by Elsa Jade
“I’m not crippled,” she snapped. “Not completely, not yet.”
“Not at all, from what I’ve seen,” he said by way of apology. And also, the truth.
But she snorted again. “I don’t need you to coddle me. I know what I’m capable of.”
While she settled herself on the corner of the blanket, laying the crutches in easy reach, he stepped back. Not to give her room—as she’d pointed out, she’d take whatever space she needed.
He needed to put some space between himself and the idea of cuddling her.
That’s not what she said.
The distant voice in his head almost sounded like a warning from his beast. But hell, if the rex ursi wasn’t around to protect the clan, it couldn’t protect him from a snappish witch.
He folded himself to the rough ground beyond the edge of the blanket, just out of reach.
And then promptly had to reach around her to accept a sandwich from Ben.
His Canadian cousin slanted an impish grin at him. “I made yours a double, my king.”
Thor glowered at him. Ben would give him a tasty sandwich but not the courtesy of accepting the kingship for the good of the clan.
When he only watched his cousin for a moment, Ben gave the sandwich a little shake, just out of reach, as one would trying to tempt a stray dog a few steps closer. “Looks like you could use it,” he said softly.
“I guess I could.” Thor leaned forward the last few inches to snag the sandwich, his shoulder brushing Rita’s.
“We’re here,” Mac said in an equally careful voice. “Just as you asked.”
“Except not to be king,” Ben added hurriedly.
Thor ate half the sandwich in silence. Maybe it would’ve been a shame to make Ben a monarch since he was so much better as a gourmand. When Gin passed him a glass of the huckleberry wine, he nodded his thanks at her and took a breath. “I want to apologize to all of you, Ben and Gin most of all. I hurt you both, not just physically and professionally, but I tried to break the mating bond between you. And that is a sin among shifters. I vow to never make such a mistake again.”
“Apology accepted,” Ben said without hesitation.
Gin was slower to respond, her dark brown gaze resting steadily on her mate for a long moment before she turned that deep stare to Thor. “One time,” she said slowly. “And only because Ben explained how important the rex ursi is to the clan.” Her glare hardened. “But never again.”
Thor nodded to her, making sure to hold her gaze so she saw he understood and believed her ultimatum. “And I assume Rita explained what I feel I have to do next.”
Rita cleared her throat, setting aside the cracker and cheese she’d been nibbling at. “I haven’t told them anything,” she said. “Not my story to tell.”
With his cousins’ curious gazes drilling him, Thor felt more tested than since he completed the rex ursi challenges of his youth years ago. “I won’t bore you with the details, but I’ve lost touch with the bear. And I need to get it back. Rita has agreed to help me recapture the rex ursi.”
His cousins tensed. He didn’t need to tell them the details; they understood how dangerous this was. Again to his surprise, Brandy was the one who intervened. “No, absolutely not,” she said firmly. “My sister is not going to hunt a bear.”
“Bry,” Rita said patiently. “I know you’ve never much appreciated magic, but this—”
“I don’t need magic to know it’s a bad idea to hunt a bear,” Brandy said tartly.
“Bear spirit, actually,” Rita muttered.
“That’s worse,” Brandy shot back. “Bear spray won’t work against a bear spirit.”
Thor cleared his throat. “I’ve tried all the techniques in our traditions to track the beast, with no luck. Rita will merely be providing me with the circle’s insights into reclaiming this escaped energy.”
“Merely.” Brandy snorted. She shrugged off her mate’s gently restraining hand from her elbow. “Don’t try to downplay the power of that energy,” she snapped. “I know how easily it can get past the best protections. Exhibit A.” She gestured at her son halfway up the cottonwood.
Gin scooted closer to her sister, the two women forming a petite—to him—but formidable wall of disapproval. “Rita, I know you have the magical chops to help, but you of all people don’t need to prove your abilities. The circle has already chosen you to lead someday, when Aunt Tilda retires, so unlike me, you don’t have to show them what you’re capable of.”
