by M. D. Grimm
Jack stared into Poe’s eyes, and Poe admired his courage and determination.
“And we were left wide open for attack.” The accusation was clear.
“They left because we found the Knights’ headquarters,” Poe said softly.
“But you didn’t catch all of them, did you?” Jack’s voice became harder. “They know where we are―”
“We don’t know that,” Poe said. It had been one of those thoughts to keep him up at night. “There were different levels in the Knights. Everyone didn’t know everything. Not all of them would be told Haven’s location. I’m inclined to think that it was only the higher-ups, Arcas’s inner circle, who knew about Haven.”
“And now he’s loose,” Travis said ominously. “His location unknown.”
“But his resources are decimated,” Poe said, trying to reassure. “We’re still rounding up knights, and their numbers are shrinking. He knows he has no hope to invade Haven now―considering this is a good-sized town with shifters packed at every corner.”
Jack glanced at Travis. Travis seemed to sense it and took Jack’s hand. Poe swallowed his envy. They looked so happy together, so content with each other. It was something he would never have.
“Everyone went on alert after that,” Jack continued, considering Poe again. “My father recruited strong shifters from every tribe, herd, and pack. We stand guard, and those who have family outside of Haven keep in constant contact with each other. We won’t wait for the Agency to come, Agent Poe.” Jack’s words were a promise. “We will be taking matters into our own hands if we come across a knight. We are the ones they want to destroy. It’s never been just Agency business.”
Poe nodded, completely agreeing, but he couldn’t voice that.
“I understand,” he said. “Thank you for your time. I should be going.”
Heart heavy, Poe left the shifters’ home and walked down to his truck. It was now time to enter Sanctuary and find a shifter that made other shifters quake.
What the hell did he step into?
Chapter Three
Nordik stretched luxuriously on the damp grass. The sun burned against his eyes as he snorted and rolled onto his stomach. A rock dug into his side. He yawned wide, sharp teeth gleaming in the morning sun. The birds were lively today and twittered above him, rustling the branches and genuinely making a nuisance of themselves. The air was chilly and smelled of trees and animals, of carcasses and scat. His home. His Sanctuary.
Nordik lay outside his cave home, having wanted to escape the stale air and damp walls that had been his place of hibernation. Blinking into the day, he stretched again as he raised himself off the ground. Black claws gouged the earth as he lifted his large bulk and shook himself violently. Flakes of nature flew off his fur, and the lethargy that had persisted for a week after his awakening from hibernation finally began to fade.
His stomach rumbled, and Nordik lifted his snout into the air, sniffing, searching. The scent of other shifters greeted him, and he trembled with joy. His children always gave him joy, as did the knowledge that he’d given them a safe place to live. A sudden itch between his shoulders brought his hind leg up, and he scratched vigorously, but was unable to reach the itch. Frustrated, Nordik lumbered over to a tree and stood on his hind legs, becoming much taller and, if possible, more intimidating. He turned around and scratched his itchy skin against the trunk, finding relief.
Fleas. Blah.
Finally satisfied, he let his ample body fall forward, and his massive paws slammed into the ground. The sound caused some squirrels to race up a nearby tree.
He ambled away and sniffed out breakfast. He still remembered the first time he shifted, centuries ago. He remembered the world becoming new and strange through a bear’s eyes. The air had been alive with scents, and he’d wanted to sniff them all. His eyesight had been less than perfect as a bear at first, but his paws and his hide felt things his human skin couldn’t. The entire first experience had been intoxicating, and Nordik still felt a little bit of that thrill every time he shifted. Although his sight was no longer affected by the shift, the air was still alive with intriguing scents, and he allowed himself to wander off in search of their origins.
