Summer Shifter Days

by V. Vaughn

  Her heart clenched when she heard his roar again.

  The grizzly was furious, desperate. He wanted his woman back. He’d claimed her, and she’d let him. She’d felt the mating bond move like magick through her bones. She’d known that letting him fuse himself to her in that way would mean he would forever remain tethered to her.

  She’d let him do it because she’d selfishly wanted him bound to her, even knowing she could never reciprocate. The moment she’d allowed him to take her and had conceived, she’d known she would never again get to see him.

  Her mother would never approve. Bronwyn already had a betrothed, chosen during the time of her infancy—Rolo of the Blackfoot Clan. Their union was meant to strengthen both their tribes.

  The problem was, Bronwyn had never loved Rolo. She cared for him as a sister for a brother, and he for her. Neither of them wanted the marriage. She knew why she didn’t want Rolo, but none—other than herself—knew why Rolo didn’t want her.

  Rolo loved another—Thanatos, a stable boy from the neighboring human settlement. Rolo was as desperate to break this union as she was, but the heavy obligations of royalty ran deep in their bones.

  Her sister Casia arrived then, alerting Bronwyn to her presence with a gentle clearing of her throat.

  Sighing deeply, Bronwyn turned, leaning against the banister as she watched her sister walk in gracefully. Where Bronwyn was dark, her sister was fair. Bronwyn was somewhat on the thinner and lankier side, while Casia was an extremely curvy and busty brunette.

  “That damn grizzly has been pacing our boundaries for the past fortnight,” Casia snarled, looking toward the horizon over Bronwyn’s shoulder. “Clawing at our trees, uprooting our stumps, and making a fu—”

  Bronwyn’s jaw clenched. “He is my mate.” She looked behind her, watching the horizon forlornly, her heart aching to get back to her bear.

  One taste of him hadn’t been enough to quell her desire. Bronwyn rather feared she would never get enough of her addiction to him. Each night, she had dreamt of him, of what he’d done to her, how he’d touched her, how his breaths had sounded as he’d pumped deep inside of her.

  She swallowed hard.

  “No.” Casia dug her nails into Bronwyn’s arms, twisting her around so that she had no choice but to stare at her sister eye to eye. “He is not your mate. You know Mother would never approve of a grizzly. You should never have even allowed that filthy animal to touch you, let alone lay with you.”

  Bronwyn’s green eyes blazed with fury. She slapped Casia’s hands away, shrugging away from her sister’s frosty glare. Her hands framed the soft swell of her belly. “Our rules do not state who I get to claim as the father of my child. You know this. I choose him.”

  Casia snarled. Her disgust was evident. But then she closed her eyes, rubbed the bridge of her nose, and sighed deeply, as though she too wore the cares of the world upon her shoulders.

  “I am sorry, Bron. I did not mean to snap at you. I know your duty cannot be an easy one. It is only that I fear that bear’s presence so close to our kingdom will cause Mother to declare war upon her return. You know how much she hates them after what they did to father.”

  Ophelia was in Blackfoot territory until the next night, hammering out the final details of Bronwyn’s union to Rolo. Their hand fasting ceremony was scheduled to take place in a week’s time.

  Panic beat desperate wings in her throat. “You couldn’t possibly understand how frantic I feel,” she squeezed out, hugging her belly both for protection and comfort.

  Unlike humans, crows only gestated for a month, which meant she was halfway through and already as round as an inflated balloon. That very morning, she’d woken up to the first sensation of movement deep inside her belly. The reminder was potent that she carried the product of their union within her.

  But still, a choice was to be made. Well, so far as her mother was concerned, there was no choice. Bronwyn would give birth to a crow shifter. But the truth was, she didn’t have to. The choice was hers.

  All male crows were born infertile. It was why females sought mates beyond their borders. That infertility was also why females could choose the species of the offspring.

  If they remained in cooler temps, they would birth a crow. If they were kept in warmer, hotter places, they would birth whatever species the father was.