When Brandy nodded vigorously, Thor slanted a disbelieving glance at them. Did they not know that questioning their sister’s strength and skills would be a red flag?
When he angled his gaze to Rita, sure enough, her chin was up, and twin spots of bright color stained her cheeks. “I’ve already told him I will help,” she said, her tone even despite the stiffness he noted in her shoulders. “And yes, I know there are risks. And that’s why I wanted you to see that this was all his idea, just in case I end up destroying him.”
He lifted both eyebrows, but then smoothed his expression when his cousins both turned to him. “What she said,” he murmured.
“We’re just here to enjoy a little picnic,” she continued. “And when Aster is sufficiently sticky and tired, you can take him home for a bath and bed, and then Thor and I will start our work.” She took a sip of her huckleberry wine before glancing at him. “I have some preliminary ideas from going through the circle’s grimoires after you left yesterday.”
He avoided looking at her worried sisters and his even more worried cousins, and just nodded.
Rita kept up a calm conversation with her sisters, though she’d basically told them to mind their own beeswax. And though they kept shooting him narrowed glances, they didn’t push the issue. Because they obviously trusted her.
Watching their easy camaraderie sent a pang through his chest. Knowing from his youngest days that he’d be rex ursi, he’d always held himself a little apart. If ever he had to challenge another bear, he hadn’t wanted the added complication of an intimate relationship to interfere with his dominance. And then his father’s vile deal with the Kingdom Guard had damaged his connection with the clan before he ever had the chance to show them what kind of leader he’d be.
For all that their psyches were half-ruled by large, dangerous beasts, bears were mostly peaceable. Having his would-be reign begin in patricidal violence hadn’t exactly helped to set the tone he’d hoped for his clan.
As he brought out a football from the depths of the picnic basket—which lured Aster down from the cottonwood and was deemed worthy of a change to his useful-fingered shape—Thor reflected that choosing his two cousins to join him in town was probably the best decision he’d ever made.
But now he was leaving them to move on with their new mates while he joined forces with a witch.
The next best decision he could make? Or an awful mistake that would end in tragedy?
Either way, he supposed at least he wouldn’t be stuck anymore.
He and his cousins—with Mac backing up Aster’s plays—tossed the ball until they got too hot then went to wade in the creek. Aster shifted with the happy glee of the young and began a serious though ineffectual hunt for the wily trout. Mac and Ben exchanged glances that were nearly as quick as the fish, but Thor caught them anyway.
“Feel free,” he said. “Just because I can’t doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”
“It’s fine,” Mac started.
“Feel free,” Thor said again. “And that’s a command.”
Ben chuckled. “So the rex ursi attitude isn’t just the bear’s.”
Considering Rita had noted something along the same lines, maybe they were right. Thor forced a smile back. “Maybe it rubs off.”
Ben dropped his smile too. “Maybe there’s more to being king than roaring.”
“Not by clan law.” Thor tucked the ball under his elbow. “Go show our littlest cousin how to snag that disrespectful fish.”
Calling
on every muscle in his body to stay loose and easy, he turned away and sauntered back to the blanket where Gin and Brandy were conversing with—or more accurately, talking at—their elder sister in low tones.
They sat back when he approached, and from a glance at Rita’s glittering green eyes, he could guess they’d been questioning her decision.
So much for trust.
Or maybe that wasn’t fair. He’d trusted his sire—the whole clan had—and look where that got them.
He didn’t think it was his presence so much as the reappearance of their mates in their all-fours shapes that distracted them. Caught in his own awkward mix of jealousy and pride, he looked over his cousins as a coach would evaluate his players. Mac’s grizzly was on the smaller side — for a grizzly — but his glossy dark brown coat bristled in plush waves that showcased the musculature underneath. And Ben’s polar bear didn’t even pretend to hide its power under teddy-bear softness. His short, dense, white fur glared almost preternaturally bright in the desert sun. That his far north cousin was happy in Angels Rest had always seemed odd to Thor, but watching him gambol up to his mate like an overgrown deadly puppy suddenly seemed like an explanation.
