Bear Moon

by Hattie Hunt

  Bear Moon

  Shadow Sisterhood, Volume 1

  Hattie Hunt

  Published by S.M. Blooding, 2017.

  Bear Moon

  A Shadow Sisterhood Novel A Whiskey Witches Universe Series

  Hattie Hunt

  Copyright © 2017 Whistling Book Press

  All rights reserved.

  Per the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form without written permission from the publisher. Please only purchase authorized editions.

  * * *

  Printed in the United States of America

  * * *

  Published by Whistling Book Press

  * * *

  Whistling Book Press

  Sutton, Alaska

  Visit our web site at:

  www.whistlingbookpress.com

  * * *

  ISBN 13: 978-0-9973818-9-4

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, and events within this book are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to business establishments, actual persons, or events is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Also by Hattie Hunt

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Discover More

  About the Author

  Also by Hattie Hunt

  The Whiskey Witches Universe

  Shadow Sisterhood by Hattie Hunt

  Bear Moon

  Grizzly Attraction

  * * *

  Whiskey Witches by

  USA Today Bestselling Author S.M. Blooding:

  Demon Whiskey

  Whiskey Witches

  Blood Moon Magick

  Barrel of Whiskey

  Witches of the West

  * * *

  Red Star Division by F.J. Wolfram

  Big Bad Djinn

  Lizard Wizard

  Discover more books in the Whiskey-verse!

  www.whiskeywitches.com

  Newsletter

  Whiskey-Witches Newsletter

  To Alivia,

  for asking to talk to me

  about ghosts.

  Chapter One

  Ripley released a long breath as she stepped off the bus into the unnatural haze hanging over Troutdale, Oregon.

  Why the hell had she come back? Funeral or not, she didn’t belong there.

  The sun barely pierced the thin layer of clouds surrounding the downtown buildings. Troutdale, the small town that would never grow up. The Shadow Sisterhood wouldn’t allow it. Humans weren’t allowed to know the secrets lurking beneath Troutdale’s surface.

  Gods. It would have been so much easier just to stay away.

  “Rip!”

  She groaned internally as she turned toward the voice. “Hey, Tuck. Didn’t realize you’d welcome me as soon as I got off the frelling bus.”

  The local Chief of Police chuckled as he approached, his old boots making small splashes on the wet sidewalk.

  The rain smelled fresh, but it always did here, and that was one thing she missed. About the only thing she missed.

  Sherriff Tuck looked like the “The Most Interesting Man in the World,” with his ruggedly handsome, wrinkled and worn face and greying beard. His full head of white and grey hair hid beneath his wide-brimmed sheriff’s hat, and he rested his hand on the butt of the pistol holstered on his hip, jacket open. All he needed was the bottle of beer.

  Ripley knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t trying to intimidate her with the revealed gun. He just didn’t know what else to do with his hands. Tuck might be police, but he had also practically raised her the last few years she’d been in this crap-hill town.

  He stopped beside her, his blue eyes pinching at the corners. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

  She didn’t want to have this conversation. “I wasn’t planning on staying long enough to say hi.”

  He raised a bushy eyebrow, seeing right through her bullshit like he always did. “You didn’t want to give me the chance to talk you into puttin’ down roots.”

  She reached up and hugged him, mostly to make him stop talking. His arms circled her waist, pulling her close. He smelled of tobacco and wood smoke—home. She hadn’t realized just how much she missed him. Ah, hell.

  Ripley pulled away, avoiding his eyes. “Sorry.” She felt bad for dodging him, but she was also not looking forward to the excuses she’d have to give him to leave once she was done there. “I promise I’ll call next time.”

  “Holy shit,” a whiny male voice said behind her. “Tell me that ain’t Ripley Kent.”

  She groaned and turned, a pained smile on her lips. “Too-Tall Tony Campbell.” The quarterback and general do-gooder who’d tried to get in her pants more than once in high school. His father was the local preacher.

  Tony pushed a stroller out of the way to get a better look at her. “You look amazing, Rip.”

  He looked like a man who’d had one too many beers while sitting on his couch, but she wasn’t going to say that out loud. She just winced and nodded. “Yeah. You too, Tone.”

  “Sorry to hear about ol’ Jib.” The baby in the stroller let out a wail. Tony flinched and shoved the stroller further behind him. “We all loved him.”

  Well, the local drunks all loved him for sure. He owned the only all-shifter bar in town, the Fox Hole. Humans weren’t allowed. Ripley glanced at Tuck and subtly jerked her chin towards the police station.

  Tuck smiled, ducking his head. “Yeah, well, Rip was just coming on with me. I gotta get goin’.”

