by Renee Rose
It wasn’t any kind of animal scent I recognize.
And maybe this is a lead, maybe it’s not, but I caught the scent of something similar in Tucson. Not the same—hell, it if had been the same, the guy would be dead. But there were a few guys at the Fight Club. They were shifters, but I couldn’t figure out what animal.
And that doesn’t make sense.
But I didn’t trust my senses when I was there. And being around all those shifters, being in the city—if you can call Tucson a city, and I do—had my bear so on edge, I was slipping between human and animal form the whole time I was there. Barely keeping my mind intact. It made me cranky as hell, and a danger to all those around me. All I wanted to do was get back on I-10 and drive away as fast as I could.
It’s only here, back at my cabin where I can be the antisocial hermit I am, I’ve sorted through my impressions. Now I wish I had stayed and asked questions about that scent.
I stand in my open doorway and stare out at the snow falling. Looks like going back into hibernation isn’t going to be an option. I have to go check on the human.
I’m not going to drive up to the research cabin—that would only scare the shit out of her. She’d think I’m the psycho stalker. I’m sure she’s been warned about the danger. It’s getting too cold to walk now, though. At least in human form.
I could wait until morning and hike over.
My bear rumbles.
Fuck.
Looks like we’re going for a four-legged hike.
I strip out of my clothes and stow them just inside the door. Outside, it’s started to snow harder. The flakes stings my bare skin and the soles of my feet as I shut the door in human form. Then I close my eyes and drop to all fours, the bear always so close to the surface, ready to take over.
He runs.
He fucking loves to run.
If he had his way, I’d give up all humanity. Roam these woods as bear. Forget all the pain, the tragedy. The life hardly worth living.
I almost gave into him in the months after Jen and Gretchen died. I wanted to. I hoped he’d swallow every last bit of Caleb, leave me without the ability to go back.
But the wolves intervened. I don’t know how they got word, but the Tucson wolf pack showed up on their bikes, scaring the snot out of the inhabitants of Pecos, who thought the Hell’s Angels had invaded.
They hunted me as a pack. Cornered me in a fight. They’re lucky I didn’t kill them all. The wolves kept me cornered and Garrett Green, their alpha, took his human form and ordered me to shift. He carried enough alpha command to make me do it.
They dragged me back to my cabin and stayed with me until I was human again. Forced me back to human form every time I tried to shift.
I guess they think I ought to be grateful.
I’m not.
I hate the fuckers.
They brought me back into my pain. Into a life I don’t want to lead.
On the other hand, there is something about knowing an entire pack of shifters have my back. Bears are generally solitary animals, so it was strange to be claimed by a pack. I still don’t know why they did it.
Because they could’ve just as easily come up here and put me down.
They probably should have.
I lope through the snow, my bear chuffing with pleasure at the snow on my snout, the taste of it on my tongue, the crisp air cooling my furry ears.
The trip to the research cabin takes no time at all with my giant bear stride.
I circle it twice, getting a sense for the scents.
There’s animal—dog.
That’s good. I’m glad she’s not entirely alone.
And the female’s scent.
It’s a pleasant tickle in my nose. Like strawberries and vanilla ice cream, only not that sweet. I don’t expect to enjoy it so much. It’s a human scent, after all. Not my thing.
The dog starts to bark when I get closer to the cabin. Smart animal.
The alpha in me growls, like I want to put him in his place, but he’s doing his job. Protecting his human as he should.
I amble toward the back of the cabin. I probably don’t need to stay any longer. I don’t detect any other scents here. But something pulls me closer. Some idle curiosity about the fearless female who thinks coming up here alone in a snowstorm with a killer on the loose is a good plan.
I stand on my hind legs and put my paws on the windowsill, peering in.
Fuck. Me.
The girl—scratch that, she’s all woman, even though she’s young—has built too big a fire. I know it’s too big because she’s stripped down to a soft pink tank top. A very small soft pink tank top. One that strains to contain her large, lush breasts. A pretty tattoo winds around her upper arm—green vines and a cobalt blue butterfly.
