Shifter Nation- East Coast Bears Collection

by Meg Ripley

  “I need someone like me, chill and carefree. Someone who won’t go all ape-shit over me making a mistake. Can you imagine living with someone like her? I use my floor like a second dresser. She’d probably slit my throat for leaving my socks out if I married her.”

  Owen laughed. “I will say, even more laidback women don’t appreciate that sort of thing. Addie has complained more than once when I left clothes on the floor of our room.”

  I groaned. “Somewhere in all of the Everglades, there is a messy girl who’s perfect for me.”

  “Good luck finding her.”

  “If you come across her, let me know. Basically, think of the panther, then look for someone who’s her total opposite.”

  “Got it. What about one of Addie’s friends?”

  I stuck my lip out in a hurt frown. “You want me to marry a non-shifter?”

  “You are free to marry whoever you want.”

  “Not if I ever need to be the clan leader,” I said. “I have responsibilities as second in command.”

  “Unless you’re planning to kill me off so you can take over, I wouldn’t worry about that. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You just never know. Accidents happen. I hope I never have to take over. Honestly? It’s a lot of work and responsibility. But what sort of second would I be if I wasn’t ready at any moment to take the lead if I had to?”

  “I’m thinking that the whole Alphas-have-to-marry-a-shifter thing is unnecessary,” Owen said. “Other clans don’t have that rule. It almost ruined my life.”

  “Well, you’re the one who can change that, but even still. I can’t handle that panther.”

  “Yet, you keep bringing her up.”

  I paused. He had me there. Had to think fast. “I just keep running into her is all. She’s, like, everywhere.”

  “Everywhere?”

  Our walkie talkies crackled, then Pete’s voice spoke to us. “Hey guys?”

  “Yeah, Pete?” Owen responded.

  “We got a call about a shark being possibly injured.”

  “We’ll check it out. Send me the coordinates,” Owen said.

  A moment later, Owen’s phone buzzed with a text of the shark’s location.

  “Let’s head out,” I said. Anything to change the subject.

  We hopped into the utility vehicle and drove through the twisting back paths to get to where the shark had been last seen. When we came to water’s edge, Owen shut the UV off and we hopped out.

  “I just don’t get why her smell affects me so much,” I said.

  Owen stifled a laugh.

  “What?”

  “And you claim I talk a lot about my wife and kid? You haven’t shut up about this panther since you first encountered her.”

  “Well, all of our encounters have been…stressful. And painful.” I rubbed my shoulder where she’d poked me repeatedly the night before. I actually had a faint bruise there this morning when I woke up.

  “I wonder…” He took out his flashlight, even though it was midday, and shined it into the water so we could see below the surface better.

  “What?” I asked again.

  “Does it feel almost unavoidable?”

  “How do you mean?” I saw a flash of movement. “There!” I pointed.

  “Does it feel like she’s a magnet, drawing you to her?”

  “Yeah, actually. That’s pretty much exactly what it’s like. I don’t want anything to do with her, but I can’t stop thinking about her. I keep running into her, and her scent drives me freaking wild.”

  “Fated.”

  “Umm, say what now?”

  “It’s an old folktale, but like anything else around these parts, most people believe it. Some people, and it happens with shifters especially, are meant to be together. For whatever reason, this is decided and then the two, when the time is right, are brought together.”

  “No, no, no. No way, man. Did you hear what I said? She’s crazy. I can’t be with someone like her. How could she possibly be my soulmate or whatever you want to call it?”

  “Not soulmate. Fated mate.”

  I rolled me eyes. “If fate wants me with that panther, then fate can shove it. No way. No how.” I cut the air with my hands to reinforce that there was no chance this was going down.

  Owen shrugged. “Just saying. It’s a thing. I see it!”

  I followed his gaze and saw the shark. It was lying partially out of the water—not a good sign. We made our way over to it, keeping a distance so it didn’t get scared. It was injured, with a slender gash along its body.

