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

by Michaela Wright

  He’d kissed her.

  She fought to steady herself, her socked feet growing damp from the cool ground. Still, she didn’t dare go back inside. She’d grown up surrounded by bears, she knew they’d smell him on her; smell the way he’d affected her. However fond of their kinsman she was, she wasn’t entirely keen on the idea of Deacon’s mother smelling her son on Maggie’s skin.

  But my god, he’d kissed her. And it was wonderful.

  Damn it, she thought. That doesn’t help.

  She needed to gather her wits, gather her things, and hit the road. Now, she knew she’d carry the memory of Deacon’s lips, and of how his blue eyes felt icy from just inches away, gazing down at her like some pocket sized thing. And as the fates would have it, her best bet for escape was Boston, the city where Deacon lived until just a week ago. Still, Deacon wouldn’t be returning to Boston unless he was returning to the ex-girlfriend.

  Fickle are the fates, she thought.

  “You comin back in? I’m telling you, my mum’s blueberry pie will change your life. You don’t want to miss this bad boy.”

  Maggie turned to find Deacon’s brother standing in the doorway.

  She nodded, still wanting to let the cool autumn air dissipate whatever scent Deacon may have left on her; or whatever scent he’d caused her to emit.

  God, stupid bears!

  Maggie turned back toward the Fenn family home, letting John hold the door open for her. Despite the strangeness she felt in that space; the warmth, the free laughter, the comfort of expression – nothing like a Talbot home - the Fenns seemed oblivious to it, welcoming her in every conversation. When John finally offered to take her home, she’d spent another two hours with Deacon’s family.

  John kissed his wife goodbye in the driveway, squeezing her ass hard enough to make her yelp before climbing into his own truck to drive Maggie home. Her cheeks grew warm at the sight of how John treated his wife – of the open affection and tension they seemed to carry, as though they were always just a few moments away from tearing each other’s clothes off. Maggie couldn’t help but imagine that with Deacon. Would he grab her ass in his parents’ driveway? He did kiss her there.

  Stop it, Light Foot. You’re not a rebound girl. Stop acting like one.

  Maggie took a deep breath as she settled into the passenger seat. One more trip back to the rez. One more visit to the only home she’d ever known, collect her things, her phone, her wallet, then make the trip to Machias, Augusta, Bangor, wherever her hitchhiking might get her.

  She didn’t look forward to the next twenty four hours, and she was frustrated.

  Why couldn’t she have met Deacon any time before now? They lived less than four miles from each other’s doorstep, yet she’d never so much as seen those blue eyes from across a restaurant, a bar, not even a classroom. She silently cursed her family for keeping her out of Blackrock schools.

  “You further inland, or are you down by the water?”

  Maggie startled, realizing she’d tranced out as John crossed the boundary into the rez. “Sorry, yeah. I’m down by the water. Turn right up here.”

  John did as he was told, the quiet houses and trailers passing in darkness as they turned onto her father’s road. The cottage was pitch black up ahead. Maggie stiffened at the sight, wondering where Papa might be. It was only six or so, he wouldn’t be in bed yet.

  “You expecting company?”

  Maggie felt her stomach drop through the floor of the truck as headlights appeared in the road behind them, cornering them in her driveway.

  “Shit. Oh shit, shit, shit!”

  Maggie lunged for the door of the truck, jumping out and into the driveway to wave at the oncoming cars. “He’s not with me. I just hitchhiked a ride from him.”

  John’s brow furrowed and he began to put the truck into park.

  She hissed at him, fighting to hide her panic. “Just pull around on the lawn. Get out of here!”

  “Light Foot, what’s going on?” John asked, his seat belt already undone. That name used by Deacon’s brother felt instantly familiar, only further driving her need to keep him out of this.

  “You return to the land as though you’ve some right to it, child,” Richard White Eagle bellowed from the spotlights ahead. He wasn’t visible, his silhouette framed by headlights beyond, but he was felt, nonetheless.

  Maggie shielded her eyes to look at him. “I just forgot my phone, a couple of things. I swear, that’s all. No one knows I’m here.”

