by J. L. Wilder
The motorcycles purr to life and we set off again, streaking between the two tree lines on opposite sides of the road. This is an isolated stretch, with no cars to pass and no onlookers to distract me from the thoughts swirling around inside my mind. It feels as if everything I know about myself has suddenly shifted and the ground is unstable beneath my feet.
Imprinting. I was calm with Jack and Luka because I needed to be, because I needed them to know I was prepared to take this development in stride, but the truth is, it scares me. I’ve always been nervous about the possibility of someone imprinting on me. Luka is right—it takes matters completely out of my hands. It doesn’t matter how I feel about Ryan. I haven’t even decided yet how I feel about Ryan, but as of right now, that’s not a factor. This is bigger than my opinion of him. This is biology. His body has laid claim to mine, and I might as well belong to him now.
I feared this when I was a teenager. When I reached my twenties and it hadn’t happened, safely ensconced in my clan, I assumed I was out of the woods. If any of them were going to imprint on me, it would have happened already. The lack of an imprint meant that we could take our time. I think we all understood that someone would breed with me eventually, just so the clan would thrive. But there would be choice. There would be courtship. There wouldn’t be angry, stalking Ryan, who can barely control himself in the best of times, who scares me just by looking at me.
It could be worse. I have to cling to that thought. No matter how intimidating I find Ryan, I know he wants me alive. I know he thinks of me as a person. If I wasn’t with him, I would be with the wolves, who would abuse me and force me to produce unnatural hybrids and probably kill me when they’d gotten what they wanted. Ryan scares me, but not like that. It could be a hell of a lot worse.
Chapter Eight
We spend a full three days on the road, traveling to our new home, stopping only for short breaks or a few hours of sleep at night. During that time, I learn more about my new clan than I learned in all my time living with them so far. As alpha, Jack prefers to take the lead while we’re on the road, and I soon come to understand the wisdom of that choice. He’s easily the best leader of the group. He has a knack for knowing exactly where everyone else is, through some combination of intuition and careful mirror checks, and if the rider in back of the pack is falling behind, Jack slows us down, so we can keep together. He’s not afraid to put on speed on a straightaway, though. Speed limits might as well not exist to all three men, who are a law unto themselves and rip down the road at whatever pace suits them. More than once, I find myself clinging to someone and praying not to be thrown off. I’m comfortable on a bike, but I have to admit, it was never this frightening with my old clan.
By the evening of the second day, though, I’ve adjusted more than I would have thought possible. I’ve started to really love the speed. I wonder whether this is some kind of latent omega trait—adapting to my clan, adopting their attributes—and if so, will I become more like the Hell’s Bears as time goes on? In time, will I also be considered a dangerous, roving outlaw? It’s an intimidating thought, but already, it’s kind of an exciting one too. What other possibilities exist within me that I’d never considered?
When Jack isn’t leading the group, Ryan takes over. Ryan is not a natural leader—he’s clearly a renegade, and spares much less thought to where the others are while he’s in front of the pack. He is, however, the most technically competent rider, by far, and he quickly becomes my favorite person to ride with, just because of how smoothly he handles his bike. It’s awkward the first time we ride together again, now that I know he’s imprinted on me, now that he knows that I know, but somehow, the awkwardness slips away almost as quickly as it comes. It feels natural to sit astride his bike, my chest pressed against his back, feeling the rise and fall as he breathes. I’m still anxious about what will happen when we’re alone together, but I’m starting to feel a heady anticipation about it too. Once, spread out on a long stretch of road, I dare to slip my hands under his vest and hold on to his bare skin as we ride, and it feels like every inch of my body is waking up. In that moment, his breathing changes, and I know he feels something too.
Neither of us acknowledge it later. Neither of us is ready, I think.
