Ursus Borealis: Book One

by D. L. Lewellyn

  The effect on me was not only because he was better looking than any man had a right to be. No, good looks I could have managed. But these fleeting glances, disturbed me because for that one moment, they were focused entirely on me, not just resting on the surface, but looking into me, searching for something that had been ignited the first time our eyes had locked on each other.

  The man, Andras Johns, was a regular patron, same as me, of the Starlight, a bar and crossroads in a town called Quincy.

  I let the scent of tobacco and old timber that permeated this vintage building comfort me as I took a long pull of my beer and looked around at the public establishment that had captured my reticent spirit.

  Quincy was situated on the northern end of the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range, smack in the middle of the Plumas National Forest, which meant vast woodlands flowed out from all directions, rising, and dipping through one of the longest and most diverse mountain ranges in North America.

  Needing to change the direction of my life, a life that had been firmly solitary, I moved here about five months ago. It was not the solitude I minded, in fact I relished it. Some said I had tendencies towards being a recluse. Others just told me it was because I could be happy inside my own head when I created art.

  No, I did not mind being alone. What I did mind was feeling insignificant. Something had happened in my old life that made me question the prospect of a solitary future without notice or caring from others, without mattering to someone.

  In my old life, I had been dedicated to my solitude but for one true friend, and when he was lost to me not long ago, the solitude that followed had me hearing his words of concern and prompting me to search for a community.

  Thomas’s beloved face rose in my mind, and I remembered the day we spent getting him through one of his last chemo sessions. His ghostly pale face would have been utterly tragic for me but for his brilliant green eyes, eyes that would not fade no matter how much pain he was in, the fighter in him clearly showing from their depths.

  “Carl finalized the sale of the studio today, Thomas. The trust is nearly ready to start contributing to the shelter, as soon as…well, you know.”

  I had been updating him on the conclusion of his life’s work, and when he saw my anguished face, he had gripped my hand, and said, “I know it feels now that your life will stop with mine, Selena, but mark my words, life has a funny way of making one reevaluate long held beliefs about oneself. A new path is ahead of you, and it has been waiting a long time.”

  We made our way through the long hospital corridor, and I was ready to get away from the acrid smell of illness, masked by disinfectant. But I ignored it and wrapped my arms around Thomas’s shrinking shoulders, squeezing him gently, resolutely putting aside the ache in my heart.

  I shook off the sorrow that still welled up when I thought of Thomas and sipped at the sharp brew deliciously chilled in my mug. Thomas’s words and his death that followed all too soon, had compelled me to pay attention. And here I was months later, on my new path, the drawings on the pages of my journal spread out before me.

  The figures scattered in lines of charcoal throughout seemed to be engaged in normal social activity, but on closer inspection, small dramas were apparent, etched on the lines of the faces, each telling a story.

  This was what I did with many of my evenings in my new town, after I had meandered into the Starlight one night on a whim, and was captivated despite myself. I tucked back into my corner booth and observed the denizens of life in the Sierras who gathered here, chronicling them in my sketchpad.

  It had become an activity that offered me the buffer I needed to stretch my new social wings, at a pace I was comfortable with, and it was turning into my own personal social experiment.

  Yet, it had not been the people that interested me at first. It would take more than just moving my life somewhere else to change my habits. But the charm of the Starlight itself had drawn me like a moth to the flame.

  On the outside, the structure was made of smooth river stone and aged timber and had a steeply sloped tin roof with lovely patches of rust, the total effect exuding its pioneer gold rush origins.

  The polished wood surfaces and low-beamed ceiling glowed warmly on the inside and in addition to the tobacco and timber, there was a pleasant odor of damp earth, sawdust, peanuts, and the yeasty smells of Red’s handpicked brews.

  Red Russo was the proprietor of the Starlight. With the unimaginative moniker of Red, you could guess the color of his hair without laying eyes on the wild and bushy ginger locks that swept around his head like licking flames, flames that matched his boisterous personality.

  Red’s cheerful bellowing orders and effusive greetings to his customers did not mean however that he was not keenly aware of everything that happened in his establishment, an establishment founded by his second great grandfather in 1862. Theodore Russo had a modest success in gold mining and stuck around to try his luck as a businessman.

  The gold rush history was another part of the attraction that drew me, and the stamp it left on communities like Quincy, the charm and turmoil of an era that brought waves of hardy and adventurous pioneers over these rugged passes. My own early family having arrived in such a manner to settle in a town much like this one.

  In addition to his skill in selecting fine brews, Red hired the best staff, which is hard to do in these underpopulated towns, and two of his employees had become my best friends, proving my social experiment was working.

  Kenny Sullivan, our expert short order cook, and surfer turned snowboarder, was one of the two, and our friendship had quickly manifested after discovering our mutual love for cribbage.

  Kenny and I spent every Tuesday night at my bungalow in hot competition over the cribbage board. He brought the snacks and I offered up my signature whiskey sours. A potent combination that fueled our rivalry and cemented our friendship.

