by Meg Ripley
I try not to think about Hannah, back in my cabin, as I’m walking towards the holding area where Jamie, Harris and Kevin escaped from. The rest of the clan is operating according to an automatic system we put in place for situations like this; the best trackers in the group are already combing through the woods, following whatever scent trail the bears might have left behind, trying to locate them.
“What do we know?”
Trent’s waiting for me at the site, and he’s looking like his usual, irritable self. “We think that Shawn busted them out somehow,” Trent says.
“How did he get past security? How did they, for that matter?”
That’s the biggest issue: there should have been someone watching to make sure the guys we already had in custody didn’t break out.
“Matilda and Harold were on duty, and they’re nowhere to be found,” Trent says. “We don’t know if someone took them out, or if they were helping with the breakout, for whatever reason.”
Matilda and Harold are a much older than me, ages 70 and 75, respectively, and they’d been living in the area much longer than I have. They’ve always been pretty rank-and-file; I’ve had no problems with them betraying my trust, but there’s always the possibility that Shawn or one of the others found a way to tempt them.
“So, we have some people looking for Shawn and his crew, and others looking for Matilda and Harold?”
I cross my arms over my chest and sample the air with my nose. Even in my human form, my nose is keen, but it would be better if I shifted into the bear that makes up the other half of my identity.
“Yeah, I’ve been running the coordination from here until you arrived,” Trent says, nodding.
I reach out to the rest of my clan, projecting my thoughts as loudly as possible. Report back every ten minutes. If I have to, I’ll call in some Feds, but I’d rather not get them involved.
Nobody, least of all me, wants to get the FBI involved, but if it means we’ll have better chance of capturing these assholes, that might be our best bet. I have to do whatever I can to keep things quiet, and the sheer risk that the four rogue bears bring about to all of us can’t be ignored. We can’t have them running loose tomorrow night; I’ve seen firsthand how reckless they are, and there’s too great of a risk that they’ll stir up a shitstorm with the other shifters that will be here for the full moon.
Even though I have complete confidence in my clan, being the Alpha, I have to be at the forefront of the efforts, so I start to head out in search of the bastards.
Found Shawn! The mental voice of Alex suddenly cuts out as quickly as it popped into my brain, and I feel my adrenaline starting to rise. Obviously, Alex is going to have to fight Shawn to bring him in. With any luck, his fellow instigators will be close by, and we can have the whole situation wrapped up in a matter of an hour or so.
I feel Alex’s mind again a few minutes later, and I can sense he’s been hurt. He’s definitely been in a fight, but I can sense his victorious surge as well, so hopefully, he’ll be bringing Shawn in right away. Got him down for the count. Cass is coming to help me bring him in. The son of a bitch knocked me around pretty good.
The reports I’m receiving from the others aren’t as promising, and after about an hour of searching--with Shawn unconscious, cooling his heels in the containment shed--I have to go back, or Hannah will suspect something’s gone wrong and might come looking for me. There’s no way I’ll have her roaming around out here with those jackasses on the loose.
I mentally project a message to my clan, all twenty of them: Everyone keep me posted; I have to run interference with a human. If anything changes, I’ll be on the scene within five minutes. Everyone agrees to that and I start to head back to my cabin.
It bugs the hell out of me to hear that no one knows what happened to Matilda and Harold. Are they on my side and injured badly enough that their minds can’t respond? Or, for some reason, have they defected and that’s why they can’t be found anywhere?
I reach out to Trent just as I get to my cabin: Have one of the younger ones check Matilda’s and Harold’s houses. Trent tells me that he’s on it, and I clear out the issue from my mind, keeping one little thread of my thoughts open for someone to get to me. Now isn’t the time to have mental shields up.
I decide that I’m going to have dinner with Hannah and then immediately take her home. No matter how much I want to have her again tonight--in my own bed, at that--I have to get her back to her place. This goes beyond the fucking article at this point; she needs to be out of harm’s way, and I need to be able to focus on the park and what my clan needs from me.