Nordik was also on a constant lookout for campers or hunters. He wanted to stay hidden from the eyes of the outside world. He wasn’t ready to integrate into their societies yet. Perhaps in another year, maybe two, he would be able to search out another lover, someone who could show him the world the way it was now. The last time he’d resided in the humans’ society, his lover had died after many years fighting against depression, and the United States had started a war in the Middle East. Nordik had seen the headlines in the papers stating that the war had claimed its first casualties. Most were civilians, not terrorists. He couldn’t stand more death, more violence so he’d disappeared, hibernated. He’d mourned his love and sought isolation.
And found it in his Sanctuary, in one of the caves he’d fashioned as a simple home. Shifters left him alone. They understood his desire for his own company. But now the itch for company began to become more dominant. It was an itch he knew he couldn’t simply scratch away on the trunk of a tree. Nordik knew the feelings, the symptoms. He would soon look for another mate and pretend to be a human once more. But for now, he was hungry.
Tracking, hunting, it all came naturally for him. Not just because of the bear of his spirit, but because of his upbringing, his tribe. They had taught him, nurtured him. They’d never been afraid of his power, of his long life. Nordik had seen generations of his tribe rise and fall; he’d known them at the height of their power and at their lowest point. They were scattered now, his tribe’s descendants. Some resided here, in his home, but they were only shadows of the shifters he once knew. The dead would weep if they knew how the world had changed and how little their descendants knew of their past.
Unwilling to delve deeper into such dark thoughts, Nordik shook them aside and focused on the scents touching his nose. While most shifters considered themselves of two spirits, the primal and the human, Nordik’s mother had taught him that he had one spirit with two faces. His forms were not separate, not divided, but one single spirit with two different sides. Over time, those two faces had merged, and his two forms no longer felt very different. He was intelligent in both and instinctual in both. He could smell like a bear in human form, and he could think and strategize like a human as a bear. Nordik suspected that it was his long life that allowed his forms to merge so completely.
A young buck was nearby, grazing. Alone. After discerning that the deer was not a shifter, Nordik crept closer, never making a sound, knowing the way the vegetation moved, the way the earth shifted under his paws. He maneuvered his large body into position and stayed downwind of his prey. The buck never saw him coming.
After thanking the buck for his sacrifice and after consuming his fill, Nordik left the rest, knowing it would be gone in a day. Nature was quite beautiful in a practical, almost heartless way. To survive, one must kill.
Nordik strolled through the forest, occasionally rubbing himself against the trunks of trees. If he didn’t do this, he suspected some young cub would think he owned the place. This was Nordik’s way of showing that this entire park and the ones surrounding it were his territory. If the cub was smart, he would accept that and be grateful that Nordik allowed him here at all.
It was midday before Nordik was approached, quite boldly, by a shifter. A doe, with her large brown eyes and skittish nature. She approached him cautiously, timidly. She was so very young; her skinny legs and her slender body proved that she was near child-bearing age. Her hide was tan and soft, her footfalls sure and silent.
Nordik allowed her to approach and wondered why she would.
Then she shifted. Her deer form morphed fluidly as the air shimmered around her. A young woman soon knelt before him, naked and unembarrassed. Her pale hair hung lankly around her narrow face, and her golden limbs were long and skinny while her body was thin, bu
t not unhealthy. Nordik stood silently, watching her.
“Nordik,” she said hoarsely. She was scared but also determined. “There is an intruder in Sanctuary. One who smells similar to those who invaded days ago. The ones who hunted us.”
Nordik’s muscles clenched, and his claws dug into the dirt.
“He is that way.” She pointed east. “By the stream that winds around the old rock.”
Nordik knew the location and nodded. The young doe shifted back and leapt away, her mission accomplished. Nordik held in his fury and began his hunt. He’d thought, after he’d killed the last intruder, that they would understand they were not welcome. That they would not succeed at whatever they were planning. But, apparently, they learned slowly. It was time for another lesson.
There had been three such invaders in less than a week after his hibernation had ended. While he’d shredded all of them, they’d managed to kill four shifters before he’d tracked them down. Nordik did not understand why they were doing such things. He didn’t know who they were or why murderers were suddenly deciding to infiltrate Sanctuary. In fact, he was so confused and worried that he’d contemplated walking into Haven and questioning the wolf pack that governed that town. He’d never done such a thing before, but he was growing desperate. And he despised desperation. It made him vulnerable.
