“What do you want, Jackson?” I ask. “If this is Luca's way of trying to get you a date, you should just go ahead and tell him he's barking up the wrong tree. The really wrong tree. Try the Internet next time.”
“This isn't a date,” he says. “And no offense, but you're not exactly my type.”
It's stupid, but I can't stop the small zing of hurt from shooting through me. I know it's ridiculous. I'm not into Jackson in the least. But for some idiotic reason knowing that he'd reject me out of hand like that – it feels like a slap in the face. I don't know. Maybe I'm just having a girl moment.
“That's fine,” I say, raising my chin defiantly. “It's not like you're my type either.”
“Good,” he says. “Now that that's settled and out of the way, we can discuss the reason we're here.”
I look at him and feel my anger simmering just below the surface – an anger that seems to be intensified by the sting of rejection. As stupid and ridiculous as I know that seems.
“And what is the reason we're here?” I ask.
“Murder, apparently.”
I arch my eyebrow – that caught my attention. “Murder?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he says. “Maybe. Honestly, I have no idea what we're looking at.”
I start adding cream and sugar to my coffee, suddenly curious. “Go on.”
“We found a couple of bodies. Bears,” he says. “Torn up badly. Mutilated, really.”
“What does that have to do with us?” I ask, my body tense and my tone instantly defensive. “Are you accusing one of our packs of killing two of yours?”
He shakes his head. “Not what I'm saying at all.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Jackson takes a drink of his coffee, looking at me from over the rim of his mug. He never takes his eyes off me as he lowers the mug, setting it back down on the table.
“There's a rumor going around that a couple of wolves turned up in the same condition the bodies I saw were in,” he says. “Any truth to it?”
I shrug. “Without seeing the bodies you're describing, I can't really say.”
Jackson nods and reaches into his bag, pulls out a file folder and slides it across the table to me. Curious, I pull the file closer and open it – and am greeted by a series of pictures that make my stomach churn. I stare at the stack of eight by ten glossies depicting a couple of people who died a very hard death. I'm not the sentimental sort, but I feel bad for whoever these two poor schmucks were.
I flip through the pictures, not able to make it to the end – it's a grisly sight. “You sure these are bears?” I ask. “I can't make out what in the hell they are.”
“They're bears,” he replies. “See anything like this on your end?”
I hesitate and start flipping through the pictures again more to give myself a little cover than anything. Immediately, my mind shot back to those things that chased me through the woods. I have no idea what they were, but I knew they were there for one thing – to kill me.
After that night, I started to poke around and a few whispers about bodies turning up – four of them so far. But the packs are so insular and tight-lipped about things, accurate information is hard to come by. I have no idea if the two things are connected, but in my mind, it seems more probable than not.
I don't know what to say exactly. And even more to the point, whether or not I should say anything at all. Because I don't have any solid information, I'm reluctant to speak on it. And there's a large part of me that thinks I need to just sit on it until I have more information. Right now, it's nothing more than an anecdote anyway.
Or, maybe this is just a case of policing your own being the better policy. The bears should be looking out for themselves while we look after our own. Peas and carrots not mixing and all that.
“Neesa,” he says. “People are dying out there. Yours and ours. If you know anything that can help put a stop this –”
“Look, I don't know anything for sure. Certainly, nothing this – graphic,” I say. “But I've heard whispers. Rumors.”
“What kind of rumors?”
I tap the file. “About bodies turning up looking a lot like this.”
I know I probably shouldn't be sharing information with a sworn enemy. But then, a lot of the rules among the packs don't make sense. He's right in that people are dying. And I can't, in good conscience, let them keep dying and not do something about it. Now that I know the threat is real – now that I'm looking at tangible proof – I know I have to act. And if working with Jackson is going to help me save my people, then I'm going to have to suck it up and do it.
Umak will likely lose his damn mind when he finds out. But that's one of the biggest differences between him and me – I think of the whole rather than thinking only of myself. People – our people – are being slaughtered. As disassociated from our community of people as I feel, how can I not do something about that? If I sit by and do nothing while wolves are being slaughtered, what kind of person does that make me?
Not one I can live with. Not one I can look at in the mirror everyday.
“Some of the Clan Chiefs – the smaller Clans – are blaming the wolves,” Jackson tells me. “They want to go to war.”
My grin is wry. “Some of those smaller Clan Chiefs have been wanting to go to war for a long time,” I say. “Think it'll help them make a name for themselves they can use to climb up that ladder in the Clan structure.”
He nods. “That's right,” he says. “You seem to know a lot about bear society.”
I laugh. “Because in a lot of ways, it's a lot like wolf society,” I say. “Politics, backbiting, backroom deals – people willing to step on somebody else, just to get ahead.”
Jackson laughs and takes a sip of his coffee. “Are you describing life among the packs? Or life among the Clans? I can't really tell the difference.”
I sigh and shake my head. “It doesn't have to be this way.”
“And yet, it is,” he says, and I swear I hear a note of sadness or regret in his voice. Maybe we have a little something in common after all.
