How It's Meant to Be

by T. S. Joyce

  All but one.

  She really wasn’t the one.

  Ding.

  His phone gave a text notification, and he strode over to it and opened up the message. He’d told her this morning he didn’t want to see her anymore. Short. Simple. To the point. No emotions involved, just stopping this before the third date, because he knew how important third dates were to her.

  She’d waited all day to text him back, and her words stirred up something awful in his chest. A feeling he didn’t recognize.

  That always happens. I understand.

  Ridiculous girl. It should’ve never happened. She shouldn’t have a familiar sensation in her chest right now. Those assholes who threw her away didn’t even realize what they’d lost.

  He stared at her response. Read it over and over as that hollow feeling spread through his chest until it was hard to breathe.

  Hurting her skin was one thing. Hurting her insides? He didn’t like that at all.

  He typed out something he’d never said or written to anyone. I’m sorry.

  He could see the dots of her writing a response. And then they stopped. They started again. Then stopped. And then…nothing.

  This had been a mistake.

  No bond felt worth the stabbing pains in his chest or the chaos in his head.

  Moore set the phone down in a rush and backed away a few steps, and ran his hand through his hair. He linked his hands behind his head and swallowed hard. Why did he feel like this? Why did he feel so sick?

  Caw, caw, caw.

  A snarl rippled through him as he looked out the open barn doors to the snowy woods outside.

  Fuckin’ crows.

  Krome was kneeling in front of the old oak tree in front of his house.

  “What the fuck do you want?” he barked out, striding out of the workshop.

  “Just watching,” Krome called, his deep voice echoing across the clearing between them. He stood to his full height.

  “You’re in my territory.”

  “No, bear. You’re in ours.” Krome looked around the woods and then landed his black eyes back on Moore. “This territory was always ours. We allowed you to exist here as long as you minded the rules.”

  “I’m minding the rules.”

  “You’re building a bond.”

  The crows that peppered the trees cawed in a deafening song, and settled.

  “I’m not. I thought about it for a moment,” Moore said, coming to a stop in the middle of the yard. “I thought about how good it would be to feel that power. I thought about how easy a bond would make it to kill you. That’s the part my parents didn’t tell me about. Aux and Brick figured it out. Bonds give you power, so for a minute, I wanted that just to bleed you.”

  Krome canted his head and studied Moore with those black eyes of his. “There’s a hundred of us, and three of you.”

  Moore chuckled. “A hundred little birds and three grizzly shifters. And their mates. You fought them with me—Aux and Brick. They are stronger than fifty of your little birds.”

  “You think?” Krome gritted out.

  “I know.” Moore sniffed and lifted his chin in the air. “Can you see why I was tempted to have a bond, too?”

  Krome’s smile belonged to the devil himself. “How’s it going for you?’

  Moore shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not for me.”

  “Breaking oaths is beneath you?” Krome asked. “Come on. Don’t act like you Bane brothers have any morals.”

  “Nah, I would break it. Women are a lot of work though. I can kill you just fine without one.”

  “Mmmm.” Krome lifted his chin higher in the air and smiled an empty expression. “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?”

  Moore didn’t like admitting weakness, and he didn’t know what Krome was talking about, so he just clenched his teeth and stared at the asshole tainting his woods.

  “A bond isn’t just something fate made up. A bond is what you make of it. Don’t quit now, Moore. Make it fun for us to kill you.” He morphed into his crow in an instant and spread his wings, flew to Moore and his two feet hit the snow as he transformed into a man just a few feet away.

  Kill him, the bear inside of him snarled.

  The cawing of the crows echoed through the mountains.

  “Do you know what your people have taken from my people?” Krome asked.

  “Not a fuckin’ clue. My parents weren’t exactly spouting the family history. What is it, Krome? Why do spend your lives watching us? Spying on us? Why are you obsessed with us?”

  Krome smiled. “Obsessed,” he repeated. “Because we’re so close to the end of you cockroaches. Three left after so many generations of mayhem. The world is almost safe from you.”

  “If you’re so scared of our impact on the world, why haven’t you tried to kill us?”

  Krome canted his head. “Who said we haven’t tried?”

  “You’re shitty at killing, too? Damn, when are you crows going to get anything right?”

  Krome gritted his teeth. “You had a protector.”

  “Pretty sure me and my brothers were on our own from day one.”

  Krome’s single, echoing laugh was completely empty. “You really think so? I know about the pictures, Moore. I know about yours. The one with your daddy in the middle of that killing field. Do you know when that was taken?”

  Moore’s chest heaved and he took a step toward Krome. “Stop talking about my father.”

  “It was taken the day you and your vermin brothers were born. It was taken on your ‘day one’.”

  “Stop.”

  Krome backed up a step but he wasn’t done. His eyes sparked with hatred. “He was like you once. Just like you, Moore. And you’ll end up just like he did—shallow grave that no one gives a shit about. Forgotten. The only difference? You won’t be killed by your son, because we won’t let you get that far.”