My bear growls.
She’s fucking beautiful. Human females aren’t my type—not at all. But if they were, I’d pick her kind. She looks like a Swiss milkmaid. A Viking princess. No, with that red hair, she’d be Irish farmstock. She’s sturdy. Big-boned, well-padded. Full-bodied with wide enough hips to carry a bear cub. Full strawberry lips. Smooth creamy white skin.
She’s healthy as fuck.
With brains to boot.
She will make some human asshole a very lucky man if she hasn’t already.
The dog, a furry black shepherd of some kind goes nuts when I growl, baring his teeth and snarling toward the window.
I should turn away, but I don’t. I haven’t looked my fill, yet.
I’m still staring when the hot scientist whirls and catches sight of me. Her eyes fly wide and she shrieks. More of a yelp, really. Almost a battle cry. She lunges for her dog as if he might be in imminent danger and grabs him by the collar.
“Bear, stay back.” She doesn’t take her eyes from me.
The command tickles something in me. An inner smile. How cute that she thinks she can command a bear.
But then she repeats, “Bear, no,” and I realize she’s talking to the dog.
Hilarious.
Miranda
Oh holy mother of God.
The guy at the store was right. There is a crazy freaking bear up here.
Because I swear to God, it’s smiling at me right now. It must be nearly nine feet tall, with an intense, intelligent yellow gaze. Like it’s reading my thoughts.
My heart pounds, but logic takes over. The bear’s outside. Bear—my dog—and I are inside. As soon as I’m sure of it, maybe even before, my knees go weak at the sheer splendor of the animal.
I’ve never met a bear in person before. Sure, I’ve seen them behind the glass at the zoo, but this is totally different. I’m witnessing a bear in the wild.
“Ursus americanus. The American black bear,” I say in a mock deep voice like a narrator of a nature documentary—it’s one of my favorite games. A party trick I developed as an undergrad for laughs. “Named for its black fur, although the species’ coat can have variations of brown or blonde.” And this one is absolutely magnificent. He’s a black bear, but the size of a grizzly. Healthy—with a shiny thick coat of dark fur.
I continue lecturing my imaginary audience, “In the cold months, the bear’s metabolism slows to the point where the bear can enter a dormant state known as hibernation. The bear can conserve energy and weather the season when food is scarce.”
Why on Earth is he not still hibernating? We did have a brief warm spell; maybe it pulled him out of his cave early.
Poor bear. Tricked by nature.
God, I hope he can survive. What will he find to eat when the rivers are half frozen and nothing’s in bloom?
Well, I suppose that’s why he’s roaming around this cabin. Probably smells food.
Of course, I can’t feed him. That’s a terribly dangerous proposition, and it teaches bears to associate humans with food, which leads to bear attacks.
Maybe I can leave something out in the woods when I’m doing my research. But it will still smell like a human. And I recall that bears hav
e an excellent sense of smell—300 times better than a dog or something crazy like that.
Too bad they can’t train a bear to hunt and seek. Maybe they’d find the women who have disappeared.
The bear tips his head to the side, eyes locked onto mine like he’s trying to read my mind. A tingle races across my skin. Now I see why the townspeople think the bear is crazy. There is something uncanny about it. It seems to have an almost human intelligence.
“Hey, big guy,” I murmur. “You’re beautiful.” Bear stops growling, following my lead. He sits but keeps his gaze pinned to the real bear in the window, ears cocked forward, haunches bunched and ready to spring into action.
The giant bear chuffs, fogging the glass.
I smile. I can’t help it. I feel so honored to catch sight of such a magnificent creature. As often happens in the face of raw nature, I’m filled with awe—overwhelmed with appreciation for the incredible beauty and largess of everything this Earth has to hold.
It’s why I became an ecologist. And I’m grateful for moments like these that remind me. This is what I need to remember when I’m overwhelmed by the sexism and insularity of academia.