We sit in silence for a few moments, drinking our coffee, absorbed in our own thoughts. And the one thought that keeps running around my head is that I'm surprised to find myself sitting across the table from Jackson – having a coffee and a civilized conversation, at that. It's about the last thing I ever expected to ever come to pass.
But then, I keep telling myself that this isn't a normal conversation. I tell myself that we're facing an extraordinary situation and those sometimes require working with those you never thought you'd work with. The threat to both of our people is real and it might well take both of us working together to figure out what it is and how to beat it.
Jackson is a very skilled fighter. The one nice thing I will say about him is that I can respect and admire his dedication to his craft. As well trained as I am, I know that he's even deadlier with a blade in his hand. I know that in either human or bear form, he's a formidable force. And most definitely not somebody I want to tangle with.
“Are the wolves blaming the bears for the killings?” he asks, breaking the silence between us.
I shrug. “Who knows?” I say. “The communication between packs is – lacking. Umak has been trying to consolidate power, trying to make himself the only Packmaster in the Pacific Northwest, but it's been slow going. And as long as we have all those different packs out there – especially those resistant to Umak – they're going to keep information to themselves. There's not a lot of trust out there – even among the packs.”
Jackson nods and chuckles grimly. “Yeah, the same can be said about some of the Clans.”
“At least you have a nominal hierarchy in place,” I say. “Asher, Mariana, and Luca –”
“Luca's not officially a Clan Chief yet.”
“Whatever,” I say. “Close enough. All I'm saying is that you guys have a power structure in place. You have leaders everybody else looks to when the shit hits the
fan. The wolf packs? Not so much. It's utter chaos when a situation breaks out with everybody scrambling to make sure they get theirs. Not a lot of cohesiveness or togetherness.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I'll give those three a lot of credit. They're doing a lot to keep the Clans together. Trying to make us less fragmented as a people. I can appreciate that.”
There's something in his voice – and more than that, something in his eyes – that makes me see he sees himself as something apart from the Clans. I don't know what it is – but he almost looks like he's checking out. Maybe I'm wrong, but it almost seems like he doesn't really consider himself one of them.
If that's what it is, it's something I can relate to. Maybe Jackson and I have more in common than I first thought. Not that it changes the fact that we stand on opposite sides of the fence – bear and wolf. And those two sides just don't mix. Like, ever.
“So, what are we going to do about this?” Jackson asks.
I shrug. “Got no idea.”
He drains the last of his coffee, sets the cup back down, and gives me a long look. His eyes are so guarded that it's hard for me to know what's going on inside the head of his. His face is like a stone. Unreadable. Once in a while, that veneer of control slips and I get a glimpse of what he's thinking – but it's rare.
“I think we need to start at the top,” he finally says. “We need to convene a meeting of the Packmasters and the Clan Chiefs. Give them what we've got and let them decide how to proceed.”
I nod. “Sounds reasonable,” I say. “Getting everybody together in one place might not only be difficult though, it might be a little dangerous – don't you think?”
He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Don't see that we have much of a choice,” he says. “Besides, if the leaders of our communities can't keep it together long enough to have a civil discussion about a threat to us all, maybe they shouldn't be our leaders.”
“Good point,” I say. “Let's get it set up.”
Chapter Nine
It took a few days after our meeting at the coffee house, but Jackson and I finally managed to get everybody relevant to the situation into the same place at the same time. And, it's starting off a lot like I expected it to.
The tension in the air inside the Peace House is thick and packed with the promise of hostility and violence. Some of the Clan Chiefs sit in chairs on one side of the room and some of the Packmasters sit on the other side. And Jackson and I stand in between the two groups with all eyes on us – at least, when they're not glaring at one another.
Umak sits in his seat in the center and slightly in front of the group of Packmasters – I imagine he believes this signifies his leadership of the whole group – staring daggers at me. He's pissed that I went behind his back to round up the other Packmasters and get them to this meeting.
“What is this all about, Neesa?” Umak finally asks. “Why are we here?”
“Really,” Mariana purrs from her seat across the room, “I have a date tonight. And I'd much rather be scratching that itch than sitting here with – them – doing nothing more than smelling body odor and dirty laundry.”
The look of disgust and utter disdain on her face for the wolves makes me grind my teeth and sets that dark anger simmering inside of me again. I look to Jackson, my teeth gritted, my eyes narrowed, and my fists clenched. He gives me a slight shake of the head, reminding me to keep myself in check. Yeah, as if I need the reminder. Thanks, Jackson.
“With all due respect, Mariana,” I say, “that's unnecessary. And unproductive –”
“Better than having to smell the cheap ass perfume and stink of desperation comin' off you,” one of the wolves snaps back.
“Evan,” Neesa says, her voice cold. “We don't need that shit either.”
“Then get to the point of this, Neesa,” Umak says, his voice tight with anger. “It's more than obvious none of us care to – socialize – with each other.”
Jackson looks around the room, his dark eyes taking everybody in. “We called you here because something is out there killing bears and wolves alike,” he says. “Something that's tearing both of our people to pieces.”
