Barely Bear: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance

by Elsa Jade

  In a strangely vulnerable gesture, he spread his fingers over the parallel lines digging into his flesh. Maybe he hadn’t found his bear, but it seemed like something angry had found him out in the wildlands.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were injured?” she scolded. “Sit and I’ll get the first aid kit.”

  He sat obediently even as he shook his head. “I cleaned it well. I just need to leave it alone now.”

  She stalked closer, letting the thump of her crutches tell him that she’d be the judge of that. But when she peered down—he leaned back at her glare, exposing his chest—she had to admit the wound was dirt-free and showed no signs of renewed bleeding even though he must’ve scrubbed thoroughly. “It looks like it was deep but it’s already healing. When did that happen? What happened?”

  “It was right after I left you.” He hesitated. “As you said before, I happened.”

  She lifted her gaze to his. “You did this to yourself?”

  “I thought… The bear wouldn’t rise so I issued a challenge I thought it couldn’t refuse.”

  The bear, she noted. Not his bear, like Mac and Ben and even Aster referred to their beasts.

  “You tried to kill yourself,” she said flatly.

  “No.” He shook his head hard enough that a little spray of water flung from his hair across her fist, clenched on her crutch. “I couldn’t ever do that, not when it would wound the clan more than me.”

  She snorted. “And that’s not wound enough?”

  His grimace would’ve been comical if she wasn’t so mad. “I pushed the change as far as I could go without the bear, thinking I might lure it closer. I felt it circling.” His voice hitched roughly when he put his hand over the wound again, his fingertips aligned with where the gashes started. “And I tried to grab hold.” He tightened his fist, miming the inward grasp. “But it wasn’t interested in staying caught.”

  Listening to him tell the story, she realized she was holding her own hand over her heart. What would it be like to have her own inner source of strength leave her? She let the weight of her crutch pull her arm down, the cuff sliding neatly into place around her forearm. She cleared her throat. “If I’d known you were such a menace to yourself I wouldn’t have bothered trying to shoot you.”

  “I won’t make that mistake again,” he said solemnly. “Either wrestling the bear bare-handed or tempting you to shoot me.”

  “Deal.” She twisted away toward the stove. “Let me get the crepes.”

  “Let me help.”

  So quick and smooth she didn’t have time to protest, he was out of his seat and reaching around her for the oven drawer. “Maybe something to drink?”

  He was giving her the easy job. She pushed her resentment away. He’d come for her help in finding and capturing his beast—obviously he already believed in her capability.

  She mixed up blackberry shrub lemonade for both of them (testily, she wondered would he be strong enough to handle the vinegar bite of the shrub?) and followed him back to the table. He handled the three pans of rolled crepes easily, and she might’ve been annoyed except he was a bear shifter and a landscaper so of course he was strong.

  He took his seat and then a mouthful of the lemonade.

  And gasped, his dark eyes reddening a bit at the corners.

  She smirked. “I made the shrub myself.”

  “Shrubbery?” He peered into his glass. “I don’t see any leaves.”

  “A shrub is fruit, sugar, and vinegar.”

  “Ah. That’s the sting.”

  “The sting brings out the sweetness.”

  He wrinkled his nose and took another, more careful sip. “The clan has plenty of beekeepers who try to tell me the same thing.”

  She laughed. “Are you saying you are the only bear who doesn’t like honey?”

  “No, because that’d be a lie,” he said with great dignity. “But I hate being stung. Big, buff bears pretend otherwise, but getting stung hurts.”

  Her amusement faded. “Yeah. There’s a lot of stuff we’re supposed to pretend doesn’t hurt.”

  He gazed at her steadily. “I hope you’ll come to see that you don’t have to pretend with me.”

  For some reason, her heartbeat skipped at the openness of his words. She frowned. “We don’t know each other that well.”

  “You cut my hair.”

  “Your name is Thor, not Sampson. I don’t want to steal your strength.”

  “No. You have your own. And that’s why I’m here.” He dropped his gaze to the table. “And for the crepes, of course. Shall I serve?”

