Grizzly Attraction

by Hattie Hunt

  Eventually, she settled down into her favorite chair, phone propped up on her knee with a video of a new crochet stitch playing.

  Mason traded the coffee for a soda and snatched the page of comics out of Robert’s newspaper before sitting on the couch. The three of them had upped and moved completely across the country on a whim, and sitting there felt as much at home as ever.

  Except for Mason’s porcupine. It was restless. Itching to get out and run. To breathe the forest air.

  Mason had shifted every night since he moved into his small house on the edge of town just because he could. Despite the reservations about his parents, he had never felt so free in his life. And his porcupine agreed.

  The city could be suffocating for a shifter, especially if you shifted into a non-native species. The only porcupine he had seen or heard of in DC claimed residency at the National Zoo.

  Mason’s parents had been—he didn’t know if lucky was the word. Better off? Either way, there were no rat shortages in the city, so they’d been able to shift every day if they wanted, which they hadn’t because they had to be so careful with Mason.

  Why the animal spirits had gifted Mason with a porcupine had eluded him all through his childhood. It had felt like a cruel joke.

  “Dad,” Mason said, folding down his page of comics. “When are you going to come shift with me?”

  Robert grumbled something inaudible and Susan paused her video. Neither of them said anything. Shifting still made them uncomfortable. Even here. In Troutdale. Shifter capital of the world, from what Mason could tell.

  “Dad?”

  “Leave it be, Mason.” His mom pushed play on her video again and picked up her yarn.

  Frowning, Mason set his newspaper on the couch next to him. Fine. He wouldn’t push it. They were still getting settled. And they hadn’t shifted in as long as he could remember. They had time.

  The porcupine perked up at the mention of shifting. It wanted out. Mason could feel the quills poking at his skin.

  Give me an hour, dude.

  Mason checked his watch. A quarter to six. The shuttle would be coming in half an hour to pick his parents up for dinner. He would ride back to the lodge with them instead of walking. It had already become somewhat of a ritual.

  “I start at the school tomorrow,” he said, suddenly wanting to fill the quiet of the room with something. The comfort he’d felt there was gone and part of it was that he was nervous. This was the first shifter school he’d ever taught at. It was both thrilling and terrifying at the same time.

  Susan paused her video again and smiled broadly. “You’re going to be great.”

  Mason shrugged. He’d been a teacher in DC for four years. Svelte wouldn’t be that much different. “They seem excited to have me. I won’t be able to come over until after dinner during the week now, though. The school days are long.”

  “Mmm.” It wasn’t a question. Merely an affirmation that he had spoken. What had gotten into them?

  “It’s a paranormal school. Shifters. Witches. An entire school of them.” Mason looked between his mom and dad, who were both staring at their distractions without seeing him.

  It felt kind of like a let-down that they couldn’t be as excited about this as he was.

  Was he excited? He still didn’t even know.

  In a world of shifters, he still had a lot to learn. How could he teach kids when he’d never had a chance to do the things they were?

  “I just—well, I wanted you to know. We really are safe here. Free.”

  They continued to ignore him.

  Living in fear for so long would do that to a person. It was going to take a lot more than… a few days shifting every night to get it through his head that he was safe.

  But he would get there. One way or another. He would get there.

  3

  Emma hefted a bag of flour onto her shoulder and backed through the swinging door of the storage room of the bakery.

  “Cyn, what did you do with the almonds?”

  “I put them on the almond shelf.” Cyn appeared around the corner, all legs and dark hair, dressed like it was ninety degrees out and not the middle of May in Oregon, her one full-sleeve tattoo showing on her right arm. She sipped a steaming coffee, one hand on her hip like the missing almonds weren’t today’s disaster.

  “Okay. Well you are on almond duty.” Because they certainly were today’s disaster. “I couldn’t find them, and we have two dozen almond cakes to whip out in the next—” Emma flopped the bag of flour onto the long counter and pulled her phone out of her pocket. “—two and a half hours.”

  “Down, girl.” Cyn raised her hands in retreat. “I got the almonds. We have plenty of time. Breathe.”

