Thorne Bay

by Jeanine Croft

  I felt my gut clench as the grizzly’s ears flattened. It swung its head from side to side and pawed restlessly at the ground with long, nasty-looking foreclaws.

  Even if my legs hadn’t already turned into soup I wouldn’t have bolted—only an idiot would try to outrun a predator.

  “Should we play dead?” If I lived through this, I promised myself, I'd never leave home without my bear spray again.

  “Won’t work,” Tristan answered. “She’s decided we’re prey.”

  “She?” I hadn’t even thought to look lower than those alarming jowls and that large head swinging threateningly from side to side, never mind the bear's plumbing! Didn’t he have a rifle stowed in the baggage compartment? At this point, it was fight or flight, but no way in hell would we be “skids up” before the bear came crashing through the plexiglass. Both shitty options.

  Armed or not, I hoped Tristan had a plan because this bear was a monster—at least five feet from her pads to her shoulders! My heart wilted when she suddenly stood on hind legs, her menacing grunts growing louder as she moved closer.

  Tristan, though, appeared deadly calm. He leaned his body forward imperceptibly and balled his fists as he growled low. Actually fucking growled. My skin crawled violently. I staggered backward, recoiling from it, the sound rumbling across my cold marrow like a sharp clap of thunder.

  For her part, the bear appeared just as disturbed by it because she instantly halted her charge. For a moment, it seemed that she was sizing up a rival predator, two sets of eyes locked in silent battle. To my everlasting shock, though, the bear withdrew. Slowly, she took a step back, followed by another, and then another, moving further and further away, groaning in frustration each time Tristan edged toward her.

  I respired deeply as the grizzly cautiously retreated from view. My relief was such a physical force that it nearly precipitated me right into Tristan’s tense back in a paroxysm of hugging and hysterical weeping. If not for the fact that his feral growl was still ringing in my ears, or that he was still disturbingly frozen and silent, I might not have resisted the impulse at all.

  “Are…are you o-okay?” I tried to walk around him, but he moved forward abruptly, denying me a view of his face.

  “Just give me a minute.” There was a guttural, forbidding rasp to his voice.

  After a moment he headed off to inspect the tree line where the bear had withdrawn. Cowed by his demeanor, I stayed frozen on the helipad. Until the flash of red on the inside of his hand caught my notice. I rushed to his side and reached out for his right hand.

  But he flinched away before I could touch him. “Don’t,” he warned me tersely.

  It didn't matter, though, because I’d already seen the deep gouges in his palms. “You’re bleeding! Did you scratch yourself?”

  Had that been from clenching his fists? If so his blunt nails should have left shallow half-moon indents in his flesh. Not bloody gashes. Who the hell was he? Wolverine?!

  “Yeah” —his canines flashed sharply— “I scratched myself.”

  My breath hitched fearfully. “Tristan, you’re s-scaring me.” A primal sense of foreboding gripped my heart.

  There seemed to be blood seeping lightly from his gums, staining his teeth a grisly copper. His irises had lightened somehow, eerie flecks of gold flickering within the green—now a feral pulsing green! It was all I could do to suck air into my trembling chest. I was as silent and motionless as I’d been when the grizzly had first appeared, sensing, as before, something savage in my midst.

  It was as if I’d opened a cocoon and caught something at the last stage of a macabre chrysalis. And then I blinked and the moment passed.

  His pupils narrowed back to normal proportions. The preternatural yellow dimmed from the green. “Sorry.” He shook his head and the last vestiges of menace volatilized from his face as if it had never been. Beneath his sealed lips, I could see his tongue running over his teeth.

  “Your teeth…they…” My own head was shaking with disbelief. How to explain what I’d seen without sounding crazy? “They’re so long!”

  “The better to eat you with?” he mumbled. His joke, however, fell abominably flat. He must have realized as much by my silence because he shrugged and dragged his hand self-consciously through his hair. “It’s just a family trait. I told you I was weird, Evan.” His face hardened. “Don’t make a big deal of it.”

