by Eve Langlais
Cat. But not the right smell for the wild cougars rarely seen in this part of Canada. Nor was it a simple housecat or even the larger Maine Coon. What kind was it?
He’d learned at an early age—at the insistence of his grandfather—to identify the varied species’ scents. Some kids went to the zoo to ooh and aah over the animals. Bryce went to learn his smells, and usually had to endure a quiz afterwards.
Slowly, he moved out of the cover of trees, not out of any real fear. A big beast like himself didn’t fear anything. However, startling something with claws could leave scratches.
At first, he didn’t see the feline, crouched low at the water’s edge, head ducked and across from him, but a shift of shadows and the glint of its eyes gave away its position.
The tips of its fur were frosted in white, whereas the rest of it was a shade of gray. A tail, edged in black, swished. The feline face lifted, regarding him with golden eyes, the tufts of fur puffing from its cheeks identifying it as a lynx, a rarity, especially in these parts.
Since when do we have one living in these woods? He’d never come across it before. He took a step forward.
The lynx hissed.
Seriously? On my land? He lowered his rack and shook it.
The cat blinked and cocked its head. Probably admiring it. He lifted his head and struck a regal pose.
The feline chuffed. It sounded amused.
He would have narrowed his gaze if his moose face allowed for it. Laughing at his rack. Did this kitty cat not know who it faced? The Great North’s fiercest beast, one of the biggest as well. Other animals wished they could have Bryce’s rugged countenance. His thick shaggy brown coat. And his legs…he could run over thirty-five miles an hour, over uneven terrain.
The cat yawned and lay down by the water, lazily batting the current. Pretending disinterest. Surely pretending because no one could ignore his grand presence.
Arrogant? Totally. There were not many moose, especially intelligent ones like him, roaming the world. He was a creature to be admired.
The feline rolled on its back, four legs in the air.
Utter disrespect. Bryce dipped his head and wetted the tines of his rack then shook his head, shaking the droplets free. They soaked quite nicely in the lynx’s fur.
With a yowl, the cat flipped upright and glared at him. Her back rounded, her hackles rose, and she pulled back a lip.
He turned around and showed his insouciance by kicking up some dirt and striding away. Head held high, he trotted, knowing she admired his rear. Would have walked all the way back to the house except he heard something, a distant howl. Then another in a lower timbre.
Wolves. Not unusual in and of itself. The local pack, which numbered just over twenty in number around town, had permission to use these woods. Most bands of shifters in the area did.
Grandfather might be curmudgeonly in some ways, but when it came to keeping their secret and helping others of his kind, he honored the treaties his great relatives enacted.
The yipping, several of them together, grew louder, and he thought of the cat.
A possible were cat. The actions had a certain cognizance behind them.
If any of them are shifters, they’ll know the rules and abide by them.
The howls became sharp excited barks, and that was when he heard it. The first yowl.
He stopped walking.
Awoo.
He turned his head to peer behind him.
Don’t get involved.
Rawr.
A moose couldn’t sigh or he would have as he turned around and began trotting quickly back in the direction from which he’d come. He picked up speed and barreled through the trees, lighter on his feet than most people expected, and fast. He reached the river and took in everything with a quick glance.
The lynx backed against the water’s edge, snarling and body arched, trying to make itself look larger. Three wolves faced it, their muzzles pulled to show teeth and growling.
Bryce trumpeted a warning—which the wolves ignored.
He didn’t slow his pace as he charged, right at the streaming water, a soaring leap taking him over. His hooves hit the soft bank on the other side, and he stumbled slightly. Righted himself. Reared upward as the closest wolf took aim with its paw.
Is he daring to strike at me?
The claws missed, and Bryce trampled down, managing to strike a good blow.
The wolf yelped and retreated, leaving only two of his mangy companions.
He lowered his head, rack in position to cause serious damage.
The wolves went silent as they turned tail and ran.
He gave chase, galloping after them, cursing mentally as they split apart, forcing him to choose one.
He went left and kept sight of the tail. He wanted to run the wolf down and ask it questions. The oversized dog was a shifter, like him, which meant it recognized that lynx, the female, was also one of them.
It also had to have known who Bryce was. Only one family of moose in the area and everyone knew them.
How dare those mangy curs attack. And on Elanroux land.
The wolf slowed as they hit the graveled edge of a road. The cur began to change, fur receding, limbs shaping, and the man who stood up was slender and dark haired, his pock-marked face distinctive.
Hoof clomping on the hard surface of the road, Bryce took a step towards the fellow who compounded his crimes by giving him the finger. Sudden bright lights from around the bend blinded him but didn’t prevent him from realizing his moose versus a big truck wouldn’t feel good.
Bryce stumbled back, and the SUV shot past, slowing only for a moment, long enough for the naked stranger to jump in.
Fuckers. Cursed as they sped away, but retained enough wits to memorize the last four letters of the license plate: BYTU.
With no further pursuit available, he returned to the woods, heading back to the river. No surprise, the lynx was gone, the scent, female and feline, ending at the edge of water. Had the cat gone into the creek to hide its tracks?
Good thinking.