  Moore reached out and snagged Krome by the throat, but he slipped from his fingers. His crow dropped down to the snow in a puff of dark smoke, and flew toward the tree line before he reappeared as a human on the low hanging branch of that old oak tree. “Maybe you should dig into your history, Moore. The pictures weren’t the only thing your parents left behind. There is more in that shitty old shack you were born in.”

  And then the crows lifted from the tree branches into the air, and his world was filled with the deafening cawing of his enemies once again.

  The day he was born…

  The crows had tried to kill him and his brothers?...

  Dad…

  The thing about bear shifters was, once you turned killer, there was no going back. There was only a lust for more and more blood. His father had been like him once? What had Krome meant by that? All Moore remembered of his father was rage, and a violence that never slept. It only boiled right below his surface. His mother, too. Their bears were uncontrollable. Their human sides weren’t much better.

  There had been no good left in them when he’d killed them.

  Everything felt too big.

  His bear, his insides, his mind. Everything hurt. Moore fell to his knees as the vision of that awful night stole his mind. He’s tried to push it away for all these years, but it was still right there, so easily accessible.

  Fuck. Fuck. Moore hunched down against the snow and gripped the sides of his hair and screamed. These memories were meant to stay hidden. Pushed deep down so he could keep control. His whole life had revolved around keeping control because he was like his father. That violence he’d seen inside of him lived in Moore. Not in Aux or Brick. They were softer. More in control of their animals. They weren’t meant to be man-eaters, but Moore had always known he would slip someday and end up just like his father and mother.

  Had the crows done that to Cyrus Bane? Had they pushed him into the bloodlust when they’d come for his cubs? Had they done it to his mother? His parents were evil, right? Bear shifters were all evil. He’d been taught that. He’d seen it. He’d learned it.
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  “Moore?” came a soft voice.

  He snapped up with a snarl in his throat, but the urge to kill vanished in an instant when he saw her—Aurora. Her soft brown eyes were filled with worry.

  “What are you doing here?” he gritted out.

  “I asked Trinity where you lived.” She held up the folded photograph—the one that was torturing his mind right now. “This seemed too important for me to keep. I came to give it back to you. I should’ve given it back yesterday at breakfast. I didn’t think about it. Just slipped it in my purse to give to you later.” Slowly, she lowered herself onto her knees in front of him. “What’s wrong?”

  Had anyone ever asked him that? Anyone? He couldn’t remember a single time anyone cared. Moore swallowed hard. “Everything.”

  Aurora’s sense of humor was nowhere to be found right now. Only concern he hadn’t realized she was capable of. “How long has everything been wrong?”

  “For always.”

  Her breath froze before her as she sighed. “You might not want to be with me romantically. But I can be a friend if you want.”

  “A friend,” he murmured. “What good is a friend.”

  “A friend will listen, and if they are a good one, they will keep your secrets with you. They are fun to go out with, and when you have a good or a bad day, they celebrate or are there for you, accordingly. Want to know the best part of all?” she asked.

  “What?” His voice was so growly right now, but she wasn’t running away.

  “If you have a friend, you don’t ever really have to be alone.”

  A strange sensation flooded through him when she formed those words. Never really have to be alone? “Alone is all I’ve known.”

  Aurora shrugged. “You’re breaking down in the snow by yourself, Moore. Maybe it’s time to try something different.”

  “Friend.”

  “Mmm hmm. I’ll even get you Christmas presents, and remember your birthdays.” She gave him a pretty smile. “April 9th. See? I remember. You will be thought about.”

  And you’ll end up just like he did—shallow grave that no one gives a shit about. Forgotten.

  “And if something ever happens to me?” he asked somberly.

  “It won’t.”

  “But if it did?”

  “I’ll still come visit you all the time. And probably put your least favorite flowers and IPA beers all over your grave every week just to piss you off because I’ll be mad you left me alone and bored in this town.” Her smile got a little bigger, and there was her sense of humor that settled something so serious inside of him.

  “I don’t like dandelion weeds,” he groused. “They take over my damn yard in the summers.”

  “I will plant a hundred of them over your grave, you grumpy old cuss. And your asshole ghost will know you are remembered.”

  “You’ll keep secrets?”

  “Mmm hmm. It will be part of my job description.”

  The knees of his jeans were soaking from the snow, and hers would probably get cold and wet too, so he stood up and offered his hand to help her to her feet. He was prepared for the electric sparks when her hand slipped into his this time, so it wasn’t as bad. And she seemed to be mentally prepared too, because she only rubbed her hand a little bit when she was on her feet and released from his grasp.

  She looked uncertain for a moment, and shifted her weight to the other foot before she did something that shocked him into stillness. The pretty little creature lurched forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. She held him tight and rested her cheek against his chest. It didn’t hurt because their skin wasn’t touching. It felt…not horrible.

  What is this? The bear inside of him asked. But Moore didn’t know. Minutes ago, he’d felt like he was breaking apart, and now this fragile little human was somehow holding him all together.

  He just stood there with his arms out, trying not to touch her or hurt her.

  “Everything doesn’t have to be so hard anymore,” she murmured. “Whatever you’re going through, you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

  Her words worked magic on his insides. Everything that had felt so overwhelming before faded away. Oh, his life was a mess and hell was coming for him, but right now, held by this little human, it all felt far away.