When I was an undergrad, I spent a summer volunteering in Guatemala. My job was to build latrines. While I was there I felt an earthquake. Nothing huge. Just a tremor, or temblor as they called it. But in that moment I felt so helpless. I realized how tiny and insignificant humans are in the face of natural forces. It didn’t scare me—it humbled me. Renewed my respect for Mother Earth and all she represents.
It’s unwise—not because I’m in danger, but because I shouldn’t let this bear get comfortable around humans—but I step forward to get a closer look. To indulge my awe.
The bear chuffs again but doesn’t move. I advance slowly, taking in every detail of the beautiful creature. The unblinking golden gaze, the tan coloring around his snout.
“You are gorgeous aren’t you?” I croon.
I swear the bear smiles again, but then he drops away from view. I dash to the window and peer out as he lopes away. It’s insane how much territory he covers with just a few bounds, his powerful legs eating up ground like he owns it.
I guess he does. The bears should own these mountains. They shouldn’t be pushed out of their natural wilderness by the growing competition for space.
I hum softly to myself as I watch him grow smaller and then disappear into the falling snow and settling dusk. There’s a lot more snow than I expected—the weather app was wrong.
Lucky me. A giant black bear sighting. I’ve never seen the New Mexican state animal before. I mean, outside of a zoo. That alone makes the entire trip worth it. Not that I don’t love coming up to this cabin. Spending time alone in nature is my favorite thing—even in the winter. I sort of love the solitary rustic cabin in the woods thing. I’ve been applying for research grants, dreaming that the department will let me take the money and just live up here, collect and analyze data for weeks or even months at a time.
From the time I first went camping as a kid, I knew the wilderness was where I belonged. I ended up getting my doctorate in ecology because I care deeply about nature, and I’ve developed a passion to protect it.
If I can prove climate change effects on the trees, it will contribute to environmental movements across the globe. That’s the real reason I’m out here in the middle of a snowstorm doing research. Not for proving something to Dr. Alogore or the glory of publication. No, this is for the planet.
I’m working hard to make a difference, and I believe I will.
Caleb
I have to fight to shift back to human form when I get to my cabin, and when I succeed, I have a boner the size of the Eiffel Tower.
Well.
Now I’m awake.
And it’s not even spring yet.
Because I still carry the snow and dirt of the forest on my skin, I head into the shower.
As the water sluices over my body, I try not to think of that ridiculous human scientist staring at me like I’m some kind of god. The way those full lips moved around the words, you’re beautiful.
Beautiful? Not even close.
I am darkness and despair. A formidable bear. A pathetic man. And far too often, caught between the two—neither man nor bear, but something sick and raw and wasted.
But I can’t stop the image of her from presenting itself before my eyes. Her curvy shape. The creamy skin. The very capable demeanor.
I grip my cock, trying my best not to imagine her lush mouth over it.
Oh fuck—now I thought it. And goddamn what a wonderful thought. My thighs shudder as I imagine the hot water from the shower is the heat of her mouth gliding over my length.
I probably wouldn’t fit in that hot mouth of hers. Although she is ample for a human. Would she look up at me with that same glowing awe as she took me between those pouty lips? Like she wanted to worship at my feet just because I have fur and claws?
I shake my head, guilt shutting down the fantasy like the lid on a garbage can.
How could I?
I mated Jen for life. And most bears don’t settle down—we’re seldom monogamous. But I did.
I shouldn’t be getting turned on by any other female. Especially not a human.
Except my cock disagrees. Even my bear disagrees—he’s right at the surface, urging me to shift and charge back to the research cabin. I’m still rock hard and my fist hasn’t stopped moving up and down over the throbbing appendage.
Fuck.
Well, it’s not like I’d actually do anything with her. This is more like a foray into porn. I’m letting myself travel down the path of a stupid fantasy. No harm, no foul, right? I close my eyes, remembering the scent of the human female. Pleasure ripples through my body; the water’s suddenly way too hot. I twist it toward cold and pump my cock harder. My balls draw up tight.