I have to make phone calls to the members of the conclave, asking them to get here early tomorrow so they can decide how to handle these idiots trying to muck up our neutral territory. I kick the mud off my shoes and make a quick mental list of who I’m going to need to call; the list isn’t all that extensive, but it’s going to be like pulling teeth to get them all to agree on a final verdict.
I open the door to my cabin and the scent of Hannah’s cooking is enough to make my mouth instantly water. Quick sniffs tell me she’s made rainbow trout--my favorite--with a lemon butter sauce, roasted broccoli and rice pilaf, and as I inhale again, I pick up on something sweet for dessert; for just a second, the animal and human parts of my consciousness both agree that I need to convince her to stick around. Anyone who can whip up a meal that smells this good in a short time frame, who’s also as good in bed as Hannah is, needs to be mine--and it’s about damn time that she knows it. I take a deep breath and push that thought completely out of my mind for the time being; I need to focus.
Chapter 11 - Hannah
The whole time we’re eating, Knox seems distracted, but every time I mention it, he just says he’s thinking ahead to what he has to do the next day around the park.
“Because of that incident with the bears, there’s some complicated paperwork I have to fill out.”
“You were able to catch them and get them contained again?”
Knox shakes his head. “We got one of them; I’ve got trackers out after the others, so I decided to come back here and have a solid meal,” he says, smiling at me in that charming way he has. “Besides, I wouldn’t want all your hard work to go to waste.”
“And then you’re going to drop me off back at Mary’s, right?”
I don’t think that’s actually what I want, though. There’s a very strong part of me that’s begging for Knox to invite me to stay, wrapped in his muscular arms all night, but the rational side of me knows I need to be working on my article. More importantly, I need to look over the maps and survey reports to figure out the right places to check out tomorrow night.
“If that’s what you want, then I’m happy to take you home,” Knox says, and based on the tone of his voice, it seems like that’s exactly what he wants to do. That’s weird. I could have sworn--right when he walked in, at least--that he definitely wanted me to stay. But I push the weirdness of the situation out of my mind. I should be relieved that he wants to take me home; I should be planning to expose him, after all. This is why journalists aren’t supposed to get too close to their subjects. Or sources. Or whatever Knox is.
“Yeah, that’s probably the best idea,” I admit, even though it pains me a little bit.
Why am I getting so attached to this guy? It can’t just be the great sex, though that’s a major point in his favor; it’s not like I haven’t ever had good sex before. And we haven’t interacted enough to justify me having any kind of emotional connection with him, although I have to admit, having him rescue me from a potential attack and chasing off those bears probably accelerated things, from an attachment standpoint.
We finish eating and I start to gather up the plates. “I whipped up a couple of chocolate lava cakes while I was waiting,” I say, blushing a bit. “Do you like chocolate?”
“Who doesn’t,” Knox laughed.
“I figured it would be a good way to use my time that wouldn’
t include snooping around your house.”
“Well, I appreciate you not snooping,” he says, sitting back from the little table.
After he’d left, I had actually gotten a chance to appreciate the place; it’s cozy, comfortable and clean, which I’m not sure if I should have expected or not. He’s got an overstuffed, distressed leather couch in the living room, and when I peeked into the bedroom, I saw a plush, sprawling bed that I bet I’d sleep really well in--especially after another tumble between the sheets with him.
But I know better. I’m only here for a few more days, and I’m better off keeping my mind off any opportunity to have sex with Knox again, no matter how satisfying it would be.
I grab a butter knife and slide it around the edges of the two lava cake ramekins, putting a plate on top of them so I can flip them over and portion them out onto two dessert plates. I grab a tub of vanilla ice cream from the freezer, and after dropping a generous scoop next to each little cake, I place the plates down on the table. I watch Knox drag a spoon through his cake, allowing the liquified chocolate to ooze from its center. He eats it with gusto, and I feel a kind of pride I haven’t felt in ages: the pride that comes along with seeing someone you have feelings for enjoying something you made. It’s been a couple of years since I cooked for anyone; I’d almost forgotten how much I enjoy it.
