by Elsa Jade
She blinked at his blasé response to her insult, stubby auburn lashes flickering over her green eyes, and for a moment, their back-and-forth eased the despair that had been threatening to suck him down like desert quicksand.
With that neatly bobbed hair, in her tidy peach-colored pantsuit with sensible shoes, she didn’t look like a witch. The youngest of the triplets, Gin—all goth and grim—seemed closer to the mark. And even Brandy, the middle triplet, exuded more of the earth mother appeal that was the hippie witch stereotype. Rita was…something else.
He looked at her, really looked at her, for what seemed like the first time. He’d taken note of her before, of course, especially when she’d been aiming a rifle at his face. But he’d been evaluating her as an obstacle, or even a threat. Now he needed her as an ally.
Maybe…a friend?
He took in a slow breath. Under the taste of tart huckleberry on his tongue, he smelled her: a bouquet of herbs and a coconut-based lotion. The summery scent wrapped around him like a bear hug.
Bear hugs sometimes had claws.
The unexpected prick of awareness dug into him. How long had it been… Nah, not going there. He was desperate, not dumb.
With a hard huff, he let out the breath he’d been holding. “I said there was no excuse for what I did, but…I want to explain. Without the rex ursi, I cannot lead the clan. That’s why I wanted Ben to be king. Not for my sake, for the clan’s.”
As he’d suspected it would, his explanation reached her when even the ugly sight of him in his half-rogue state hadn’t. She might be the eldest triplet by only minutes, but she knew what it meant to be singularly responsible for others.
She let out a sigh of her own—faintly aggrieved, he guessed, that he’d gotten past her defenses. Well, not all her defenses; the rifle, judging by the stink of gun oil, was in the pantry. But he’d take her pity as a start.
“Ben would make a terrible king,” she said at last. “He’s too nice.”
“He’d have your sister at his side.”
Rita’s lips twitched, and he thought maybe he’d scored another point with her. “Gin as a bear queen is…more unlikely than Ben as king.” She shook her head. “So I guess you gotta keep it.”
“I’ve come to the same conclusion.”
As she turned that thoughtful gaze on him, her mouth tightened again. She was wearing some sort of lip gloss, he decided, pink tinted. Or was that color natural? Only one way to tell—
What? No. He wasn’t rubbing off Rita’s lipstick. Forcing his attention off her mouth, he stared down at his hands.
His filthy, scabbed hands. Hell, he could grow cholla cactus under his fingernails.
A cholla cactus crossed with poison oak crossed with a boulder. That was what his cousins had called him. And they weren’t wrong.
“You figured this out in the desert when you ran away?”
He wanted to bristle at the running away part, but why argue the piddly details? “I went all through the Four Corners—our clan is the most dispersed of the shifters—and there’s no one to take my place. But right now, I can’t take my place. Not without the rex ursi.”
She looked from his hands to his face. “You say the rex ursi—your bear—is missing. But I saw you in that fight with Ben. You were at least half bear.”
“And that’s not enough.” He sat back stiffly. “This is hard to talk about.”
“You say you want my help—”
“I don’t want it,” he snapped back. “But I need it.”
That brought the amused quirk back to her lips. Her upper lip was plumper than the bottom one, leaving a little shadow at the seam that made him wonder—
No, no wondering.
“So tell me,” she went on, as if he hadn’t interrupted, “about this half-missing rogue bear.”
“I never went rogue.” When she lifted one eyebrow, he added, “Not completely. The rogue state, for shifters, is a protective instinct, where the beast takes over when the man falters. My bear hasn’t taken control.” He grimaced. “Despite what I look like. I almost wish it would, then maybe I’d have a chance to fight it. To fight for it.” His grip tightened on the cool glass, and he pushed it back rather than risk breaking it. “I can summon the shape of it, mostly, even the sound and the strength. But the spirit…is missing.”
A shifter would be appalled, even repelled, to hear his plight. A human wouldn’t understand it. His only hope was this witch.