Riding with Luka is a different experience. It’s the most similar to riding with Berto, back in my old clan—it’s like being with a friend. Luka is strong and fully in control of his bike, and I feel safe and protected with him, but he’s the only one I also feel like I could have a conversation with if we could talk while we rode. Often, in fact, when we stop to eat, Luka and I will compare notes on things we noticed about the road or the scenery. With Luka, it feels as if we’re on a road trip together, bonding over our shared experiences.
I get my first taste of the Bears’ reputation as dangerous outlaws on the second day of our trip, when we stop at a service station off the highway. All three of the men load up on gas and then head into the convenience store. I follow, assuming we’re picking up food and wanting to weigh in on what we get. Also, if I’m honest with myself, I don’t want to wait outside alone. I’ve come to depend on their protection.
I walk in on a confrontation. Jack is leaning over the counter, fixing the poor clerk with his darkest glare. I’ve never been on the receiving end of that look, and I hope to God, I never will be. “Empty the register,” he says. “I’ve got a gun in my pocket.”
I know for a fact that this isn’t true. I’ve just been riding with Jack, and I’m intimately familiar with the contours of his pockets. If he had a gun on him, I would know. But the clerk is about half Jack’s size and maybe nineteen years old, and clearly sees nothing but a gang of dangerous brutes. He punches open the register and stacks money on the counter. “That’s all we have,” he says, sounding like he’s going to cry.
Jack leans over a little further, apparently checking the drawer to make sure it’s empty, then jerks his head toward the money. Luka steps forward and gathers it up, stuffing it in his satchel bag. “It’s all right,” he says quietly to the kid behind the counter.
I’m in just as much shock as the clerk. I’ve heard these stories about the Hell’s Bears a dozen times, of course, but seeing it is something different. And after living with them, I feel as if I’ve gotten to know a different side of them—the truer side of them. It’s strange to see them behaving like this after all. It’s strange to know that the warnings I’ve heard all my life have been correct. They really are outlaws.
Ryan grabs a couple of drinks and protein bars for good measure as we’re leaving. I glance over my shoulder at the clerk. He’s shaking like a leaf and staring at me, and for a moment, I feel closer to him than I do to my own clan. How can I be leaving with these people instead of staying here and helping this boy call the police and report what happened to him? Is this who I’ve become? Since the death of my clan, I’ve often wondered what Berto or Leo would say about something, but about this, I have no doubt. They would be horrified at my involvement. They would point out, rightly, that by doing nothing, I was complicit.
My one solace, as we remount our bikes, is that I know Jack didn’t actually have a gun. He wasn’t really threatening that kid with violence. But the kid believed he might be shot, and really, isn’t that almost as bad? I’m not certain, but it feels like it is. I rest my head against Jack’s broad back and try to reconcile the man I know, the man who took me in and defends me against predators and keeps me fed, with the man who I just saw stick up a convenience store.
Do I know these people at all? Ryan, who is to be my mate, was an accomplice to this crime. No violence was actually perpetrated, but would they have gotten violent if the convenience store clerk had resisted? Should I be worried about Ryan getting violent with me?
And what on Earth do they need the money for? I remember Jack saying they had some money, if they decided it was necessary to take me to a doctor. I didn’t question it at the time, but I’ve seen, since then, that none of them have job
s. But they also don’t have expenses. We live wild. We hunt our own food and sleep outdoors. What does the money pay for? Is it possible they’re so barbaric that they just rob stores for the thrill of it? I can’t believe that. I’ve lived with them long enough to have seen their respect for the world around them. They never kill unless it’s for food or in self-defense. But on the other hand, I know they’re thrill seekers. Who else would flaunt speed limits the way they do, weaving in and out of lines of cars as their bikes eat up the road? Who else would live on the edge, in caves, away from civilization?
The answers to all these questions lie in the minds of my clanmates, but I don’t dare to ask them. The passing days have made me bolder, but I can’t confront them about this. The idea terrifies me. I’ve only just begun to feel accepted as part of the clan. It’s much too soon to express disapproval or doubt about something that’s so clearly intrinsic to their way of life.