  She choked back the urge to continue her thoughts on how they didn’t know each other. “Please do.”

  It felt odd to be brunching with a shapeshifter she’d almost shot. Oh, he might be man-shaped now, and agile enough with a serving spatula, but she swore she could still see a shadow of the mutant monster that tore through the Victorian’s yard a month ago.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes. Or more accurately, she took desultory bites of her veggie crepe and he demolished the entire pan of meat ones and most of the mixed berries. It wasn’t until he reached for the last of the whipped cream that he paused.

  A flush of subtle color brightened his deeply tanned skin. “I’ve had more than my fair share.”

  “How king-like.” She nudged the berry crepe toward him. “Go ahead. They don’t last anyway.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he took her offering and scooped what remained of the cream too. If she hadn’t already spent a couple months watching shifters eat, she might’ve been shocked. And Thor was both bigger than and more starved than his cousins.

  “Did the bear leave you because Ben beat you in the fight? Is that why you ran away?”

  Thor’s fork skidded across his plate. “He didn’t beat me. I abandoned the fight when I realized I’d have to kill him to make him be king.”

  She squinted one eye. “Yeah, that…wouldn’t really get you where you wanted to go.”

  “When I realized he was already bonding to your sister, I left.” He slanted a glance at her. The feral amber tint in his eyes had darkened to richest brown, as if the food—or maybe the conversation—had tamed him. “Rather abruptly.”

  “Totally not running away,” she mused.

  “Totally not.” He swirled the last bite of crepe through the whipped cream with far more focus than the act deserved. “My problem didn’t start because of the fight. I haven’t been able to summon the beast for awhile now.”

  The hesitance in his voice and those under-dark-lashes glances made her realize this ursine dysfunction was much more fraught than she’d understood. In a matter-of-fact tone, she said, “Have you talked to your own doctors about this?”

  He shook his head. “Shifters have come a long way from the days where we fought each other for territory, but sharing such a weakness like mine with outsiders is too risky for the clan.” Abandoning the last bite of crepe, he laid aside his fork with a click. “I haven’t even told my cousins. Only you.”

  She pursed her lips. “Since Aunt Tilda moved here, she and the circle have been adding to a grimoire on shapeshifters. And of course I’ve been reading up ever since Aster turned into a bear cub after a bath one night.”

  Thor huffed out a laugh. “That must’ve been…exciting.”

  “Fur holds way more water than bare skin. Chasing him around the apartment was quite the thrill.” She smiled to herself at the memory. “He’s always hated baths.”

  “He’ll grow out of that.” Running one hand over his newly shorn head, Thor sat back. “I haven’t had this little control since I was younger than Aster. As rex ursi for the clan, I knew before I could speak that I had to be perfect and in control always.”

  “It’s hard enough for the circle to enforce its secrecy rules on wise women who are always just one shape, more or less.” She flicked her fingers through the ends of her bob. “After a few bath times with Aster as a cub, I can’t imagine trying to cont
rol young shapeshifters.”

  “The influence of shifter adults helps youngsters hold the change, as I’m sure you’ve seen with Mac and Ben being around.” Thor looked at her for confirmation, and when she nodded, he went on, “So you can appreciate how important it is to have a strong, stable leader for an entire clan or pack. The rex ursi masters all the other bears, just like a father guides his cubs.”

  She sat back with her drink, the lemonade and the vinegar leaving a touch of sourness in her throat. Many of the women in the circle chose to remain childless, focusing on their magical studies and their community work instead, and being responsible for her sisters had given her enough of a taste of maternal obligations. She loved every minute with Aster—even the soapy wet ones spent chasing his furry butt around the apartment—but it seemed wrong to equate leadership to parenthood. Children were meant to find their own way, eventually, just as she was learning to let her sisters live their own lives. If Thor thought he had to maintain that sort of control and command over his clan forever, no wonder he was desperate to get back his powerful beast.

  And no wonder he seemed so despairing.

  “You say this isn’t a recent development,” she prodded. “When did you lose your bear? And how?”