  Emma groaned. Some days, Cyn absolutely infuriated her. But, the woman did have a point. Emma needed to breathe. She hated it when a last-minute order came in and threw off her schedule. Not that she couldn’t make it work. She always did. Today, however, it was just another line on the list of shit.

  Emma ducked down and half crawled into the cabinet, looking for a certain mixing bowl. It was there, tucked into the back corner. She stretched her fingers, brushing the edge just enough to roll the bowl towards her. As it came into reach, she grabbed it with both hands and stood up, slamming the back of her head into the edge of the counter.

  “Son of a bitch.” The stack of bowls already on the counter rattled.

  “You alright, boss?” Cyn set a bag of almonds in the top bowl, giving Emma a look that read, “Instant karma, huh?”.

  “Cyn, if you have any sense of self preservation, you will grab me a damn coffee.”

  Cyn saluted without a word and disappeared out the front.

  Emma dropped the bowl on the counter and reached for the back of her head. It throbbed. She closed her eyes.

  Breathe, Mal growled gently in her ear.

  Emma released the breath she had been holding, inviting Mal forward, wrapping herself in his strength. Gods knew she needed it, even if just for a second.

  Breathe, Emma.

  And then Mal was gone, retreating to the recesses of her mind, away from her skin as the door opened again. Emma reached for her apron, attempting to compose herself as she tied the strings in a bow.

  “Special delivery.”

  Emma tensed. That voice didn’t’ belong to Cyn. “Jordan Baker.” She turned around with a smile on her face, a cringe in her heart. She wasn’t mad at him by any means, but he wasn’t the person she wanted to talk to. Best friend or not, he was part of the reason she was upset. Not…really, but—ugh. She hated this. “That delivery better be my coffee.”

  “Cyn thought she should give you a minute, so I volunteered. You aren’t going to eat me, are you? Your fangs are showing.”

  Emma smacked Jordan on the arm and swiped the coffee out of his hand. Jordan was tall, blonde, and handsome. Everyone said they made a good couple and too many people had commented on what their babies would look like. Too cute, probably. If she was really lucky, they wouldn’t inherit his dimples and her bad attitude. But they would never have babies because they had never clicked. Not like that.

  Mal shifted to the front again, pushing his way toward her skin, offering his support in the only way he knew how. Offering her his fur.

  It was probably a good thing he had come instead of Cyn. The last thing she needed were questions about her dental work from a mundane. Not that her fangs were actually showing. Or her snout. Or her ears.

  Though the mental image of Cyn’s puzzled face made her smile. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “I slaved over it all morning.” Jordan leaned on the edge of the counter, crossing his arms as he met Emma’s gaze with his light hazel eyes. “Everything okay, Em?”

  She took a long drag of her plain latte and set to unstacking the bowls. “Yup.”

  Jordan raised an eyebrow, telling her without words that he was the last person on the face of the planet she could lie to.

  “I’ll get over
it.” Emma handed the bag of almonds to him with the food processor bowl.

  Jordan shrugged and pulled a pocket knife out of his pocket. He cut open the bag and dumped nuts into the bowl. “Wanna fill me in?”

  “Pulse for two minutes.”

  Quirking his lips at her, he pressed the button.

  By the time he had finished chopping the almonds, Emma had finished most of her coffee, weighed out three bowls of dried ingredients and lined two mini loaf pans with paper. When she turned to take the almonds off his hands, Jordan hoisted the food processor bowl over his head.

  “I am on a deadline.”

  “And you’re avoiding the question.”

  The bakery door dinged, announcing a customer’s arrival.

  “Fine.” Emma glanced over her shoulder at the door separating the kitchen from retail, then pulled Jordan into the storage closet.

  Jordan chuckled as he nearly fell in.

  Which normally would have made Emma laugh. “Cheryl wants you and me to make an appearance at the clan meeting on Wednesday.”

  “So?” Jordan propped a foot on the step stool and leaned forward with is elbow on his knee. “We have gone to a hundred clan meetings.”

