by Lisa Ladew
He swayed backward, then caught himself before he fell. Her eyes shot to his face. His eyes first quivered, then rolled back in his head, the thought-form she’d seen before, a heavy, orange wall, so thick she almost couldn’t see through it. Men, lined up, waiting for something. Waiting for their turn at something.
She dropped his hand and the thought-form evaporated, Bruin’s eyes shot open and he smiled like none of it had ever happened. Willow frowned. What in the hell was going on?
“You’re stung,” she said. “You’re not allergic, are you?”
Bruin shook his head. “No.” His voice turned wistful. “I wish the bees didn’t have to die when they stung something.”
“Me too,” she said, meaning it.
He looked her up and down. “You weren’t stung at all.”
“I never am.” She wanted to tell him about what she had seen. Wanted to ask him what he had felt, but she didn’t say a word. She was used to hiding what she saw from people. They didn’t understand, or they were scared of it. Even her own mother was scared of it.
Willow faced her hives, pulled some tools out of the chest, and approached the first hive.
Bruin followed her. “Why do you always start with this hive?”
She looked at him, eyebrows drawn, eyes narrowed. “Always? What are you talking about?”
Bruin blanched and took a step backward, then looked at her sheepishly. He lifted a hand and pointed across the valley.
“See that cluster of houses down there? Mine is the one on the end with the yellow chimney. I have a telescope. Um…” His cheeks reddened. “I guess I watch you up here.”
She looked at the house he had indicated. “But that’s twenty miles away. There’s two of us, you know.”
Bruin nodded quickly. “Yes, the other woman always starts with this hive.” He indicated the one on the far right. “You always start with this one.” He indicated the one in the middle.
Willow paced a little bit, her back to Bruin, not liking the thoughts that were circling her brain. Maybe she wasn’t completely smitten. She turned to him, facing him squarely, hands on her hips. “Are you stalking me?” His eyes widened and she saw real fear there, fear of what she would think.
“No, it’s not like that. I bought the telescope for the stars, but I’ve always been interested in honey. I love honey. I saw you setting up the hives, and I’ve been watching since. Not in a stalkerish way, but just as someone who likes honey.” He looked like he knew how ridiculous he sounded. He took a deep breath in through his nose. “Your bees are harvesting wildflower honey, with a high concentration of both foxglove and violet bush clover, along with some wild leek and bluestar.” He sniffed again, almost delicately. “And a bit of larkspur for richness.”
Willow stared at him, her mouth open. How could he possibly know that? Her eyes traveled the length of the meadow they could see, searching out the flowers he had mentioned.
He flushed and looked down again. “Like I said, I like honey.”
Willow went to the hive, thinking for the first time of why she’d wanted the bees-what her reasoning had been. No reason that she could think of, other than the idea had flitted through her mind and refused to leave, circling round and round until she’d done it. And that meant exactly what? Nothing. She pulled out a glass jar and placed it to the rear of the hive. “Have you ever seen the inside of a hive, Bruin?” she asked.
He shook his head, his face eager. “Not like this. I’ve seen them in the wild.”
She nodded. “Have you ever heard of a flow hive?”
He shook his head again, and she motioned him over to peek inside the transparent back of the hive, then turned the knob that opened the striations of the artificial honeycomb and allowed honey to flow out of the hive until she had a couple of spoonfuls in the bottom of the jar. She rummaged around in the box again until she found a clean taster stick, and she plopped it in the jar, and handed it to Bruin, a smile on her face.
Bruin took it eagerly, smiling at her, making her think of the strangest combination of young animals in the wild, chasing butterflies or biting their momma’s ears. He scooped out a dollop of honey, savoring it like a sommelier would savor a fine wine.
Willow didn’t have to ask if he liked it. Her answer was in his subtle, blissful expression.