As for him, no point in sticking around. Someone had to be told about this. No matter his issues with his grandfather, this couldn’t remain a secret. An attack on their land was an open act of rebellion. A serious crime.
He hurried back to the house—the many acres he’d wandered taking him time. He emerged from the woods shortly after midnight, a man with his shirt untucked, walking barefoot, carrying his shoes. The items were dry because he’d stashed them in a secured weather-tight bin a wee way inside the forest.
Bryce immediately went to his grandfather’s room, intent on speaking to him, even if he had to wake the old man, only to pause just outside the door.
He heard voices.
Male voices.
He pushed open the portal and frowned at the guy standing by his grandfather’s bed. A fellow as tall as him, his hair a golden blond, his eyes a vivid blue.
“Who are you?” he barked.
“Say hello to your cousin Rory. And before you start your bitching, I suggest you get nice and close for a whiff of him,” Grandfather suggested.
Implying…
Bryce drew near and inhaled. Smelled something canine. Not moose, but definitely a shifter.
“Pleasure to meet you, cousin.” Rory held out his hand.
Grabbing it, Bryce stared at the guy as the battle of strength began, the two of them posturing for superiority. Eyeballing each other, chests out, gauging the other’s worth.
A clap of hands broke the impasse as Grandfather crowed, “Glad you’re both here. Means I just have to say it once. Had the doctor in today for a check-up.”
“And?” Bryce asked. “How much longer do you have to stay in bed?”
“A while longer because it’s not looking good.” Grandfather mustered a suspicious cough. “Doctor says I need to get my affairs in order, which means deciding on an heir.”
“What’s there to decide?” Bryce growled. “I’m standing r
ight here.” He shot a look at the old man, lying in bed, clutching his sheet. He didn’t look like a dying man.
“You might be standing here, but I’ve got my doubts as to whether you’ll do your part to continue the family name.”
“Don’t you start with the marriage shit again,” Bryce groaned.
“Marriage is a wonderful thing. I loved your grandma until the day she left this earth.”
“So, why not wait until I fall in love?” Which would happen like never. No woman would ever be interesting enough for him to give up the single life and share his bed. A man liked to sprawl at night.
“I don’t have time to wait. I need to know the future is taken care of. So, here’s the deal, boys. Whoever gets married first and impregnates his bride is going to be my heir.”
“You’re fucking senile,” spat Bryce. “You can’t make this a competition. You don’t even know if this guy is related to us.”
“I will soon enough, but seriously, look at him. How can you doubt it?” Grandfather pointed.
Bryce refused to look. No denying his supposed cousin had the same brilliant blue gaze. “Appearances mean nothing. I’m your grandson.”
“And he’s my nephew. The important thing here is making sure my legacy stays in the family.”
The fraud cleared his throat. “While I appreciate your warm welcome, uncle. Now is probably time to mention the unfair advantage I have with your stipulation, given I’m already engaged.”
“Engaged?” Grandfather pushed himself up in bed. “Excellent. When’s the wedding?”
“We haven’t chosen a date yet. However, we have spoken of doing it soon. We just need to tidy our schedules. It was a touch unexpected, but I just couldn’t resist popping the question.” Rory smiled.
Slick. The guy was super slick. Bryce bristled. “That’s bullshit. He’s lying. He just made up a fiancée because of your contest.”
“Don’t accuse man of lying just so you can triumph by default, boy.” Grandfather gave him a stern stare. “Be a good sport and win, fair and square.”
“You’re blackmailing us into getting married.”
“I’m asking you to do the right thing,” grandfather stated with an implacable stare.
“I, for one, am okay with the stipulations, cousin. But I understand if you’re chicken.”
No, I’m a moose. I fear nothing…but losing his freedom.
There had to be a way out of this mess. A way to satisfy his grandfather long enough to prove this Rory was an imposter and to make sure he got what he deserved.
But in order to buy time, he might have to find himself a bride—and curtail his freedom.
#betweenarackandahardplace
Chapter 4
I’d do anything to be free. Peel gum from under theatre seats. Bark like a dog on her hands and knees. Heck, she’d even part with part of her soul if she could set herself free of the annoyance of caring for an unappreciative witch. Selfish and unkind didn’t even come close to describing Maizie.
Today’s rant was how Melanie had caused the cancer. Apparently, by leaving her mother to go to college—best four years of her life—she’d caused Maizie to get sick. The logic went: Melanie left, forcing Maizie to do everything by herself—you know things like her own laundry, cleaning, and, the horror of all horrors, making her own meals. The stress of that led Maizie to drink, which then created the cancer in her liver.
Totally untrue, of course. People were responsible for their own actions. Yet the guilt gnawed at Melanie. She tried to ignore it. She truly did. However, it came back, much like her poison ivy rash did if she so much as saw a patch of it.
At times she wondered, had she done something wrong?
No. Hell, no. Melanie didn’t deserve this punishment, which was why she scrounged up a dollar and eighty-three cents by going through couch cushions and her purse.
Not enough for a fancy coffee. Barely enough for hot water with coloring, but she knew a place. A place she could buy a cup of something she didn’t prepare and enjoy it.