“So, what’s your schedule like for the next few days? If it’s okay with you, I might need to ask you a few more questions.” In truth, I need to know when he’ll be occupied so I can sneak off to the park during the full moon to complete my investigation.
“Well, I’m going to be really busy for the next two days. Lots of paperwork, on top of a seasonal check of different sites around the park to make sure the wildlife populations are doing what they should.” He gives me a little grin. “This cake is amazing, by the way.”
“Just something I learned from my mom,” I tell him, shrugging off the compliment. Although it feels really good, I need to stop opening myself up to opportunities for Knox to praise me, if I’m going to maintain any kind of objectivity.
“Please thank her for me,” Knox says.
I laugh, “I will. So, I guess maybe I’ll meet up with you again in three days?”
If I can get a little more detail out of him, I can make sure that I’m not going to end up running into him on the park grounds.
Then, too, I remind myself that the full moon is going to be over the next two days; that’s pretty telling that Knox is going to be super busy. He gave you a perfectly rational reason for that, I tell myself, but at the same time, I can’t help but hope that I’ll find something out. By now, I’m convinced that there’s something to uncover.
“I’d be happy to meet up with you for lunch in three days,” Knox says. “I can cook something for you...to even the score.”
I roll my eyes. “I used your groceries; I’m pretty sure we’re even,” I say. “There’s no need for you to one-up me.”
“I’m kind of a traditionalist, I guess,” Knox says. “I like to provide for someone I’m sleeping with.”
“We’re not sleeping together,” I point out. “We’ve had sex a couple of times, but we haven’t actually slept in the same bed.”
Knox laughs. “If you want to spend the night, then, I’ll be free that evening,” he suggests with a little grin.
I’m about to respond to that when a troubled look comes over his face for just a second; it’s gone before I can even fully see it, but the brief little flicker is enough to derail my train of thought.
“Yeah, maybe we’ll see if we’d be compatible bed mates. Do you hog the covers?” I ask.
I know I shouldn’t have said that. The last thing I need to do is encourage this kind of banter, but I can’t help myself. There’s just something about Knox that overrides all my sense of professionalism.
“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about being cold when you’re in my bed,” Knox says.
I shake my head, rolling my eyes as I blush. “We’ll see about that; I might still be focused on getting the last details of the article together by then,” I say.
“It still seems like kind of an odd way to spend a vacation,” Knox tells me. “When are you going to learn how to relax?”
“Relaxing didn’t get me where I am today. Besides,” I counter, “I’d say I’ve been relaxing plenty.” In fact, in a certain light, I’m probably relaxing far too much.
Our cakes are gone and I can’t think of any real reason to maneuver Knox into letting me stay; he insists that he’ll do the dishes when he comes back from dropping me off, and that he has to be the one to take care of them, because I did the cooking. It’s actually a refreshing attitude.
“Do you want to borrow a jacket? It’s gotten colder since we rode out here,” Knox says.
I accept his offer and he drapes one of his jackets around me. It smells like him--deeply--and I get a little thrill of pleasure at the scent and the warmth of it. It’s so nice, and for a few seconds, as I get onto the bike behind Knox, I really wish I could spend more time with him. And maybe just not tonight. I want to forget about my article altogether and just ride out our passions until we both fall asleep.
But throughout the entire ride back to Mary’s place, I’m busy pushing my mind to focus on the real reason I’m in Bar Harbor. It isn’t for the leaves, it isn’t for the beauty of the park, and it isn’t to fool around with tough, good-looking park rangers. It’s to get a good story about Acadia and the National Park Service.
