by Hattie Hunt
She exhaled an understanding laugh. “You mean when things weren’t so complicated?”
“Something like that.” Jordan’s turned Emma’s hands in his until they were palm up and then put his hands over hers, palms together. Just like they used to when they were being serious. No secrets.
What was he doing? Emma’s heart picked up pace, battering the inside of her ribcage in a mixture of dread and anxiety. “Jordan.”
“Just shut up for a minute, okay?”
She clenched her lips shut, the dread overpowering the anxiety.
“Now that I am…now that I could be an alpha, do you think—” He clenched his eyes shut and drew in a deep breath. When he opened them again, they glowed. “Do you think maybe we have a chance?”
Emma begged Mal to help keep her face blank. No hint, one way or the other. He couldn’t be asking her that. Not now. Not after everything.
“Jordan.”
“I’m not done.” He gripped the edges of her palms with his fingers. “We love each other. We do.”
“As friends.” She couldn’t help herself, but Jordan didn’t even acknowledge the words.
“Before, when we were together, and we didn’t mate—I can’t help but wonder if this was why. If it is because Booker hadn’t come forward as an alpha. I mean, this changes things.”
Emma could feel Booker pulling on her, on Mal. He was stronger. And it was Booker, not Cheryl or her bear. But that didn’t mean anything to her. She closed that chapter of her life two years ago when they decided they weren’t mates. Jordan had agreed. Supported her. Played the game.
She’d never even considered that it had been more than a game to him. How could she have missed that? Things had never closed for him. Shit.
Emma knew that Jordan was not her mate. She had known for ages. She couldn’t do this.
“Jordan, listen to what you’re saying. You know it didn’t work before.” She tried to pull her hands away from him. She didn’t want to be in truth mode. She didn’t want to be having this conversation. This part of her life was supposed to be over.
“No, Em. You listen. You can’t be with a fucking porcupine. You’re alpha. A grizzly bear alpha. The clan is going to shred you to pieces if you try and pull that over on them.”
Emma’s brain was still repeating the word porcupine. Over and over again. Jordan didn’t want her to be with a porcupine. Jordan broke up the fight between Mason and the bears.
“Em, I love you, dammit.”
Emma jerked her hands out of Jordan’s. He had laid out more than enough truth for the time being.
“I can’t be with you either.” She stood up. “We—” Emma pointed back and forth between them. “Are not mates. We have never been mates. And we will never be mates.”
“You don’t know what you are saying.”
“Did you tell Mason that he was a rebound?”
Jordan blanched. “What?”
“Did you tell Mason that he is a rebound?”
“I saved his sorry ass from getting mauled by three bears.”
“That is not what I asked you.” Her voice came out in a growl, Mal ready to pounce. She felt Booker rise to meet him.
Jordan buried his face in his hands, fur bristling along the back of his neck and over the curve of his shoulders. He clenched his fists into his hair and looked back up at Emma, eyes fierce.
“Maybe I did. Somebody had to. You are going to get yourself hurt. What can a porcupine give a grizzly bear?” His voice rose on each word, Booker deepening Jordan’s natural tenor.
Emma stood up, Mal matching Booker’s presence across her own skin. “I am not having this conversation with you, Jordan Baker.”
He shook his head, bear ears flattening against his blonde hair. “You are making a mistake.”
“Just the opposite, I think.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Emma picked up her phone off the arm of the couch and slipped it into her back pocket. “It means I should be thanking you.”
Jordan relaxed visibly.
Glancing around to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, Emma move to the door. Jordan stood, taking a step toward her, hand out.
“Yes. Thank you, Jordan, for making everything so perfectly clear. I have things to do. Don’t call me.”
Jordan’s hand fell, and he clenched his jaw. “Em, don’t walk out that door.”
“Stop me. I dare you.” She let Mal vocalize the challenge as she raised an eyebrow at Jordan. He chewed on his lower lip, and for a second, she thought he was actually considering it. But he didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. Emma turned her back on him and walked out the door.
