by Hattie Hunt
“Dammit, Jordan,” Emma growled back, pulling her leg free. “This has to end now. Not you or anybody else is going to stop me.”
“You don’t understand.” A shadow of his own voice carried the words, his bear dangerously close to the surface again. “I can’t let you do that.”
Emma took a step back as something shifted in his expression, something primal and deep and dark.
He rose to his feet, propelling off the ground with hands that morphed into large paws with straight, dangerous grizzly claws. He stood erect, the shadow of a grizzly snout protruding from his morphing face.
Shit. Mal surged forward, and the stitches on Emma’s shirt popped over her shoulders. They had to get out of there. She had to get out of there. Emma backed into the hallway. The door to her room stood open and her window faced the woods. Two hundred yards away. A single glance from a mundane at the wrong moment—
Jordan completed his transformation. He fell back to all fours, paws the size of plates landing on the floor with a hard thump.
With one glance at Jordan, Emma turned, her clothes shredding as Mal took over and crossed the bedroom in two strides. Then she jumped right through the second story window.
Mal and Emma ran.
She barely stayed ahead of him on the way to the Elliot lands. She was a smaller grizzly, weighing in around two-hundred and fifty pounds. Jordan had always been large, coming in closer to six hundred pounds. That meant he had longer, more powerful legs. It took everything her and Mal had to stay ahead of him, but she knew that if she fell behind, he would tear her apart.
Something more was going on here than him merely taking the alpha will, but from who?
She couldn’t worry about that.
She broke through the woods and burst onto the front yard. Several cars were parked in the long drive. Great. Another damned meeting?
Jordan leapt on her, his teeth sinking into her shoulder.
She fell to the ground, a loud roar bursting from her mouth, rage coating everything in red. She spun on him, her claws raking his chest, her alpha will surging forward. That usurper wasn’t taking her place. He was taking over her clan, her family.
He fell back on his bear paws, pushing off the ground in a powerful burst, his eyes shooting what almost looked like real flame.
His soul might burn with the power of fire, but he was merely a flame. She was the bonfire. She fueled her clan with the power of her soul, her will, her want, her drive, need.
Desire.
For the first time in her life, Emma knew exactly what she wanted.
Mason and his silly porcupine spirit.
Emma roared her will at Jordan, laying him on the ground as if an invisible force had pummeled him. She dug her claws along his chest, into his abdomen.
He grunted and lay still.
In a fight with a real alpha, that wouldn’t have been so easy.
Snarling, Emma turned toward the house on all fours, padding forward, searching for her mother. She pushed Mal toward the back, shifting into her human self, rising on her hind legs until they became long and graceful. She continued up the hill, minus the protection of her fur. The air was brisk against her skin, but she didn’t care.
Chuck stepped out of the crowd, studying Jordan behind her. “What have you done, Cheryl?”
Cheryl sneered as she stepped through the throng of people. “What I had to.”
Chuck’s nostrils flared. He tipped his head for a moment, and then turned his blue gaze toward Cheryl in alarm. “Tell me you did not do this.”
Cheryl gave a slow blink, shifting her eyes toward Emma.
Emma was going to beat that smug look off that bitch’s face.
“You put him through the alpha trial.”
Cheryl shrugged.
“After I specifically forbade you to do so. He is a beta, nothing more. He lacks the will be more.”
Cheryl licked her lips, baring her teeth.
“You infused your will onto him.”
Emma stopped, the full power of what Chuck said slamming into her hard. To infuse an alpha’s will on another ensured the other had no ability to make his own decisions. It stripped away the other’s will completely.
Chuck balled his hands into fists. “You went too far this time.”
Emma took another step forward, her bare toes sinking into the soft grass. “Cheryl Elliot, I challenge you.”
Chuck raised his head, meeting Emma’s gaze before nodding with almost a look of relief. “Observed and noted.” His tone was the coldest Emma had ever heard from him.
