Dorian

by Erin Havoc

  We shifters have different characteristics — it changes with the species. But be it bear or wolf or, I don’t know, a raccoon, there’s one thing that never changes. We all ache for our mates. Our one true love. The one person that completes us.

  It’s not easy to find them in such a big world. Yeah, there’s a constant calling inside me. A yearning I know would cry out if I was close to her. A pulsing in my beating heart. But unfortunately, I can’t pack my stuff and hike around the globe searching for her.

  Yeah, we can sleep around and try to mute that yearning if we want to. But it doesn’t work. So we usually just wait.

  Before the Reveal, when humanity did not know about shifters — that is, apart from the legends and the casual conspiracist — it was ridiculously harder. We were forced to settle with shifters who were friends of friends, or stay single. But with the disparity of numbers between male and female shifters… The population tapered off.

  Which is the reason we decided to come out. After several discussions among clan leaders, from various species, we agreed about it. We had to reveal ourselves and let humanity learn how to live with us. How to accept us. This way, we could find our better halves and mate. Get the species going.

  Risky plan, yeah. So we had to be careful. Many celebrities and politicians who also happened to be shifters came out first. It wasn’t easy and many times I thought we’d be damned for trying. Up until now, it hasn’t been this bad.

  Luckily, you can’t tell a shifter from a non-shifter when we’re in human form. And I certainly don’t offer the piece of trivia to anyone. Can you imagine? “Hello, I am Dorian, a Park Ranger, and I can change into a bear that could rip your head off at will.” Not a good first impression, that’s for sure.

  My bear growls inside me. I clench my teeth together, keeping it inside. “Chill down,” I tell him, but it’s to no use. He’s been quite off today. Acting out.

  Mate mate mate

  Then I remember. Digging a hand inside my back pocket, I pull my phone out. I haven’t checked the Shifter Dating App today.

  Yes, I’m on a dating app. Sue me. That just goes to show how much I want my mate. How much I want my bear to stop pouncing on me to look for her.

  If she’s out there, and if she’s looking for a shifter… She’s in this app.

  It’s a beautiful piece of technology, launched months after the Reveal. It started as a regular dating app with a very strict policy against shifterphobia. Because that’s a thing. Here and there I catch it on the news. People that are afraid. People that just hate what’s different. People that want us gone.

  Recently, they added something life-changing to the app in the form of a free add-on. A DNA-compatibility test.

  One’s not forced to do it to use the app, but I wasn’t throwing the opportunity away. They selected volunteers, and I got mine a couple of weeks ago. A small paper package with manual instructions, a lab tube, and a cotton swab. It’s supposed to help with the matches. It first went out for the shifters. They sent me a message two days ago letting me know the results were ready, and they’d start sending to non-shifters soon enough.

  Honestly, it is brilliant. If it helps me get my mate faster, I will rate it genius.

  Maybe my bear has been off because he’s sensing something different. Sensing that, maybe… She has found me in the app?

  But when I open it, there’s nothing. No new messages, no new females looking for a man like me. I went out with a couple of girls in the beginning. Pretty, curvy women who shared some interests, but it went nowhere. They were not the ones, and both of us knew so.

  I’d rather not waste my time, so I have been anxiously waiting for the DNA compatibility test to kick in and show me the way. Apparently, my bear instincts are off today, because nothing has changed.

  No curvy woman is matching me. No perfect girl popping on my screen, like coming out of a dream. I can almost imagine her. The light brown hair dropping over smooth shoulders, the pouty lips, the voluptuous body I’ll never tire of exploring. I have never seen her, but I feel her. I know she’s out there.

  Waiting for me, as I’m waiting for her.

  My bear huffs in dismissal as if it’s my fault we haven’t found her yet.

  “Give me a break,” I grunt back, clutching my pen so hard in my fingers it snaps. With a sigh, I get up to find another. It happens frequently. My bear gets too close to the surface when he’s anxious, and I have to control myself not to explode in my animal shape and run into the woods.

