The Bears of Blackrock, Books 1 - 3: The Fenn Clan

by Michaela Wright

  “Why?!”

  Kirk dragged her around the side of the house, glancing intently toward each basement window. “If you open the door, it could cause a rush of oxygen. It’ll fuel the fire and might cause an explosion.”

  Joe collapsed into the snow, wailing. “My baby’s inside! I have to get in!”

  He grabbed her up, taking her face in his one good hand. “Sh, baby. I’m gonna get her. I promise you, Josephine. I’m gonna get her.”

  Kirk turned back to the house, grabbed up a rock from beneath the snow, and smashed the tiny basement window. He crouched down, his bare skin raw and bloody, but his focus unshaken. He smashed out the pane of glass until it was clear. “Do you have your phone?”

  Joe patted her pockets, feeling the small contraption in her coat. “Yes!” She said, pulling it out to check for signal as Kirk dropped onto the ground and began to shimmy his feet through the window.

  “Call 911.”

  She nodded, her hands shaking as she pulled up the buttons. She watched him disappear through the window before the horror set in. He was gone, into the fire, and all she had to assure her of his return was faith. What if he got hurt? What if she lost them both in one night? She wouldn’t survive it.

  “Kirk! Please!”

  But he was gone, the dark basement window now trickling smoke from the floors above.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “My house is on fire, and my daughter’s insi -”

  The words stilled in her throat. She couldn’t acknowledge them. If she just didn’t say them, maybe they wouldn’t be true. She screamed up at the house, the smoke beginning to pour out from the upstairs windows. Josephine thought of all the places she could be hiding – her room, her closet – would she hide in the garage apartment?

  Josephine turned back toward the deck, desperate to see inside. There were no flames within the main part of the house yet, but smoke was pouring across the ceiling inside, belching in from the garage door. She stared into the house, praying softly to herself. Suddenly, she spotted movement. Kirk was barreling down the bedroom hallway, clothed now in jeans and a massive sweatshirt that he pulled up over his head, tying the hood tight around his face. What the hell was he doing taking the time to get –

  Kirk ran through the kitchen, tested his hand against the garage door, and threw it open, disappearing into the wall of black smoke.

  “No! Oh my god, no!” She whispered, dropping to her knees on the snowy deck.

  Please god, let them come out alright. Please god, let them come out alright. Please don’t do this to me! PLEASE!

  “Ma’am? Ma’am, are you there?”

  Joe caught the sound of a distant voice and startled, only then remembering the phone still in her hand. She pulled it to her ear. “Yes. I’m here.”

  “We have the fire department on the way. Are you somewhere safe, honey?”

  Josephine shook her head silently, unable to speak. Did it matter if she was safe? Rory wasn’t, Kirk wasn’t, and they were all that mattered in the world.

  She felt the sting of something sharp graze over her skin, and flinched, crying out. The flinch only drove the edge of the blade across her throat.

  “Finally, that asshole is gone, huh?” Carson whispered in her ear as he wrapped his arm across her shoulders, the knife pressed purposely up under her chin. “Why don’t you hang up the phone?”

  The 911 dispatcher called in the distance, “Ma’am. Are you still there? Is everything alright?”

  Joe shut her eyes tight, and tapped her thumb to the screen, ending the call.

  “Got company coming, huh? Guess we should move quickly then, shouldn’t we baby?”

  Carson yanked her up onto her feet and held her against his chest, moving her as he looked around the space. Joe was afraid, her insides empty at the mere touch of this man, but her eyes remained trained on the house beyond those high windows. Kirk hadn’t reappeared. Rory hadn’t reappeared. If they weren’t meant to survive this night, perhaps Carson was an act of mercy from some divine being. Let her die, if those she loved were meant to. She trained her eye on the house, even as Carson turned her about face and dragged her toward the deck stairs – the stairs that led to the water, and to Kirk’s boat.

  Joe struggled to keep pace with Carson, the man caring little as to how much damage his knife did. Joe felt her skin splitting at the edge of the sharp blade each time it grazed over her. Yet she couldn’t protest. He had such power over her, over every thought she had. It took every ounce of courage just to reach up, and take hold of his wrist in an attempt to keep the knife still. He turned his nose into her hair, giving her a kiss on the cheek in response to her gesture.