Still, something about the episode changes me. I feel a new resolve to strengthen myself, to develop my own ability to survive. I’m not considering striking out on my own—that would be suicide—but my dependence on this clan I’m not sure I can trust is a thorn in my side that I just can’t live with. On the third day of our ride, while Luka and Ryan are out scouting the area for possible dens, I approach Jack. “I want to learn how to fight.”
Jack is lying on the ground, examining the rear tire of Luka’s bike, but at my declaration, he sits up and dusts the dirt off his hands. “You want what?”
“I want to learn to fight,” I say again.
“Fighting’s not for you to do.” Jack gets to his feet and circles the bike to his toolbox. He kneels down and rummages for something. It’s obvious by his dismissive tone and complete lack of attention to me that the conversation is over.
I’m not finished yet, though. “I know I’m never going to be in charge of defending the clan,” I say. “I know my role. I’m not trying to change that. But if something happens—if we’re attacked again, like we were a few days ago—shouldn’t I be able to help? Shouldn’t I at least be able to defend myself?”
“What you should do is not go running into the woods alone, using yourself as bait,” he says sternly.
“They would have brought the fight right to our door even if I hadn’t,” I point out. “Either way, I would have been on the scene. Wouldn’t you rather have an extra fighter on your side than have to protect me while I sit on the sidelines?”
To Jack’s credit, his logic has always been more powerful than his emotions. He considers my argument carefully. It has merit, and I know he can see that. Four bears against three wolves would have made for a much easier fight, and he knows it. My involvement probably could have even spared Ryan his injury.
“I suppose it’s not a bad idea,” he agrees after a while. “At the very least, you ought to be able to ward off attack. You’re right about that. We do leave you alone all day, and I’d feel a lot better about that if I knew you could take care of yourself.”
“Me too,” I agree. Though he doesn’t know it, I’m thinking not of the wolves we faced a few days ago, but of the shifter pack that might even now be pursuing me. If they get their paws on me, I’d love to give them a fight.
“All right,” Jack agrees. “Once we get settled, I’ll start self-defense training with you.”
“Thanks.” I smile, forgetting, for a moment, that this is the man I just saw robbing a convenience store. His kindness, his calm, they’re so easy to trust. It’s easy to ignore, right now, the fact that he’s still an unknown quantity and might, in fact, be extremely dangerous. I can trust Jack. I know I can.
I just hope my instincts aren’t leading me down a deadly path.
Chapter Nine
When Luka and Ryan come back, it’s with good news—they’ve found a place we can stay. Jack and I follow them back through the forest. I notice Jack looking around us at the trees and I’m impressed, all over again, by his attention to everything that’s going on around us. I don’t even know what he’s looking for, but he’s clearly noticing something. A few times, he stoops down and trails his fingers along the dirt or examines a plant or the bark of a tree. I open my mouth once to ask what’s going on, but Luka gives a slight shake of his head and I understand that we’re being quiet for now. Until we’ve staked our claim on whatever place he and Ryan have found for us, I suppose it’s important that we don’t make our presence too conspicuous.
It takes ten minutes to reach the cave entrance from the road, which I assume is a good sign. It’s unlikely anyone driving by will wander in this deep. What’s less promising is the entrance to the cave itself, which is so small that I don’t even see it at first. All I can see is a solid wall of rock, as if I’ve reached the very end of the world, with a few wild and overgrown bushes thrusting up from the earth in front of it.
Apparently, Jack doesn’t see what we’re looking for either. “This is the place?”
“Over here,” Luka says, leading us along the mountain face and pulling aside a bush to expose a narrow fissure in the rock. My heart sinks as I take it in. The den we left three days ago had a wide mouth that let in the sunlight and the air. Even at night, it was never fully dark, because the moonlight shone in. But this tiny opening couldn’t possibly admit much light, and it’s going to be nearly impossible for us to get in too. Besides being narrow, it’s only a few feet high.