Cheryl looked toward Jordan.
Emma couldn’t look at him. If she did, she might lose her resolve. She might not, but she couldn’t chance it. Jordan was Emma’s best friend and he lay bleeding on the ground by her own hands.
“He cannot accept the challenge for you,” Chuck said, his tone icy. “You shall face your daughter on your own.”
Cheryl gave him a dark look. “You know.”
He tipped his head in acknowledgement. “I do and do not accede.”
Cheryl snarled and started to undress. “Fine.”
Emma had no idea what the two were talking about and she didn’t care.
Chuck motioned to a few members of his pack that she’d seen before but didn’t know. They moved behind Emma.
Presumably to care for Jordan.
Or to make sure he didn’t attempt to join the fight on Cheryl’s inflicted will.
Emma had only scored him with her claws. She hadn’t killed him. His abdomen was damaged, but he was a shifter and would heal quickly.
She took a moment to look at the others circling around her. They were unfamiliar faces.
The new clan?
Great. She wasn’t just challenging her mother for alpha. She was doing so in front of a strange, invading bear clan.
Excellent.
Naked, Cheryl stepped into the informal ring of people, raising her head high.
Emma did the same, challenging her mother, issuing defiance. This was going to be a fight for her life and her freedom.
And the better treatment of her clan.
Right. Yes. That too, of course.
Cheryl shifted in a blink and attacked.
Emma dodged, dropping to all fours as her skin slipped into fur, her human muscles lengthened and grew larger, her fingers padded together, her nails extended into claws.
She swiped with one paw, catching Cheryl across the face.
Cheryl fell back, roaring in pain. She rose on her hind legs, her front paws spread wide, her mouth open.
Emma gathered her power in her haunches and leapt, forcing her alpha will into her muscles, into her bones, her claws.
Her teeth.
She bit down hard on Cheryl’s arm, tasting blood on her tongue.
Cheryl growled, dropping her weight onto Emma and pushing them into the ground.
Emma’s thick skin shielded her from the hard ground, but not from the weight of her mother pressing against her ribs. Cheryl was a large bear, one of the largest females in the clan.
But Emma wasn’t going lose by being sat on.
She infused her will into her claws and dug them in, pressing harder and harder.
Cheryl’s skin broke. Her mauve eyes widened.
Emma continued to push her will onto her mother, fueling it with the power of her anger, at the injustice that had been forced on her. She bunched her feet beneath her and pushed with all her might, propelling her mother backward. A roar of rage built inside Emma and erupted in Cheryl’s face.
Emma’s will.
Emma’s might.
Emma’s anger.
Not… Cheryl’s.
Cheryl staggered backward, raising her head.
Giving Emma the opening she needed. She clamped her jaws onto Cheryl’s neck, and bit with all the coveted power she had been born with.
“Emma,” Chuck called, his will cascading down around her, pulling her from the blood fueled edge. “Enough.”
Emma released her hold on her mother and stepped away, shifting smoothly into a human. The regional high alpha had spoken. Cheryl had no choice.
Yet, she charged in bear form.
Emma raised a hand, braced for the impact, her heart powered by so many years of pain and rage. “Stop.” With that simple word, she forced her will upon her mother.
Stopping Cheryl in her tracks. She stumbled and staggered, then shifted. She stood in the middle of the ring, naked, ragged, bleeding, and aged.
Emma straightened, forcing herself to stay tall as a force rolled over.
Names.
Faces.
Memories.
Emotions.
Each person in her clan surged through her, feeding her will with theirs.
She took in a breath as the wave settled. She met Chuck’s gaze.
He nodded once. “Cheryl,” he said, sliding his gaze toward her. “You are banished. You will leave. Now.”
Cheryl didn’t attempt to say anything. She closed her eyes and turned.
The clan was Emma’s.
She’d won.
Freedom. At last.