  “Yeah, well.” Emma crossed her arms and closed her eyes, forcing herself to take another deep breath. “She hinted that she was going to make an announcement. About you and me.”

  “Oh.” He frowned. “Oh.”

  “The timing seems… convenient. Considering that I just told Joe about us yesterday.”

  “It’s probably a coincidence.”

  “Nothing with Cheryl is a coincidence.”

  “It’s not like Joe told her what’s going on.”

  Emma knew better. He was still refusing to speak to her and she was too busy being the savior victim to even think about talking to him. She was getting far too much attention by ignoring him.

  “Everything will be fine.”

  “I know. It’s just…” Emma tugged at the ends of her pony tail.

  Jordan stepped off the stool and pulled her into a hug. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”

  She groaned into his chest and then pushed him away, her hands on his forearms. “Come on. I have to get back to work.” Emma reached up and mussed his hair, then planted a kiss on his neck, leaving a shimmer of lip gloss on his skin.

  He rubbed at it like it grossed him out, a smile dancing on his lips.

  Emma shook her head, smiling sadly to herself. If she had half a brain, she would just go along with Cheryl’s plan. It would sure make things easier. Even if her and Jordan weren’t mates.

  The bakery door chimed twice more, and then Cyn poked her head into the kitchen. “Feeling better?”

  Emma forced a smile and tried to look a little guilty herself.

  Cyn sighed in resignation and took a long swallow of coffee. “Jordan effing Baker. Dibs if you ever break it off.”

  Emma choked out a laugh and buried her attention in the almond cakes. She was pretty sure the entire town of Troutdale, mundane or otherwise, might just implode when she and Jordan finally broke the news. Emma could only imagine the number of hearts she’d broken by having a claim on Jordan Baker in the first place.

  Almond cakes in the oven, Emma slipped back into the normal bakery routine. Between customers buying baked goods from the front case and placing orders for upcoming events, she prepped dough for the morning bread and pastries. She lost herself in the work, forcing her thoughts to focus on the recipes. On anything but the Elliot family politics.

  Cyn helped, chittering away about this and that, incessantly perky despite Emma’s sour mood. Sometimes it was nice to be friends with a mundane who found real drama in deciding what to wear for the blind date her sister set her up on. No clan power struggles, banishments, dictated betrothals.

  “Earth to Emma,” Cyn said right behind her.

  Emma had stopped mixing the dough, her hands resting in the middle of a pale blob of sticky bread. “Sorry. What’s up?”

  “I’m gonna start the dishes. You want to cover the front once you get that dough off your fingers?” She nodded pointedly at the bowl.

  Emma groaned and tipped the dough into the trash. She had over mixed it, or under mixed it. Let it get too warm. Whichever. The point was, her distraction had ruined it. Fortunately, Tuesday probably wouldn’t miss one baguette. “I’ve got the front. Dishes are all you, Cyn.”

  “Thanks, boss.”

  Emma saluted and pulled her apron over her head, hanging it on the hook. She had worked at the bakery for six or seven years—she lost track a while ago. For the first three, Cyn had been her boss. Then eventually their tasks had been split equally, until finally Cyn started calling Emma boss and offered her a partnership. Cheryl lost a gasket when Emma informed her she was buying into a bakery partnership with a mundane.

  It was a sin almost as bad as falling in love with one.

  Glancing over her should as she pushed open the door, Emma smiled to herself. Cyn had popped an earbud into one ear and was humming to a new radio hit, dancing with each bowl and tray as she moved them from sink to washer. She would take Cyn over a dumb bear for a partner any day.

  The front door chimed, and Emma glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes until they closed. Just close enough to be irritating. She turned towards the front. “Welcome to Sweet Buns. What can I get for you?”

  A half shy grin met her question. Emma didn’t recognize the man, even though he couldn’t be much older than her. “Just looking for the moment.”

  His voice resonated in a deep tenor at odds with the kempt exterior. Thick rimmed glasses, dark five o’clock shadow obviously maintained at just that level. He wore slacks and an open suit jacket. No tie, but it wouldn’t have been out of place. A small leather satchel hung off one shoulder, the strap looking like it had seen better days.