  ✽✽✽

  Staring into my mug, smiling as Chris Stapleton sang Starting Over, I thought about how my initial desire to sit undetected in a corner drawing my observations had changed to relishing the company of the colorful citizens who frequented the place.

  One such new friend was how I had met the intriguing and frustrating Andras Johns. I had come a bit early one afternoon, which I did on occasion to catch some of my favorite older patrons before they ended their session of darts and beer.

  I went to say hi first to my other best friend, Gemma Landry. “How did your hike go? Did you hit your goal?” Gemma was an avid backcountry hiker and survivalist, and her favorite challenge was the Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail better known as the PCT.

  “I did, and I found a trail that led me to the most beautiful waterfall. I’ll show you my photos later.”

  For now, her tray was loaded with beer mugs needing to be delivered, but before she moved away from the bar, a voice from the other side of her wheezed in amusement, “Sounds like you get into places that mountain men were wary of in their day, my dear.”

  This was from our friend Joseph, a dart enthusiast of indeterminate age with a grizzled countenance adding to the mystery. His mouth was clamped around an ever-present pipe, though he reserved lighting it for outdoors, and lively grey eyes with overhanging bushy white eyebrows glittered as he imagined Gemma’s adventures.

  Laughing at the thought of Gemma in buckskins, making her way through a rugged pass, I said, “She’s got me convinced she is reincarnated from the soul of an early explorer.”

  Joseph said, “I wish I were thirty years younger. I just might know a few places you haven’t discovered yet. Panning for gold had me crawling all over the Sierra’s in my day. Did quite well at it.”

  As he reminded us of his adventures, he was heaving himself off the bar stool as Gemma left with her tray. Being familiar with his routine, I knew this was the signal that he was making his way home. He took my arm to walk with me to the door and I was happy for another opportunity to enjoy these few extra minutes waiting with him for his ride.<
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  Even though Gemma and I had both heard his gold panning stories many times, they never got old because of the delight they elicited in the storyteller, so I prepared myself to be all ears for what was coming.

  As we stood on the porch tucked under the corrugated tin roof, he told me again of his favorite lucky spot on the American River where he had found his biggest nugget.

  He wheezed out the details and was getting to the part where he had cleverly hidden a small cairn of rocks to help him find his spot, when I absently noticed two Harleys pulling into the parking lot.

  After they removed their helmets, I recognized them as two of the men who gathered here most weeks with three others. The five men were impossible not to notice as they were probably the sexiest Harley Davidson riders I had ever seen, towering figures and exceptionally good looking, dressed in biker leathers and marked with interesting tattoos.

  A raw power flowed from each of them, but especially from one of the two who were approaching now, authority radiating from his every move, and I wondered at it. Who were these guys? They were more than just bikers and patrons of the Starlight.

  Joseph’s voice pulled me back to his story. “So, the third time making my way to my hidden spot indeed proved to be the charm.”

  And doing my part with our arms still comfortably linked, I smiled at him and said with the appropriate amount of enthusiasm, “And that’s when you found your biggest nugget.”

  But Joseph’s focus had switched to the two giants that stopped in front of us and were now blocking out the late afternoon sun, and he rasped enthusiastically, “Andras! It is good to see you, you too, Colin. It has been a while since our paths have crossed. You must be here earlier than usual.”

  While their attention was on Joseph, I allowed myself to get my first look up close, noting the strength they each wore naturally, but there was something more to them that teased at my curiosity.

  The one called Andras was smiling fondly at Joseph, his chestnut eyes crinkling. He was lightly bearded with short, honeyed locks that fell in natural waves around his head and charmingly over his strong brow. He had a chiseled jaw and sensual lips.

  His eyes turned to mine, and it was like falling into a deep well, held there for much longer than was comfortable, and I had to force myself to stay still so I would not jolt poor old Joseph. Andras appeared just as disconcerted at the strong connection, then he broke away.

  “It is good to see you too, Joseph. I haven’t forgotten my invitation to visit. You promised to show me your collection of gold nuggets and I have a chunk of obsidian I saved for you with some unusual minerals embedded in it. I thought you might want to examine it. How does next Thursday afternoon work for you?”

  The rumble in his deep voice woke something in me, something that had been buried deep until now, and I struggled to keep my composure as my grip tightened on Joseph, causing him to side eye me, even as his face lit up in pleasure at the warm greeting.

  Joseph’s happy reaction helped me to regain my balance, and I beamed at the man who had produced it. The smile he returned was shockingly beautiful, and it was at that moment the seed of my desire to know him formed.

  He turned his attention back to Joseph with some effort, as Joseph said, “I’ll have coffee and cake waiting dear boy, two o’clock sharp.”

  This hulking man who had to stand over six and a half feet tall being referred to as dear boy, had me putting my hand over my mouth to hide my smile.

  “Have you met my friend Selena Aires?” Joseph patted my arm, which was still attached to his. “She is waiting with me for my nephew. Selena, this is Andras Johns and Colin Dane.”

  Clearing my throat to be sure that my voice would work I said, “It is nice to meet you both.”