Gin touched the tip of his black nose. “Hey there, moon bear,” she murmured.
Thor’s breath hitched at the gentleness of her tone. She might look like the wicked witch of the west, but in the reflection of Ben’s love, her dark eyes gleamed with their own inner light.
Twisting, Ben bounded away from her. With a roar, he belly flopped into the stream. Aster bawled out a higher-pitched challenge and followed him. Mac was only a half step behind, and his cannonball was angled to splash water far enough to reach the picnic blanket.
Brandy squealed and jumped to her feet. “Oh, you’ll pay for that.”
Judging from Mac’s rumbling bear-laugh, he looked forward to her vengeance.
Rita flapped her hand at her sisters. “Well, go get them,” she ordered. “Show them that wet witches don’t melt; we get even.”
Gin hesitated a second, her gaze shuttling from Rita to Thor and back again, but when Brandy went pelting after her mate, Gin followed.
“You can go too,” Thor said. “You don’t have to keep me company.”
Rita leaned back, straightening her legs in front of her and smoothing out the lightweight, wide-legged denim over her thighs. “Funny, I thought you were keeping me company.”
“Since our rude relatives went off without us, I guess we’re on our own.” He watched the couples frolicking in the stream, Aster running back and forth between, almost lost in the spray of water. “I’ve heard that witches usually don’t marry or take life partners. Will their mate bonds with my cousins be trouble for them?”
Rita brushed a droplet of water from her cheek. “Brandy never wanted to be part of any circle, and Gin taking the shadow path is already trouble enough.” She shrugged. “But honestly, I don’t think they care what the circle or the shifter community or anyone else thinks about their bond.”
“Must be nice to have that kind of freedom.” He grunted. “That came out wrong. Poor little king bear…”
“No, I understood what you meant. With great power comes a great pain in the ass.”
He snorted again, a laugh this time. “I’ve never said it aloud, but…yeah.”
When she tilted her head, her auburn ponytail swayed to one side like a puppy’s curious ear. “I’ve only met the leader of the wolf pack a few times, casually, but he seems like someone you could talk to.” Then she tilted her head the other way. “Although maybe less so now that we mentioned you might’ve gone rogue. Sorry about that.”
“You did what you thought you had to do. And you weren’t wrong.” He copied her stance, but facing away from the shenanigans in the creek. He was more interested in watching her. “Anyway, Kane Villalobos is a good man, but he’s also the alpha of his pack, with all that entails. Wolves and bears can exist in harmony, but we are both apex predators, not friends.”
“Maybe that’s another change you shifters should consider.” She waved her hand at him the same way she’d dismissed her sisters. “But first things first.”
The play growls behind him suddenly sounded ominous, even though he knew that was just in his head. “You said you had started your research into my problem already.”
“I’ve pulled everything in the grimoires on shapeshifters in general and Mesa Diablo in particular, but obviously the circle knows less about shifters and this place than you do. And the fact you’ve already tried everything you know doesn’t bode well.”
He let out a slow breath. “This will sound uglier than admitting that being king isn’t all fun, but… Our oldest laws—as much as wild animals can be said to follow laws—don’t have much sympathy for out-of-control shifters. A rogue, someone who can’t or won’t control their change, is too much of a threat. Some mythologies are admiring of beast spirits, but in practice, most people today freak out if they discover werewolves and the like exist.”
She nodded slowly. “Even the circle, which is obviously more open to preternatural phenomena and has suffered from prejudice itself warns about the dangers of the primitive animus energy.”
He scowled. “I might argue the primitive part, but I have to confess to the dangers.” He looked past her to the horizon beyond the huckleberries. “And for that reason, rogues are usually put down.”