  “Hey Pete,” Owen said, getting on the walkie again. “Call the vet down here. We found it. Just has a laceration, but it’ll need to be treated.”

  “On it, Boss,” Pete answered.

  There was nothing for us to do now but wait for the vet to show, then we’d get back to our tree marking.

  “Who believes in this fated thing anyhow?” I asked.

  “Are you still thinking about that panther?”

  “No. I’m thinking about what you said about her.”

  Owen laughed and sat against a tree where he could keep an eye on the shark. “You’ve got it bad, man.”

  I leaned against the tree. “Do not.”

  “No point in fighting it, tough guy.”

  I slid down the tree’s trunk to sit beside Owen. When I did, a smell hit me. A familiar smell.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I said, leaning forward on all fours, taking a harder sniff.

  “What’s up, man?” Owen asked.

  “Her.” I pointed to the patch of grass that held her scent. “She won’t leave me alone!”

  He made a tisk-tisk sound. “Told ya. Fated.”

  “Stop saying that! I’m not fated to her. I won’t do it!”

  “You can only resist for so long, man.”

  5

  Britt

  I slung my shotgun over my shoulder and grabbed my pack with extra ammo, along with a bottle of water and some gator jerky. It was a work day; I’d be out for hours, until the sun got too hot for the animals and they hid, or until I killed enough critters that they had to be dragged inside and processed. I sold off the animals in a variety of ways to different folks around the ‘Glades. Some wanted whole carcasses, while others were just interested in the meat or hides.

  My cabin wasn’t big enough to house my processing workshop, so I’d added a little building years ago to make sure I’d be able to do it all myself, right here on my land. This land had been in the family for decades, and luckily, the location of it was just right. I wasn’t around in the 1940’s when everything went down with landowners in the ‘Glades, but boy, did people still run their mouths about it.

  Especially at Shady’s and other places where the locals hung out. They’d be talking about how their daddies had a hundred acres until the government came in and took it all from them. Hearing their stories, I wished I had been around back then. They made it sound so amazing; a town full of folks, all doing the same thing: living off the land, trading with each other, and most importantly, abiding by their own laws.

  Shady’s had a long history there. Back when the closest cops were a hundred fifty miles away, no one would show up to break up fights that got out of hand. The owner kept a shotgun or two behind the bar and, as the story went, he’d shot off more than his share of toes, trying to save his business from being torn apart by rowdy customers.

  Of course, we had a decent presence of cops eventually. I didn’t break the law, so they didn’t bother me. And it was nice to know they were around if I had a problem. Same with the Rangers. Yeah, they were going to reinforce the regulations, but they also kept us safe and protected the land.

  But some shifter groups wanted to see things run differently. A group would flare up now and then, causing some kind of trouble until the proper authorities stepped in and fixed things, usually with the help of us Gladesmen and women. The one consistent headache came from those damned crocs.

>   The crocs caused problems for everyone who got in their way—shifters or not. They wanted full, complete reign of the ‘Glades. Like a bunch of idiots who’d been dropped on their damn heads too much, they really thought they’d get things to go back to how they were back in the day. They’d run the park, kick out the police and be the authority of the land. Nothing but a bunch of dumb fucks if you ask me, and I wanted nothing to do with them.

  I was just happy to be a Gladeswoman and have the skills passed down to me from my Ma and Gramma over the years. Gramma had been around back in the old days. She’d somehow—through smarts or luck—bought land that was real close to the ‘Glades, but outside of park territory and wasn’t subject to the government take over. If it’d been a mile or two to the east, she would have had to let it go when she passed. There’d have been no inheritance for Ma or for me. Who knows where I would have ended up if that were the case.