***
Bruin gazed up at the sun through the apple branches above them. It had moved a couple of ticks along the horizon, and the area they were in was flooded with soothing shade. Bruin only saw a few missed apples, here and there. Most had been picked. Peace filled him. This was where he was supposed to be, what he was supposed to be doing.
He dropped his gaze to watch Willow work, especially enthralled when a stray shaft of sunlight illuminated her hair, then her skin in a way that made her look angelic. Angelic… ? Bruin frowned. No. Could not be. He pushed the thought away and melted back into the task at hand. Watching Willow work. She wouldn’t let him help, shooing his hands away when he tried, occasionally bringing him more honey. The flow hive was ingenious, a way to get the honey from the bees without disturbing them at all. Of course she would use it. She was the most gentle spirit he had ever met.
Bruin heard a heavy clomping sound to his back. He turned around and saw a horse come up to the fence from the neighbor’s side.
Willow turned around. “Zeus,” she cried, and she ran to the black and tan horse and rubbed his soft muzzle. Bruin had seen the horse before but he wasn’t entirely sure where.
Willow looked up, searching the apple trees for spare apples, but none of the ones that were left were in her reach. She spied one overhead and jumped for it, laughing when her grasping fingers came nowhere near it.
Bruin walked over and stretched out on tippy-toes, wanting to make her happy, but it was a good foot beyond his grasp. He jumped too, and couldn’t quite get it.
He ran to the tree trunk. If she were impressed by grown men climbing trees, he was about to score some major points. “I got this.” He climbed up the tree easily, like he had when he was a cub, then hoisted himself onto the branch where the apple was. Slowly he inched out farther and farther, reaching for it, until the branch cracked below him. Willow cried out, but too fast, he was in a heap on the ground, the limb smashed below him.
She rushed to him. He jumped to his feet and brushed himself off. “I’m good. I bounce.”
Willow giggled and looked up. “And you didn’t even get the apple.” It was still over their heads. She pointed at his side, “You did rip your shirt though.” Bruin looked down at the softball-sized hole in his shirt, showing his flank. He had a spare in with his tools, so he could change later.
He held out his hands. “How about I boost you?” he said, miming lifting her up.
“Ok.” She looked pleased at the thought and that made him flush with a heat he’d never experienced before.
He bent slightly, holding his hands out as she moved into them. He grasped her around the waist and lifted her easily. She giggled and put her hands on his shoulders. He stood up straight and lifted her over his head. The image he’d seen when he’d touched her before pushed into his head, erasing his own thoughts and desires and making him sway. He planted his feet, digging into the ground with his toes, as best as he could through his boots. He would not drop her. A burst of pain shot through his left shoulder and he gritted his teeth so as not to cry out.
“Got it,” she said, her voice pushing through his haze. He put her down as gently as he could, then stepped back so she couldn’t touch him anymore.
Willow’s soft voice came. “Are you alright?”
He realized his eyes were squinched tightly shut and his muscles were tense. He tried to relax, then opened his eyes, finding her staring into his face, her expression worried.
He didn’t want to frighten her, but he really needed to think about what he kept seeing, and why. The line of males he knew were all bearen was compelling and it called to him, spelling out something he needed very badly to k
now.
He didn’t realize he was going to speak until he did. “It just gets stronger the longer we are touching.”
She jumped as if she’d been poked. “What does?”
He raised a hand to his head, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“No,” she said. “Please, say it out loud. I can tell that something bothers you every time we touch. I want to know what it is.”
Bruin held a hand to his temple. “I don’t know what it is. It’s like an image that pushes its way into my mind and it’s trying to tell me something.”
Her face was pinched and worried. He didn’t want her to be concerned about him, but when she spoke she said something that threw him off completely. “The line of people?”
Bruin searched her face. “You see it, too?”
Willow nibbled on her lower lip and her eyes flitted between him and the ground as if she were trying to decide whether to tell him something or not. He reached his hand out to touch her lightly on the shoulder but only hovered it over her arm instead, not wanting to break the moment with whatever happened when they touched.
