by Elsa Jade
She knew better than to toy with such forces without proper protection. And yet as she’d told him, she’d been a very willing participant.
Unsettled by the lingering sensation of his mouth on hers, she let him pluck the flask from her trembling hands. She didn’t even try to muster a protest, just shoved the tips of her crutches hard into the earth, as if she could borrow some steadiness there while Thor shouldered the weight of everything she’d brought.
Just because he didn’t offer to carry her too was no reason to be disappointed, but she only nodded silently when he said, “This way.”
She had a flashlight in her bag, but she didn’t bother asking for it since the moon was bright enough to light their way. But maybe she was even more exhausted than she’d realized, or maybe she trusted him too much, because it wasn’t until the glimmer of silver filled her view that she realized he led them not back to the road toward town but farther across the mesa to Lake Angel.
Under the shining moon, the lake was almost a mirror except for the occasional ripple of a fish or some secret current. A whorl of cool air tickled the curling hairs at her nape, like a whispered reminder that Mesa Diablo wasn’t only what it seemed.
Well, she wasn’t either. “Is your bike here? I’m ready to go home.”
“This is home,” he said. “At least while I’ve been looking for the beast, it is. My home, I mean.” He slanted a glance at her. “It’s late, and I thought we could just ride down in the morning when we’re rested.”
She glared back at him. “You think I’m going to fall off the back of your motorcycle.”
“Not on purpose or anything,” he said. “But we’re both tired, and the road is very steep and winding.”
She couldn’t argue that any more than she could complain about him carrying all the heavy stuff. Which made her more angry than him assuming she was too weak to even hold on. “What, you have a den in a mud bank somewhere?”
“Would you be okay with a cute cabin on the lakeshore?” He slanted a glance at her.
Since she’d actually be fine with curling up in the dirt right here, she could only keep her mouth shut as he paralleled the edge of the lake toward a stand of aspen. The paler undersides of the leaves flickered like stars against the dark sky, set dancing by some breeze too insubstantial to riffle the water. Set into the grove was a log cabin, almost invisible among the other trees except for the fact that the lines went horizontal instead of vertical.
In the reflected moonlight, the two front windows glinted like animal eyes, more primitive than the elegant Victorian, but somehow equally aware. As they approached through the short grasses and ferns under the aspen, she identified a brighter glow above the door lintel as an inset medallion of moonstone where the creature’s third eye would be. The front stoop was only partly covered, leaving the single rough-hewn rocking chair bare to the sky.
Although she appreciated her creature comforts, Rita was instantly charmed by the rustic cabin. “We thought you were roaming the desert. But you were here.”
“I kept circling back. It’s not mine alone. The wolves keep a few cabins on the mesa for pack gatherings and other shifters who need a place to get away for awhile.”
She glanced around, breathing in the night air and the scent of the water. “It’s quiet. No wonder your bear couldn’t find you.”
“Maybe I was hiding,” he said quietly. “But I’m ready to be found.”
He pushed open the door—of course deadly shapeshifters on a magical mesa didn’t need locks—and stood back.
She stepped past him, fatigue replaced by curiosity. Inside was as charmingly rustic as the outside. The floorboards were obviously hand planked, but the pine was worn smooth enough that her crutches glided over the wood without catching. Dim yellow lamps came on, illuminating the Mission style furniture and wool throws. She turned to see Thor fiddling with the light switch.
“Not trying to make this romantic,” he muttered. “The solar panel and batteries aren’t working quite right and I haven’t gotten around to fixing it.” He cast her a wry glance. “Mostly I’ve been sitting around in the dark.”
She nodded at the flask still in his hand. “Now you have that to light the way.”
He nodded too but didn’t look down at the rose. Instead his dark eyes—all but black in the low light—were focused on her. “Because of you. Thank you.”
“We don’t have your bear yet,” she cautioned.