  Richard chuckled, softly. “Your scent was all over the house this morning. Half eaten breakfast. Your phone with recent texts. Do I strike you as dumb, girl?”

  Fuck. Fuck, shit, fuck!

  “I swear, I was leaving tonight. I swear!”

  “Yes, tonight is four days late, Maggie. If you wanted to be a part of this tribe, you should have behaved that way.”

  Two more figures got out of the cars, coming to stand at Richard’s side. She recognized them by gait alone; the chief’s sons. John was still in the driver’s seat of his truck, staring into the rear view mirror, the light reflected on his face as though he waited for some kind of signal.

  Damn it, John! Go, she thought.

  Richard’s son Graham rounded the bed of the truck, coming to the driver’s side door and stopping at the sight of John’s face.

  “It’s a Fenn.”

  Richard shifted in the headlights, and she could see his face. He was glaring at her with a new fury. Apparently, her being with a Fenn was not a welcome thing.

  “Is this why you refused your chosen mate? To pursue some other male of their clan? Is this some Fenn scheme to repeal the land deal?”

  “No! Chief, I swear. He just gave me a ride!”

  Graham slammed a fist into the door of John’s truck. “Leave. Now.”

  John started to speak, trying to defend himself and her, but none of the Talbots would hear it. They’d made up their mind, and Richard White Eagle was not one to be convinced.

  Maggie put her hands up as though someone pointed a gun at her. She could feel the threat in the very air.

  John called out his open window. “I swear, sir -”

  Chief seemed to only grow angrier with every word from John’s mouth. Maggie waved at John, urging him to leave while he could. Richard met her gaze, his eyes burning into her with such fury, she feared he could read her mind.

  “Margaret Light Foot Porter -”

  Oh god. He’d used her birth family’s name. Oh god.

  “I challenge you to Kalmud.”

  Maggie’s stomach twisted into itself as a pathetic wail called from the dark house behind her. She didn’t have to look to see the source – her father had heard the challenge, too.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Do you have the scent?”

  Deacon launched out of his car, rushing across the road to meet his brother. John stood just outside his truck, their cars parked at the boundary of the rez.

  He shook his head. “No, but I know where they were headed.”

  The peninsula. The reservation touched the sea at its southernmost point, cutting out into the water in a jagged, tree covered jetty that offered such harsh terrain, no one could build there. They’d taken her by car, John said, her father openly weeping and fighting to get in the car alongside. They’d refused him, and he’d followed along in his own beat up sedan, his tires skidding across the gravel driveway as he took off in pursuit.

  Deacon’s stomach turned at the thought. The peninsula was down a long, winding road toward the south – on a good night it was a twenty minute drive through thick forest and narrow cuts through the landscape. He and John had taken the hunting trail down to the peninsula many times on ATVs, cutting the travel time in half. Sadly, they weren’t riding ATVs tonight.

  “Are you up for a run?” Deacon asked, tossing his keys up under the wheel bed.

  John snorted softly. “When am I not?”

  The hunting trail cut through the woods from the main drag
, a mile of thick brush and rough terrain gouged into the landscape by every manner of animal, and every member of the Fenn and Talbot bear clans. Still, if they could keep pace, this mile would take less than ten minutes, and Deacon was very motivated.

  Deacon sloughed off his jacket, tossing it into the back of John’s truck as he set off, his stride starting slow as he approached the woods.

  “What the hell are you gonna do when you get there?”

  Deacon doubled his pace, calling back to his brother. “I don’t know! Hurry the fuck up!”

  He was off, dodging under tree limbs and bounding over boulders and fallen trees. He knew these trails well, helped form them on nights when he was out for a hunt. Yet, the bear couldn’t make this path as quickly as his human legs could. He felt his breath grow ragged, realizing he’d spent eight full months cooped up in a Boston apartment with no woods or open space to draw him for a run. Still, he pushed through the pain, hearing John catch up behind.

  The woods smelled of every manner of living thing, frozen moss and cracked acorns under foot, rotting pine needles gathered across the path. He breathed deep, fighting to keep his pace as the path sloped upward – they were getting close.

