Bear Charm: Shifters Bewitched #2

by Tasha Black

  “It was a fire,” he said at last. “My mother died in a fire.”

  “I’m so sorry, Reed,” I told him over the sudden lump in my throat.

  An image suddenly formed in my mind of a small version of him, all alone, dumped on the doorstep of a bunch of enormous guardians.

  Hopefully, it hadn’t been exactly like that.

  “I didn’t like them seeing me cry. It was… easier to be a bear at first,” he said gruffly. “Everything is simpler for the bear. And old habits die hard.”

  “Reed, you don’t ever have to be human with me if you don’t want to,” I told him honestly.

  “We can’t communicate when I’m a bear,” he said softly.

  “I’ll bet we can,” I told him. “It will just take practice.”

  He smiled at me and my heart almost stopped beating.

  I wanted him so much. Tonight would be the night, I hoped. Tonight he would stake his claim. I guessed that was another thing we couldn’t do when he was a bear. So maybe I did need him to be human for a while.

  “We should keep going if we want to get there before full dark,” he said gruffly.

  “Sure,” I said. “Of course.”

  We walked on quietly for a while.

  By the time the trails ended, the cicadas had begun their nightsong. We were in the true forest now. I found myself stumbling over rocks and tree roots as the light slowly drained out of the woods.

  Reed shot out a hand and caught me every time. I couldn’t decide if it was romantic or spooky. Maybe it was both.

  With the darkness came a notable drop in temperature. I cursed myself for only wearing my usual hooded sweatshirt. But I would be fine, as long as I didn’t end up going for any more unplanned swims.

  “I can shift and carry you,” he reminded me. “It won’t be easy from here on in.”

  “I’m okay,” I lied, thinking about how surefooted, and warm, the bear would be. “But I’m glad for you to shift if you want.”

  His expression was torn.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I can protect you better as a bear,” he said. “Does that seem chauvinistic?”

  “Not even a little bit,” I told him. “We’re only walking, and I keep falling down. Imagine if I had to run from something.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I keep doing,” he said with a half-smile. “It’s damned distracting.”

  I met his eyes and smiled at him as he sank and rose at the same time, every part of him changing except those beautiful golden eyes.

  When he was fully in his other form, he lowered himself slightly, and I climbed on.

  I felt more like a princess and less like a rodeo clown this time. Even when he picked up the pace and slammed through the foliage, I instinctively flattened myself with my face buried in his ruff and enjoyed the sensation of flying.

  The forest blurred past in a sea of deepening green. I soaked in the warmth of the big bear and tried not to think about the fact that we were probably going someplace to climb a tree.

  I wasn’t a fan of caves, but I didn’t particularly like heights either. Come to think of it, I wasn’t really the outdoorsy type at all. But I was going to have to get used to it if I was hitching my wagon to a bear shifter. I could see myself growing to appreciate it more with the right company.

  Without warning, the bear skidded to a stop. I had to squeeze my thighs around him to stop myself from flying forward.

  We had come out at a clearing along the edge of a deep ravine. On the other side was a meadow with a tall tree at its center. Beyond that, the ground dropped away into another gorge, making the meadow seem almost like an island. This had to be home to the winter raven.

  Reed began to lumber toward the ravine.

  “Reed, what are you doing?” I asked, clinging to him desperately.

  He kept moving.

  “You know, you might have been able to jump across that thing on your own, but have you ever done it with a grown woman on your back?” I asked.

  He didn’t even slow down.

  “I’m getting down,” I said, letting go of his ruff. “You go on your own, if you’re so anxious.”

  He turned his head back to me and I flung my right leg over and slid off him. He made a chuffing sound and looked around.

  I wondered what the hell he could be looking for. Unless the Army Corps of Engineers was waiting around in these woods to build a bridge for us, we were going to have to find another way around this drop. It would take some time, but there was no way I was going to jump across.

  After another moment of searching, Reed seemed to find what he was looking for. He lumbered over to a half-dead tree on the edge of the forest and nudged it with his nose.

  “No way,” I said.

  But he wasn’t listening to me. He grabbed the thing with his two front paws and heaved his weight against it. At first it only groaned. He shoved it twice more. On the third hit, a terrible crack split the air as the trunk snapped.

  The tree seemed to fall across the ravine in slow motion, landing on the other side and bouncing twice before going still.

  When I turned back to Reed, he was in his human form.

  “Ready?” he asked, offering me his hand.

  “You want us to walk across that thing?” I asked.

  It seemed slightly less crazy than jumping, but only by a very small margin.

  “Yes,” he said. “Before it gets dark. Can I carry you?”

  I narrowed my eyes at the fallen tree. The idea of walking on it was terrifying. But if I was going to be Reed’s mate, I couldn’t be the type of person who was afraid of a little physical challenge.

  “I’m good,” I said, taking his hand.

  His eyebrows went up, but he didn’t argue. He stepped onto the trunk just past the roots and I followed.

  In my mind I had been hoping this might be kind of like that scene from my mom’s favorite ‘80s movie, where the hot dance instructor takes the rich girl into the woods and makes her dance on a tree trunk over a creek.