  His jaw angled to one side, as if he were crunching on something much less tender than her delectable crepes. “Does it matter? I just need it back.”

  She didn’t want to admit she was partly just nosy. “There’s some friction between the circle’s mindful magic and the intrinsic preternaturalness of shifters. If I’m going to come up with a spell to help you lure and bind the beast, I need to know what I’m getting into.”

  After another tense grind of his jaw, he nodded stiffly. “Fair enough. I’ll tell you everything. But I need to see my cousins first, and your sister, to apologize for what I did, just in case this doesn’t work.”

  What would happen to him if he couldn’t capture his bear? He’d seemed ready and willing—too insistent, actually—to turn over leadership of the clan to Ben, so it couldn’t be too bad. “Gin is covering my aunt’s shop for me today, and your cousins are on an out-of-town job.” She considered the depleted state of leftovers still in the fridge. “Everyone usually ends up back here at the house. If you want to stay until tonight…”

  He was already shaking his head. “I should go. I need to put some things to right before… Could you bring everyone to the huckleberry field on the mesa tomorrow evening?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “The field where you gave my sister snowberries for her spell and almost froze the town in the middle of July?”

  “The snow hardly lasted even as long as the whipped cream,” he muttered.

  With a reproving look, she clicked her tongue. “That attitude isn’t giving me a lot of confidence in our collaboration.”

  He grimaced. “I’ll bring a picnic. Huckleberry wine for us, and Aster can play in the field.” When she didn’t answer right away, he pointed out, “You trusted me enough to let me in the house when you’re here alone.”

  She lifted one eyebrow. “I can take care of myself. Also, I have bear spray duct taped to the bottom of the kitchen table on my side.”

  He froze. “Really?”

  She gave him a smile sweeter than the berries and sharper than bear claws. “Wanna peek?”

  With a slow shake of his head, he rose and started ferrying dirty dishes to the sink. While she watched, he cleaned up at least as well as Gin would have.

  When he turned back, drying his big hands on one of the suddenly small white towels, she said, “Fine. We’ll meet you up there. And you can tell me everything I need to know about catching a bear.”

  Once he’d gone—out the back gate and disappearing into the desert—she took the handful of his shorn hair down to the Victorian’s workroom.

  After the bright warmth of the small kitchen, crowded by Thor’s presence, she felt momentarily lost in the cavernous basement. Which was strange. She loved the spellatorium, as Brandy called it.

  Tucking the coarse black locks into vellum envelope, Rita went to the bookshelf where all the circle’s grimoires were neatly arranged. She had a lot of studying to do.

  But she wondered if most of what she needed to learn would be found out on the mesa under the September moon.

  Chapter 4

  The top of the mesa caught the occasional hint of a cool breeze, like the flash of a trout’s rainbow skin in Diablo Creek, but the hot sun raised a rich fragrance from the huckleberry fields as if the entire mountain was a freshly baked berry pie.

  Thor’s stomach growled—though he’d been starving for a month and hadn’t cared, ever since brunch in the Victorian, he’d felt hungry—but he studiously ignored the picnic basket he’d set on the wool blanket spread in the shade. Above it, the waxy green leaves of a cottonwood quivered in the fitful breeze.

  Kind of like his belly.

  After he’d left the Victorian, he sneaked into the rental cottage he shared with his cousins. The tunnel he’d dug from the kitchen pantry to the yard (the memory of digging felt hazy now, as washed-out as the sky) had been backfilled—a not-so-subtle rebuke of his obsessive behavior, he guessed—but nobody in Angels Rest locked their doors, so he waltzed right in. He swapped out the too-small clothes Rita had given him for his own clothes.

  Still, the well-worn Wranglers and soft cotton T-shirt felt tight, unfamiliar, as if his month and a half in the desert had changed his shape in some way he couldn’t see even once he’d scraped off all the dirt and rinsed it thoroughly down the Victorian’s drain.