She traced one fingertip through the ring of water her glass had left on the wood. A symbol of some sort. “Isn’t the bear a part of you?”
“Yes, but…” He set his finger on the tabletop a little ways from her. “Like that water is hydrogen and oxygen, two chemical elements coming together to make a third, esoteric element.”
When she glanced up at him sharply, he huffed out a laugh.
“Surprising, but yeah,” he drawled, “I’ve read a book or two, so I know some chemistry and some classics.”
A faint flush colored her cheeks a shade darker than her lips. “I just didn’t have the impression that bears were much into academia, of the mundane or magical kind.” She flicked her finger. “But I see what you mean. With an electrical shock, water can be broken back to its components.” She frowned at him. “Two explosive components.”
He did his best to look harmless, but she didn’t look convinced. “I tried to give up the kingship,” he reminded her. “But since I can’t, I need to be the king they need—all of me. I haven’t found a fix in my world, and you’ve already had some experience with casting spells on shifters.”
She eyed him. “I wouldn’t say my forays into your world have been particularly successful.”
Having overheard his cousins talking, Thor understood she’d created a talisman to try to take control of Aster’s bear energy before Mac and Brandy had decided to honor the mating bond between them.
“I know you intended to banish the bear spirit,” he said. “Instead you strengthened the connections, between Aster and his bear, between Brandy and Mac. That’s what I want you to do for me.”
Her auburn-tipped lashes flickered in a quick blink, like small flames over her green eyes. “So, strengthen your connection between…”
“The rex ursi and me,” he hastened to clarify. Had she thought he meant a connection between him and…her? “Between me and the clan.”
She gave a decisive nod. “Successful spell craft is partly about clarity,” she explained in a teacher’s voice. “In some ways, magic is very much like water. It finds the path of least resistance, and it’ll go everywhere if you don’t create proper channels for it.”
He watched her mouth as she spoke. Was magic really as cool and contained as she made it seem? Among shifters, that energy ran hot and wild. Either he was wrong or she was, or…
He realized those pretty pink lips were moving again, and he shifted his focus to more practical things as she continued.
“Weaving connections is something this circle has concentrated on for a while.” She frowned thoughtfully. “My aunt and her colleagues decided decades ago that disconnection was the greatest threat facing the world, and they’ve been working on solutions ever since.” Her eyes narrowed. “What did you do with my sister’s potion that you stole?”
He restrained a wince. That whole encounter had not been one of his finer moments. “I thought the chill of an anti-love potion would erase my pain,” he admitted. “But I didn’t take it. And later… I know it was Gin’s magical thesis, but I didn’t want her to take it either. I wanted her to give Ben a real chance.”
Rita tilted her head, the auburn glide of her hair making him feel even more ragged and pathetic that he actually was. Which was saying something. “At least you still have the arrogance of a king,” she muttered.
For some reason, her grudging words lifted his spirits a little. “Is that your professional assessment?”
She snorted. “Just making a mental list of the trouble ahead.” But her expressio
n sobered. “Here’s the thing, Thorburn Montero. My sister’s midsummer snowstorm aside, magic from this circle is subtle. I want to help you, for your sake, and your clan’s, and also for Aster and your cousins. What you need is big magic, and yet it’s also very intimate.” She shook her head again, hard enough this time to disarrange a few of those sleek locks. “I can’t make you any promises.”
“I am king bear. I don’t ask for promises.” He sat back. “But, uh, I wouldn’t mind asking for a place to wash up. I don’t want to go home looking like this.”
Another quirk of those pink lips. She had the most expressive mouth… “There’s a hose in the backyard.” When he cranked his jaw to one side in consternation, she chuckled. “Or the shower.” She pushed to her feet, angling her crutches under her. “Follow me. I’ll get you going, then how about some brunch while we conspire?”
