get oxygen into my lungs soon. I was making choking noises as I reached up and grabbed my neck with both hands. He turned me around again and whacked me on the back, hard, three or four times. He was not being gentle and it hurt. My terror level w
as reaching its summit. He swung me around once more to face him, and I finally could take a deep breath. The edges of my vision cleared and I saw that he looked just as he did when he was beating that guy—flushed with anger and disheveled.

  “Why are you running from me?” he demanded in a rough tone I’d never heard from him, and I cringed back against the car as he put his hands on my upper arms and squeezed tight.

  “I’m sorry, Patrick,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say. It’s like he was a complete stranger. My instinct to soothe him so I could get away was at the forefront of my mind.

  “I didn’t know it was you,” I said, taking more deep breaths so I could attempt to gain a little more control of myself. I needed my wits about me.

  “Well, it is me so stop running,” he said harshly, shaking me. My head ached, but I stepped closer to him anyway. My only weapon was what God gave me, the only thing that men wanted from me—my body. I brushed the front of my body against his and he immediately stilled. Unbelievably, I felt sparks similar to earlier tonight swarm between us, even though I know he was violent and scarily obsessed with me.

  “Patrick,” I whispered close to his mouth, and he leaned down and kissed me. I tensed up and started to pull away but his hands were strong and I couldn’t move. He forced my mouth open and his tongue pushed inside, seeking out my own. Against my will, my body reacted to the feeling of his silky tongue stroking the recesses of my mouth and I moaned and leaned against him. The kiss wasn’t sweet or romantic – at least not to me. But I still wanted it, because I let it happen. He was biting my lips and tongue, hard enough to make me bleed, but I didn’t attempt to pull away again. Oddly, the taste of my blood made me soft and pliable in his arms. As that thought entered my brain, I cringed at the notion and finally tried to get away. I struggled in his arms and he bit me very hard, making me cry out. He pulled away then and looked at the blood on my lip as I shook and tears fell from my eyes.