  The men all vanished. Ma grew up with no Pa, and my Pa took off before I ever saw his face. But it was fine. We were used to it, and we didn’t need no men to make things right. We were tough women, the Wilsons. Anyone who knew us would say, “Don’t screw over those Wilson women, they’ll hunt you down and skin you in your sleep.” Gramma caused that rumor. She had plenty of stories of going after men who tried to steal from her, back before the law. I don’t think I’ll ever know which stories were true and which were exaggerations. No matter, though. Gramma was a master storyteller and you never cared if what she said was a total lie. It was entertaining just to hear her talk around the fire.

  Gramma had taught me how to hunt, skin and process meat, while Ma made the connections that are still in effect today. Every time I sold a critter to the butcher down the way, he’d say, “Here’s to your old Ma; may she be hunting in heaven.” Of course, both my Gramma and Ma had been shot on these same lands, killed during a hunting accident—though with Gramma, I don’t know how accidental it was. The two of them weren’t panthers, either.

  I guess my Pa musta been a panther and passed his shifter DNA down to me. From what I heard, if you had just one shifter parent, you had a 50/50 shot at being one. Guess I ended up on the lucky end of the inheritance.

  From what my Ma and Gramma told me, I was four years old the first time I shifted, playing outside in the mud, as always. A bunny came hopping along and I went chasing after it. My little legs were too unsteady and slow to catch up, though, so I went back to playing in the mud. Well, some time later, the bunny came back, and that time, I was more determined. I ran after it, and at some point along the way, my determination went haywire. As I ran, Ma said I dropped down to all fours, screamed and then boom! I was a panther cub. That little bunny’s skin still hangs over my bed today. My first kill. A proud moment.

  But it was also a moment of sheer terror for Ma and Gramma, who had no clue what was going on. Gramma was a stealthy woman, though; she poked around town and eventually discovered what was going on. She got an old panther woman—Kat’s gramma, actually—to come over and talk to us, telling us what to expect. She said I might shift by accident while I was a youngin’, but once I came of age, it’d be happening regularly and the full moon would force me to shift if I stepped into its light. She became like a second gramma to me, and that’s how Kat and I knew each other.

  Dezi had become part of our tribe not too long after. The three of us had been all we had growing up. We liked it that way; that’s just how things were done in the ‘Glades. You kept to yourself, you did your work, and on occasion, you’d meet up at Shady’s with a friend or two for a cold one.

  I kissed the barrel of my gun—Gramma’s gun—and put it back over my shoulder. I always took something of Gramma’s with me on a hunt for luck, like her gun or knife. I walked on through the morning light, searching for a good spot to sit up high for a while. With my panther eyes, I could see farther than most and in dimmer light. My panther genes were a real benefit to me most days. Made me a good hunter.

  As I continued to make my way through the swampy forest, I caught a whiff of a scent that made me stop dead in my tracks. I took a few steps toward it to make sure and I shook my head. Yup. That damn bear again. Ezra. What kind of a name was that anyhow? And, more importantly, how was I going to shake that loser? If he really started to get in my way, I’d have to do something about him.

  It seemed he’d just been running around and landed at my hunting spot. Fine, whatever. It was part of the park and well within his rights to do so. I’d even heard he was a Ranger, so it was his job to be in the park. I just didn’t personally want him so close. Had he managed to recognize my scent this time? Did he know he was close to me? Probably not. Dumbass.

  I followed his scent for a short time, but it went on through the trails for a while in a direction I didn’t need to be heading. As long as he wasn’t lurking somewhere, waiting to jump out and mess up my kill, I wasn’t worried about it. He didn’t seem to have been in the area at that moment, but he was there recently. The scent was pretty fresh.

  As I sniffed around, I picked up another scent. And that one disturbed me more than the bear’s. I had to be sure of my suspicions, so I crept closer, sniffing all the way. I saw a paw first, then the legs, and finally, the body.

  A panther lay dead, half hidden in the tall grass. Not too many panthers were left in those parts. Even if I was a shifter, I still felt a very deep connection with the creatures that were completely animal. We were the same species. That dead panther was especially disturbing, however; clearly, it had been murdered.