  Setting him free will have to wait. As well as finding my forever partner.

  3

  BELLA

  Re-reading the instructions in my email, I pick the box that came today via the post office and ogle it. Is this a prank?

  This can’t be. I’ve just received a unicorn.

  DNA Compatibility Add-On for the Shifter Dating App.

  Right. Right. So many words. One thing at a time. A dating app. I snort, remembering my chat with Vivian. But… A Shifter Dating App. What the heckarooni is that?

  Drawing out my phone, I quickly search for it. The logo is a muzzle, I’m afraid, and I click on the pictures and description to study it. It is, as the name indicates, an app. But not for shifters only. It’s for humans and shifters to date each other. Apparently, they have strict policies about tolerance. No body-shaming is one of the main items.

  I sink my teeth into my lower lip. No body-shaming. It sounds almost like a scam to read an app offering this. In a world where being curvy is immediately understood as being unhealthy, sick, or lazy, their offer would already catch my eye with just these two words. But I keep reading and it keeps giving me more.

  They say shifters are out to find their one true match. It’s not a casual app. It’s not just for fun. The whole idea is finding your pair. The app’s been online for a couple of months, and from the reviews, it works.

  Enters the add-on. It’s a new bonus they want to offer for free to simplify the process. Shifters have been sent the material before humans, and now I’m part of the beta-team. If all goes well, it’ll be released to the public.

  Tearing the box open, I stare inside, dumping the items out of it. They just need a sample of my DNA, and… That’s it? They’d be able to find my perfect match?

  I sneer. It escapes my lips and bubbles into laughter. Right. As if.

  The app has dozens of reviews, all positive, all ranting about how people have found their one true love. But there’s no such thing, is it? I didn’t even know shifters and humans could... you know... Do it.

  Opening good ol’ Google, I search for it. After fifteen minutes, I accept that shifters and humans have been doing it for a while, and some couples have come out about it. Some interviews did mention the concept of “mate” and how they breed for life.

  A shiver runs through me. Breed. It’s such an animalistic concept. It’s supposed to set me off but, strangely, it doesn’t.

  To be with someone for your whole life. It feels like such a commitment. I can’t imagine myself trusting someone this much. The interview goes on with how shifters take it so seriously that they are biologically unable to even see any other person as potential after they mated. I snicker again, shaking my head.

  It sounds too good to be true. So it can’t be.

  Back to my client’s email, I read the notes and what’s expected of me. They want me to do the test and send it back to them, and “on the occasion of being matched, you are expected to go on 1 (one) date with your prospect and inform us of the validity of the test”. Ugh. How to make it sound unromantic.

  Taking a long gulp of my coffee, I let the pros and cons run through my mind. Pro — I’m being paid. The expenses of the date would be paid by the client too, so I’d at least grab one free dinner. Con — I’d have to meet and talk to a man. I’m not good at it. No, scratch that. I’m horrible. Men don’t feel attracted to curvy girls like me, it doesn’t matter what the app says.

  And God, I don’t want to endure
some guy shooting me pitiful glances when he’s supposed to be my perfect match.

  On the other hand, my banking account could use the help.

  I could call Vivian, but I’m a hundred percent certain she’ll tell me to give it a go, even if it’s for a free night out. Her voice telling me some motivational quotes about getting out of my comfort zone rings on the back of my head and, before I think twice, I reply to the email with a positive.

  No going back now. I take the items and brace myself. After installing the app, I create a profile. Unlike every other time I had to pick images of myself, I choose the ones that show off my body, where I’m in leggings and tight dresses, my curves on show.

  This way, they’ll know I’m a plus size girl, and they won’t waste my time. They won’t need to hide their surprise and disappointment when we meet.

  The email says I’m going to receive a code with my results back, and I’m only supposed to add it to my profile. While my DNA is being analyzed, I can window-shop, right?