Mal?
Yes.
Can you do something for me?
He didn’t answer right away, attention on Jordan, who had moved to the doorway to watch them go. Emma opened the driver door of her car and tossed her keys onto the seat. Then, she undressed, holding her phone in her teeth as she did.
Naked, she nudged Mal.
Yes.
I need you to carry my phone.
I am not a pack horse.
Please. Emma closed the car door and walked to the edge of the woods. She could still feel Jordan watching her.
Where are we going?
To Mason’s.
Mal grumbled.
His porcupine isn’t that bad. Get over it.
Are you sure this is what you want?
Emma frowned, ducking under a low-hanging branch. There was only one way to find out. Yes.
Are you going to make me carry things every time?
Rolling her eyes, Emma dropped the phone onto a bed of pine needles. No. I promise.
Mal growled his assent and roared forward.
31
It took Mason all of ten minutes after he sent the message to Emma to realize he needed to do something about his ankle. A bag of frozen—thawed—corn wasn’t doing the trick. Problem was, he hadn’t made it that far in his “how to be a shifter” training. He hadn’t exactly gotten himself in need of medical attention beyond a scraped knee or bloody nose growing up. Shut-in nerds didn’t break many bones.
He checked the time on his phone, screen free of any messages. Good. But it was almost nine. He lived in a paranormal community. There had to be someone who could set a bone or something. The question was, who?
Scrolling through the contacts on his phone, Mason frowned. He hadn’t made a lot of friends since he showed up in Troutdale. At least, none that had offered up or had reason to give him their phone numbers. And he wasn’t going to call just anybody.
What was the guy’s name who drove the shuttle at Troutdale Springs? Sean? Sam? Sam. He knew Sam could at least be discreet. If he wanted to get a hold of him he would have to call his parents. And he didn’t want to even think about that conversation.
His thumb stopped on one name. Leslie Whiskey. The witch. Surely a witch could sort him out. Mason tapped the call button, picking up the bag of corn as he limped his way back to the kitchen. Three rings. Four. Five. Shit. Voicemail.
Now what? Mason chucked the corn back in the freezer and slammed it shut. Her shop was near the Fox Hole. He could be there in five minutes. Did he have any other options?
Looking down at the baggy sweats, Mason frowned. He had left a t-shirt on the back of the couch. That would have to do. He swiped his keys off the coffee table and hobbled to his car for the short drive.
He figured the soap shop was a long shot, given the hour, but there were lights on in the back, so Mason pulled around to the alley and parked behind the store. A single hanging light lit up the back door which had a small window covered from the inside by a flowery curtain. There wasn’t a ringer or doorbell, so Mason knocked loudly, hovering on one foot.
A pair of feet pounded down stairs from somewhere inside and Mason took a deep breath. He didn’t just show up at people’s doors like this. The curtain shuffled on the other side of the door and an eyeball peeked out at him. The
n the door swung inwards and a bald man in a tattered t-shirt not unlike what Bones had done to some of Mason’s over the years, stepped forward. The man’s eyebrows shot up as he took Mason in and then he grinned.
“What can I do for you?”
Mason leaned a hand on the door frame, steadying his balance with a grimace. “I am looking for Leslie Whiskey.”
“You do realize it’s after nine, right?”
“Yes, I’m aware. She didn’t answer her phone.”
The man stepped aside and motioned Mason inside. “Ah. Well, maybe I can help. I’m Barn, by the way.”
“Mason.” He hopped inside.
“Christ man, what did you do?” Barn shut the door quickly and pushed his shoulder under Mason’s arm in support.
Mason almost explained exactly what happened, then he paused. He had no idea who this guy was. Paranormal or otherwise. “Tripped.”
“If you tripped, Leslie Whiskey is as mundane as a Sunday school teacher.” Barn snorted and hoisted Mason up higher on his shoulder, leading him into the back room of the shop.