As soon as Melanie entered the knock-off version of a popular chain, she smelled the grinds of coffee and noticed a good-sized crowd. No faces greeted her, just heads bent over laptops and tablets, the tables they’d commandeered meant for only one or two antisocial people. People intent on their own world.
A long counter running along two of the walls put the patrons side by side, and yet they still didn’t really peek at each other. In today’s society, people kept their heads down, and hid. Hid intentionally even though they didn’t have to. These humans with their devices didn’t know how lucky they were that they could live freely and openly. Didn’t have to hide a feline within that thought she should bat at the man bun of the guy sitting hunched over.
How she envied them. Envied them their simple lives.
The door opened, bringing in with it the sound of the street, busy at this time of the afternoon, and a smell. An odd scent that made her think of the musk of a wild animal that had rolled in a puddle of cologne. She paid it no mind.
She smelled stuff all the time and wondered if it was normal or if she had a heightened olfactory sense. So many things she didn’t know about her feline side, and the internet proved more hindrance than help. Old stories and legends spoke of shapeshifters, people who could swap skin for fur. Science claimed it was impossible.
She begged to differ.
The largest source of information she found came surprisingly enough from romance books. A plethora of stories existed with men and women like her, but how to separate fact from fiction? And where were these hunky alpha men who liked to claim their mate?
Meow. Inner kitty was liking the smell of the man behind her. She ignored it. Inner kitty also liked the smell of raw fish.
The body behind brushed closer, invading her space. She thought about telling him to back off but clamped her lips tight. Instead, she shuffled forward and stared at the board, mentally calculating the prices, realizing she had enough for a latte but not a tip. That seemed rude. I could tip if I got a plain coffee. But she didn’t want a plain coffee, dammit.
She peeked at her clenched fist, mentally willing the coins to double.
“Marry me.” The words were distinct enough to startle. Who proposed in the middle of a lineup for burnt, put-hair-on-your-chest coffee? Melanie wanted to know and craned to peek behind her, her view blocked by the impossibly wide chest of the man behind her. A chest that went up, up, up—
Oops. Caught looking by tall, dark, and handsome, who smiled down at Melanie while his blue eyes danced with mirth. She averted her gaze and faced forward again.
“Marry me.” Again the words sounded so close. Whoever was asking must have been hiding behind the linebacker-wide body of the guy behind her.
Doesn’t look too good, buddy. If you’ve asked her twice and not gotten a reply, then perhaps you should quit now before things get really embarrassing.
The line shuffled forward, and the big guy behind her bumped into her back. Before she could flash him a look because really, cute or not, respect the space, a rumbled whisper came right by her ear. “Marry me.”
Tall, handsome dude was talking to her? Her mouth spoke before she could think. “Are you insane?”
“Only on full moons.”
“Bug someone else.” What Melanie said. Yet her kitty perked right up. Turn around.
Nope.
Next in line for service, she ignored him to step forward and place her order with the barista, only she didn’t step forward alone. The big guy stayed close, inside her bubble. Which meant she could smell him.
Smell the thick cologne and a hint of something else...Something—
“What do ya want?” asked the barista, snapping her gum.
“A small black coffee please,” Melanie said.
“You’re waiting in line for a small coffee?” the big guy said a touch incredulously.
“It is a coffee shop.” Counting out her change, Melanie handed over a good c
hunk of it, and then the rest was dumped in the cardboard cup marked “tips” in black marker.
“In a place like this, you’re supposed to get something over the top.” He stepped closer, angling his way into the register. “I need a café mocha, heavy on the whipped cream, with a double toasted everything bagel with extra cream cheese, plus a large espresso, no sugar, a half-dozen honey glazed donuts, and a bran muffin.”
“A bran muffin?” she couldn’t help but mutter.
He heard and tossed her a smile that melted her insides. “Not for me. My grandfather. He’ll bitch and moan if he gets nothing.”
“Is the espresso to kill him?”
“No, that’s for me. The café mocha,” said as he swiped her small cup off the counter before she could and tossed it in a bin, “is for you. As are the donuts.”
Who the hell did he think he was? “I don’t need you buying me stuff.”
“You might not need it, but I’m going to buy it anyhow.” He presented the cup with the clear top, showing off the thick whipped cream and the cherry nestled in it.
It did look good.
She shook her head. “I can’t accept it.”
“You have to. I can’t have my future wife saying I cheaped out on our first date.”
She blinked. The conversation had veered into psycho territory. “We are not on a date.”
“Are you sure? I mean I just bought you breakfast, which we are now going to eat together. Dice it any way you like, but that’s a date.”
The arrogance of the statement was almost too much. Rather than grabbing the donuts or the upgraded coffee, she turned around and stalked out, murmuring under her breath, “And this is me ditching you on our first date.”
Melanie didn’t bother to turn around and see his expression. Mr. I-think-I’m-so-hot was probably soothing his bruised ego over having gotten rejected.
Did women seriously fall for this corny marry-me line? Probably, which was why he had perfected his stalking by following her outside.
“You should have said you preferred to eat and walk. I love exercise.”
The inflection had her whirling to glare. “This is harassment.” What she said. Yet her inner kitty seemed to think, This is fun!