  And damn, these men look yummy.

  Possible shifter mate, here I go.

  An entire week passes before I receive any word about the test. When I do, they send me the code so I can add it to the app. So I do, half-expecting nothing to happen.

  Strangely, I’ve completely forgotten about it after that first night. With another job, and life and dealing with my parents only calling me to ask for favors, it has slipped my mind.

  Vivian, on the other hand, has installed it as soon as I sent her the name.

  Now that I’ve had some time to think about it, I know this can’t work. Either I don’t have someone who will fit me, or they won’t even want to talk to me after they look at my pictures. But what happens when I click the “Next” button after inserting the code catches me off guard.

  Confetti explodes on the screen, raining down over a message. It says “Congratulations! You’ve been matched!” in bright pink and orange colors.

  I blink several times as the confetti settles down, though the message still flashes as if it wants to be sure I’m reading it. A small button below — a fuchsia pink I could not miss — invites “Check it here!”.

  My pulse races. I’ve been matched? Does it mean what I think it means?

  A perfect match based on your DNA, said the manual.

  Fingers slightly shaking, I tap the “check it here!” button. It takes me to a man’s profile. My eyes almost escape their sockets when my gaze lands on his picture.

  This has to be a joke, right?

  Dorian, it says his name is. Forty-years old, wow. He’s fifteen years older than me, not what I’d usually go for. But from his picture, you can’t tell. Dorian is… I don’t even have a word for it. Handsome is an insult. This picture has to be photoshopped.

  His dark hair is in a buzz-cut, cropped close to his head. He has a strong jaw that denotes confidence, fierce eyes, and — pardon my French — the hottest fucking body I’ve ever seen. Broad shoulders, defined pectoral… The man is built. He wears a dark shirt and jeans in his first picture, but somehow it comes off erotic. The fabric of his shirt marks his chest and the bulge of his enormous biceps. The man is huge.

  He has a military bearing, his hands held behind his back, his shoulders squared as he looks into the camera with eyes that look straight at me. But there’s a line around his lips, wrinkles next to his eyes as if he’s holding back a smile. His eyes glitter with the promise of genuine laughs and large smiles.

  I swipe on his picture and almost topple from my chair. He’s shirtless on this one, and this shouldn’t be legal. Is this legal? Wow, oh my God, wow. My cheeks flare up with heat as I stare into his six-pack and how much muscle can a man possibly have? He’s not lean-weight and not a gym rat either, with inflated arms. He’s just hellish strong. His sun-kissed skin tells of hours spent beneath the sun. A smudge of hair runs down his chest to his abs down to hide beneath his pants, and I have to swallow the saliva that accumulates in my mouth. Am I freaking salivating over a man?

  Yes. I definitely am.

  I have never felt this attracted to someone this quickly. Dorian’s next picture is way less attractive than the others. It’s a bear, large and brown, and it takes me a moment to understand what that picture is doing there.

  Then it hits me. Shifter Dating App. Duh.

  So Dorian’s a bear shifter. I remember a BuzzFeed quiz I totally didn’t take this week, wondering about which animal would be my mate’s. I had gotten bear — protective, sweet, dependable. Not that I did the test.

  But what a crazy coincidence.

  I’m halfway through his profile (loves nature, his favorite pastime is reading and cooking, wants children) when a message pops on the right hand of my screen. I squeal a little as if I had been caught red-handed.

  When I click the balloon, I’m surprised to see I have several unread messages. From different men. Are all these men interested in me? Impossible. I start to check on them, from oldest to newest.

  It’s so hard to believe. They’re all hot and interested, all asking about me, all shifters. From wolves to horses, they all say they loved my profile pictures and how they’ve always dreamed of having a curvy girl as their mate.

  Drinking from my now-cold coffee, I glare into the screen. I’ve spent enough time online to be wary of these kinds of messages. But my client has paid me to analyze the app, and it has several good reviews.