  So far as Bronwyn could remember, no crow had ever chosen a species outside her own.

  Female crows hand fasted for life. Mating and hand fasting, in her culture however, were two completely separate things. Mating was required to ensure their line lived on but meant nothing more. Partners outside of crows meant nothing to any of them.

  A powerful kick interrupted her thoughts, followed by the flurry of flutters deep inside her belly. Bronwyn swayed on her feet, dancing with her child. Instantly, the movements calmed.

  Somewhere in the distance, her bear growled.

  An idea came to her then, a stupid, irresponsible, idiotic idea. But whatever, desperate times and all that.

  She feigned exhaustion by slumping her shoulders heavily, which she didn’t have to fake all that much. Pregnancy was taxing, and she’d slept very little the past two weeks.

  Casia noticed immediately. “Oh, my dear sister.” She fluttered around Bronwyn, grabbing her elbows and guiding her back to the outdoor duvet. Rain or shine, Bronwyn was forced to remain outside in the cooler temps of the Alaskan spring to ensure the arrival of a crow child.

  “Take a rest, dear. The sun sets soon. I’m sure the bear will leave us be for the night as he has done every night since. You need your sleep.”

  Bron bit her bottom lip. Still pretending, she nodded weakly, as though agreeing with Casia’s sage advice. “Yes, you’re right. I do need a rest. I’m bone weary and wish only to sleep now.”

  Lying down, she allowed Casia to tuck a light lap blanket around her legs. The sun was indeed less than an hour from setting. And Casia was right; every night, as soon as the sun descended, her bear would leave her, no doubt to return back to his cabin.

  His cabin was only an hour’s flight from her nest. But in human form, it could take her at least four hours in the thick gloom of darkness. That meant she needed to get to him before he left.

  It was torture waiting for Casia to leave, and it was torture waiting to see the glow of lamplight in the neighboring trees dim as one by one, crows returned to their nests for the night.

  Each second that ticked past was like a dagger through her heart. Ophelia could return at any moment. In truth, she wasn’t due to come back until morning. But often, when duty was done, her mother would choose to fly back rather than stay the night.

  If she came back before Bronwyn could make herself scarce, any window of opportunity would be gone. The closer she drew to the arrival of her infant, she would be watched by more and more sets of eyes. Eventually, she would be guarded by her mother’s fiercest soldiers day and night, obliterating any hope for escape.

  Rolo did not want to marry her.

  She did not want to marry him.

  What she did want rested less than a mile away from her. She hoped anyway. If he’d retired for the evening, she was screwed. So screwed.

  Bronwyn crossed her fingers, praying to whatever ancient deities would listen that her lumbering, sexy oaf of a man-bear was still around.

  The first two weeks of her pregnancy had been absolute misery. The quicker gestation period meant she’d gone through hell and back when it came to morning sickness, queasiness, and the constant need for sleep. Today was the first day she’d begun to feel halfway normal. But that peaceful lull wouldn’t last.

  Heart trapped in her throat, she stood, sensing the time was now or never.

  Snatching the cowl and robe off the hook by her door, she wrapped the black silk tightly around her, hoping to blend into the shadows of night as much as possible. Then she ran down the stairs, across the hall, and out the door. Her footsteps were silent on the spongy moss surface of her lands
.

  Admittedly, Bronwyn had much less experience traversing the grounds of her territory, but she’d been born and raised there. She had played many games of seek-and-find growing up.

  Due to the increased hormonal levels raging through her system, her vision wasn’t as sharp in the dark as it normally was. But she knew where each tree root and each stump was, so she was able to quickly and easily maneuver around them. With the growing distance between her and her people, she began to breathe a little bit easier.

  It took her nearly an hour to get to the borders, and that was by running as fast as her waddling legs allowed her to go. She was sure that each twig snap and rustle of leaves was someone out to snatch her up and drag her back to her mother, her peoples. Duties and responsibilities and priorities and argh!

