“Who the hell are you?” She said, glaring at him.
It wasn’t the first time someone met him with such disdain since he arrived in Labrador, but this woman didn’t need a gun to knock him over.
The woman was pale faced, freckles across the bridge of her nose and wild auburn hair in coarse ringlet curls, swirling around her face in the cold air. Theron swallowed hard, forgetting his bum ankle for a minute and almost stepping down. He caught himself, holding out a hand to introduce himself. “Good morning. You must be Miss Dalton. I’m Theron.”
CHAPTER TWO
SINEAD
The small piece of course stone cracked in her hand, driving her fingernail into the chalkboard before she could react. The grinding sound echoed through the empty room and sent a shudder through her very bones. Sinead stepped away from the chalkboard and squealed to herself, doing a little dance of jittery displeasure.
There were very few sensations she hated more than nails on a chalkboard.
She glanced at the floor and found the broken stone, worn down on one side, now a sliver of its former size. She couldn’t write with it anymore.
Sinead Dalton sighed, pulling her coat around her shoulders. Her breath was visible even in the small schoolhouse, but she didn’t dare turn on the heater until the kids arrived in another hour.
Not that they needed the heat. These kids were all special. The cold didn’t bother them like it did normal people.
Still, the Extension only had so much power. She couldn’t bring herself to take more than she absolutely needed.
“Well, god damn it,” she said to herself, striding over to the window to look outside. It was early Autumn, but the weather outside was still bone chilling when the wind blew. At least in the small schoolhouse, she could burrow into her coats and pretend she was roughing it.
That thought was much nicer than reality.
The subtle sound of a few footsteps in the gravel notified her to someone coming down the road. Sinead leaned into the window and caught a quick glimpse of a familiar dark haired girl. Sinead rushed over to the schoolhouse door and peeked her head out.
“Bunny Holden, what are you doing out and about so early?”
The young girl turned back to her, eyes wide, feigning innocence. “I’m just going for a walk. I’ll be in school on time.”
Sinead gave her a raised eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sure you will.” They stared at each other for a moment, but Bunny wouldn’t break. Sinead knew better than to expect otherwise.
Buniq Holden was only eleven years old, but she carried herself with the same regal air as the grown women of her family. Despite that air of grace, Sinead knew full well today was the third Sunday of the month, and the officers would be dropping the commodity boxes off this morning. Buniq was looking to get an early peek at what was inside the crates.
“Well, if you’re going to be out there anyway, why don’t you make yourself useful and find me a couple more stones for the board? Think you can do that for me, sweetheart?”
Buniq smiled and nodded, then skipped off down the gravel road, her long black braids bouncing behind her.
Sinead shut the door to the schoolhouse, watching her breath dissipate into clouds of vapor. Without the heat on, it would take a couple seconds for the air to warm up inside the schoolroom again. Sinead deliberately exhaled toward the ceiling to watch her breath fade, then shot off toward the back of the room.
She was going to have a second cup of tea that morning.
Damn it.
They say Irish Breakfast tea is made with gunpowder. At least, that’s what Sinead’s father always said. Not that she had Irish Breakfast tea available. The Extension received only so many commodity boxes each month, and since the gates to the Extension closed two years prior, the number of those boxes dwindled every few months.
They’d started with seven, dropped to six, then four.
Now, it was only three. Three crates of food stuffs to sustain the entire population of the Extension.
It wasn’t enough.
Sinead took a deep breath and pulled her saved tea bag from that morning’s cup. She’d reuse it three times before it completely lost its flavor.
Weak tea was better than none, and she was damn well going to enjoy it, she thought.
Instead, she lost her grip on the mug as a loud, shattering crack ripped through the cold air. Sinead spun around from the kitchen, barely catching the mug before it fell from her hands. She scanned each window for a sign of something outside.
That was definitely a gun shot, she thought.
Sinead’s heart shot into her throat. She remembered the last time there’d been gunshots on the Extension.
Who could they be shooting at? And why? It’s only eight in the morning, there’s no one out there except -
Sinead took off for the school door, stepping out into the frigid air just in time to see Officer Baird Davenport climb back into his truck and barrel ass back down the main drag.
There were three crates lying in the middle of the road, nothing but dust to keep watch over them.
“Buniq!” Sinead called, scanning the flat land around the schoolhouse. She couldn’t see anyone or anything.
Sinead rushed around the corner of the schoolhouse, praying Buniq had been far from Davenport and whatever inspired him to take a shot. “Bunny? Sweetheart, can you hear me?”
The ground wasn’t quite frozen, but it was rough underfoot, patches of boulder sticking up from the rough grasses and gravel patches. Sinead hurried out into the field behind the school. This was where the children always went to find new stones for Miss Dalton to write on the board with, yet Buniq wasn’t here.
Sinead was determined to find the girl, roaming in every direction, calling her name. It was several minutes before she finally turned back for the schoolhouse.
God damn it, if that man did something to her, Sinead thought, her fists clenched tight at her sides.
“That Frenchy, bastard, son of a bitch -”
Sinead stopped dead at the corner of the schoolhouse. There standing by the front steps of the school was a stranger. A tall, stern browed stranger.