  “You think I’d hurt you, my sweet girl?”

  She shuddered in his arms just as something far below caught her eye. She gasped, succumbing to overwhelming relief. A dark head bobbed just inside the cabin door of the boat, spotted them, then ducked back out of sight.

  Joe sobbed in relief. Rory was on the boat below. The thunder of her next thought almost buckled her knees beneath her. Carson was leading her to that boat – to Rory. If they made it down these steps, he would find her. He couldn’t find her. Carson could never find Rory. Joe whimpered with each step they took.

  This can’t happen, she thought. You can’t let this happen!

  She’d die before she’d allow him to have her. She’d die!

  Josephine planted her foot into the post in the railing as Carson tried to push down the steps. The forward momentum of his movement made his wrist pull away from her throat. Joe’s heart shot into the back of her mouth as she grabbed his wrist, took another step down the stairs, and yanked Carson’s arm forward just as she bent at the waist. She felt his weight shift violently, as his body heaved over her back and down the stairs. His weight pushed her forward, throwing her off balance, but as she tumbled over on the stairs, she felt the stairs vibrate beneath her as Carson rolled with far greater force just a few steps ahead. Josephine’s shoulder and arm caught on a post. She winced in pain, but was able to grab hold, stopping herself from tumbling. She lunged to her feet, chasing the tumbling figure with a sudden madness, no longer concerned for her own safety. All she’d need do is push the boat away from the dock. Just put distance between Rory and land – the coast guard could easily collect her, but Carson? There’d be nothing he could do. Carson began to slow several yards down from her as headlights flashed across the railing below – someone had arrived.

  Yet, she was too determined to be drawn from her purpose now. Carson lay just a few steps down, and he was still between her and her daughter. She reached him on the stairs, and despite her fear that he might retaliate, lunged over him, bracing her hands on the railings as she lifted herself up and over. He mumbled something venomous as she moved, his hand snatching at her ankle. He caught her pant leg enough to throw her off, and Joe tripped, failing down the last six steps to the dock below.

  “Momma? Are you okay?”

  Damn it, she thought. Damn it! Damn it, Rory! Be still!

  Joe forced herself upright, stumbling over the dock toward the boat and snatching up the rope tied to the dock. Her ankle was searing with each step, but she loosed the first rope and limped toward the second, waving desperately at Rory to tuck herself out of sight. The dock began to shake beneath her, beneath the movement of a heavy weight – the stomping of feet. She spun around, ready to defend herself, but when she turned, Carson’s expression was one of panic, seen for just an instant before a massive black shape railroaded him into the dock. Carson’s body slammed onto the wood planks as the bear moved over him, its jaws open and ready to bite. Then Joe watched helplessly as Carson turned over beneath the beast, brandished the same blade he’d held to her throat, and drove it up into the bear’s chest.

  “No!!” She screamed, lunging forward as Carson scrambled from beneath the bear, crawling across the dock to get away, the knife still deep in the animal’s chest. The bear slumped down onto its
side, huffing softly, in pain. Carson was halfway up the stairs before a voice called from above.

  “Oi! You bunch alright down there?”

  “Help us!” She screamed just as the dark mass began to shrink into itself, revealing the panting shape of Kirk Fenn, a knife handle sticking just under his ribs. “He’s hurt! Please!”

  She watched the silhouettes appear, their shapes framed by the growing light of the fire as it took the house. Joe watched helplessly as Carson reached the top of the stairs and darted from view toward the woods. He was gone.

  He was gone, and somehow she didn’t care. All that matter now was Kirk.

  “Baby, can you hear me? Kay? Please, hear me, sweetheart,” she whispered, her voice shaking with every word.

  “You’re alright, Joe. Let me see,” a voice said with calm resolve. She looked up to see a strangely familiar face, the light brown beard now shaved clean, but the blue eyes still familiar. This was the EMT from the night of the accident. She sighed, moving aside as the man assessed Kirk, naked there on the dock, his blood pooling beneath him.