Well, that answered that question. But what was he? Mason reached out to Bones to get a read on the man. Nothing. He couldn’t be mundane. Mundanes didn’t know about shifters.
Barn pulled a stool out from a work bench covered in soap making supplies and motioned Mason onto it.
“So.” Mason adjusted himself on the stool, comfort nowhere to be found. His entire leg ached, probably because he had kept walking on whatever injury happened to his ankle after the fact. “Who exactly are you?”
“Barn. Coroner. Coffee lover. Fixer of things. Like broken feet. Now. What did you do?” He pulled out an actual black doctor’s bag from under one of the counters.
Mason gaped at the guy, who moved around the room like he owned the place. And maybe he did. A coroner? “Took a swipe in the leg from an angry bear.”
Barn nodded. “Were you shifted?” He knelt at the base of the stool and started rolling up Mason’s pant leg.
“Yes.”
“I see, I see.” He leaned forward, squinting despite his glasses as he inspected Mason’s leg below the knee, poking at it in random spots before he cupped the heel in his hand and pushed up on Mason’s toes.
Pain shrieked up Mason’s leg and his foot jerked back out of Barn’s hand. He didn’t even have enough breath left to swear out loud.
“There it is. Right swollen. What kind of shifter are you?”
Mason wasn’t sure if the question was at all related to the swelling in his ankle. It was impossible to tell with the way Barn shifted from one thought to the next. “Porcupine.”
Barn shot up, half running across the room and picking up a notebook from one of the counters. “I have never met a porcupine shifter before. What kind of porcupine are you? Genus? Species?”
“What about my foot?”
“I’m getting there.” Barn flipped open the notebook as he crossed the room to a fridge where he pulled open the top half and retrieved an ice pack. An actual ice pack instead of a bag of frozen vegetables. He tossed it to Mason.
“Here. You aggravated it by coming over here. The swelling needs to go down a bit before I can do anything.”
Mason stared at the ice pack and then shrugged. He wasn’t entirely convinced Barn had any clue what he was actually doing, but Barn was all he had at the moment. The stool wasn’t exactly conducive to icing an ankle, so Mason moved to a chair a few feet away and propped his leg up on the rung of the stool. It wasn’t the best solution, but he made it work, using the rolled up part of his sweats as a cushion against the back of his calf.
“Is it broken?”
“Probably, with that kind of swelling.”
His confidence wasn’t doing much to make Mason feel any better. “How does one fix a broken bone in a shifter?”
“Well, shifters heal faster than humans. Which always amazes me, let me tell you. So, I imagine that if we don’t set the bone, soon, it will heal incorrectly, and we will have a real problem on our hands.”
“Real problem.” That didn’t sound great.
“I’ve done a couple surgeries, but I would rather not. And Les might kill me if I got blood in the soap room.”
Mason closed his eyes and focused on breathing. Great. He was being healed by a crazy person. Maybe he should have just gone to the hospital. There had to be a way to push for quicker healing for something like a broken bone.
Speaking of bone, Bones was being particularly quiet. Dude. You there?
The porcupine purred.
Do you trust this guy?
Bones… shrugged? Mason wasn’t sure how he felt about this sudden mutual conversation with the thing. It was good, but weird.
You understand that we have a broken bone, right?
Bones growled.
Good. So, he did still care. Probably only because it was a bone.
“So what kind of porcupine?” Barn asked again, sitting on top of the stool that Mason had vacated, notebook propped open.
“Crested.”
“And what attacked you?”
Mason wasn’t going to correct the assumption. “Bear.”
Barn’s eyebrows shot up. “And you survived? The bears around here are huge.”
“That’s the thing about porcupines. We have sharp quills.”
“Are the bears injured? I should—no. Bears are too big. Next time, maybe get beat up by something smaller? Not, like, butterfly small. I don’t think I could work on a butterfly. But you know, like a cat or something. But not a Dexx cat. That would be a mistake.”