  John caught up on him as he fought with the burning in his legs to scale the massive hill. This part of the path was jagged and worn into the rock face. Deacon fought to steady his footing as he reached the steepest part. The smell hit him like a wave as they reached the top of the hill, looking down to the clearing along the shore – the smell of beast, and blood, and spit, and fear; the smell of battle. Deacon lunged forward without thinking, losing his footing and sliding halfway down the slope. He felt a searing pain across his backside as he landed, skidding down the worn path, pine needles kicking up into his pant leg as he fell. He didn’t care. It might hurt like hell, but it was speeding him up.

  “Hang on!” John called from behind, but Deacon was unwilling. The smell grew stronger with each step, finally giving way to sound. There were angry snarls up ahead, roaring interspersed with whimpers and cries. Finally he heard a familiar sound, and as he burst from the tree line to see the battle up ahead, his heart nearly broke.

  “Please! Papa!”

  Deacon stopped at the edge of the clearing, the waves crashing against the rocky coast beyond as two massive bears loomed over a third. Maggie stood off to the side, sobbing and screaming in protest as the two younger bears took their advantage, teaming up to kill the older one. Just beyond them, Richard White Eagle stood with his arms crossed, watching as though he attended a football game, and his team was winning. Deacon’s eyes went wide at the sight.

  “Get off him!” He screamed, grabbing up a stick and lunging forward, swinging it into the muzzles of the two younger bears. Their fur was dark around their mouths, frothing with pink and coated in blood. The older bear, the white fur around his muzzle stained from a wound on his face, was fighting just to stay upright. Despite the beaten look of the older bear, the two younger bears were not unscathed. He’d done some damage.

  Maggie sobbed, seemingly afraid to step forward.

  Deacon’s fury was uncontainable. “You fucks! You dishonorable fucks!”

  “Do not involve yourself, white man! This is none of your concern,” Richard White Eagle called, hollering to be heard over the sound of the sea.

  John appeared at the tree line, coming to join his brother as Deacon moved to stand between the two younger bears and the older wounded one.

  “You stand by and allow two to fight one? You disgust me. That is not how Kalmud is fought!”

  Richard White Eagle lunged forward, pointing a finger in Deacon’s face. “Tell me again how you know our ways better than I.”

  “You fucking coward,” Deacon whispered, leaning in to Richard until the man’s finger nearly touched Deacon’s face.

  “Stop! Please!” Maggie cried, lunging forward to pull Deacon back. “Please! You said, you’d not kill him. Please stop now. You’ve won.”

  She dropped to her father’s side, running her hands through his matted fur. She looked pained, struggling with the bear’s weight as he began to slump to the side. “No, Papa! NO!”

  The old bear fell with a grunt, his body collapsing into the dirt.

  Richard straightened, his expression growing strangely solemn. Maggie became inconsolable, instantly.

  The two younger bears bared their teeth, their stances changing as they moved forward.

  “I am sorry, brother,” Richard said, and his tone was hauntingly calm.

  “No!” Maggie screamed again. “He is old! He hasn’t fallen. Let him live, please!”

  Richard began to unbutton his shirt as Maggie wailed even louder, trying to pull her father away from them.

  Richard simply shook his head. “It is the cost of falling, Light Foot. Any bear who falls in Kalmud knows the consequences.”

  Deacon’s mouth fell open. They were going to kill Maynard. Two against one and the man’s punishment for falling in the fight was to be killed. Deacon had heard tales of how Kalmud was fought, but he believed these practices to be of another time. Yet, as Richard unbuttoned his jeans, undressing in preparation of a shift, Deacon knew full well what the man intended.

  “Your father chose to fight for you. He knew the price.”

  Deacon tore the buttons of his EMT uniform open, shrugging the sleeves down his arms as Maggie’s sobs changed.

  She whispered behind him in pain. “No. No Deacon, you can’t.”

  Deacon ignored her, tossing his shirt to the ground. Richard’s brow furrowed as he watched. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Deacon was unbuckling his belt when he responded. “You’ve no honor. If you attempt to harm this bear further, you will have a war on your hands.”