“True. But still.” He crossed to the kitchen table and set the flask on the quilted runner spanning the trestle top. As she sat in one of the straight-back chairs, she wondered which wolf or bear or cougar had done the fine stitchery; she couldn’t quite picture it, but the intricately pieced panels were proof of some softer sensibilities gracing the cabin.
Thor retreated a step, hands on his hips, then strode forward again and gave the flask a quarter turn. “It looks like it’s starting to bloom already.”
“It’ll open wider, sending your signal farther, until the bear answers.”
He gazed at her somberly. “What happens if it hits full bloom and there’s no answer? What happens after it starts to fade?”
She lifted her chin. “I’ll find another way. I always do.”
He blinked. “So you weren’t just trying to give me false hope? You really walk the talk.”
She snorted. “I don’t believe in false hope. There’s only hope and nonbelievers.”
“You make me believe.” He headed toward the kitchen corner which was really just an antique farm sink on stilt legs flanked by short cabinetry counters. The big five-burner cast iron stove sat closer to the middle of the room, obviously intended to be used as much for central heating as rudimentary cooking. “Can I get you something? I’m afraid I’ve been living rough out here so I don’t have much.”
“Only what a bear would eat?”
“Worse. Only what a bachelor would eat.”
She made an exaggerated noise of dismay. “I’m fine, really. Although I’d take a glass of water.”
He pumped the handle at the kitchen sink, waiting a few splashes before filling two enameled mugs even older than the sink. “Drawn from the Angel aquifer at the heart of the mesa.” He handed her one mug. “Not from the lake that is probably full of wolf hair.”
She took a sip of the cold, clear water. At the faintest hint of mineral aftertaste—stone, blood, lightning—she thought she could guess why the shifters were drawn to the place. “Angel Villalobos chose wisely when he settled here.”
“It chose him. And there were others here long before he arrived.”
She nodded, chastened. “There are layers upon layers of history here,” she acknowledged. “When my aunt was seeking a new home for the circle, she questioned whether moving here would be intruding on other magics.”
“But you’ve decided to stay?”
“After some negotiations with the local matriarchs, we thought we could learn from and teach each other. There’s a lot to do in this world, enough work for all of us.”
“And I’m adding to your to-do list.”
“Nah, I’m done with you so I can check you off.” She smiled to show she was kidding mostly. But as she said it, a whisper of regret left her more empty than the desert in the mesa’s shadow.
She had a full life and rewarding work and even adventure if she wanted it. So why did that suddenly seem like not enough? The circle spoke of the need for balance, but she wanted more.
Into her silence, Thor cleared his throat. “Let me show you the bedroom. Uh, I’ll take the couch, of course. And I have to tell you the bathroom is through a breezeway out back. More of an outhouse, really.”
“I was a Girl Scout. I think I’ll survive.”
“There’s enough of my scent around here to keep the other monsters at bay.”
She blinked at him. “I was joking about surviving.”
“Oh. Right. Sure. So was I.” He flashed his teeth in what she guessed was supposed to be a reassu
ring smile.
“I thought you said this was a place for shifters to get away from things.”
“I meant getting away from that world.” He gestured vaguely toward town.
“So bunking with monsters is therapeutic?”
“I did say I scared them off.”
She shook her head. “Not all of them.”
He stiffened. “If you mean me—”
A wave of heat filled up the empty space inside her. Embarrassment or desire, she wasn’t sure. “I meant your bear. Hopefully you didn’t frighten it too far away.”
He set his mug aside. “Maybe we’ll find it on the way to the bathroom. C’mon and I’ll give you the tour.”
She followed him past the tiny bedroom—”Extra blankets in the cedar chest if you get cold,” he told her when she peeped in—and out through the back door to a partly framed-in breezeway. Maybe whoever had quilted the table runner had fantasized about being able to pee inside when winter came. But for now, the night air was refreshing.
At the end of the breezeway, a solar lantern hung over a doorway carved with a crescent moon. The aluminum filigree cage around the light made a pretty pattern on the wooden beams and the undersides of the aspen leaves above.
