Spirits 0f The Spring (Shifting Seasons Book 4)

by Sammie Joyce

  The Spirit of the Spring

  Shifting Seasons - Book 4

  Sammie Joyce

  Copyright © 2019 by Sammie Joyce

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Did you know there’s a prequel?

  Sammie Joyce

  Spirits of the Spring

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Sammie Joyce

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  * * *

  Abiding love honors the past and provides a legacy that will live on forever.

  Aspen, a bear shifter, is happy running through the woods with her best friend, Locklear. The wolf shifter loves her with all he has and ever will be. One day as they run through the forest together, they meet a stranger. Soon this stranger becomes important to them both.

  * * *

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  Spirits of the Spring

  Book Four in the Shifting Seasons Series

  Sammie Joyce

  1

  Larissa

  This time of year has always been bittersweet to me. It was a revelation I had as I peered into the dripping wetness beyond the comfort of my living room, the fire still roaring at the hearth, filling my tiny cottage with warmth as the world beyond sank away to reveal the beauty beneath.

  Icicles dripped from the gingerbread style eaves of the cabin, creating an almost fairytale illusion to the scenery beyond, a thin layer of snow glistening just above the brave tuft of grass that struggled to rear their stalks amidst the climate’s insistence they remain hidden.

  On one hand, the snow was melting, washing with it the remnants of another cold and unforgiving Alaskan winter. It was the time for rebirth, for birdsong and baby fawns. Soon, the smell of honeysuckle and wildflowers would waft through my open windows and the chill of the season would be another distant dream. On the other hand, however, I thought about the creatures that slept so soundly through the winter months, escaping the cruel realities of the real world and I had to feel pity for them being roused from such a peaceful slumber. I couldn’t imagine the disenchantment they must feel year after year, waking up to know that the world was somehow worse than it was when they went to sleep.

  I shoved the dismal thoughts out of my head and reminded myself that I couldn’t afford to be so fatalistic. I was a healer, after all and I well knew that healing started first with the mind. Darkness wasn’t good for the soul.

  It’s time now, I told myself, setting my half-finished mug of tea onto the windowsill, my gray eyes honed toward the tree-line beyond. They’ll be coming soon.

  I didn’t need anyone to tell me. My sharpened instincts had a sense of timing that was unparalleled. Beings like me didn’t need alarm clocks or wake-up calls. We just knew.

  And I knew.

  I wrapped my shawl tighter around my shoulders and made my way to the front door, opening it to allow a chilly wind to sweep through the cabin, causing the fire behind me to flicker with agitation.

  In bare feet, I padded across the snow, leaving the door open in my wake, my vision trained on the trees for signs of movement. My skirts swirled around me as I moved, the wind picking up slightly as if it could feel my arrival after being shut in all winter.

  We had an understanding, the elements and me, something primitive and inexplicable, but it was something I’d noticed since I was a child. We simply understood one another.

  I should have been cold, feeling the wet against my toes, but my heart was thumping in anticipation, and I realized that I was more excited than usual this year.

  Something is going to happen, I thought, gnawing on my lower lip. Something different, something special.

  Not that I was particularly prone to bouts of prophecy or foresight. My talents lay more in the alchemy realm, my work with the plants and earth mostly chemistry based. My job—or rather, my calling—was not to fortune tell, but to heal and counsel the shifters.

  And protect them with some use of magic when the occasion called for it.

  That didn’t change the fact that I was feeling something different this spring, something that had nothing to do with fact that the barren landscape would soon be teeming with wildlife again for another three seasons. There was a charge in my blood, one I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt before. The hairs on the back of my neck raised as a shiver coursed through me.

  Just stop it, I chided myself. You’ve probably got cabin fever.

  It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened and it had been a long winter. But even with that justification, I knew there was more to it than that.

  Again, I refocussed my eyes on the area around me, critically watching. At first, there was nothing but I was unperturbed. They were coming I could sense them strongly now. For days I had been anticipating their arrival and I had never been wrong about the timing. I had the utmost faith in myself, in my senses and in the wildlife. They were predictable, unlike their human counterparts, something that made me more comfortable with animals in so many ways. Of course, if you asked a human, they would tell you the opposite, that beasts are the unstable ones, that animals react without rhyme or reason, but I knew the truth. We reacted on our instincts, something that humans had long ago forgotten how to do. With technology and industry, they had machines feeling for them.