11
Mason sat in his car, staring at the little paper sack with the two chocolate macarons. He had meant to take them into his parents’ place to have after dinner, yet there they were. Mocking the Oreos he had choked down instead. He didn’t know what it was about those stupid cookies, but he really didn’t care for them.
Which made these two macarons even more perfect.
He had reached up for them twice, tempted to eat one and cleanse the palette after the earlier dessert, but both times, he had pulled back. A smile came to his lips as an image of Emma stuffing one whole into her mouth flashed across his vision. Followed immediately by a tinge of regret.
Mason really, really needed to get out more. Either he had completely forgotten how to behave in public, or something about Emma wiped all sense of propriety from his brain. What had possessed him to try and feed her the damn macaron? Probably the same thing that had possessed him to half shift in front of her the first day they met.
Emma was a shifter. In a shifter community. And, she was gorgeous. Right down to the flour covered apron and smudge on her cheek. She just seemed so… normal. He didn’t know that shifters could be normal. His parents had spent so many years suppressing their spirit animals he didn’t even know if they could still shift. And him? Well. His existence certainly wasn’t normal. Whenever he shifted, he felt like he was breaking some unspoken law.
Like a criminal. Sneaking through shadows, shifting in dark alleys away from prying eyes. It was better in Troutdale. But old habits were hard to break.
Mason sighed, leaning back against the headrest with his eyes closed. It was nearly dark, and his porcupine was restless. He might as well go out. Sitting in his car staring at a pair of macarons was a little silly. Still, he grabbed the bag and dropped it into his leather satchel. He might want a snack later.
He had parked on the edge of town, a little pullout next to a hiking trail he had barely seen anyone use since he had gotten there. Mason suspected it might have something to do with an abundance of bears in the area, as proclaimed by a neon orange sheet of paper posted to the trail board. Just one more thing that baffled him about this town. They really were just part of life here. When he had asked the woman at the Main Street Diner about all the bear signs around town, she had merely shrugged and explained that they see a lot of them, but there are never any attacks. Just carry bear spray and make noise. Seemed to work just fine.
Given that, he imagined that Troutdale was an absolute gold mine for bear spray retailers. He had noticed, however, that there weren’t any signs about wolf danger. That had surprised him once he found out the high alpha was a wolf. Maybe they were just better about staying out of sight while prowling in wolf form.
Regardless, Mason had decided this was the best place to shift. He had only seen two other cars there in the last week, and not a single person. He stepped out of the car, dragging his satchel across the seat. His porcupine surged forward like an excited pup.
“Yeah, yeah.” Mason muttered, slinging the bag over his shoulder. He locked the car and checked once over his shoulder for company before moving a few yards down the trail to his grove of trees. He had picked it out on his first time at the trail. A handful of thick trunked trees, surrounded on the ground by bushes that had grown into a natural shelter, leaving a cavity just big enough for a human to hide in. From the trail, he was completely hidden from view if he went inside.
Mason pushed his way through the branches and dropped his satchel onto the ground. He flipped open the leather flap and removed his glasses, sliding them into their designated pocket. Next, he unbuttoned his dress shirt, folding it carefully to avoid any excess wrinkles, and placed it into the main compartment. He continued to strip down, methodically placing each discarded piece of clothing into the satchel. Finally, he pulled out a shower cap and wrapped it around his shoes before putting them inside. With a deep breath, he removed his underwear and tucked them into one of the shoes.
The cool night air rushed over his bare skin, and goosebumps spread across his arms and shoulders. He latched the satchel, pulled the strap tight. He shook it once, making sure none of his things would escape when jostled, and then set the bag back on the ground.
Crouched on the ground, curled into a ball, Mason let out a long breath, quills extending from his back and fur sprouting between his knuckles. His eyesight blurred slightly, though it wasn’t much worse than human Mason without his glasses.