“There’s some travel-size toiletries in there,” Thor said. “Hopefully you’ll find what you need. I’m going to take a look at the batteries. But…just holler if you need anything.”
“Or if I see a bear.”
His lips quirked. “I’ll come running.”
The “outhouse” wasn’t as scary as the rustic décor had led her to worry. Though the light switch inside didn’t work, the lantern glow through the crescent moon carving was enough to make out the basics. She used the toilet—though it took her a second to find the chain dangling from the old-fashioned high tank—and washed up at the pump sink. In the medicine cabinet, she found new toothbrushes, a mason jar labeled ‘toothpaste’, and paper-wrapped slivers of soap that felt too nice to be purloined from hotels. Maybe the quilter was a soapmaker too, judging by the simple coconut and shea butter scents of the toothpaste and bars. Maybe they’d like some of the herbal sachets from the Victorian’s garden—not magical except in their natural power to repel moths and mice and whatnot.
Except…the cabin was a refuge for shapeshifters. What if there were were-mice? They probably wouldn’t appreciate the mint potpourri.
And it wasn’t like she’d be returning here once Thor got his bear back. This was a one-time experience, like a really, really short vacation from her normal life.
She spat into the sink—the DIY toothpaste was cinnamon flavored—and stared at herself in the small mirror. The filigreed glow through the crescent moon shone on the side of her face, like half a page of cryptic symbols she couldn’t read despite her years of circle study, and her pupils were blown wide in the dim light, her eyes so dark she almost didn’t recognize herself.
Turning away from the sink abruptly, she knocked over one of her crutches that fell with a harsh clatter.
She knew who she was. She wasn’t going to question her sense of self just because everyone else who looked in this mirror had multiple shapes.
Except for Thor, of course. He was all by himself until his bear returned.
She tidied up the bathroom (if she couldn’t leave a hostess gift, she could at least leave no trace) and walked out to the breezeway. A stronger glow in the windows of the cabin indicated Thor had fixed whatever was wrong with the lights, but for some reason she turned away from the house, facing the night.
Feeling ahead of her with one crutch, she stepped through the framed-in wall. It was past her bedtime—she wasn’t a shadow witch like her sister—but freshening up had washed away some of her fatigue. Drawn by an impulse more shadowy than the filigree crescent moon, she walked through the aspens toward the lake.
Under the moonlight, the lake seemed almost brighter than it would be during the day. As if the night was turned inside out, strange and dream-like. The glittering haze of the Milky Way, reflected in the water, seemed to aim right toward her—a path toward…
A dark figure, emerging from the water with a splash. Her heart thudded hard, the same way a rabbit would stamp its alarm.
Thor, of course.
So why didn’t her jittering pulse calm?
The moonlight glistened on his broad shoulders and the hard clench of muscles in his pecs and biceps as he straight-armed himself up onto the low dock jutting into the lake. Crystal-clear droplets clung to the chopped ends of his dark hair—had she really done such a poor job with the hair cut she gave him?—and her fingers itched to smooth the ragged locks. When he pivoted his hips to get one leg underneath him, the silvery flow of water cascaded from his…
Oh. Maybe that was why she couldn’t catch her breath.
She should go back to the cabin right now, stretch out on that little bed in the tiny bedroom, close her eyes and wait for the sensible light of day.
So why did her traitorous legs and her usually reliable crutches walk her out of the trees toward him?
An instant before the rubber tip of her crutch thunked on the first plank, he turned. He’d pulled on a pair of loose cargo pants (maybe she should do a survey on male shifter preferences for tight denim and relaxed canvas—strictly for science, of course) but the fabric caught on his wet skin.
Her breath caught again too, on the same thing.
She’d learned to walk on crutches. The orthotics had always been with her, and most of the time she didn’t even think about them any more than she did about putting on the rest of her clothes. And most of the time, her body did what she needed it to do. Maybe with a few more aches and pains and missteps and composite alloys than she would prefer, and a few less dinner dates and dancing, but generally she got where she was going.