  Which is why I was so grateful to be removed from them for the most part, tucked away in my forest cottage, left alone for the most part with only the animals and shifters to visit.

  Suddenly, I saw a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye, my well-developed ears catching the soft crack of ice some distance away. I wasted no time, falling forward. Even before my hands had touched the snow, they had transformed into a set of hooves, gracefully crunching to the slush of my yard.

  I could feel my muscles twist and elongate, my body forming fully into the caribou of my core, and when the shift had completed, I bolted forward to greet the newcomers.

  I relished the feel of my tail in the wind, trying to remember the last time I’d shifted. There was no need in the winter. I was basically holed up in my cottage for those lonely months, creating and working. Occasionally, I would be called to the shifter commune, but like me, most of the shifters kept a low-profile in the winter.

  Well, maybe not everyone did, I thought grimly, remembering the unexpected visitors I’d had in the fall. Perhaps that was what my anticipation was about. Perhaps I was worried.

  Whatever it was, it could wait. Right now, I had a herd of female caribou heading my way and I needed to see them through their migration safely.

 
; The cows were always first to appear, mostly pregnant although some had already birthed calves who ambled uncertainly toward me with unsteady legs. The bulls would follow behind in succession, but that didn’t mean that they were safe from predators. That’s where I came in.

  I watched as the majestic females strutted through the trees, their tired but watchful eyes trained on their young and I looked them over with astute eyes, searching for any signs of distress or illness.

  They passed by me, nodding, bucking at me and I nuzzled at them, inhaling the scent of their fur to detect infection or despair.

  As they flocked by, I continued through them, against traffic, but it wasn’t difficult. They were as used to seeing me as I was them and they didn’t fight my access as I tried to attend to each one of them, albeit quickly. It was an unusually large herd that season and I felt a surge of pride and happiness, knowing that they had withstood a particularly harsh winter.

  As I met the end of the herd, I turned to gallop back toward them, darting through the crowd to check on anyone I might have missed. There were a combination of shifters and full caribou, and everyone remained in their animal forms, searching for food in the thawing brush. I contemplated shifting back into my mortal form, if only to use my hands on their fur to check for bruises, but I was enjoying myself far too much on my hooves. If anyone was hurt or needed help, they knew where to find me and they wouldn’t hesitate to ask for help. After all, that was my reason for being there.

  For several minutes, I bounded through the herd, cocking my head back for signs of the next wave but I couldn’t feel them yet. If they were coming, it wouldn’t be for a while. I considered going home to wait for them, knowing that this group was safe for the time. The bulls would be along soon, I was sure. But I didn’t want to go back to the confines of my cabin, not yet, not when I’d already spent so much time inside over the past few months. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to run so freely among the foliage, stretching my legs, feeling the sensation of twigs inside my hooves. A little run was in order, I decided and with an almost playful whirl, I spun to race in the direction which the cows had come.

  I ignored the few curious looks I got, bouncing forward and within seconds, I was out of view of the herd. I reasoned that the others would be coming the same way and maybe I could catch up with them if I continued in that direction, but the truth was those moments were stolen just for myself. I was shedding my winter coat, in a manner of speaking, and it was liberating.

  Crunching through the forest, I raced faster, my trot becoming a full gallop as I flew over around trees, feeling the race of my heart fill my ears. I needed this.

  A pine appeared out of nowhere and I quickly angled my footing to the side, the broad side of my rump catching the bark and thrusting me forward, where I slid toward the edge of a cliff I had forgotten was there.

  A cry of fear escaped my lips, my hooves slipping wildly against the brink as I tried to shift my weight back onto my rear but the mud and ice was proving to be a challenge. I was about to go crashing into the rushing water a hundred feet below.

  Stop panicking! I yelled at myself and the internal chiding was enough to help me catch my breath. I righted myself, falling back onto somewhat solid land as my heart roared in my ears. It was only then that I saw the bulls at the water’s edge, far below.

  As my pulse struggled to regain its normal rate, I watched the males sipping at the freezing water, their gait leisurely. They were in no rush to go anywhere, it seemed, even though I knew they’d be joining the cows soon enough.

  My eyes fell on the biggest of the herd, a powerful beast with slightly darker fur than his companions. I didn’t know him but I didn’t have time to consider it as he abruptly raised his head, meeting my eyes with dead certainty. Even from the distance between us, I could see the near-black fur around his eyes and suddenly, my heart began to race again. A light headedness came over me and without realizing it, I had stumbled back into the trees, shifting back into my human form as if his mere stare had the power to propel me to do so.