  “The knife’s still inside him,” Kirk’s cousin, Deacon, said.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think to pull it out,” she said, sobbing. Rory was climbing from the almost wayward boat, coming to wrap her arms around her mother’s neck as Deacon shook his head.

  “No, no. It’s good that it’s still in there,” the man pulled a black shape from his pocket, twisting the top to turn it on. The radio hissed to life. “Lara, bring the backboard down to the dock as soon as you arrive.”

  “How far away is she?” Joe asked, her voice shrill with panic.

  “Jesus! I thought you were off tonight? Who’s down there?” Lara asked from the radio.

  The man shot her a look, frowning. “I am. Kirk’s been stabbed.”

  The woman on the other end muttered several expletives and prayers, then hung up the radio, vowing to drive like a maniac the rest of the way.

  The man stood up, squinting into the light of the fire as red flashes of light betrayed the arrival of the fire department.

  “Gramps! Oi!” The man called, watching the hill up above. When he didn’t receive an answer, he tried again. “For fuck’s sake. Gramps!” He called, his voice echoing down the craggy shore line.

  Rory cried softly, calling to Kirk from Joe’s arms.

  The EMT returned to Kirk’s side, checking his pulse and wounds. He shot Joe a wary glance, as though weighing something before he spoke.

  “Did you see him get stabbed?”

  Joe and Rory both nodded.

  The EMT pursed his lips. “Did he look like this when it happened?”

  Joe swallowed, but Rory answered on their behalf, shaking her head.

  The man took a deep breath, hissing as he touched Kirk’s shoulder. “Jesus, what the hell happened to him?”

  Joe’s breath caught in her throat as she tried to answer. “He got hit by a truck.”

  A sob escaped her throat, and she pulled Rory tighter against her.

  Deacon gave a soft whistle, moving the dislocated shoulder. “Then stabbed? Christ. Busy night, huh cuz?” Deacon said, still moving Kirk’s arm with deliberate gentleness. Then with a sudden upward motion, Deacon shifted his arm and the bone moved beneath Kirk’s skin, popping back into place. Kirk audibly exhaled. Joe lunged forward.

  “Our kind – we heal well,” Deacon said, and the comment sounded like reassurance for him as much as for her, but Joe nodded. She moved across the dock, coming to lie down beside Kirk. She touched her fingers into his hair as she pressed her lips to his forehead. “Come on, baby. I need you. We need you.”

  Kirk shifted his eyes to her, and Joe moved closer, getting a warning from the EMT to be gentle with him. Kirk lay there still, his breathing the only sign to betray he still lived. Yet he looked at her, and his fingers twitched toward her despite wincing in pain.

  Joe touched his good hand, then pressed her cheek into his palm. Dear god, how would she go on if this man died today? This creature – the kind of man she’d wanted her whole life, a man who would let no one hurt her, who would throw himself in harm’s way for her and her daughter – the man who somehow made her heart, a heart she long thought mute, sing. She’d never find another like him. She didn’t want to.

  Her face contorted in grief despite her efforts to fight the thoughts away. She moved closer to him, bringing her nose to his. If there was any chance he might not be with her tomorrow, she couldn’t let words go unsaid.

  “I love you, Kirk. I love you so much. Please don’t go.”

  Kirk’s eyes set on hers and his hand squeezed just slightly. The dock began to shake beneath them as the EMTs stormed down the stairs, the sounds of hollering firemen fighting the house fire above echoing across the water from the hill. Joe kissed his forehead again, whispering the same words again and again.

  I love you, Kirk Fenn. I need you. Don’t go.

  Lara touched her arm, pushing Joe aside as she lowered the backboard to the dock. The two EMTs took their places at Kirk’s side, shifting him there to ready him for transport. Joe was able to hold his hand as they lifted him onto the backboard, then kept her vigil at his side as they strapped him in place.

  “Come on, Kirk, brother!” One of the firemen called from the hill above. “Deacon! What do you need?”

  Deacon turned to holler his response, then turned to Joe. “Do you two want to ride along?”