  Tony jerked a nod, his smile faltering a little. “See ya later, Rip.”

  “Not if I can help it,” she muttered as she gripped her backpack and followed Tuck to his truck.

  Tuck nudged her with his shoulder as they walked. “Real glad to see ya, Rip.”

  Honestly, she was glad to see him, too. “Just here long enough to light the pyre and then I’m gone.” Shifters didn’t bury their dead. They burned them.

  “Grab a sandwich with me.” He didn’t let her say no, leading her past his truck into a sandwich shop she hadn’t seen before.

  The door dinged, announcing their arrival.

  Booby-Betty looked up, her wide smile dropping as she saw who had walked in. “Ripley,” she said in a falsely chipper voice. “Didn’t know you were coming back.”

  Growing up in a small town might sound great, but it wasn’t. Everyone knew your business. In Ripley’s case, she hadn’t had any business, so Betty had made it up for her. She’d been known as the class whore thanks to this woman. So, Ripley’d run with it. It gave her a lot of freedom of expression, for sure. She didn’t have to dance around certain issues like dress code and the like.

  And she’d never really grown out of that. Ratty jeans with holes in the knees, military boots open at the top due
to her wide calves. Tight shirt with a slogan that she didn’t remember but knew was probably insulting. All five of her shirts were. She wore a flannel over shirt tied around her hips. And her long, dark hair cascaded down her back in full waves. Most women would die for her hair. She didn’t do anything with it and most times washed it in whatever she had. River water and silt were her favorite. She only traveled with what she could carry in her backpack, and shampoo was heavy.

  Booby-Betty didn’t seem to appreciate her anymore now than she had in high school. Good to know some things hadn’t changed. Unlike Betty’s bra size. They’d called her Booby-Betty because she’d been the first one to sprout them, but they’d grown since then, as had the rest of her. She wasn’t unhealthy by any means, but the woman had boobs. She could hypnotize men with those things.

  “Hey, baby,” a blonde woman said, coming out of the back and sliding her hand along Betty’s shoulders. “Time for your break.”

  Well, apparently, they were good for hypnotizing women too. Good for her.

  Betty nodded at the other woman and shrugged her off. She looked uncomfortable.

  Ripley stepped up to the counter. “Wife?” She kept her tone neutral, but on the upper level to indicate acceptance.

  Betty nodded. “Candace, this is Ripley. She and I went to high school together.”

  Candace’s smile widened as she extended her hand. “It’s good to meet you. What brings you back?”

  “My uncle died.”

  “Oh.” Candace’s expression fell.

  What an empath. Ripley was a little jealous. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d openly emoted to anyone. While traveling, she’d discovered that keeping her emotions to herself kept her safe, and safe was good.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  Ripley shrugged. “I hadn’t seen him in a while.”

  “You’ve been gone eight years, Rip,” Betty said quietly.

  Betty and Ripley had been best friends through elementary school. They didn’t have typical school in the paranormal society, but they still had the same grades and still had to report to the state. In middle school, Betty had decided to hang out with a different group, leaving Ripley behind.

  Ripley didn’t mind. She did better on her own, but at the time it had hurt.

  Then, in high school, well, Betty had been after Tony and was upset that Tony only wanted Ripley. There’d been some pretty ugly battles on the school grounds.

  “Where have you been?” Candace asked, her expression open and bright.

  That woman. Ripley bet there wasn’t a person in this town capable of hating her. “Been traveling. All over. Just flew in from Russia.”

  Candace’s eyes widened. “No way.”

  Ripley smiled. She loved to wander. After her parents had died and her brother had replaced her with the bottle, Ripley had discovered that her feet were happiest when on the move.

  “What was it like?”

  “Well, it was neat.”

  “Do you speak Russian?”

  “Enough to get by.” Which wasn’t lying. Russia had an entirely different alphabet, so learning the language made Ripley’s brain hurt.

  “Are you staying?” Betty asked, a slight edge to her tone.

  Which didn’t make sense. Betty had been interested in Tony in high school not because she’d been into him, but because of the status that he’d brought. Did the edge in her voice mean Betty thought Ripley would try to take her wife now, too? “Nope. Just here for the sendoff.”

  Candace nodded sympathetically. “I’ll make you a sandwich. Trust me?”

  Ripley was pretty picky on her sandwiches.

  “Trust her,” Tuck said from behind. “The girl has a nose for this.”

  Ripley hesitated but nodded. After all, it wasn’t her money buying it.

  Candace beamed a smile and went to work behind the deli counter. “A lot’s happened since you were away.” She glanced around the empty deli. “But most of it’s been in the last year.”

  “Oh?” Ripley wasn’t really interested. She turned toward Tuck and flattened her lips.