His nose extended into a barrel snout and his sense of smell exploded. He could smell the dirt, moist and earthy. The bark of the trees, the sap running down them. He could smell the leather of his satchel and the hours old scent of his body wash still present on his clothing. And he could smell chocolate. The sweet, decadent filling. The macarons.
Mason shook, his quills clacking together, shedding the last of his human form. Then he picked up the strap of his satchel in his teeth and waddled out of the shelter. He had learned the hard way not to leave his clothes stashed in an unassuming corner. The first time it had happened, he’d still been in school and had to try and explain to his parents why he was suddenly missing a pair of shoes and one of his best shirts. Without telling them he had been shifting.
The second time… well, he didn’t like to think about that.
Mason dropped the strap of the satchel and rolled on top of it, shuffling around and spinning on top of it until he had managed to loop the strap twice around his neck and the satchel stayed balanced on his back. He and his porcupine had mastered the trick years ago. Sure, carrying around a satchel as a porcupine wasn’t ideal—or normal—but it saved him a lot of trouble in the long run. If no one saw him.
The sun had nearly set, and the woods were dark beneath the thick branches. Mason ambled along, letting his porcupine lead the way. He wanted to make it to the overlook, but he wasn’t in any hurry to get there. Trying to wrangle his porcupine into direct route was more effort than he cared to exert for the time being. So, he let his thoughts wander, occasionally nudging his spirit animal in the right direction.
Mason found his thoughts falling immediately back to Emma. Things had been going so well. Why had she shut down? She was a very complicated woman.
It wasn’t as if he was’ looking for a girlfriend or anything. At least, not actively. But he couldn’t deny the attraction to her. The chemistry was amazing.
The way she seemed so… alive around him. He had been watching her during the field day. As soon as she was on her own, she wilted. The smile and energy disappeared from her eyes, replaced with something attuned to dread. Like she was simply going through the motions. Biding her time.
Then, when they were together, she bloomed. Smiles and laughter breaking through the wall of seriousness. Mason liked to think he was pretty laid back. He didn’t take life too seriously, a trait he attributed to his mother’s
influence. She found ways to make things fun, even when life was a struggle. Mason certainly hadn’t come to Troutdale to take life seriously. Even if he’d had to reevaluate that consideration a little bit, given the ratio of shifters to mundanes and his experiences thus far.
Overall, things were going well. And he decided that Emma had withdrawn because of the idiotic move with the macaron. Easy explanation. Unacceptable lack of propriety on his part.
Mason’s porcupine perked up, dropping the bone it had been carrying for the last hundred yards.
Tuning in, Mason listened. Voices? They were still a distance away from the overlook and he hadn’t noticed signs of anyone else, though he hadn’t been paying super close attention.
The porcupine chattered its teeth in warning, and their quills elevated.
Mason shook his head, urging his spirit animal to relax. The damn thing was so skittish. Focusing in on their sense of smell, Mason breathed in slowly.
The heavy, earthy scent of bear floated on the air from ahead of them. It was fresh, maybe an hour or so old. The remains of a recent passage through the area. Mason didn’t think there was a bear close by now, though.
Then his nose caught the scent of something else. A sweet, subtle… familiar lavender and spun sugar. What would Emma be doing out here?
That was a stupid question. Mason didn’t own this section of the woods.
His porcupine relaxed at Mason’s realization and turned his focus back to the bone. Despite their practice, the porcupine still carried the strap of the satchel grudgingly, and had insisted on cramming as many other things in his mouth as he could carry. Mason was almost sure he did it just to make Mason have to clean off the bone and dirt saturated slobber from the strap when he shifted back.
Mason nudged the porcupine in the direction of the scent. As they moved closer, the voices separated into two. A female and—a male voice. Mason frowned. Maybe it wasn’t Emma. The scent of bear grew stronger as they moved closer, but so did the sweetness, not unlike the smell of the macarons in his bag.
Maybe he should turn around. The temptation of seeing Emma again fought against his flight instinct. Because it wasn’t just her that he was smelling. Not just her voice.