  Maggie’s breath shook deep in her chest as she tried to protest.

  “This is not your fight!” Richard bellowed.

  Deacon was stripped now, standing in the frigid air, feeling the sea spray fleck across his bare skin. He couldn’t feel the cold; his blood was boiling.

  Deacon glared Richard down. “You allowed two to take on this man at once. Now you plan to execute him while he is weak? You want the kill? Come through me.”

  John appeared at Deacon’s shoulder, pulling his t-shirt up over his head as he squared his shoulders. The two younger bears’ demeanor was changing. However confident they’d been fighting the old man a moment before, they were having second thoughts now, inching away as Richard’s temper blazed.

  “I will know the taste of your blood, son.”

  In an instant, Richard White Eagle shifted, lunging forward as Deacon braced for impact. Richard barreled into him in full bear, knocking him back as Deacon shifted as well, his fur covered back absorbing the brunt of his fall. Richard loomed over him, jaws wide and incoming just as a massive shape heaved into Richard’s shoulder, knocking him aside – John. John and Deacon weren’t like the other bears of Blackrock. They’d inherited the Allen blood. When they turned, they turned grizzly. Richard’s sons visibly faltered as Deacon rose to his hind legs and roared in Richard’s face.

  Richard swatted Deacon’s muzzle, knocking him just enough to distract, and the two younger bears lunged forward, each challenging one of the Fenn brothers. Despite the Talbot bears being smaller, they more than made up for it in tenacity. Deacon felt teeth sink into his shoulder as the black bear jumped onto him. Deacon shook the massive creature off, slamming his paws into the bear’s chest, pinning him down. Just as he was roaring in the smaller bear’s face, a black blur shot past him. Deacon turned just in time to see Richard White Eagle’s bear rush toward Maggie and her father, ready to tear his teeth into Maynard’s throat. Deacon barreled over the fallen bear toward Richard, heaving every ounce of his weight into Richard’s side. It managed to knock him aside, but not over.

  Richard turned on him, teeth bared and a roar to shake his bones shattering the quiet of the shoreline. Deacon braced as Richard attacked him, knocking him onto h
is back and pinning him there. Richard White Eagle may have been smaller, but he was by no means weak. Deacon’s heart raced as he fought to push the bear off, baring his teeth and kicking his paws up, but Richard was solid as stone. A miserable sound echoed from further down the shore, Deacon glanced over just in time to see the two smaller bears attacking John in tandem.

  John! He thought.

  Deacon swatted Richard in the face, then strained toward him, his canines making contact with Richard’s muzzle as he fought to bite his opponent. Richard shook off the bite, slammed his paws into Deacon’s chest, and lunged in, his teeth clamping into Deacon’s shoulder.

  The pain was blinding, shooting down his left side as his skin tore in the bear’s teeth. Oh my god, I’m going to die here, he thought.

  A snarl splintered through the air and Richard stumbled, his paws moving from Deacon’s chest. Deacon watched as Richard shook his head wildly, his whole body shuddering in response to some strange shape on his back. The shape snarled again, clamping onto Richard like a barnacle on a ship, refusing to be dislodged as it sank its claws and teeth into Richard again and again. The two younger bears were retreating, watching their father stumble as John managed to get to his feet. Richard growled and faltered, rolling onto his back to loose his attacker. The golden shape, all lithe and long and quick, recoiled, bracing for Richard, every muscle in its body rippling in wait of a signal.

  A mountain lion.

  Deacon backed away, the tension and fear of every bear was as present as the sea spray that floated in the air.

  Richard moved just enough to betray purpose, and the lion surged forward with such speed as to draw a whimper from Richard as its claws ripped across his face. John and Deacon were up now, wary of their new companion, but squaring themselves to return to the fight. Richard recoiled, grunting to his sons who also backed away. As Deacon watched, the three black bears retreated toward the tree line, watching the lion warily as it seethed and growled in a constant warning purr, the sound of it vibrating the very air.

  Richard and his sons turned into the woods and were gone, their heavy movements shaking the trees as they fled.