He stood slowly, trying not to loom over her. “I would appreciate that,” he said, keeping his voice as humble as his stance while he paced behind her down the central hallway. “I don’t ask for promises, but I will make this one: The bear clan won’t forget the circle’s help, even if all you can offer me is water and huckleberries.”
She paused at the base of the stairs. The interior of the old Victorian was cool and dim, as if the Four Corners summer heat outside was a different world. In the quiet light reflected from the kitchen by the time-lacquered wood, Rita’s eyes darkened to the green of old forests.
And the lush upper curve of her lip was like a full-blown Spanish rose…
He realized he’d taken a half-step closer to her when she’d stopped, and he locked his knees against going any closer.
She stared up at him. “I guess I can make you one promise too.” She took that extra half-step between them. “If you hurt any dweller of this house, I will make your bear thankful that it left you.”
He inclined his head. “I respect that.”
“Do you prefer sweet or savory crepes?”
Since she asked the question in the same voice that she was threatening to end him, it took a moment for the inquiry to penetrate his brain. “Um. Both?”
She pivoted and started up the stairs. He gave her a little distance before following. The quadruplicate thump of her rubber-soled shoes and crutches made him a little dizzy; it was like the sound of his own beast walking.
Or maybe he was just mesmerized by the sway of her hips as she ascended the stairs. The crutches didn’t seem to slow her down, and as far as he could tell, the musculature under those peach pants was still strong…
Ah hell, his bear might be missing, but he was still an animal.
He kept himself at arm’s length as she stopped at a hall closet to retrieve a couple towels. When he held his hands out, she shook her head. “You’re filthy. No sense getting the towels dirty too.” She jerked her chin. “Bathroom’s there.”
He turned down the short hallway to the small bath. Well, it was big for a retrofitted Victorian, but small for him. The petite vanity on a slender porcelain pedestal was flanked by fluted glass light fixtures that looked delicate enough to shatter at a harsh word, and a single lacy white curtain over the small window turned the harsh desert sun to a filigree glow. The tiny black and white pentagon floor tiles made him even more dizzy.
Yeah, he definitely needed to eat something more substantial than huckleberries.
When Rita propped her crutches again the wall and leaned over the clawfoot tub to turn the spigots, his roving gaze went to her backside again.
Damn hungry animal…
“While the tub fills,” she said, “why don’t we do something about your hair.”
He flushed in shame and started to turn away, only to catch a glimpse of himself in the vanity mirror. “By the great bear!”
“I take it that’s a yes?” She opened the medicine cabinet, forcing him back toward the closed toilet, and took out barber’s shears. “Sit.”
“Maybe you should get hedge clippers,” he muttered as he perched on the toilet lid. He had to put his bare feet up on a small multi-step stool decorated with a cartoon spouting whale; Aster’s, he assumed.
She smiled. “Some spells call for locks of hair, so we keep these nice and sharp.” She eyed him. “Do shifters have any cultural traditions about hair cutting? I’m not much of a stylist, and I don’t want to offend.”
“We’re mostly practical about it since it grows so fast. Chop it all.”
“We might need some for a reclaiming spell for your bear.” The space between the toilet and sink was tight, and her knees pressed against his thigh as she stood over him.
If ever his wary beast would make a reappearance, certainly it would be when a witch who had threatened to shoot him came at him with sharpened blades.
But the emptiness inside him remained, hollower than his belly, and the only sound was the crunchy snick of the shears lopping through his matted locks.
She worked quickly and efficiently, circling in front of his knees to come at his other side. He stared straight ahead, but he was achingly aware of the filthy black tangles falling to the pristine tile.
And even more aware of the perfume of her wreathing his head when she lifted her arms above him.
“Don’t,” she said softly.
His breath hitched. “Don’t what?”
“I know that look.”
The flush lingering in his cheeks washed all through his body, as if the hot water had escaped the tub into his veins. She must know he wouldn’t hurt her, or she wouldn’t have let him this far into the house. “I’d never—”
“I know when you’re stuck and not where you want to be, it feels like failure. But really, you’re still on your way.”