  Never in her life had Bronwyn been selfish, but she was going to be now. She was going to—

  A loudly breaking branch rang like a gunshot through the night. She paused, heart slamming wildly in her chest as her night-blinded eyes searched in vain for the source of the noise.

  But then she smelled him, a mix of musk and man, of rain and pine. Her man. In grizzly form.

  She swallowed hard when his shadowy image rose on its hind legs. That majestic glorious beast of a shifter towered over her as his huge head contorted into a snarl of fury. A growl, the likes of which she’d only ever heard seconds before an attack, echoed all around them.

  “Male, I am co—” The words never fully left her lips before he was on her.

  5

  Chance

  Chance shifted in mid-jump, clamping hands and not claws into her biceps as he forcefully dragged her outside of the territory forbidden him.

  For days on end, he’d haunted the perimeters, raging at those inside to give him his woman back. When he saw her then, he didn’t think, didn’t stop to ask her why she’d come, why she was there.

  He was blind to everything but the fact that she was back. “Mine,” he snarled.

  His brain registered only the fact that she was there. Her sweet scent of sky and earth filled his lungs and caused his cock to harden in an instant. Visions of what they’d done last flooded his head.

  “Male. Male,” she pleaded, planting her palms on his chest as she shook her head.

  Fear stole through every nerve in his body. She wanted to leave him again.

  He shook his head and gently shook her elbow, which was still locked fast in his grip. “No. You’re mine. Mine. I will treat you well if that’s your worry, but the spirits gifted you to me, female. You must know that. You must—”

  He’d emasculate himself to his very core if he had to convince her to stay.

  She laughed. The sound was as clear as a bell and just as he remembered, rocking through his soul and discombobulating all his senses.

  Instinct rode him hard, making it difficult to think outside of the raging need for her, but he tried. He was trying. For her, he’d do anything.

  Shaking his head again to try to help clear the cobwebs, he said, “You’re here?”

  It came out a question, but he hadn’t meant it to. Or maybe he had. He wanted to know why she had abandoned him, why she had —

  A sound, like the light patter of footsteps, sounded off in the distance.

  Immediately, his female froze. Her breathing increased, and her inky, beguiling eyes turned to him, full and wide with panic. The laughter that he would never tire of hearing died on her tongue, and fear trembled in its place.

  “Take me away, bear. Now. Quick. Hide me, or you will never find me again.”

  He had a million more questions to ask. There were so many answers he needed to know, but he knew by the desperation in her tone that now wasn’t the time.

  Stealing a crow from their territory was as good as a declaration of war between his people and hers. But it wasn’t stealing when she clearly wished to go with him.

  Right?

  The very small side of his brain not completely ruled by instinct screamed at him not to do this, that they had to do this right, or there could be dire consequences. But instinct was a powerful, elemental, and very primitive thing.

  He had his woman back in his arms. He could never lose her again.

  With a growl of frustration and exultation, Chance leaned in, stole her lips with his own, and planted a hard kiss, a promise of sorts. The meeting of their lips was a vow without words, one that proclaimed from there on out and forevermore, he would do anything and everything in his power to keep her safe.

  She melted into his embrace. And it was that softness and yielding that cemented the thought in him that no matter what the cost, he would protect her. Always.

  “I will shift—” he began.

  “Bronwyn,” she whispered shyly. “My name is Bronwyn Crow.”

  His heart trembled. For weeks, he’d roared out to her, calling out to the crow who’d stolen his heart, never knowing her true name.

  Grasping her hands in his, he squeezed tightly and nodded. “And I’m Chance Hawthorne.”

  She chuckled softly. “It’s good to finally meet you, Chance. Now are you ready to run away together?” Her eyes sparkled like a night sky full of glittering diamonds.

  His lips trembled as he suppressed his own laughter. “Gods, what are we doing?”

  She shrugged. “Being reckless and crazy.”

  “I like it,” he said with the soft hint of a growl. But his words contained no anger. Oh no, this growl had everything to do with the rising awareness of her and the lust burning like a hot flame through his gut.