The vibration between my legs is distracting, but I manage to keep my mind where it is, and before I know it, Knox is coming to a stop outside of Mary’s place, turning off the engine to his bike and putting down the kickstand. I feel almost disappointed; in the back of my mind, I’ve kind of been hoping that he would turn around at some point. But he didn’t, and if I have to get down to work, then so does he, and it’s for the best that we both stay on our own pages.
But when he walks me up Mary’s front steps, both of us have a crisis of resolve. “Why don’t you hold onto the jacket until we meet up again? It looks nice on you,” Knox says, as we step up to the door.
“I appreciate it; it’s really warm.”
It sounds terrible, but I have no idea what to say--or even what I should say--to the man who I’m becoming so attached to, but obviously won’t have any contact with after the next few days.
Before I can come up with something a little more compelling, Knox leans in and brushes his lips against mine, and any thought I have about how much better it is for me to make sure I get my work done dissolves instantly. I instinctively wrap my arms around his neck and press against him, hoping that he’ll pick me up and carry me back to his bike, telling me he’s taking me to his place.
We stand like that for what seems like ages, and Knox deepens the kiss, plunging his tongue past my lips, tasting me and letting me taste him. It feels so good, and I can’t deny that I feel like I belong in his arms, that his lips feel perfect against mine and I want nothing more in the entire world than to just keep going.
But I make myself do the responsible thing. I pull back just as Knox’s hands are slipping up under my hem to get at the bare skin underneath and shake my head. “We both have a lot of work to do,” I say shakily.
“You’re right,” Knox says, but I can hear he doesn’t want to say it any more than I want him to. Neither of us wants to break apart, but we both know we have to; I can feel it in the way he holds my body against his just a little bit tighter for another second before letting me go. “I’ll see you in a couple of days, and we can see about whether we’re both free to spend the night, okay?”
I nod, too breathless and too turned on to trust myself to make the right response if I try to speak. Knox grins as if he knows exactly what’s on my mind, and reluctantly steps back.
“Good night,” I manage to say, and then I force myself to turn around and get my key in the lock. The first night that I got here, Mary told me that she l
ocks up as soon as it’s dark, even though her neighborhood isn’t dangerous, just as a matter of practice.
“Good night,” Knox calls to me from across the yard.
I force myself to open the door, walk through it, and close it behind me. I take a deep breath and decide that before I get down to work, I’ll take a shower.
Chapter 12 - Knox
I look around and try to push the restless, anxious feeling from my mind, but it’s impossible to. It’s only minutes before the moon will rise, and my clan only managed to capture the last of the escaped bears an hour ago. During the search, we’d all been devastated to pick up on a signal from Trent, alerting us that he’d found the remains of Matilda and Harold in the underbrush near the tail end of Richardson Brook: They were attacked, and they’ve got Shawn’s mark all over them. I can tell they didn’t go down without a good fight, though.
How fucking pathetic is Shawn, anyway? Going after a couple of elderly bears? My blood begins to boil, but I force myself to pause and take a deep breath. Justice will come soon enough, I remind myself. Waiting for the members of the conclave to arrive--now, more than ever--is like waiting for the axe to fall.
The rest of my clan has already started assembling in our usual meeting spot in the park: the most remote end of Jordan Pond. The spot we meet at is secluded, and other shifters acknowledge it as our spot, too--even though it’s within the neutral territory of the national park.
Once we’ve shifted, as a group, we’ll be meeting with the conclave. Shawn, Harris, Kevin and Jamie won’t have the ability to change into their bear forms since we’ve got them all locked up in the shed and out of sight of the full moon.
It’s getting darker and I feel the change beginning to crackle through my bones. At any other time, I have to consciously call it up, but during the full moon, it happens almost without my will; any shifters outside, under the moon, are the affected the same. The full moon change is always a big one: apart from being nearly involuntary, it feels like the purest of transformations, where we’re more truly aligned with the animal parts of our consciousness.