  In reality, it was terrifying.

  Not one cell of me wanted to giggle or flirt, or do the mambo. Branches were sticking out all over the place. Insects and birds were fleeing for their lives. The tree wasn’t a bridge, it was a cadaver, or maybe a fallen planet.

  Reed’s hand tightened around mine and I could tell he felt my fear through the bond.

  But I was too scared to be ashamed. I clung to him in the gathering darkness and swore to myself I would not look down, not even when a thick branch snapped off under my foot and fell into the gorge. I paused for a moment, waiting for the sound of it as it hit the bottom, but it never came.

  We’re really high up.

  We pushed on, the trunk growing narrower and sporting more dead branches as we got deeper into the leafless canopy and closer to the other side.

  It didn’t seem possible that it would continue to support us the whole way. I had to trust Reed’s instincts. He moved slowly and carefully, but without hesitation.

  The trunk was bouncing under our feet now. Branches caught at my skirts with every step, and I had to stop and untangle myself.

  “Almost there,” he murmured. “I’m going to jump off, and you’re going to jump too.”

  “No,” I moaned.

  But he was right, that was the fastest way to get ourselves off this tree. And it was better than putting our weight on the smallest branches.

  He counted to three, and when he leapt from the tree I did too.

  He landed hard on the grassy meadow on the other side, falling into a roll and pulling me on top of him. We lay on the ground panting in a messy tangle of limbs.

  Then Reed began to laugh.

  The sound was deep and rusty and magnificent.

  I began to laugh too, in spite of myself.

  “You know I could have jumped across that gorge in like two seconds, right?” he asked me, his golden eyes dancing. “Even with you on my back.”

  “But the
n I would have missed an opportunity to see you knock over an innocent tree,” I teased.

  “It was dead already,” he said defensively.

  “I know,” I told him.

  Suddenly, the heated lightning was back between us, pulling me into his orbit. The meadow was fading, the darkening sky above didn’t matter anymore. There was only Reed and those beautiful golden eyes…

  “Look,” he whispered, tilting his chin upward.

  I dragged my eyes from his to search the sky, where a snow-white raven circled above us.

  27

  Reed

  Cori’s face lit up as she saw the white raven. This was more than just relief that we had found the bird, she was in awe of its beauty.

  And I was in awe of hers. It was clear she wasn’t much of a hiker, but she had been a trooper today. I loved the way she looked in the last rays of daylight, after a march through the woods, with grass stains on her gown and just a few leaves in her dark curls of her hair. Like she could be the mate of a half-feral, man-bear like me.

  “Keep your eye on her,” I whispered. “We need to pay attention to where she goes.”

  Cori nodded without taking her eyes off the bird, her curls bouncing in a merry way. We watched in breathless silence as the raven swirled in the sky and then alighted on a low branch of the big tree.

  “That was easy,” Cori whispered back excitedly.

  “So far,” I agreed, tasting the air. “Trouble is, we’re upwind of her now. If we get too close, we’ll spook her. We need to get around to the other side of the tree without her noticing us. Once we do, we’ll have to figure out how to get close enough to get a feather.”

  “I know a sleeping spell,” Cori said thoughtfully. “If we’re close enough, it may work. She’ll sleep for a few minutes, just long enough for us to get what we need.”

  “Perfect,” I told her, trying not to worry about the price of her magic. “Let’s go. But slowly.”

  We got carefully to our feet. I noticed how Cori was even trying to keep her skirts from rustling.

  She wasn’t a woodsman. She would be about as subtle out here as an air horn, compared to any one of my brothers. But she was trying, and I loved her for it.

  Given enough time, I could teach her the forest skills she needed. I was sure of it.

  We picked our way around the edges of the meadow. I glanced up every few steps, but the raven remained on her perch.

  At last, we reached the other side of the tree.

  Cori met my eyes, questioning without speaking.

  I nodded to her. This was the perfect time to do her spell.

  She closed her eyes, just as she had in the cave last night. I could feel her releasing her hold on the world.

  I had felt a little of the flavor of this before, but our continued time together must have strengthened our bond. I wasn’t getting the exact details of her thoughts, but I could taste the desire to cleanse her mind and settle it.

  She lifted and released her consciousness, like it was a hot air balloon drifting over a meadow. I could feel the energy ripple the air near her.

  When she opened her eyes again, her lips were moving, palms uplifted. But there was no glowing ball like the light she’d formed in the cave.

  My eyes went to the winter raven and I saw that she was sitting very still on the edge of her nest.

  “That will make her nice and sleepy for now,” Cori whispered.

  I was relieved to see that Cori wasn’t confused or frightened of me.

  “You feel okay?” I asked her.

  “Fine,” she said. “I paid in advance with the meditation I just did. Plus I did some prep work this morning.”

  “That’s good,” I told her, feeling relieved.

  We approached the tree carefully as the bird remained perfectly still. We had nearly reached her when something whistled through the air from behind us. Its acrid scent invaded my senses before I saw it, and I cringed a little at the smell.

  A flaming arrow, glowing with some kind of strange magic cut the darkness between Cori and me.