  Obviously, I was more traumatized by the bear than I had initially realized. Men didn’t just go around growing fangs. Nor was it possibly for eyes to glow or change color (not to the extent that his had). This guy was a dark horse. Dark something, all right. Moreover, how the hell had he managed those creepy sound effects? “What happened with the bear?” I asked him. “How did you scare it off?” But that was a stupid question, bloodied fangs would scare anything off!

  “Haven’t you heard?” He shot me a measured look. “I’m the bear whisperer in my cult.” That said, he loped off toward the helicopter, grabbing an oil rag from the baggage compartment to wipe the blood from his hands.

  More stupid jokes? I followed him, having till now forgotten all about the wounds on his palm. “Don’t you have a rifle or something?”

  Tristan looked up from studying his palms and met my insistent gaze. “Or something,” was all he finally replied, close-lipped.

  I returned his piercing stare. We stayed like that for a long moment, his thoughts obscured behind a stony facade and hooded eyes. For my part, I was still trying to correlate this version of Tristan with the one I’d seen and heard moments before.

  Without warning, he closed the distance between us with a slow, purposeful stride, towering over me without actually allowing any parts of our bodies to touch.

  I should have been terrified. I should have demanded he take me home. No, I should have run all the way home. Yet I knew not to run from a predator—instinct demanded I see the wolf beneath sheep’s clothing. There was hunger in his gaze. A hunger that my blood answered not with a prey’s fear but with swelling, quicksilver heat. It was an uprush of staggering desire so overwhelming and inexplicable that I promptly dropped my gaze, utterly shaken by my own reaction to him.

  Instead of risking another glance up at him, I took his hands gently in mine to distract myself from the probing of his eyes, and to inspect the wounds I’d seen, trying valiantly to ignore the wild clamor of my racing heart. This time he let me look.

  Running a finger curiously over his palms, I was taken aback to see nothing more than shallow half-moons already scabbed over. What the… “Nothing makes sense anymore.” Not him, not his strange physiology, and certainly not my reaction to him.

  “Don’t try so hard,” he murmured huskily. “Not everything has to make sense.”

  I shook my head, bewildered. “I could’ve sworn I saw—”

  “Do you still think I’d hurt you?” He closed his fingers over mine and angled his head lower, and closer.

  My breath hitched expectantly as his lips paused just above mine. “You told me not to think.” And what I felt was uprooted.

  He smiled, mouth parted only slightly. “What does instinct tell you?”

  “That you’re other than what you seem,” I whispered. “But you won’t hurt me.” I knew that. In fact, he’d saved my life.

  “Can that be enough for now?” The heat of his breath fluttered sensually against my mouth.

  “You don’t want me to ask any more questions about what happened here?”

  “No, unless you want me to lie and tell you I moonlight as Sasquatch once a month.”

  I would have chuckled if my loins weren’t on fire for him. I shook my head. “I’ll waive the questions, for now, just tell me no lies.”

  “Deal.” The unveiled hunger in his gaze pressed down on me, a mesmeric heat, and his fingers tightened perceptibly, holding me in place in case I meant to retreat from him. I didn’t. I had no will to.

  The deliberate and sensual way his eyes glided down to my parted lips was evide
nce enough of his intent. He meant to devour me! And I wanted it badly.

  11

  Microwaves And Potato Chips

  The shrill ringing of Tristan’s phone instantly dispelled our moment. As Tristan slowly backed away, his earthy spice and warmth subsided with him.

  Now there’s a goddamn phone signal?! I groaned in silent frustration as the amatory haze ebbed from my blood.

  He answered the call as calmly as though he hadn’t just survived a near mauling by a vicious bear or left my legs unsteady with that near kiss. I turned my face to the wind to cool my cheeks and listened to Tristan’s deep voice as he spoke into the receiver. This, however, didn’t mean I couldn’t feel the heavy press of his gaze on my back.

  By the time the call ended, I felt composed enough to face him again, resisting the urge to shoot his phone a dirty look as he returned it to the breast pocket of his flight suit.