Mason chuckled despite himself. If he came out of a fight with a bear this bad, he didn’t want to know what would happen if he tangled with a saber tooth cat. Bones shuddered in agreement. “I’ll do my best.”
Barn closed the notebook and slid off the stool. “Okay. Let’s take a look and see what you did.”
“Shouldn’t I get it x-rayed or something?”
Barn shook his head. “Not unless you know a shifter with x-ray vision or someone with an x-ray machine in their basement.” He lifted the ice pack off Mason’s foot and went back to poking and prodding at his skin. As his fingers crossed the ankle bone, Mason sucked in a breath. Barn looked up briefly, and then focused the tender area.
“It’s not a bad break, but I can feel the bone out of place just here.” He ran a finger over a small lump revealed by the dropped swelling.
“And what do I do about it?”
Barn shrugged. “I’ll pop it back and then splint it up.” He tumbled the tips of his fingers across his chin. “Then, I think you will probably be alright by tomorrow. The kids heal right fast. But they are kids. Young bones and all that. You won’t be quite that lucky.”
Mason drew in a steadying breath. “Okay. So—” he winced. “What do you need me to do?”
“Keep your porcupine from coming out. I don’t fancy pulling quills out of my own skin, thank you very much. I don’t heal overnight.” He pulled two rolls of gauze, some athletic tape, and a pair of flat metal rods out of his doctor’s bag.
“Right.” Did you here that, Bones?
The porcupine huffed and then tucked himself into the furthest corner of Mason’s conscience. Mason wasn’t sure that would be enough, but it was all he had.
“Do you have a belt?” Barn looked up and frowned. “Never mind. Hold on.”
Mason wasn’t going anywhere, but he nodded. Barn disappeared behind a cabinet door and emerged with a small stack of leather strips. “Stack these and bite down. Just don’t tell Leslie I raided the leather stash. She uses them for wrapping candle jars.”
Mason took the leather with a nervous glance at Barn. “Have you done this before?”
“More or less.”
Great. Mason piled the leather between his teeth.
The whole ordeal went smoother than Mason expected, and aside from the initial crack of his bones, the pain lessened significantly once they were back in place. Barn proved to be more a
dept than he let on, and he splinted and wrapped up the ankle in just a few minutes. Retrieving a fresh ice pack from the freezer, he handed it to Mason.
“Hold that on there for a few minutes. I have a pair of crutches upstairs.” He disappeared around a corner.
Mason pressed the ice pack onto his ankle, but he could barely feel the chill through the layers of bandages. He closed his eyes, leaning back into the chair. Exhaustion washed over him in a wave, and it was all he could do to keep from falling asleep right there. He might have, for a second, because the sound of Barn thumping back down the stairs startled him more than it should have.
“Here we go.” Barn leaned a set of crutches against the fridge. “How does it feel.”
“Better. Thank you, Barn.”
“All in a day’s work.” He positioned himself on the stool again, notebook in his lap. “You should probably sit there a few more minutes. Can’t have you passing out on the way to your car. I assume you drove?”
Mason nodded. “Yeah.” His head had started to clear a little, and a thought crossed his mind. “You are mundane?”
Barn exaggerated a bow from atop the stool. “I am.”
“How?”
“Born that way. Just like the rest of them.” He shrugged.
“What about the Shadow Sisterhood?”
“Funny story that. I’ll tell you all about it some time.”
Mason frowned. “Does it get better?”
“Which part?” Barn tapped a pencil against the cover of his notebook.
“I don’t know. I keep thinking maybe I’m in over my head here, but you seem alright.”
“Ah.” The bald man nodded knowingly. “You picked the fight, didn’t you?”
Heat rose on Mason’s cheeks. “They deserved it.” Didn’t they?
“I don’t think I am the best person to offer advice on this, being mundane and all. But, things do get easier. Well, some things do anyway.”
“You are more qualified than you think. I was practically raised mundane. We didn’t have a clan or a pack or anything like that.” Mason pulled his foot off the chair and put a little weight on it. It twinged, but nothing like it had before.