But seeing him put on clothes, seeing his body, made her suddenly, intimately aware of every inch of herself: her unreliable legs, the calluses on her palms, the cool wind across her cinnamon-tinted lips. Each tiny hair on her exposed skin seemed static alive…and bending toward him.
He stood poised at the end of the dock, one hand resting on the rail that formed the back of a low bench. Moonlit silver frosted every upturned facet of him—the steel rivets of his unfastened fly, the stiff points of his nipples, the rugged planes of his cheekbones—but his eyes were blacker than the lake. “I thought you’d head off to bed.”
With the dark water open on both sides, she took a few more steps, feeling as if she was voluntarily walking some pirate’s plank. “More keyed up than sleepy, I guess.”
“Did you find everything you needed?”
She tilted her head, watching him. “Yes.”
Oops, she hadn’t meant to drop her voice almost as low as his.
He leaned back on the rail, hands spread to both sides and gripping the wood as if blocking her from going any farther. Or maybe holding himself in place. “Rita. You should go back to the house now. And lock your door.”
She stiffened. Her heart was going to jitterbug right past the drawstring of her peasant blouse. “Your bear…”
He shook his head, so hard she half expected silver to fling from his hair. “Not yet.”
“What’s wrong?” She took another step toward him.
The wooden rail creaked as he leaned farther back. She hoped the dock wasn’t as old as the toilet or he’d end up in the water.
“That love spell is…affecting me.”
She frowned. “It better affect you. We made it to draw the bear to you.”
“Apparently that’s not all it’s drawing to me.”
She tilted her head, confused for a moment. And then she sputtered. “Wait, it’s not affecting me.”
“The kiss—”
“I told you already, that was just some blowback from the energy in the spell. It’s like when you’re mixing up a batch of cookies and you get some flour puffed on you, but that doesn’t make you a cookie.” She was babbling. But she was fixated on the idea
that he was affected. By their kiss.
She took another step along the dock. The rail behind him groaned.
“The love spell is between you and your bear.” She pitched her voice to a soothing lilt. He might not be a wild animal—at least not at the moment—but he looked poised to run. “The circle forbids imposing magic on someone who is unwilling. Love especially can never be forced.” She’d told him she was willing… “You don’t have to be afraid of that.”
“I’m not the one who should be afraid.” His low, menacing words seemed to throb through the wooden dock.
Then she realized he was shivering.
And not from the cold water. The desert night had already dried his skin, although his black hair still sparkled with diamond studs.
A peculiar thrill of excitement zinged through her. Like when she nailed a particularly tricky incantation and the energy she’d gathered came together in a perfectly balanced spell.
Except this wasn’t a spell and she wanted to come together with Thor.
“I think the spell only brought something into focus between us,” she said slowly. “Nothing forced, nothing dangerous. Definitely not love,” she hastened to add. “Just…animal attraction.”
He stared down at her, his dark eyes glittering brighter than the water droplets in his hair. “But I don’t have my beast.”
She nodded. “And I think that’s why you’re feeling free—or free to feel. You’re in this twilight zone where you’ve done all you can, and now you’re waiting to see if it works. And for this moment, you have no responsibilities, nothing on your to-do list. Just one night where you can do…”
“You,” he murmured.
A flush of heat, as hot as the desert sun, swept through her. “I was going to say do anything, but yeah, I’m right here.”
He released his death grip on the dock rail but other than that didn’t move a muscle. “And what’s your excuse?”
Embarrassment added an unpleasant tingle to her warm cheeks. But if she’d ever let herself be swayed by humiliation she’d still be cowering in her childhood bedroom, her crutches shoved out of sight, cruel words still ringing in her ears: Crippled. Useless. Weak, weirdo Wick. “I don’t need an excuse,” she said. “I’ve spent my whole life knowing I have to go after what I want since it’s not going to come to me and I’m slower than most.”