Damn, when’s the last time I jacked off? It’s been months. At least half a year. My body celebrates the reignition of my libido, the hormones pumping through my body. Once more, the vision of the scientist on her knees servicing me rises to the forefront of my mind.
That lush mouth…
I come, my hand jerking frantically as I spend onto the porcelain floor of the tub.
Relief makes me sag, leaning a shoulder against the cool tile. The pleasure only lasts a moment and then disgust rips through me.
What the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn’t be thinking anything about that human female except how to keep my bear from breaking through and how to protect her from the evil that lurks in the woods.
Chapter 3
Miranda
I bundle up before I head out the next morning. The snow flurries stopped, which is good, because I didn’t want to wait to start my research. And I’m glad I made it up here yesterday, because the roads would probably be icy today. I’m just counting on the weather clearing after a few days so I can get home at the end of the week.
Bear stands at the door, turning in circles with excitement over going for a walk.
“You want outside, boy? You ready for our hike?” I egg him on.
He whirls again, paws prancing with readiness, furry tail wagging. I love this dog. Really—he makes my day on a regular basis.
“Okay, let’s go, then.” I pull on my leather gloves. They’re not as warm as big insulated mittens, but I have work to do out there, and I’ll need individual fingers.
I grab my backpack which has everything I require in it: my tablet, battery pack charger, snacks for lunch and a water bottle. I bring my phone for emergencies, although reception is so bad out here, I doubt it would do any good.
As soon as I open the door, wind hits us. I gasp out loud, then laugh at my reaction. “Damn, it’s cold, isn’t it buddy?”
Bear charged out into the snow, rushing around to re-investigate every snow-covered bush he already sniffed and peed on when he went out this morning. He pays particular attention to the side of the cabin where the bear—the real bear—stood last
night.
I wrap my scarf tighter around my face, leaving only my eyes uncovered and tucking the edges into my coat to stuff all the weak points where the wind cuts right through me. I look up at the sky. It’s sunny now, but clouds are moving in from the north. I need to plan to be back to the cabin by lunchtime in case another storm comes in.
“We’ll have to keep the research short today, won’t we, boy?”
Bear bounds in front of me like the snow was a gift just for him.
It’s easy to follow the road, even though it’s covered in snow, and I know the trails well enough. Staying cooped up in the cabin all day without having research numbers to crunch doesn’t sound fun. If I can at least get started today, I’ll feel better.
I trudge through the accumulation, which is knee deep in places. It hits above my boots and clings to my jeans in little ice-balls. Damn. I’m going to get too cold very fast.
Bear doesn’t seem to mind. He’s still bounding around, zipping ahead of me to investigate, then tunneling back through the snow.
“You’d make a good sled dog, wouldn’t you, Bear? Wish I had a sled today, that would make this much easier.” Or skis. Or snowshoes. This is insane.
It takes me three times longer than usual to make it to the trailhead. I push on, cutting off onto the trail and following it up on a slow ascent.
I start by setting up my plot—marking off an acre of land as my sample area. Then I begin, starting with the first giant ponderosa tree. I take a core sample to take back to the lab to examine the rings. I’m studying the effects of climate change on trees, and it’s measurable. Soon I’ll have enough data to prove it and finally get some credit as a researcher at the University of New Mexico.
“Observe the female of the species,” I say in my documentary-narrator voice. “Relegated to home life in past centuries, breakthroughs in contraception allow her greater freedom and control of her professional life. She is able to accept duties and responsibilities equal to her male colleagues, at eighty percent of their take home pay. Perceived as the weaker sex, she endures the males’ posturing and attempts at bullying as the price of entry into the workplace.” At least until I secure funding for my project. Then it’s “Sayonara, suckas!” I squeeze my fingers to warm them up, and get to work.