  Colin, who was exceptionally good looking as well, and incredibly even taller, with white-blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes, said, “Nice to meet you, Selena. You’re the one who likes to draw?” And he looked at me curiously.

  I said, “That’s me.”

  As we shared this brief exchange, Andras watched my face intently and I felt it suffuse with warmth even more at his scrutiny. His eyes held mine more purposefully this time as he said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Selena.” Then he turned to Joseph.

  “I will see you Thursday, and I look forward to cake and coffee.”

  The sun was once again visible, though somehow not as bright, as both men made their way inside the Starlight, leaving Joseph and I in the shade of the porch smiling at each other.

  You might think after that exchange, I would by now be better acquainted with Mr. Johns these many weeks later. However, no further exchanges occurred other than the strange, nodded greetings, and a few other equally disturbing moments when I was drawn to him as his eyes bored into me from across the bar.

  ✽✽✽

  Startled from my musings when I heard a high-pitched, indignant screech, I looked over just in time to see a woman throw her drink in a man’s face. They both looked furious.

  It was a spat between two regulars, a couple who seemed easily to get into heated arguments as the air vibrated between them. They likely enjoyed the constant conflict, which also provided inspiration for my illustrations.

  Holding my breath, I waited to see what if anything the guy was going to do about the undignified liquid dripping down his face, or the woman who had put it there. Sure enough, he lifted himself off the barstool to lean threateningly over her.

  She did not back down, her eyes flashing. It looked as if they were undecided whether they wanted to strike each other or kiss violently. My hand moved over my sketch paper eagerly capturing that image.

  I had come to expect the men gathered around Andras to handle the occasional altercations. It was odd, but that was how it worked around here, so I looked his way as soon as that screech had alerted me to trouble.

  He gave a barely perceptible nod to one of his guys, a man whose supple frame hinted at tightly controlled power, with a face covered in shadows by a hood, who walked casually over to the husband and leaned into his ear to say something.

  Blanching at whatever had been said, the man clamped his jaw shut and went to the men’s room presumably to put himself back to rights and cool off.

  The hooded man then said something to the woman. She let out a breath and her shoulders relaxed and after smiling broadly to the hooded man, she moved to a table occupied by a couple other women.

  Red watched the whole thing quietly from the doorway to the kitchen while rubbing a towel over a glass mug.

  Now my pencil moved over my paper capturing the image of the mysterious hooded man, his sleeves pushed up revealing sinewy, tattooed forearms, breaking up a domestic spat, my favorite kind of scene to capture in this little corner of the world where it felt like anything might happen.

  Chapter 2

  Andras

  It was good to be back in Quincy and I strode purposefully through the door of my pack’s occasional, informal headquarters, which to the rest of the town was known as the Starlight.

  We gathered here for the most part so that our presence was a reminder to the shifter population that their alpha was keeping an eye on the activities of his pack. But the raucous pub also provided cover to talk pack business to a certain degree, and we could enjoy a good brew while we were at it.

  Heading to the bar where Colin was already imbibing such a beverage, I passed a table and glanced at the woman whose smile had quickly become the highlight of my visits to the Starlight these past weeks.

  Since the afternoon we had been introduced, I could not get her out of my mind, constantly seeing her warm, kind eyes smiling down at Joseph, as he told her a story that I was sure she had heard a few times before.

  Selena Aires was an incredibly beautiful human woman. She was that, and something more. Something that tugged at my soul. Something that caused my heart to jolt almost painfully.

  These were all reasons why I kept on walking, though every time I drew near her tab
le, my feet would slow of their own volition, and tonight like every other night these past weeks, my feet betrayed me yet again. Yet again I forced myself to keep walking.

  Still, since I apparently had this nearly insatiable craving to break my stride and take in her appearance, I felt I should at least nod to her in a greeting on the way by.

  Tonight, her lovely eyes lit up briefly and she cocked her head at me in a curious smile, a smile she quickly tried to mask to look casual. Despite her efforts, I noticed how the bridge of her nose crinkled adorably with her interest, giving her away. It galled me that I noticed such things about her because it made the struggle real.

  Colin watched the exchange, his eyes hinting at his sympathy as well as exasperation for my situation. “How did it go at the Lodge?” He asked me as I stepped up to the bar.

  Having just returned from Mount Shasta after hosting an assembly of alphas from the neighboring western State’s packs, where we discussed a matter concerning us all, I answered, “Much effort spent on very little results.”

  An ancient supernatural kingdom known as the Anurashin have resurfaced and have been spotted in my pack’s territory in a remote and relatively uninhabited part of northern California near the Oregon border, an area that is dotted with tunnels and mines beneath lava beds and other ancient rock formations. We had yet to discover what they could be after.

  I continued, “It went as well as can be expected. Michael Elliott is about as forthcoming as usual. Curtis Dare did not even show. And no one else had any helpful information or suggestions. Confirming their presence in northern California was about all we seemed to have accomplished.

  “I got the distinct impression the alphas are not taking seriously a potential enemy appearing in our midst, but we will see if that changes when the Anurashin show up on their doorsteps. For now, the reports are vague.”