  Though he’d spent all those weeks roaming the farthest edges of the clan’s territory, he’d not spoken with any of his bears. He hadn’t wanted them to see him so diminished. But he shouldn’t feel so circumspect about his cousins, not when he’d chosen them specifically to move into town to start rebuilding the clan’s reputation.

  But he was now the biggest threat to all the good they’d done. So he’d left before they came back to the cottage.

  The distant grumble of an engine in low gear negotiating the rough road of the mesa warned him of his approaching visitors. Suddenly, inviting them out to the mesa seemed ridiculous. He should’ve met them in town, although maybe not at the Victorian which made him feel like a bear in a literal china shop. Except…he didn’t have any other place to go where he felt more at home.

  His territory, his town, his clothes, even his body—none of it seemed to belong to him anymore. Only the emptiness of the lofty mesa felt right.

  Maybe he’d become one of the ghosts wandering here.

  To distract himself, he started unpacking the picnic basket. When he popped it open, its cheerful red and white checkered interior seemed like a mockery of the wildlands all around, and the scents of hard cheese and dry sausage from the diners in town made his stomach growl louder. He chewed a few grapes while he uncorked a bottle of last year’s huckleberry wine. He hadn’t had a chance to sample the vintage since the clan had already been in turmoil, and he along with it, but the perfume of high summer—intended to be saved for a rainy day—calmed him. When the small party of picnickers appeared at the far end of the field, he was able to smile and wave to them with something like composure.

  Although as they approached, Aster edged carefully behind his mother, his brown eyes wary.

  Thor restrained a wince. Maybe he wasn’t fooling anyone. “Thank you all for coming.” As the stilted words emerged, he did wince this time. He sounded like some housebound dowager-esque eccentric about to announce his death wishes.

  Which…once again, maybe he wasn’t fooling anyone.

  Rita and Mac stepped forward at the same time. His cousin angled cautiously between king and child. And Rita… She strong-armed her crutches through the grasping huckleberry bushes with the same determination as she walked down the hallways of the Victorian. With the easy swing of her blue gingham peasant blouse, she looked like one of the huckleberries brought stylishly to life, but
Thor’s gut churned anew to see the trouble he was making for her—for all of them.

  “I have a spot for us in the shade,” he said. “Here, let me—” He hustled forward to bend the branches for her.

  She whisked toward him, ahead of Mac. “They wanted to see for themselves that you are all right,” she murmured. “Don’t act all weird now.”

  He lifted his gaze to his cousin, who was close enough of course to overhear with shifter ears. Mac gave a little shrug, although Thor wasn’t sure if that was a silent comment on him being weird or Rita ordering him around.

  To his surprise, it was Brandy who came forward next. “A picnic,” she said, the note of enthusiasm in her voice perhaps a bit forced. “How fun. And we can dip our toes in the cold creek.”

  “No bath,” Aster piped up.

  Brandy laughed and swept him up into her arms to lift him past the biggest of the huckleberry bushes. “Not until tonight anyway.”

  “Aw…” he started, but then perked up. “Peebeenee!” He squirmed out of his mother’s arms and pelted toward the blanket.

  Rita glanced up at Thor. “You brought peanut butter and honey? That’s his favorite.”

  “No one could miss noticing,” he said wryly as he dropped into place at the back end of their little party. “Not even me.”

  Rita walked beside him, watching the others explore the goodies on the blanket. Ben was already assembling mini sandwiches, and Gin was pouring the wine. Aster stuffed a peebeenee cracker into his mouth while his mother pulled off his shoes. Before she could remove his shirt and shorts, he shifted into his bear form. With bigger teeth, he snarfled down a few more crackers and then raced for the base of the cottonwood where he dug his claws in and started to climb.

  Thor grunted in consternation. “Is that safe?”

  “The peanut butter and honey make him extra sticky so he probably won’t fall.” Rita huffed out a breath of her own. “But it makes me crazy to watch.”

  “Let’s sit over here. Keeps us out of the way since Mac will be up that tree in a heartbeat if necessary.” He gestured her toward the far end of the big blanket then paused. “I should’ve brought a chair for you—”