  There was a horrible ruffling, thwacking sound and the winter raven exploded into a mist of shimmering ashes right before our eyes.

  Cori cried out in surprise.

  I turned to see who had fired the arrow. It would have been an incredible shot for a regular arrow, but this one was obviously enchanted, which probably helped it find its mark.

  Behind us, across the other side of the gorge, a man sat on an enormous horse, watching us.

  But it was no ordinary horse. It’s mane and fetlocks were made of flame that flickered menacingly, as if they might leap free and spread to the nearby trees at any moment.

  Instinctively, I stopped between the archer and my mate, eyeing the distance and lining up the jump that would take me to him. But the gorge was too wide on that side. There was no way I would make it, as a human or a bear.

  And the longer I looked at that fiery horse, the less sure I became.

  Focus, Reed, I told myself. If he was going to get away, which seemed likely if the wicked horse was as fast as it looked, then I had to note all the details. I couldn’t let my fear of fire overwhelm me.

  I focused on the man. He had pale skin, but wore a black mask and a dark hood that hid his features. A feathery bundle, that could only be the winter raven’s mate was tied to his pack.

  He was clearly a member of the Order of the Broken Blade, and he wasn’t even bothering to hide it. Luke was right - they were getting bold. This one had been willing to reveal himself in broad daylight, and willing to kill the female raven in order to stop us. And because he already had the other bird, they had all the feathers they needed for their spell.

  The horse stomped its feet and the scent carried cleanly to me, sending a shiver of horror down my spine. It was midnight black, tall and broad like a draft horse, but its mane and tail were alive with flames. There was no mistaking that it was the source of the magical flames that had burned down the old tree.

  And it had taken a bevy of trained witches to put that out.

  The man spoke to the beast and it half-reared onto its thick back legs before they galloped away, the horse’s flaming tail billowing out behind it.

  Fear closed around my heart like a frozen fist, and I dragged in a shuddering breath.

  28

  Cori

  I watched Reed stare after the magical horse and archer as the last rays of sunlight faded, leaving us alone in the darkness.

  His fear was palpable, and my own heart clenched in sympathy. He had said his mother died in a fire. The horse must have brought up buried fears.

  “So no feather then,” I said softly, hoping to distract him from the haunting pain.

  He turned to me, his face soft with some emotion that I couldn’t describe, flames dancing in his golden eyes as if they were still reflecting back the sight of that nightmarish horse.

  “We can try to find her nest,” he said, blinking and running a hand through his tangled hair. “There could be a feather in there.”

  “Where would that be?” I asked encouragingly.

  He glanced up at the tree we were standing under.

  “No way,” I breathed, looking up into the mighty canopy towering over us.

  “I see them in this meadow a lot,” he told me. “It makes sense that they would nest in the tree.”

  I nodded, afraid to reply. The forest had been tough, but not terrible. But I wasn’t the kind of person who would climb a tree even under ideal circumstances.

  And this was pretty far from ideal. I was wearing a school gown and it was full dark out, with nothing but the moon to light the hulking giant of a tree.

  “I’m a good climber in bear form,” he told me. “But I can’t do delicate work.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I can climb up there, but if there’s a feather in the nest, I won’t be able to pluck it out,” he said.

  “I want to be a team player, but I can’t
climb that tree,” I told him bluntly.

  He made a small coughing sound that I sincerely hoped wasn’t covering a snicker.

  “I have a different plan,” he said. “I’ll shift and you ride on my back. When we get up there, you’ll look for the feather.”

  I gulped.

  “It’ll be like a piggyback ride,” he said.

  “What if I start to fall off,” I worried, thinking about that glossy fur and the distance between the ground and the top of that towering tree.

  “Cori Silverman, I will not let you fall,” he told me.

  Warmth spread in my chest, as if I had just bolted down half a cup of hot tea. He was telling the truth.

  “Okay,” I said. “I can’t believe we’re doing this, but okay.”

  “Good girl,” he said with a pirate’s grin.

  I watched as he sank into bear form, thinking it would seem less magical this time, since I had already seen it tonight.

  But was just as unbelievable. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to it.

  He approached me, thrusting his forehead down like he knew I was going to pat it.

  He was totally right. I did want to pat him. We greeted each other for a moment, me running my fingers through that velvety pelt and him snuffling and snorting with pleasure.

  Then he lowered himself down.

  I hesitated this time. Letting him carry me up that tree was beyond a trust exercise. We could both die.

  But when he lifted his chin to urge me onto his back I obeyed. My instinct to follow his lead already ran too deep.

  This time when I slipped onto his back, he waited for me to have a good hold, and then slowly stood up on his hind paws. I had to wrap my thighs around him harder than usual and lock my arms around his neck to stay on, but it felt about as secure as it could.

  He approached the tree and pulled himself up, as if knowing that just holding on this way would be an effort for me.

  I closed my eyes and buried my face in his fur. I didn’t like feeling the effort he made to find a good branch, or the knowledge that the ground was disappearing beneath us.

  He climbed on and on. My arms were getting tired just from holding on, but there was no danger that I would let go. I was too terrified for that.