  He tipped his head, his expression coaxing her to show some interest.

  She turned back to Candace with a smile. “Really?”

  Betty frowned at her wife but disappeared to the back.

  “Witches moved in.” Candace chuckled as she met Ripley’s gaze, burying her head to her ears in her shoulders. “Would you believe it?”

  Ripley looked at Tuck in alarm. “What?”

  He waved her off. “The Whiskeys. Nice bunch. Their coven leader is heading up the paranormal branch of the police force.”

  “What?” That was unreal. Witches and paranormals didn’t mix. They just didn’t mix.

  “And their kids are at the school.”

  “What?” Each time she said the word, the pitch of her voice rose with her growing outrage. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  Candace shook her head and wrapped up two sandwiches. “Nope. He isn’t. But no worries. They’re cucumbers in a sandwich.”

  Whatever that meant.

  Candace smiled and handed them the sandwiches. “On the house.”

  “You know I can’t accept bribes,” Tuck said, his tone admonishing.

  “Then I’ll put it on your tab.”

  “That you never let me pay.”

  Candace folded her fingers over a sandwich and looked at Ripley. “There’s tons more that happened, but I thought I’d give you the heads up on that one right off.”

  “Thanks.” Ripley led the way out of the shop. “Witches?” she asked Tuck when they were outside. “When did this happen?”

  Growing up, she’d been accepted in the paranormal community, but had never really been a part of it. She wasn’t like everyone else. They were all paranormal. She’d only be paranormal if the padfoot chose her when her father died, and the padfoot always chose a male. It was supposed to have chosen her brother.

  She’d been an outsider. When everyone else was learning to shift or use their paranormal gift, she was learning math. But that didn’t mean she was going to accept that there were witches here without further explanation.

  “I need you tonight,” Tuck said, pulling her out of her internal dialogue.

  “You’re completely ignoring my question.”

  “Because it doesn’t matter. It did happen, and it’s a good thing. You’ll see.” He stopped at his truck and leaned on the battered green hood. “I need you tonight.”

  “Not interested.” Not in the least.

  Tuck ducked his head and unwrapped his sandwich. “With Jib dead, we’re without a padfoot. We need a watcher and protector.”

  Everyone heard “padfoot” and thought Harry Potter, but the truth was, the padfoot had been around a long time before that. The padfoot was a death dog. It was death. And when it chose her, she could smell it, see it coming. Some took that death knowledge and coaxed it along.

  She’d taken it and tried to save people with it like Jib had, and her father.

  But she wasn’t sticking around, and she didn’t need Tuck thinking she was taking Jib’s place. There had been two padfoots in the town, her dad’s line and Jib’s, but Jib had no heirs. He’d never had any kids, so it was anyone’s guess who the padfoot would choose.

  The death dog chose a human host. You weren’t born into it like a shapeshifter or a dryad or a rusalka. Granted, certain genes could be passed down that helped the death dog inhabit the host with little damage.

  Who was the poor sap that took Jib’s place? She didn’t even know where this person would be. He might not even be in Troutdale.

  “The school’s practicing the shift tonight.”

  Which was always chancy because they couldn’t close the area off to tourists. They did what they could to deter people from wanting to camp in the area, but there were always a few humans that accidentally found their way into shifter country, or into a grove of dryads or…something. Then the Shadow Sisterhood would s
woop in, dispel memories if they could or dispose of bodies if they couldn’t.

  And no one liked the idea of getting rid of humans just because they’d gotten too close.

  “You don’t have anyone else?”

  Tuck shook his head. “Just my guys, but we’re human.” Which the Sisterhood had allowed. Barely. “You can see what we can’t.”

  Ripley ground her teeth. “I’ll think about it.”

  “I’ll text you the details. That is if you still know how to use your phone.”

  Oh, that man. “I do.”

  “Good.” He re-wrapped the remains of his sandwich. “I’ll see you later tonight, then. Your room’s still open.”

  He’d said that last bit as he’d walked off.

  Asshole. But the internal admonishment was a little lax in real venom.

  He hesitated at the open driver’s side door. “Joe’s brother’s getting married this weekend.”

  Only Tuck would know what that meant. Joe had been with Ripley when the padfoot had chosen her. They hadn’t told anyone what happened because Joe had been dating someone else, someone his family approved of. As a family of pure-blood bear shifters, they believed in keeping the bloodlines as pure as possible. They hadn’t told them that her family were padfoots. Few people knew that. Padfoots were stigmatized because the padfoot spirit chose the host on a whim and because they were death omens. None of the death omen paranormals were liked. Rusalkas, sirens, and harpies. But at least they were true to their paranormal self at birth.