She was silent a moment until he hazarded a glance back at her. “Don’t use the euphemism just because the victim is in their animal state,” she said, her voice soft but her tone sharp, like the spines behind a prickly pear bloom. “If you followed your rules, you’d be killed.”
“For the good of the clan,” he answered, softer and sharper. “But with no one else to take my place, I’m staying. If I can. And all I can do is justify my decision by saying I’m not technically rogue. The bear hasn’t taken me over. And it’s not a ghost bear either—when the beast is present but never rises. It’s just gone. So I have this chance to catch it again and make things right.”
Behind him, someone whooped, “Chicken fight!”
At the sound of childish giggling, he looked over his shoulder to see that Aster had shifted back to his little boy shape and was riding his father’s shoulders. Gin was atop the polar bear and they were wrestling, although Gin was pretending to be much more unsteady than Thor guessed she was. Or maybe she’d had more huckleberry wine than he’d noticed.
“Everything I’ve read—and seen—about shifters is that they are incredibly tough,” Rita said. “The animal energy lends hardiness, resilience, confidence, not to mention physical prowess, sharper senses, accelerated healing, enhanced sexual magnetism—”
He jerked back to face her again. “What?”
She shot him a sly smile. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t use it. There’s a reason both my man-shy sisters ended up with werebears.”
There was no reason for him to ask, but… “Are you man-shy too?”
She was still lounging back on the picnic blanket, but a subtle tensing of her mouth thrust out her full upper lip. “You already know that the circle doesn’t encourage long-term relationships between witches and the outside. Let’s just say I’ve seen no reason to question that policy.”
This didn’t matter at all to his own condition, and yet he found himself wanting to know. “Are we so bad?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “And too good, and everything in between. And all of it a distraction.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “A distraction? Females are more so. Your size makes us want to stay close, to protect you. The sounds of your voice soothes the savage beast.” He quirked a smile at her. “Also, you smell nice.”
She blinked hard, her lashes fluttering over her green eyes. “See, and we just want to be scholars and politicians and…and football players. Men—males—have the room for all of that. We have to forcibly take that space for ourselves, sometimes at the expense of being coddled and adored.” She
lifted her chin. “Although you all sometimes smell nice too.”
He chuckled. “I can tell that was quite the concession. I’m afraid in many ways male shifters are too primitive about coddling and adoring their mates,” he admitted. “Strong mate bonds are vital to the clan or pack, and those bonds need to be held by and cherished from both ends. An unfulfilled female means her mate has failed.”
Rita shook her head. “The circle teaches that every witch is responsible for her own fulfillment. Yes, the points on the circle are defined by every other point, describing a perfect, infinite totality. But we still need those individual established points to start.”
He sagged back to his elbows. When was the last time he had such a conversation? Shifters in general didn’t spend much of their time on philosophy, and the bear clan in particular had been in survival mode for so long they didn’t even have time to discuss weekend plans.
Also, he’d been basically feral since the fight with his father.
“Maybe it’s because we share our psyches with the beast,” he mused, “but shifters definitely understand the need to balance our individuality against the whole.”
Her green eyes were steady on him. “What happened to your balance? It seems to me that only a great trauma would overwhelm a grizzly.”
Just like that, her question chilled him, as if the unnatural snowstorm from last month had returned, but only to his heart.
Sitting with Rita on the high mesa, discussing sacred geometry and the sex appeal of bears, he’d been feeling…good. Calm, centered, full for the first time in more months than he cared to count.
Did that make him weak? More than any other bear shifter, a rex ursi had the characteristics of a wild bear: the powerful peak of the apex as he’d bragged to her earlier, wide ranging and solitary. To find himself reduced to picnicking should be humiliating. But the sandwiches were tasty, and the company assuaged more than his physical hunger.
And if he wanted to live long enough to see another real snow, he needed her help.