Well, this time, he would question the invader. He would see what the intruder had to say. He would find out why, he would find out if more were expected to come. He would get answers.
Nordik broke into a jog, and all the creatures of Sanctuary―both animal and shifter alike―fled before him, sensing the barely contained rage pumping inside him.
Poe knew how to track. The altitude didn’t bother him, as he was familiar with it because of his hikes with his parents. He knew how to survive in the forest with limited supplies in all kinds of weather. He knew what mushrooms to eat and which to avoid, as well as berries and other edible plants. He knew how to make water safe to drink and how to avoid detection from a predator. He knew how to make a fire in all kinds of weather and how to make a sturdy tent out of a simple tarp.
Which was why it was fucking frustrating to be in Sanctuary for five days and not catch a single clue as to Nordik’s location. Sure, it was a very large piece of real estate, consisting of dozens of national parks. And yes, Nordik might have hibernated during the winter months so he wouldn’t have traveled very far yet but―it was still damn frustrating.
Surrounded by foliage, staring animals, and squawking birds, Poe desperately wanted some reprieve. He usually would enjoy these surroundings but this wasn’t a pleasure trip. He had a mission, and by God, he would finish it. He was an agent, goddammit.
Poe slammed his backpack to the ground and rolled his shoulders, glaring up at the sky. It was too fucking clear and cheerful. Dark thunderclouds would fit his mood better. And those damn birds were causing such a racket that he wanted to fire a couple of shots in the air, just to scare them off. Damn fucking birds. He even scowled at a squirrel that peered at him beadily from a high tree perch.
The snap of a twig brought Poe’s focus out of himself. He turned around and crouched, not knowing what to expect. Out of the thick foliage stumbled a man wearing clothes that were ill equipped to handle the rough weather and terrain. The thick and twisting roots jutting out of the ground won the fight, and the man tripped and fell. Poe watched him steadily, his body braced.
Who was he? A lost local? A hunter out of season? A stupid camper?
“You okay?” Poe asked.
The man stilled. Apparently, the man had thought himself alone. That didn’t bode well. The man stood and faced Poe. He was of average height with an unremarkable build. His hair was messy with some twigs tangled in it, and the same brown as his skin. His clothes were dirty, as were his hands and the lower part of his chin. His eyes were blue and they widened with alarm before narrowing in intense dislike.
“Poe,” the man said like a curse.
The truth struck Poe with such force he rocked back a step. Then his knuckles popped as his fingers curled into fists. He widened his stance. Baring his teeth, Poe faced down the intruder, someone who should never set foot inside Sanctuary.
“Knight.” Poe also said the word like it was a curse. How the knight knew him, Poe didn’t know, but that didn’t matter. Not now. “Get the fuck out of here!” he took a step forward. His hand twitched toward his gun, but he had a hankering for a full-on knock-down, drag-out.
The knight smirked, loathing blazing in his eyes. “Why don’t you make me, you whore of the abominations.”
Poe charged the knight, jumping agilely over the roots that tangled together above the earth. When he was only a couple of feet away from the knight, who still smirked, ready for a tackle, Poe leapt up and grabbed a thick branch. His legs surged forward, and he put his entire weight into his kick. The knight dodged at the last second, and what should have been a bone-shattering kick ended up a glancing blow on the shoulder. But Poe heard the pop as the knight’s shoulder dislocated.
The knight howled, and Poe landed in a crouch, not hesitating to charge his enemy again. Despite his injury, the knight still put up a good fight, and Poe’s blood surged with the thrill of combat. He played with the knight and got a few good jabs in, which, if he’d been using his entire strength, would have cracked bone. But just as he was about to finish the fight, his vision suddenly wavered and turned black. There was a suffocating feeling to the sudden blindness, as if a pillow was pressed over his eyes. The pressure steadily grew.