  Slowly, Moore brought his arms in and wrapped them around Aurora. She seemed to melt against him. God, this felt so good. How could anything so simple feel so complicatedly good? He rubbed her back as gently as he could so he wouldn’t injure her. The fabric of her jacket made zipping sounds as his rough palm rubbed it up and down.

  Everything doesn’t have to be so hard anymore.

  “Aurora?” he asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “Will you come somewhere with me?”

  “Sure. Where?”

  He was selfish. That’s what he was. He would drag her to those haunted woods and put the weight on his shoulders onto hers as well. Her—a frail human. He would ask her to bear the weight of an awful hidden world with him, and mountains of secrets. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

  But…

  He didn’t want to do this alone.

  And she had offered to keep his secrets.

  And for some reason he didn’t understand at all…he trusted her.

  “I want to take you to the house I grew up in.”

  Chapter Six

  Truth be told, Aurora had never expected a man like Moore to have been raised in a mansion in the middle of town, but his childhood home still took her by surprise.

  He sat in the driver’s seat, staring out the front window of his Bronco with ghosts in his bright gray eyes.

  He cut a handsome profile here in the afternoon light, but those haunted eyes—this man had seen things a girl like her, raised in comfort, couldn’t even imagine. All she could do was try to understand.

  The old cabin in front of them had been a forty-five-minute drive through mountainous winding roads. It was out in the middle of nowhere, up a spiderweb of overgrown dirt roads. The cabin was small, and the roof was caved in on one side. The logs had all weathered to a battered gray color, and even through the layer of snow, she could see tall weeds laid over the yard. Brush had crept from the forest tree line and taken back the clearing. A stone chimney was leaning so dangerously far off the house, and it seemed as if only a myriad of thick vines held it upright. And above them, crows circled. If this place ever housed happiness, those moments had long been forgotten.

  “How long did you live here?”

  “I was born in the bedroom in there. Parents were killed when I was seventeen. Me and my brothers parted ways then.”

  “Geez,” she murmured softly. “Who took care of you after they died?”

  “Same person who took care of me before they died. Me.”

  “They were no good.”

  Moore shook his head slowly. “I used to think there wasn’t one good thing about them. But today I’m not so sure.”

  “Want to give me the tour?” she asked.

  His mouth twitched. “Sure. Won’t be much of one. The house is only a couple rooms.” He shoved his door open and it creaked loudly.

  Aurora slipped out of the tall Bronco and her boots hit the snow with a soft crunch. Moore waited in the middle of the yard for her, and she shut the door and jogged to catch up. She slipped her hand into the crook of his jacket elbow, and he frowned at it. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh. I can stop,” she said, yanking her hand back. “I was just keeping steady.”

  Moore stared at the inside of his elbow for a few moments. “You can keep steady.”

  She didn’t know when the last time a boy gave her butterflies was, but man-oh-man, were they causing some chaos in her stomach right now. She ducked her smile to the snow so he wouldn’t see the heat that was creeping into her cheeks. “Don’t worry. Friends steady each other out all the time.”

  Stiffly at first, he walked beside her, his arm out like a chicken wing, but she pulled it in close
r to his ribs and the more she relaxed, the more he did, too. One of the dilapidated porch stairs broke as they made their way up them. He growled a feral sound and picked her up by the hips and placed her on the porch as he pulled his boot from the splinters.

  “Um, you’re really strong.”

  “What?” he muttered as he shook his boot.

  “You just lifted me up like I was the weight of a waffle.”

  “I love waffles,” he muttered.

  “I’ll make you some. As friends. I’ll make you friendship waffles.”

  He rolled his eyes and settled his palm on the door, hesitated. It was open and he swung it wider before it caught on something behind it. The space was big enough for her to get through though, so she slid into the open doorway and pulled a few boards back away from the door so Moore could make it inside without breaking the splintered door completely. The chimney was indeed ripped completely off of the house, and the gap in that wall had let the birds in. Feathers and bird crap littered the floor from where they’d built nests on the exposed ceiling beams. A mouse scurried across the floor aiming right for her, but before she could even get a gasp out, Moore picked her up and settled her out of the way.

  “It’s probably the same damn mouse that lived here when I did. That little devil was immortal. We could never get rid of it. Aux named it Coconuts.”

  “Oh, because of his big ballsack?”

  Moore frowned. “No, because Aux was a stupid six-year-old who liked coconuts.”

  “Oh. He he.”

  Moore snorted and helped her over a pile of rubble and into the small kitchen. “That’s where me and my brothers slept,” he said, pointing to a tattered wooden door on the other side of the stove.

  “In a pantry?”

  Moore only pursed his lips.

  Aurora stepped carefully over the splintered wood and exposed nails that covered the kitchen floor and opened the pantry door. Inside were three shelves. No…

  There were thin mattresses on each large shelf, and old sheets that were covered in dirt and debris from age. These were beds. Bunk beds.

  “Parents would shut us in there at nights when they left.”

  “Left for where?” she whispered in horror.