  Joe nodded so excitedly that she felt a searing pain across her throat. Her hand shot to the source of her pain and pulled away covered in blood.

  “Momma!” Rory cried out, but Joe just shook her head.

  “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m fine.”

  “I’ll take a look at that when we’re in the ambulance,” Deacon said, the two EMTs hoisting Kirk up and moving toward the stairs, the knife in his side carefully preserved. The EMTs moved in unison, as though planted from the same seed. She followed them up the stairs, Rory clinging to her waist as they ascended toward the fire.

  Joe watched the EMTs move, their silhouettes framed by the yellow glow, but as they reached the top of the stairs, they recoiled from the wall of heat. The firefighters lunged for them, rushing them off the deck and away from the burning house. Despite their earnest efforts, they’d arrived too late to save the main part of the house. The whole of Kirk’s beautiful home was in flames now, the tall windows shattered. Joe’s heart broke. He’d lost everything because of her.

  Stay alive, Kirk Fenn. I’ll find a way. If it takes me my whole life, I promise I’ll find a way to make it up to you, she thought. Yet, Kirk couldn’t hear her even if she’d said the words aloud. Deacon and the EMTs had hauled ass across the property and were settling Kirk into the back of the ambulance several yards away. Joe rushed toward them, climbing into the back of the vehicle as Lara worked her magic with needles and IVs.

  Deacon gestured for Joe and Rory to climb in, and as they pulled away from the burning house, Kirk reached for her hand, closed his eyes, and went limp.

  “Are you Josephine?”

  Joe perked up from her seat on the waiting room couch. A younger woman was coming in, her jacket and scarf tossed on over what could only be described as pajamas. Joe nodded, wiping the exhaustion from her eyes.

  “What are they saying? Have you heard anything?” The woman asked as she sat down on the other end of the couch, making due despite Rory’s sleeping frame sprawled across the length of the couch.

  Joe took a sharp breath as a man ran through the waiting room to the nurse’s station. The man was tall and broad, and his voice was remarkably similar to Kirk’s. Yet, this man’s clean shaven face shared more similarities with Tiernan Fenn than Kirk. Joe watched him a moment, holding her breath.

  “Oh my god! Sweetheart! There you are. Are you two okay?”

  Joe startled around to find Tiernan Fenn now crouched down in front of the couch, a tall black man standing just a few feet away with his hands in his pockets – Tiern
an’s husband. Tiernan touched her face, brushing her hair aside as he inspected the bandages at her throat.

  Joe nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  “They say he’s in surgery now,” Kirk’s father said, returning to the small crowd now gathering around the couch.

  “Surgery? Here? They didn’t airlift him to Bangor?”

  Kirk’s dad shook his head. “No. he’s far more beat up from the car accident. Apparently the knife just punctured his appendix, thank god. So they’re just removing that, and he should be out -.”

  Joe collapsed into grateful sobs. She’d been sitting there ignorant for almost an hour, waiting and praying for news she knew they couldn’t legally give her. She wasn’t his wife. She was his tenant if nothing more. Who could know they’d become something so much bigger?

  Kirk’s father dropped down beside the couch with Tiernan, and suddenly Joe felt surrounded and small.

  They didn’t know her at all. How could they be so kind?

  “You alright? How’s your girl?” Kirk’s father, Terence asked, putting his hand over hers and squeezing.

  Joe nodded.

  Deacon entered the room and the small gathering around her dispersed, coming together around Deacon to gain information about the night.

  Deacon was joined by another man who by stature and expression could only be his brother.

  “The house is done. They’ve got a full blown manhunt out looking for the fucker who did this, but there’s no sign yet.”

  Joe watched the crowd of men, all of them well over six foot, all of them exuding some strange ferocity that Joe could only half comprehend. ‘Our kind heal well,’ Deacon had said. ‘Our kind.’

  Did he mean that all of these men were like Kirk? All of these men could become bears? The thought was ludicrous. She found herself shaking her head throughout the night, as though she might loose the memories of what she’d seen – that the whole night had been a dream.

  Yet, here she was, the smell of antiseptic thick in the air.

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  Joe startled, turning toward the woman on the couch beside her. “What’s that?”