“And it should go without saying, that if – whatever this is – is strong enough to mutilate both bears and wolves,” I add, “then it's something that should catch our attention and should scare the hell out of us.”
The bears all sit stone-faced, looking straight ahead. They obviously know this and are ready for it. One of the benefits to having a cohesive leadership structure in place. But the wolves all look at each other, their expressions ranging from nervousness to outright disbelief.
“What are you talking about, Neesa?” Umak finally says.
I nod to Jackson who walks over and drops the file he'd shown me earlier into Umak's lap. He looks at Jackson with the same sort of disgust and contempt I saw on Mariana's face earlier and I just shake my head. Umak flips through the file, handing pictures out to the other Packmasters so they could see for themselves.
“What you're looking at,” Jackson says, “are the bodies of two bears who were discovered. The flesh has all but been stripped off and most of the rest of the body consumed.”
The Packmasters mutter amongst themselves, their bodies tense. Having photographic evidence to back up what we're saying is having a profound impact. At least, on some of them.
Umak tosses the file to the floor at Jackson's feet and snorts derisively. “Sounds like a bear problem to me. Don't know why we're here.”
“Because this isn't just a bear problem, Umak,” I say and point to the pictures scattered upon the floor. “Wolves have been turning up looking a lot like that.”
“What are you talking about?” he asks.
“After Jackson showed me the file –”
“Excuse me?” Umak says. “How long have you been working with – him – behind my back?”
I stand up straighter and narrow my eyes. “It's irrelevant,” I say. “The only thing –”
“It's relevant to me, goddammit,” Umak snaps.
“Shut up, Umak,” Evan says. “Let her speak and let us decide for ourselves what's relevant or not.”
“You're too stupid to even realize what's relevant,” Umak says.
“Both of you, shut the hell up,” Charles, a portly older man, roars from his seat. “I want to hear this.”
He turns to Evan and sneers but says nothing, sitting back in his seat and glaring at me. Umak's face darkens with anger that he knows nothing about this. That I've been talking to Jackson behind his back. He's a control freak and I imagine that knowing that I worked outside of the law he set down pisses him off more than anything – even more than the fact that it's Jackson I've been working with.
I turn and see that the bears all look amused as they watch the petty bickering among the Packmasters – which pisses me off. They sit there all high and mighty, looking down their noses at my people. Like they're more civilized. Like they're so much better than us. Yeah, I have my own issues with my people, but the idea that these bears think we're inferior to them fills me with so much rage, I'm half-tempted to draw my sword and start spilling blood.
I open my mouth to speak, but feel Jackson's hand on my arm. When I turn to rip him a new one for touching me, I see that his face is tight with anger. He shakes his head, his eyes telling me to keep calm. Yeah, because it's that easy.
“Go ahead,” he says softly.
I let my eyes linger on his face a moment longer, trying to draw some sense of calm from him – and not having a lot of success at it.
“Anyway,” I say, clearing my throat, “I did some digging of my own and found that four wolves – that I know of – have turned up in this exact same condition and –”
“If this is true, why is this the first we're hearing about it?” Umak said, his chin lifted, his eyes defiant.
I turn to Umak, my eyes burning with anger. “Because you're so busy trying to control everybody around you that you're not paying attention to
what's really happening out there,” I snap. “You want to be the lone Packmaster around here so badly that you've got your head up your ass, Umak. You aren't seeing what's going on.”
He gets to his feet, his face contorted in rage. He draws the dagger on his belt and steps forward, his eyes glowing red and a vicious snarl coming from his throat. I'm on the verge of drawing my own sword when Jackson steps in front of me, putting himself between me and Umak, his hand on the hilt of his own blade.
“Put your dagger away,” he says, his voice low and cold.
“Or what?” Umak sneers.
“You don't want the answer to that question,” he says.
I look at Jackson – well, the back of his head really since he's standing in front of me – and then turn and look at the Clan Chiefs sitting behind me. Their faces are calm and they haven't moved a muscle, but I can tell that they're alert and ready to shift into their bear form should things spiral any further out of control. Luca looks at me and cocks his head – as if he's curious or something interests him.
But then he looks away and I turn back to Umak and Jackson. The tension in the air has never been thicker and I'm half-convinced a fight is about to break out. Umak, having gotten to his feet with a blade in hand, doesn't want to back down. He doesn't want to lose face in front of the other Packmasters. And Jackson – I'm not sure what he's doing. But I know he won't back down unless forced to. We're a lot alike in that regard.
I step around Jackson and look him in the eye. My thoughts and feelings are confused – on the one hand, I appreciate him taking up for me – a feeling that surprises me as much as the fact that he took up for me in the first place. In a way, I'm touched. On the other though, I don't need somebody to protect me. I can do that well enough on my own.
Acting on impulse, I reach out and put my hand over his, and give it a gentle squeeze. “It's okay,” I say. “I got this.”
Mated to a Bear (Legends of Black Salmon Falls Book 3) Page 6