  “We better get going,” he murmured. “C’mon, I’ll help you with your lifejacket.”

  This time, when he moved back into my personal space, he was all business. His arms enveloped me only long enough to secure the lifejacket strap about my waist. His fingers lingered no longer than was necessary. My fingers, comparatively, were restive and my body enlivened.

  “I’m sorry about scaring you earlier,” he said. “That bear came out of nowhere. Usually, my control is ironclad, but with you here I…” He seemed discomposed by the rest of the thought. “I’m not used to having so little control of myself.”

  I wasn’t quite sure yet who’d disturbed me more—him or the bear. Then that almost-kiss had completely thrown my blood chemistry out of whack. Now my brain was high on a hormonal Molotov cocktail of adrenaline and lust. “The way you scared that bear off…” I said, just as lost for words. “Shit! Tristan, are you even human?”

  He gave a light snort. “I’m something of an expert on predators.”

  Whereas I happened to be something of an expert on movie quotes. “Speaking of predators, you do realize that you missed out on quite possibly the most perfect Schwarzenegger moment ever.” When he only blinked in confusion, I couldn't resist saying, in probably the worst Arnie imitation ever attempted, “Get to da choppah!”

  My accent couldn’t have been all that awful, I reasoned, since the lightbulb over his head finally flickered on. “Shame on me.” His expression was anything but ashamed. “I obviously spent way too much time outside as a kid.”

  “Uh-huh, think of all the great film references you’ve missed out on. I feel sorry for you, actually.” I sniggered, relieved that we were settling safely back into our usual badinage.

  “The pitfalls of a misspent youth,” he said, gesturing for me to climb into the chopper.

  Once I was in my seat Tristan helped me fasten my shoulder harness and seatbelt, our fingers brushing together momentarily. I pretended not to notice the searing contact that galvanized my hands promptly into my lap. Instead, I studied the circuit breakers overhead till he shut my door and disappeared from view to do his final walk around.

  Fungus. Gym socks. Scoliosis. I replayed these prosaic words over in my mind as a means to relax, but even this unsexy mantra did nothing to deter my hyperactive libido.

  Finally, he climbed into the cockpit with me and began going through his pre-startup checks. I’d never felt so aware of a man in my life.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  I cracked my knuckles with counterfeit bravado. “I’ve never been more ready.”

  “That’s what she said…”

  Chuckling, I gave him a mordant round of applause. “Nice.” I’d walked into that one.

  “I don’t care what you say, everyone loves a he-said-she-said joke.”

  Stop being so freaking adorable!

  His eyes shifted to the digital gauges right before the turbine began to spool audibly. There came a rapid-fire series of ticking sounds. Seconds later, the engine belched loudly into life, the subsequent roar vibrating steadily through the cabin. The four blades began moving counterclockwise, turning ever faster until I couldn’t distinguish one rotor from the other. They had all become one large, blurry disc beating loudly overhead.

  “Headset on!” he instructed over the clangor of the engine, shoving his helmet over his head. He then hit the power button on my Bose, so that the noise-canceling suddenly cocooned my ears.

  This ship, he'd said, was primarily used for government contracts and utility work, hence the cargo hook I’d seen dangling from the underbelly.

  “Here we go,” he warned, raising the collective pitch.

  There was nothing on earth like watching as the skids levitated off the pad as we got underway. Hovering was by far one of the strangest sensations that I had ever experienced. It felt inherently wrong, yet thrilling, to be floating five-feet off the ground as the furious thudding of a giant guillotine whirred overhead.

  The plants and long grass at the edge of the pad were by now almost horizontal, flattened by the colossal force of the downwash. Even the nearby trees weren’t immune. The branches were waving furious limbs as if caught in a gale. Tristan raised the collective lever even higher, lifting us vertically into the sky like a thundering helium balloon.

  “This is incredible!” I yelled, white-knuckling the upholstery.