  It was like someone had flipped a switch in Emma’s brain. She felt heat rise in her cheeks as she watched him inspect the goods in the bake case. Whether by intention or circumstance, Emma hadn’t looked at any man but Jordan for years. If this was what she had been missing, she should have challenged Cheryl years ago.

  Emma shook it off and put on her hostess smile while she waited for him to make a selection

  “Would you recommend cookies or a brownie tray?” He was peering into the far case.

  “Depends on the occasion.”

  “I’m remedying an Oreo situation.”

  Emma choked on a laugh as she realized he was dead serious. “An… Oreo situation?”

  The man’s face lit up with a broad, toothy smile. “Indeed.”

  “Okay.” Emma slid open the case he had been looking at. “Are you thinking longevity of storage or today’s dessert?”

  “Both.”

  “I’d go cookie. Brownies will dry out faster. They are still good after a few days, but cookies will last closer to a week. Though, I can’t guarantee they will last that long once you have tried one.” Emma pulled out a traditional chocolate chip cookie and broke it into quarters. She handed him a piece and waited.

  His mouth closed on the cookie and Emma found herself entranced in the move of his lips.

  His lips? Seriously? What was wrong with her?

  Those lips rose in another shy smile. “That is a good cookie. My mom would approve.”

  Mom. Oh, boy. Emma tucked a hair behind her ear. Was that a red flag or was she just bitter because of her own mother?

  But that voice and those… lips.

  He licked a spot of chocolate off his finger and then reached his hand out to her. “’Mason Covey. A new regular customer.”

  Emma shook his hand awkwardly over the tall case. “Emma Elliot. Baker extraordinaire.”

  “I know who you are. Dexx filled me in,” Mason said as if that explained everything.

  And then his shape changed, nose pulling forward and the hair on his face lengthening into slivers of dark brown fur. The expression on his face was so excited and he was so proud. />
  Emma gasped in alarm and then reached over the counter, smacking him across the face. “What the shit do you think you’re doing?”

  A pan clattered across the floor in the kitchen and.

  Emma whipped a look over her shoulder. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  The door to the kitchen swung as if someone had just been standing there. Mundanes weren’t supposed to know the paranormal existed.

  Emma’s heart raced. If the Shadow Sisterhood found out, Cyn would have her memories erased if she was lucky. No. Emma could fix this. She could.

  “What the hell was that for?” Mason gingerly fingered his cheek.

  “Put your damn spirit animal away, you fucking idiot!” Emma growled, Mal coming through in her harsh whisper.

  Question and then understanding flicked across Mason’s face as the door to the kitchen opened and Cyn poked her head through.

  Mason spun away.

  Emma intercepted.

  “Everything okay, Em?” Cyn’s green eyes flicked back and forth between her and Mason.

  “It’s all good. He got a little grabby over the cookie. That’s all.” ’Had she seen anything? Gods, she hoped not.

  Cyn frowned and then shrugged, her eyes saying that she’d totally seen something, her expression the opposite. Her tone was even. “Holler if you need anything. I’m just about to start the knives.”

  Real subtle, Cyn. Emma closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath as the door swung closed.

  Then she turned on Mason. “Who the hell do you think you are, Mason Covey? You just about ruined our cover and that mundane’s life.”

  He turned back to her, his face the color of a cherry. “I am so sorry. I… Dexx said this place was shifter friendly. I just—” He trailed off as he ran his hands through short, unruly hair.

  “Well, that was your first mistake, listening to anything Dexx says.” Emma glanced over her shoulder to make sure Cyn hadn’t reappeared. Then she leaned over the counter and grabbed onto the front of Mason’s shirt, pulling him forward. She let Mal come out, just a little fur bristling on the back of her neck, her teeth bared in a grizzly scowl. “Just because we are shifter friendly doesn’t mean you can just shift in the middle of freaking town. Use your goddamn brain.” She jerked her chin towards the kitchen. “Cyn is a mundane. Mundane. She doesn’t know what I am, and it needs to stay that way. Understand?”