  I have to give it a shot.

  And I’m going to start with Dorian. Even if he looks way out of my league. Even if this whole thing turns out to be a huge, intricate scam to break curvy girls’ hearts.

  4

  DORIAN

  My bear has been getting more and more impatient. Several times it has crossed my mind this week to just drop the job, abandon the clan and the forest, and go in search of my mate. Just to shut him up.

  But today? Today’s he’s unbearable. Pun unintended.

  Sleep evaded me. My bear trudged inside me the whole evening. So I got up while it was still dark outside, shifted, and darted into the woods to get some energy out of me before it was time to go to work.

  Didn’t work. He’s been clawing inside me the entire morning, roaring, begging to be let out. The day’s clear so it’s another day full of tourists shifter-watching, and I can’t give them a peep-show. One can only imagine the mess in the park if their theories are proven right. I already have a lot in my hands avoiding forest fires and checking for garbage.

  But my bear doesn’t give a shit about it. He’s never been this bad. I always took pride in my self-control. Then why is he so nuts lately?

  Once more, it crosses my mind that it might be the app. Maybe now my mate has finally shown up. But I don’t want to raise hopes. I don’t want to boost them only to get them crushed.

  Being forty, I’m way past the age I wanted to have my cubs. Even if I’m in my prime, I want to spend all the available time with my family when I have one. If I ever do.

  That same instinct that tells me how she looks like tells me she’s younger, which is why I waited. Waiting still hurts.

  Patting my back pocket, I grunt when I notice my phone’s back in the Visitor’s Center. Bidding a couple of tourists farewell as they hike the main trail, I turn on my heels and stride back into the cabin. I’m taking one look into the app, and just one. If there’s nothing there, I’ll turn the thing off and only check it out tomorrow. My bear has to learn some manners.

  When I reach for my phone and unlock the screen, I’m surprised to find it full of notifications, a white muzzle as the logo of the app. My heart immediately sets off ahead of me, beating hard. Instead of growing more frantic, my bear grows quiet. Terribly quiet.

  Clicking the app open, I blink at the orange and pink confetti as a message pops on screen.

  Congratulations! You’ve been matched!

  My stomach bottoms out and I have to reach out and clutch the doorknob for balance. Finally, good God, finally! She’s here, she’s taken the test, an
d she’s going to be mine.

  I have waited so damn long for this. My skin crawls with expectation as I click a button and my gaze rakes over her profile.

  Bella, twenty-five. Younger, as I expected.

  And the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

  My heart beating double time, I zoom her picture in and the beauty of hers strikes me like a punch. She’s just like I knew she was, but better. So much better than my imagination. Her light brown hair cascades down her shoulders in the first picture, and she’s wearing a dress that makes her voluptuous curves obvious. My fingers itch and curl, needing to touch her, feel her.

  Her second and third pictures don’t help with the lust building inside of me. My member hardens upon seeing her in a pair of leggings that mark her thick thighs. God, I can’t wait to have them locked around my head. My mouth waters from imagining how she’ll taste on my tongue.

  Large, green eyes stare at the camera, and I feel it in the depths of my soul. It’s hers. The tugging, the yearn… It’s all for her.

  Her profile is short and doesn’t say much (she likes to stay at home, wants kids, and loves winter) so I search for the direct message option. To my surprise, she’s just messaged me.

  Hey, Dorian!

  It looks like we’ve been matched. Would you like to have dinner next Friday?

  Bella

  I re-read her words a thousand times, a smile stretching my lips ridiculously. My bear starts pacing again, now with a spring to his step, and I know he’s finally happy. He’s pleased we’ve found her.

  Now I have to have her.

  Hello, gorgeous.

  I’m honored to be matched with such a beautiful woman like yourself. I’d love to take you out on Friday. Do you have any preferences? Whatever you wish, I’m up for it.