She finally shrugged as if she had made her decision. “No, I don’t see it myself, but I can see you seeing it.” She made a waving motion with her hand around his head and shoulders. “Here. It bubbles up out of you and plays like a movie for me. If I’m touching you or… it, I can feel the emotions it makes you feel.”
Bruin was at a complete loss for words. Finally he was able to ask her a question. “Just with me?”
She shook her head. “No. Everyone. I’ve… my mother says it’s a gift.”
“Like a… what is that called? Like-”
“An empath,” she supplied. “That’s what some people call it.” Her eyes searched him, her face and voice nervous, like she didn’t think he would believe her.
“An empath,” he repeated, smiling at how beautiful and real she was. “I’ve never met one before.”
The horse neighed, pulling their attention. Willow looked at the apple in her hand, like she had forgotten about it. She headed over to the fence and Bruin followed.
She spoke as she walked. “I’ve always had the ability, for as long as I can remember. When I was younger, I never even knew it was unusual. It got stronger this year, after I turned twenty-five.” Willow held the apple out to the horse, then stroked its soft nose.
Bruin stared at her for a long time as the facts lined up like dominoes in his brain. She was twenty-five, her name was Willow.
She was indeed extremely special, but she was a One True Mate and she would never belong to him. His heart broke in half and the pain of it physically ripped through him, almost bringing him to his knees. He choked it back as her expression turned worried again.
He would do anything to tell her something that would wipe that worry from her face. Especially now that he knew his time with her was short. This might be it. He looked around the sunny meadow, half expecting Khain to rip through from his own world and try to snatch Willow. Let him try. Bruin would murderize the guy, demon or not. Immortal or not. One of them would die in the field, and as long as Willow needed protecting, it wouldn’t be Bruin.
Willow piled her hair up on top of her head. “It’s getting so hot,” she said, fanning her face with her hand. “And I forgot a hair tie.”
“I could braid it for you,” Bruin suggested, still scanning the field with his senses for any danger. There was none. Only bees, butterflies, them, the horse, and the thick scent of wildflowers baking in the sun.
She turned to him, surprised. “You braid hair?”
He nodded. No reason to be embarrassed about it with her. She wasn’t the type to make fun, and she would never be his girlfriend. “I ah-I started when I was young. My nan had kept her favorite dolls from childhood, hoping to give them to her children, but she only had boys. And then her boys only had boys. So they sat in her room on a shelf. After she died… when I missed her, I would hang out in her room, and sometimes take the dolls down to try to feel close to her. One had long hair that my nan used to braid when she was worried about something. One day I undid the braid and redid it.” He shrugged. “It’s a soothing activity. It calms the mind.”
Willow stared up at him for a few moments. Her hand twitched and she lifted it toward him, like she wanted to touch him, but then she remembered and she dropped it back to her side. “I would love it if you braided my hair. Can you get it up off my neck?”
“I’ll make you a crown,” he said, leading her to a flat, grassy, mostly-shady spot. “Sit down. You’ve got a lot of hair and it will take a while.”
She sat and he knelt behind her, suddenly wondering if he was even going to be able to touch her hair. Tentatively, he reached out and palmed a strand, pulling it between his fingers. No line of bears pushed into his mind. Emboldened, he took a bit more, then used both his hands to pull all her hair to her back. It was silky smooth, warm from the sun, and when he touched it, he stirred her delicious honey scent in a way that had him breathing through his nose, and leaning forward frequently to take more of the sweet smell in. Exquisite. Not his. Perfect. Not his!
But, oh, did he want her to be. The wolf that was intended to be her mate would be the luckiest male on the planet. Bruin pulled her hair where he wanted it, and divided the thick, honey-colored strands into sections so he could get started. He hoped she got a good male. If Mac wasn’t taken already, he would have wished it was Mac. He frowned as he worked on her hair. Maybe he wouldn’t. That would have been hell to see his best friend with the woman he loved. He checked inside himself. Did he still love her now that he knew she could never be his?