  The footsteps neared, and she thinned her lips.

  He nodded and shifted quickly. As fast as lightning, a thought intruded. Why wasn’t she shifting and flying away? Why was she so willing to ride him? Why had she run out there instead of flying?

  But again, those questions were for later. He shifted, transforming once more into his powerful animal form, a form that nobody—not even the Queen of the Crows herself—would dare to instigate a fight with alone.

  Grunting, Chance turned, waiting for Bronwyn’s slight weight to settle down upon him.

  The moment she sat, he sensed something very different in her. Taking a giant whiff of air into his lungs, he almost roared when he smelled the telltale scent of a third soul. This one was a young, new life, smelling of fresh, clean powder.

  A child.

  He shook his powerful head, confused, curious, and terrified. And then, he was angry, very angry. Who had lain with his female last?

  She patted his head as though sensing his very thoughts and whispered into his ear. “The child is ours, Chance. Now go so that I can explain it all.”

  Light flooded his temporary quarters, a small earthen den he’d dug into the ground for the nights after he’d finished patrolling the crows borders. He’d been determined to keep close to Bronwyn’s nest until he retrieved her.

  Thankfully, he’d been wise enough to build on grizzly territory. Once the crows discovered her missing, they would come for him.

  But on his grounds, he wouldn’t stand alone. The crows were as bound by the rules of territory as he’d been. If they tried to bring an army against him, he would happily obliterate them for daring to keep Bronwyn from him.

  Chance turned, barely leashing his anger. Lust and rage simmered in his veins. He spied Bronwyn, settled on the bearskin rug he’d been using as a bed the past few nights.

  The bearskin came from an actual bear of course. He’d never dream of sleeping on one of his own. That would be barbaric.

  At least they were well-hidden beneath the earth for the night. He’d concealed his den well, so it wouldn’t matter whether the crows flew the skies or not.

  Bronwyn looked small and terribly fragile sitting there, staring up at him. Her burnished hair hung long and heavy around her shoulders. Her skin, which he’d recalled as being porcelain fair, looked way too pale and washed out.

  Those gorgeous lips of hers that had wreaked such havoc on him were clamped bet
ween her straight white teeth as she worked them nervously back and forth.

  Her hand crept down to her stomach, and the robe that had hidden the bump so well slid to the side, revealing a substantially pregnant belly for having only been two weeks along.

  A muscle ticked in his jaw as he clamped his molars together. He wanted her desperately, but there was no way that could be his child. “Bronwyn, what is—”

  Her eyes flashed fire. “Whether you want to admit it or not, the babe is yours, Chance. It’s partly why I came to find you, to let you know the truth.”

  “Say it’s really mine.” He waved a hand and fought not to tremble from head to toe. “Why else did you finally stoop to come out and make your presence known? Princess.” He couldn’t help but hiss at the end.

  Her eyes widened, and he knew his theory had just been proven right. The level of guardedness that had gone up in her realm the moment she’d returned, the constant winging of crows overhead, screeching and crying out at him to leave… he’d put two and two together.

  She hugged her stomach with both arms. “You knew?”

  His lips thinned. “I didn’t at first, but I figured it out. I might be a grizzly, Bronwyn, but I’m not stupid.”

  His nostrils flared as she stood slowly to her feet and gracefully walked over to him. “Then if you know who I am, you must also know why I ran as I have.”

  There had been chatter in the woods of a pending royal wedding. It hadn’t been hard to put two and two together. Even though he was furious about their situation, he wasn’t stupid enough to want to give her back. Or maybe he was stupid to keep her because kidnapping a royal soon-to-be-bride was about as stupid as it came. But she was his fair and square, by rights of the ancient ancestral ritual.

  No Breed court alive that could deny that unalterable fact. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean their actions would come without consequences.

  Walking over to him, Bronwyn stopped with only scant inches separating them. Grabbing his hand, she placed it on her belly.