A damn handsome one at that.
He was tan skinned like the rest of the families on the Extension, his hair not as long as some. This man’s black hair stopped just below his jawline, and he wore a jean jacket with a red flannel shirt underneath. His arm was clutched across his stomach, and he leaned oddly to the right. The man seemed like he belonged – his native blood as clear as the color of his hair or eyes, yet unlike every other man within five miles, Sinead didn’t know his name.
That made him dangerous.
The Extension didn’t get visitors. The officers made damn sure of that.
Sinead heard the schoolhouse door creak as she stepped toward the strange man. She shot a glance up the steps to find Buniq there, holding the door wide open to him. Sinead lunged onto the steps to stand between him and the doorway.
She looked down at those intense brown eyes and summoned up her best glare. “Who the hell are you?”
He shifted his weight and winced.
He was injured.
Oh god, was he shot? She thought.
He held out a hand to her, groaning slightly as he moved. “Good morning. You must be Miss Dalton. I’m Theron.”
CHAPTER THREE
THERON
Two Weeks Earlier
“Man, I still can’t get over it!”
John Fenn was doing an excited little dance as they made their way through the trees toward the boundaries of the Fenn land. Theron had been spending a good amount of time with the Fenn bears – especially John – since his older sister Maggie started shacking up with John’s brother, Deacon.
Theron shook his head. “Yeah well, the novelty is gonna wear off at some point.”
“Bull shit, man! You’re a fucking polar bear!”
Theron couldn’t help but laugh. John had the kind of personality that could get the people aroun
d him in trouble. He was also a lot of fun to be around.
“So how’s Catherine doing? She still crying all the time?”
John sighed. “No, thank god. That was rough as hell. Did I tell you she literally burst into wailing sobs in the middle of Pete’s Dragon? Pete’s effing Dragon! Could not stop crying. Poor baby.”
Catherine Fenn was heavily pregnant with John’s first child.
Theron shrugged. “I don’t know. I think I’ve burst into tears watching Pete’s Dragon a few times.”
“Well, me too! But I can keep it to a subtle man cry. Poor Catie was practically keening. And she couldn’t stop. I tried to hug her through it, but she just smacked me away because she doesn’t like to be seen crying.”
They reached a narrow dirt road in the woods and Theron gave the air a quick sniff. There was nothing to warn of company in the air. “So she’s better now?”
John marched out into the dirt road, giving his own inspection. “Yeah. Now she’s eating nothing but toaster waffles and drinking two gallons of lemonade a day. Och! And the fucking heartburn. Poor thing goes through Tums like jelly beans.”
Theron shuddered. He’d never spent a great deal of time around pregnant women, but he’d heard more than his fair share of horror stories from his mother. She loved to regale him with what a miserable pregnancy he’d been.
“Think it’s clear? Haven’t seen anything since that cruiser out on the main drag,” John said, unbuttoning his flannel shirt.
Theron shook his head. “Naw. Looks pretty clear.”
John was shirtless now, too excited for the hunt to wait. By the time John tossed his pants over a tree branch, Theron had only thought to start getting undressed.
They were in the woods around Parkhurst Lake. Theron usually shifted down by the shoreline near the rez, but John assured him the hunting around Parkhurst was way more interesting.
“You got rabbits, coons, possums, deer, moose – everything down there,” he’d said.
Theron had never shifted further inland for one very particular reason – unlike the Fenn family of shifters, Theron wouldn’t blend in with the usual fauna. If someone saw Theron trudging the woods in bear form, there’d be an uproar.
Still, John assured him no one ventured onto the Fenn side of Parkhurst, and he was almost impossible to argue with.
John grunted softly, and Theron realized his friend was already a bear – a massive, furry monster of brown. A grizzly.
Suppose a Grizzly isn’t exactly a common sight in Downeast Maine, either, Theron thought.
That notion stilled a hint of his anxiety. Still, years of growing up with a polar bear mother – seeing her constant efforts to go unseen, the stress of not being able to shift for long periods because of her anxiety.
Shifters need to shift. It is in their blood, and the longer they go without it, the harder it is to quell the need. Theron’s mother would sometimes simply go out back from the house and shift for a moment or two behind the shed. Otherwise, she remained constantly on edge, wary of every single shift she made.
No wonder she and Maggie had such trouble over the years. A shifter who isn’t shifting can be one grumpy character.
Theron was a tad more adventurous than mom. He didn’t take week long vacations up north to visit family so he could ‘get it out of his system’ like she did. Theron just trekked down to a corner of the shoreline and hunted for fish, splashing through the waves in the dark, fearless of being spotted by anything but boats passing miles off shore.
Even down in Boston, Theron never went more than two weeks without shifting. The last thing a polar bear shifter needs is to push his limits too far, and then get set off in the middle of lab class.
John grunted again and Theron noticed how long he’d been lost in thought. Perhaps he was more nervous than he let on. Still, what chance was there that someone would venture into the Fenn woods the one night he decided to shift there.
None.