“You have to crawl to get in,” Luka says, perhaps reading the expression on my face. “But it’s much nicer on the inside than the outside suggests.”
It would have to be. I’ve only just managed to adjust to life in a cave, and that cave was welcoming and homey by comparison. I don’t want to get down on the ground and crawl through that foreboding crack in the wall. I want to run away as fast as I can.
But I feel the powerful pull of my clan and know that I can’t. I’m a Hell’s Bear now, for better or worse, and whatever decision my alpha makes, I know I will obey. It’s the first time I’ve really felt the strength of my new allegiance. I would have gone to the ends of the Earth for my old clan. If pressed, will I do the same for the Hell’s Bears? Based on the feeling I’m having right now, I can only assume the answer is yes.
Jack takes the lead, as he always does, dropping to his hands and knees and crawling in. Ryan follows right behind him.
I hesitate.
“Go ahead, Cami,” Luka urges. “I’ll bring up the rear.”
I can see he’s proud of having found this place and I don’t want to confess my misgivings, so I force myself to follow behind Ryan. Almost immediately, I regret my decision. The light disappears as soon as I’m inside the passage. It’s too narrow to turn my head, so I can’t look behind me and see whether Luka is there. I have no idea how far I’ve come or how far I have yet to go. I inch forward bit by bit, one hand in front of the other, my knees aching on the cold ground. Surely, I must be about to emerge from this tunnel into the chamber of the cave, the place where Luka and Ryan want us to live. Surely, I must be almost there. If only I could see.
And then, suddenly, to my overwhelming relief, the tunnel spits me out. I feel the air expand around me and gingerly extend my arms to either side. I’m not touching rock. I’m in a larger room now, but I can’t tell how large, because I still can’t see a thing. It’s pitch dark in here.
They can’t mean for us to live here, can they? In the dark? Like possums?
“Jack?” I say, embarrassed to hear the tremor in my voice. “Ryan?”
“Here.” The voice that answers is right next to my shoulder, and I start. A hand finds mine. It’s Ryan. I know him immediately, not only by his voice, but by his touch. Even though all he’s doing is holding my hand in his, it feels so powerfully familiar that I want to climb into his arms or maybe strip off all my clothes and press my body against his for maximum contact. I settle for stepping closer to him, so I can feel the heat emanating from him. Knowing he’s here somehow makes all the difference.
He tugs at my
arm, so gently that I almost can’t believe he’s really Ryan. Gentle is not a word I’d ever have used to describe him before. But now, it’s as if he knows I’m afraid. It’s as if that matters to him. He moves slowly, staying close to me, making a lot of noise so I can’t possibly lose track of his presence in the dark. I cling to his arm, anyway, terrified of being in here alone. I can’t live here. How can they expect us to?
And then I see a light.
The light brightens as we move toward it. Before long, I can see the walls around me and Ryan beside me. We’re moving down a tunnel bigger than the one we crawled in through, approximately the size of a wide hallway. The ceiling is a little too low for comfort, but being able to see is such a relief that I’m not about to complain. I can tell the tunnel is leading us to a chamber of some kind, and that that chamber is somehow the source of the light I’m seeing. But how can that be?
I don’t understand the full scope of the chamber until we reach the end of the tunnel and I take my first step into the light. It is absolutely vast, the size of a ballroom. The ceiling is high overhead, probably at least five stories up. And far above us is a big open circle of exposed sky, allowing the sun to shine down into the very center of the cave.
Right away, I understand the appeal. While the center area is open, the perimeter is protected by ledges of rock that will keep us safe from the elements if it should rain or snow. As long as we keep a fire going, the place will be plenty warm, and the smoke will be able to escape through our built in chimney. Perhaps most important, the entrance to this place is hard to find, and that guarantees us a lot more security than we had in the old den.