  Trembling, I raised my head to peer over the cliff again and watch the caribou continue to mill about, my long, dark hair slipping against my bare skin as I struggled to get another glimpse at the male who had so profoundly yet inexplicably impacted me.

  Who is that and why is his stare giving me a stroke?

  I intended to find out.

  2

  Rueben

  It felt like my head was on a short leash, my neck jerking back to stare upward like it had been moved by an unseen hand. My heavy jaw relaxed slightly as my eyes rested on the gaping stare of a female caribou, peering down at me where I had rested with the herd. Before I could fully register what she looked like, she was gone, disappearing from the edge of the cliff overlooking the waterway we’d found on our migration. For a moment, I considered that I had imagined it, particularly the strange undercurrent which shot through me, like a taser had struck me squarely in my massive shoulder blades.

  Of course, nothing like that had occurred and I was simply staring at the spot where she had stood, trying to understand what happened. I’d never felt anything like that before and I chalked it up to the exhaustion of the migration. After all, it wasn’t commonplace for me to join in on the movement. This was a first for me, and I had a good reason for being there.

  Shaking my antlered head, I reluctantly lowered my chin back toward the water, but somehow I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was still being watched, despite the fact that the cow had disappeared. When I turned my gaze back toward the stream at my hooves, I realized I was standing in the water. I’d stumbled forward without even realizing it.

  Yep. You’re tired. It’s been a long trek, I told myself by the way of justification. I had begun my journey in the most northern parts of Canada, after all, venturing from the home I’d known almost exclusively for all my life reluctantly but with a passion. There was a message that desperately needed to be spread and it seemed it was on me to spread it. I needed to bring awareness to the other shifter communities before matters got completely out of hand, if we weren’t already there.

  Once upon a time, I’d been aligned with a group who had shared in the same vision, but the migration took its toll on most of them and they had wandered back to the sanctuary of their homes, eager for their creature comforts.

  If anything, their lack of resolve had inspired me. The fact that they weren’t willing to fight the good fight was all the validation I needed to continued forward with my quest.

  With a grunt, the reality of my purpose settling back in, I refocussed my attention on watering myself and only lifted my head again when I heard the other bulls beginning to shuffle. It was time to move on and I was going with them.

  * * *

  Our problem had been generations in the making, the overpopulation striking us as we selfishly utilized whatever we wanted at an alarming rate. I mused this as we moved in formation, only stopping to check on our weakest or when we grew tired. We would find the spot where the cows had stopped, their herd heading out ahead of us as they did, keeping the young and laying down roots for the upcoming year. By the time we, the bulls, arrived, they would have been situated and we would have nothing to do but gather for our mates—well, those of us that had mates.

  Therein lying the problem that always weighed so heavily on my mind.

  Overpopulation. The romanticized idea that we needed to find our mates and breed.

  I didn’t mean the caribou who, by all accounts, were responsible, adhering to the laws of nature. I meant the shifters who seemed to be procreating at record speed over the past two generations. We had done our part in the Yukon to cull the shifters and insist on lottery births, but the rest of the communities didn’t seem to be exercising as much caution in the matter.

  I’d heard about devastating parts of the country where the shifters lived in poverty and filth, not unlike some of the poorest human ghettos. It hadn’t yet struck us up north with any
real impact but did we really want it to get to that? I always grimaced when I thought about how bad things needed to get before anyone would do anything about it. Why did we always have to fail so terribly before righting the error in our ways?

  I reasoned that it was human nature. Animals were inherently much smarter.

  Which is why I was there—to educate the masses and hope that we could stop the chaos before it was uncontrollable. Our resources were being depleted, our identities at risk of being exposed. There were too many shifters now and the mystique was becoming fact. Only the past fall, there had been chatter about a “bear-man” living in that region of Alaska. Of course the news had been dismissed as tabloid trash, but when I began to research, I realized that it wasn’t the first time that this area had been under suspicion.

  Something needed to be done to slow the regrowth.

  I hoped my mission was a peaceful one. No one wanted to be told how to lead their lives and I knew shifter communities were run differently from place to place. Some leaders took particular exception to a stranger bringing such bad tidings and were apt to shoot the messenger. I would simply have to bite the bullet and see how it played out, but I needed to do something before our way of life became obsolete. It was a hard calling but someone had to do it.