Theron stripped down to his boxers and gave John a glare. The massive grizzly huffed at him. Theron was sure the bear rolled its eyes. John turned and lumbered into the woods, kicking up pine cones as he went. A moment later, Theron’s boxers were hanging from the same tree, and Theron was roaring through the trees, feeling the pine needles move beneath his paws.
The two of them barreled through the woods. Theron found the tree cover strange and exciting. He was used to open shoreline and wide open water. The cover made him feel almost cozy. Still, the sounds of the forest excited him beyond measure. Every tree offered up rustling. Every knot of roots on the ground carried the smell of dens or passing creatures. He slid in the pine needles covering the ground, almost rolling down the hill toward the lake. Theron caught the smell of a skunk nearby and his heart raced.
This was the part of being a bear he could never share with another. Every tiny flit of life was a temptation – a reminder that he was a part of something bigger. Theron stopped by the water’s edge for a drink as John dove in head first. John’s brown head resurfaced, his mouth empty. Theron rolled his eyes right back.
If you wanted fishing, asshole, I knew just the place for it.
Theron’s ears perked up and he turned back toward the dirt road. The smell of a moose was drifting through the trees. John’s head was underwater, making a ruckus as he splashed around. Theron slammed his paw into John’s haunches, knocking him off balance. John perked up, looking around the lake for explanation.
The wind caught him an instant later, and they were both on all fours, sneaking back up the hill toward the source of the smell.
The smell grew stronger and John surged ahead. Theron swatted his tail end, giving him a soft growl to say, “I smelled it first, dick.”
The smell got stronger still, and they both slowed their pace. It was the middle of the rutting season, Theron realized, and part of him felt terrible to think he might take down a male moose who was just looking to get some action.
God knows he wasn’t getting any. Let the moose have some fun at least, he thought.
Yet, the thoughts of Theron the man were worthless against the thoughts of Theron the bear. The bear side of Theron relished in that scent, knowing a meal was just a few yards up ahead, waiting to be taken down. He couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into it. With John there, the two of them could take down a male moose, easily.
This was going to be amazing, he thought.
Lights caught his attention toward the East, and John froze in front of him, causing Theron to smash into the Grizzly’s backside. They both turned, forgetting the smell as the lights moved through the woods.
John bumped him, signifying to follow, then took off toward the West. Theron clamored behind him, suddenly finding the slippery pine needles and knots of roots cumbersome and difficult to manage.
Damn it, give me a rocky coast or a wave to dive into. Or snow. For God’s sake, what I wouldn’t give for snow, he thought.
Theron skidded across the forest floor as John raced up ahead, building the distance between them. Theron realized he wouldn’t be able to keep up as a bear. He’d have to shift back to manage the terrain.
Theron stopped in a small clearing, thrust his paws into the dirt, and stood to his full height. A moment later, he could feel the crisp, Autumn air on his bare skin.
It felt good. It felt safe.
This form wouldn’t betray him if someone spotted him running through the woods. Get in trouble for trespassing? Maybe. Cause a county wide panic that Polar Bears were venturing this far South? Absolutely.
Theron took a deep breath and stepped into the trees to follow John.
A soft thud startled him around just in time to see the flashlight flicker on impact.
The officer stood just a dozen yards into the woods, his mouth hanging open as he stared at Theron through the darkness.
“No,” Theron whispered, unable to keep the word inside.
Then he turned into the trees and took off, running naked through the dark to get away
from the policeman.
***
“He didn’t see your face. He couldn’t have! It was dark as fuck out there,” John said as he drove down the dark streets back to the reservation.
Theron shook his head. He’d barely said a word since finding John again. There were no words to say.
“He couldn’t have seen your face, Ther.”
“It’s not my face I’m worried about,” Theron finally said, staring out the passenger window at the passing trees.
John was driving with the caution of an elderly woman as they made their way home. Best not to draw attention from law enforcement when one may or may not have just seen you shapeshift.
“Fuck,” Theron said, softly.
“Hey. It’s alright. It’s gonna be alright. What’s he gonna do? Tell everybody? Guess what will happen then.”
Theron shook his head. John wanted to be helpful, but there was nothing to be said. It was a matter of time. Either the officer would tell the world, or he wouldn’t. Either he’d recognized Theron’s face, or he hadn’t.
Because no matter what John might want to say about the dark, Theron had no trouble recognizing Officer Black, even in the dark.
If Theron knew him, Officer Black would know Theron. And if he didn’t know Theron, he damn well knew what a native looked like.
Theron shifted in the seat, his bare legs sticking to the leather. In the panic of being caught, Theron hadn’t made it back to his clothes. Instead, John offered a sweatshirt he kept in the cab of his truck.
Theron placed the garment over his junk as he climbed into the passenger seat. John assured Theron he would be keeping the shirt from then on. Theron forced a laugh.
The house was dark as John pulled into the Talbot driveway. Dad would be in bed by now, and Maggie was living with Deacon on the Fenn property, leaving the house dark as John parked outside.
Pretty rough way to spend your first season home, Theron thought.
If only he had school to return to. For the first time ever, Theron regretted finishing his Engineering degree early.
True North (The Bears of Blackrock Book 4) Page 2