“What the fuck?” Poe gasped and took a couple steps away from the knight, his arms up, prepared for a strike. He shook his head, but his vision didn’t clear.
“You like my ability, Agent?” the knight tried to sound smug but his pain-filled panting ruined the attempt. “I make blind those who can see.”
Poe frowned as the knight moaned and hissed in pain. Poe guessed the knight was trying to fix his dislocated shoulder.
“That’s all right,” Poe said nonchalantly, even though inside he was terrified that this could be permanent. “This will make it more of a challenge.” He forced himself to smile. “Since you were fighting like a child and hardly presenting any threat at all.”
The knight stepped forward, and Poe swore he could hear the fist fly, like a whistling tune, through the air as it headed for his face. Poe ducked and brought his own fist up, punching it with his full strength right into the knight’s stomach. The knight gave a painful grunt, and the thud indicated he was on the ground. The blackness covering Poe’s eyes suddenly lifted. He stared down at the knight, who was curled up in the fetal position, tears leaking from his eyes. Poe wouldn’t be surprised if he’d ruptured something in the knight’s stomach. Internal bleeding was not out of the question.
He squashed the speck of sympathy that rose to pester him. He wondered if the knight would survive the hike back to Haven. Surely Sheriff Jack could spare the iron cage for the knight―and maybe a medic would see to him. He could give valuable information. As Poe contemplated this, he heard the swift footsteps of someone running. He started to turn around but something hard bashed into his head. He was unconscious before hitting the ground.
Only a few moments passed before Poe stirred and opened his eyes. With a throbbing head, he managed to roll over onto his back and stare up at the spinning sky. Groaning, he massaged his temple, feeling the lump that was already growing. After the pain subsided marginally, he managed to think and wondered why the knights didn’t kill him. He suspected he was bashed by a knight because the one he’d wounded was gone. Footprints surrounded him and the urge to hunt the bastards was strong, but Poe resisted. He had a mission. He needed to stick with that mission.
Besides, it would be glorious if he could get Nordik as an ally, and they could hunt the knights down together. Seeing the big-ass bear shifter rip apart the knights was something Poe thirsted after.
Panting slightly, his head still throbbing, Poe rolled to his
knees and slowly stood. The world spun for a second and he staggered. He leaned against a tree and waited, taking steady breaths. The nausea was slight. He’d always had an iron stomach. He probably had a mild concussion, but he knew how to deal with those. His vision finally settled, and he found his way back to his bag. After popping a few painkillers, Poe heaved the bag onto his back and continued on his search for Nordik.
Nordik found the intruder after only a day of tracking. He wasn’t what Nordik expected. Short and muscled, the man’s scent was unique. The fact that the man seemed to know how to survive in the wild intrigued Nordik.
His bright blond hair was short and spiky. Nordik hid his bulk and followed the man wherever he went. The doe was right―the man’s scent was similar to that of the men whom Nordik had killed days ago. Yet it was the differences that kept his attention. He didn’t sense any malice from the man, and in fact, Nordik sensed the familiar surge of attraction he normally felt for those who would become his mate.
He kept himself hidden and observed.
It wasn’t long before Nordik realized this man was worth knowing better. Not an hour after he started following him, the man came across a fox caught in a bear trap. Her tiny foot was caught between the teeth. She was bouncing around, gnawing at her foot, trying to get loose. Nordik’s muscles bunched, and he bared his teeth in anger. But before he could even contemplate exposing himself to free her, the man immediately came to her aid.
Nordik watched, fascinated, as the man knelt beside her and took something out of his bag. It looked like syringe. The fox tried to dance away but the man was quick and injected her with whatever was in the syringe. The fox collapsed on the ground, and for a moment, he thought the man had killed her. But before his rage could control his actions, the man carefully pried apart the jaws of the trap and removed the fox’s foot.