His heartbeat stammered. Was she saying she felt this simmering attraction too, that he should pursue her? …Wait, no. She was giving him a pep talk.
She brushed hair off his shoulders as she stepped back, tilting her head to survey her work. “Soak off the worst of it, then shower, and I’ll tidy up the rest of you when you’re presentable.”
“Thank you,” he said gruffy. “I know I’m making quite the mess.” And he didn’t mean just in terms of the dirt.
“No worse than Aster.” Her lips quirked. “Well, maybe a bit bigger.” She swiped a few handfuls of his hair into her palm and grabbed her crutches. “Take your time. I’ll leave some clean clothes outside the door—Mac and Ben have both left some of their things here—and then I’ll start brunch.”
He watched her go. She juggled so many things so easily—and he didn’t just mean his matted clumps of hair and her crutches. No wonder she’d been chosen to guide the circle after her aunt.
The flush that went through him this time wasn’t hot water or shame or even lust. He was jealous. He wanted to be as cool and composed as Margarita Wick when he grew up.
Or maybe… He just wanted her.
The rex ursi had always known they would be alone. The king of the clan could never put one bear above the others by taking a mate, and he would not complicate the clan’s relationship with other shifters by claiming one of their females. He’d gotten used to one-night stands with anonymous hookups in the big cities a day’s drive from Angels Rest, and over the years he’d enjoyed a few brief liaisons with willing Four Corners lovers who he could trust not to want more than he could give. Since the disaster with the Kingdom Guard, the bears had been too distrusted for him to dally with other shifters, and he’d had to be vigilant of the broken clan which kept him tied to the Four Corners.
Now, without the beast, all that was left was the lonely man. That had to explain his attraction to the prim and proper witch. But he needed her magic, not her body.
With a groan, he went to the half-filled tub and turned the water all the way to cold.
Chapter 3
When she heard the tub upstairs draining and the shower come on, Rita started the crepes. It had been awhile since she made them—Aster preferred pancakes—so she had to check her recipes. Luckily, no self-r
especting witch ever lost a recipe.
Would a self-respecting witch let a half-exiled bear king into her bathroom?
Well, too late now. As the perfectly browned crepes came off the griddle, she piled them carefully under a damp towel and brought out the fillings. Luckily, with two full-grown bear shifters and one little boy in the house, the vintage refrigerator was stuffed. She had enough leftovers for egg, sausage, and potato crepes, a veggie-only version, and a fruit-filled dessert. Hopefully that would be enough to take the edge off the deprivation she’d glimpsed in her unexpected visitor.
His emptiness wasn’t all food-related, probably, but the rest would have to wait until she’d gotten some more details from him and consulted the circle’s collected grimoires.
She had just popped the rolled crepes into the oven’s warming draw to wait when a change in the kitchen air pressure brought her around.
Thor filled the doorway like a solid oak door made of male. Even the lightly refreshing whiff of cucumber and aloe (Mac and Ben refused to shower in the Victorian’s “too breakable” bathroom and always went home to their rental cottage to—Rita wasn’t sure exactly—hose off or whatever, so she didn’t have any manly body washes upstairs) couldn’t diminish his hulking presence. His black hair stuck straight up, shiny and damp, but she hadn’t done too bad a job, if she did say so herself. Maybe a little more asymmetrically runway trendy than was typical for Angels Rest but certainly better than the abandoned stray look he’d had going on before.
She was right that the baggiest clothes Mac and Ben had left in their “shifter shareables” bin were barely big enough for Thor. The gray cotton sweatpants clung to his thighs and calves, emphasizing how thick he was all the way around…
Snapping her gaze higher, she focused instead on his broad chest, partly bared by the buttoned shirt that wouldn’t come together higher than his navel. Unfortunately, removing the dirt only revealed how rough he’d been living. He had scratches on his hands and bare feet and deeper cuts across his forearms. She sucked in a harsh breath at the wound gouged across his pectorals.