  “Oh, this is nothing…”

  That sounded ominous. I whipped my head around to catch the mischievous curve of his smile beneath the black visor. It was really too bad that his helmet concealed most of his face. As he inched the cyclic stick between his legs forward, the rotor disc, likewise, tilted towards the horizon, and we began accelerating into forward flight. My eyes flew wide as we cleared the tall hemlocks that enclosed the pad.

  “This is your first time, right?” His voice was smoky and rich as it filtered through the intercom.

  “Yup, you’re my first.”

  Tristan’s grin broadened, but thankfully he withheld whatever wicked comment I knew was sitting on the tip of his tongue.

  “How high are we?”

  “About a thousand feet,” he replied as the helicopter leveled off. He diligently scanned the horizon like a hawk, answering the many questions I posed with patience. None of which, by tacit agreement, touched on the abnormalities of earlier.

  Even with the deep drone of the rotors and the engine, there was a profound silence at altitude. Alaska had the type of beauty that stole even your thoughts away till there was nothing left but immense soul-staggering awe. The fjords winked with prismatic light, throwing the lush archipelagos in stark and variegated relief. The landscape stretched out toward granite ridges tinged indigo with distance. For a moment, I almost forget that Tristan and I weren’t the last two people on earth.

  I wish we were! Then he’d have no choice but to shag me senseless—for the sake of humanity’s survival, of course.

  “Beautiful!” It was too underwhelming and colorless a word to do the view any real justice. Like the man beside me.

  “Most things in nature that are beautiful are deadly,” he said. “Alaska will quite literally take your breath away if you’re not careful and don’t give her the respect she’s due.”

  “Tristan,” I said after a silence, chewing my under lip, “there’s something you should know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You look like a giant fly in that helmet.”

  He gave a snort. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I regret to inform you all that your in-flight entertainment has now been suspended indefinitely due to a particularly rude passenger who has, at this time, infiltrated the cockpit to abuse and distract the crew.”

  “But aren’t you the in-flight entertainment, Lord of the Flies?” I rejoined.

  “You do realize I could make you airsick, right?”

  “Then I give you fair warning—I won’t be cleaning my breakfast off your gauges if you get too cocky with that stick of yours.”

  He gave a genuine bark of laughter. “I’ve had to clean worse
off my instruments, trust me.”

  “I don’t wanna know.” I knew he was talking about bird guts, in part, but there was definitely something salty about our repartee. It kept my cheeks stained with vinous heat.

  “Not that I don’t love talking about my stick, Evan, but I’m kinda curious about why you really left West Palm for Thorne Bay.”

  I peeked at him from the corner of my eye, deciding to tell the truth. “Because I threw a dart at a map, and it pointed north. So here I am.”

  He glanced at me briefly, clearly unsure of whether or not I was pulling his leg. “Seriously?”

  “Would I lie to you?”

  “I can smell a lie, so I wouldn’t if I were you.”

  “In that case yes, I’m serious.”

  “I think you just became the coolest person I know.”

  “Or am I crazy?”

  “As a box of frogs,” he agreed. “So no college?”

  “That’s just it, who the hell knows what they want to do at eighteen, never mind twenty-one.” I sure as hell didn’t.

  “I did.” He shot me sidelong, teasing look.

  “You always knew you wanted to do this?” I said, gesturing to the cyclic between his legs.

  “Wiggle sticks? Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then teach me, Sensei,” I said with a flat look. “What’s your secret to vocational enlightenment?”

  He shrugged. “Just follow your nose.”

  “Wow, that’s deep. You read that in a fortune cookie?”

  “Nah, it was on a bumper sticker I saw once, right next to ‘I had a life, but my job ate it.’ ”

  I chuckled. “That seems kinda poignant.”

  “Yup.” He adjusted the altimeter and then resumed a serious tone. “So how long are you staying around for?”

  “Until I have a clue what to do with myself, I guess. My grandfather decided that I should be a lawyer or a politician. But I’ve dropped out of college twice, which is why he doesn’t really talk to me now except to lecture me.”

  “Politician?” Tristan’s lips compressed in disgust. “You’re way too honest to be a politician.”