  Across its neck were long gashes. I couldn’t tell specifically what had killed it, but it must have been some kind of blade. They were clean cuts, unlike the tear of a claw. These wounds were also too intentional to be a matter of defense. The typical signs of a fight were missing; evidence of foul play, the police called it.

  If two animals fought, there should have been crushed plants nearby. There would have been scrapes and wounds on the body, but they would be varied; sometimes, you didn’t land a good swipe, making the gash shallow.

  This crime scene was clean. It seemed like the panther had been sleeping and someone snuck up on it to slice its throat. I doubted that’s how it happened, but that’s what it looked like. It told me two things: one, it was not an animal attack, and two, someone was hunting panthers. No, not hunting. Hunting implied stealth and skill and purpose. I hunted for meat, for skins, for carcasses. This poor creature was left for dead. No sport involved. Pure murder of a pure panther.

  Not too many things in the world upset me, but that filled me with such strong rage that I balled my fists and growled in anger, tears forming in my eyes. I would find who did this. I’d skin them alive and eat their scrawny frame while they watched. I’d pull out their fingernails one by one and watch them suffer.

  I paced for a minute, trying to clear my mind. I’d be no good for anything if my head was foggy with rage, so I forced myself to calm down. I spent a bit of time sniffing all around the body; I wanted to know the scent of the killer better than my own scent.

  Better than that bear’s scent that kept plaguing me.

  As I filled my nose with the mark of the murderer, I kept thinking of him. Ezra. If he really was a Ranger, that would mean he knew those grounds almost as well as I did. As much as I hated to admit it, he might have been my best ally. My best chance for catching this killer and bringing him down. He’d be just as anxious as I was to get to the bottom of it. A Ranger’s duties are to protect and conserve, and that death broke both tenets.

  But that meant finding Ezra, talking to him and working with him on some level. That meant time with him, in his presence. And that was the last thing I wanted.

  Okay, Britt. Focus on what’s important. Sure, Ezra is annoying and happens to be everywhere. Sure, your body reacts to his scent in ways you can’t stand and can’t shut off. But, admit it, he’s a nice guy, even if he’s an idiot and a pansy. He wouldn’t hurt me, I told myself.

  I sighed and went to find a place
to stash my clothes and weapons nearby. I hung my things on a nearby tree’s branches and shifted, then ran to the last place I’d picked up Ezra’s scent and followed the trail.

  6

  Ezra

  “I’ll go ahead and file the report,” Owen said once they’d left the injured shark. The vet seemed to think it would be just fine, but there was still paperwork to be done. I was happy to let him do it.

  “I’ll drop you at the station, then get back to the trees,” I said.

  Owen gave me a sideways smirk.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “You want to be out there where you girl’s scent is? Hoping to run into her?”

  “Um, no. I ran into her once and she bit me. Then I ran into her again and she poked me and yelled at me. I have no desire to run into her again. Ever.”

  Owen laughed. “Wait till I tell the guys about this.”

  “Nothing to tell, man.”

  We hopped into the UV and drove back toward the Ranger station. My clan loved to pick on me, the kid from California who didn’t grow up with a clan; pick on the one who speaks a little differently and isn’t all uptight. How could they think I’d have a thing for that panther? They knew me well enough to bust on me constantly, yet they insisted I had a thing for this she-devil tormenting me.

  “You know,” I said, “you should know better.”

  He’d been looking at his phone and put it down in a hurry to keep his eyes on the path. “Sorry, you’re right. Addie just sent me a picture of James. Look.” He held the phone so I could see the photo of the baby on his stomach, looking at the camera.

  “Cute. And no, I guess you shouldn’t be on your phone while driving, but that’s not what I meant.”

  “What then?”

  “You know me. You guys all do. I’ve been part of this clan for like, five years now? Living and working here in the Everglades with you all.”

  “Yeah?”