Yes. He did. He loved her with a flat intensity that made his heart ache. He groaned at the absurdity of it.
He plodded through his work, braiding the hair back from her brow, along both sides of her head, then weaving it in a thick circle around the back of her head. As he went, he picked up delicate white flowers, instinctively tucking them into strands of her hair. She occasionally shuddered as he worked, but she didn’t speak a word. The sun moved beyond the trees they were under, until they were sitting in a bright, hot puddle of light. But he was almost finished…
“Done.”
She turned around and the sun framed her face, the braids, and the flowers, making her looking even more angelic than before.
He spoke without thinking, his heart heavy. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. You look like an angel.”
Her face contracted like he had said something wrong. She sputtered for a second, then spoke. “An angel.” She said the words like a declaration. Like they meant something and her eyes searched his face.
He only stared.
She put a hand up on her head, feeling the braids, looking away across the meadow, and when she spoke her voice was small. “Bruin, I have a question for you that may seem strange, but I have to know.”
He nodded. She could ask him anything.
Her lips tightened and she looked back at him. “Are you an angel?”
Bruin shook his head. “An angel, no, not me. I’m a … I’m a wolf.”
Chapter 17
Bruin trudged back down the hill, feeling like he weighed a thousand pounds. Had he really said he was a wolf? She’d blinked hard at him, and her expression had gone suspicious and even a bit angry, like she knew he was lying. Then he’d realized what he’d actually said. A wolf? What was wrong with him? He’d tried to cover what he’d said but she hadn’t wanted to listen. She’d said she needed to get to the restaurant before the lunch rush and strode off, but then she’d turned and invited him and his friends to lunch. But she’d still been suspicious of him. He’d followed her at a distance, making sure she got to her house ok, and now he’d make sure she got to the restaurant, too. He would watch over her every minute until her mate was found and took that over.
Trent was back at the truck and Mac and Rogue were staring at him expectantly from the driveway of Willow’s ho
use, leaning against the truck, Mac drinking a bottled water, Rogue looking bored.
His words were hard to get out. “Willow had to go get ready for the lunch crew to come in, but she says we’re all invited to lunch.”
Rogue inspected him. “What’s wrong, Bruin? You look like someone ran over your best puppy.”
Bruin’s stomach heaved. If he’d had any food in it, he might have thrown up. “I can’t believe it. I told her I was a wolf.”
Mac sprayed laughter, then caught himself. “Why? I mean, we’re awesome, but bears are ok, too.”
Bruin spread his hands. “She’s twenty-five. Her name is Willow. She’s a One True Mate and I’m not a wolf, but I want her to be mine, so I-I lied.” He hung his head.
No one said anything for several moments. Bruin felt like crawling underneath the truck. Just disappearing.
Trent’s voice rumbled inside his mind. You have a rip in your shirt.
Bruin trudged to the back of the truck on autopilot and found his spare shirt inside his toolkit. He automatically turned his front toward the others, then remembered Wade knew he didn’t have a renqua, so Mac must know. They all must know, but no one had mentioned it. Wolves were good like that
He quit trying to hide his back and pulled his shirt over his head.
Troy’s sharp, inquisitive voice spoke in his head. I didn’t know you had a star renqua. Are you a Citlali?
Bruin’s heartache was forced from his mind as he whipped his head to the left, and turned again and again trying to see over his left shoulder. Star? Citlali? No, he was a bear, just a bear, just a worker-bee doing what he was told. No one special. No one important. His father’s words echoed in his head as he continued to turn.
“What’s going on?” Rogue said. “What’s wrong with Bruin?”
Mac’s voice was bewildered. “I’m not sure. I think he’s trying to see his own renqua.”
Rogue stopped him mid-turn with a hand to his arm. “Hang in there, big guy. I got you.” She pointed her phone at his shoulder while he tried not to jump out of his skin. She took a picture, then showed it to him.
