There was a knock; they both turned to look at the glass-fronted back door in the corner of the kitchen.
“Who’s that?” she asked, flinching closer to the island. Executioners? Bear assassins?!
He looked a little surprised—but not worried. “It’s alright. Just sit there.” Coming around, he walked to the door and opened it.
“Morning, Dane.” Ginger recognized that voice. “Can we encroach?”
“Absolutely. Come in.”
Ginger slid off her bar stool as a small group of women filed in. One was the girl Ginger had encountered last night on the pier, when she’d docked with Hunter—Catríona, from Cape Breton. Another was a girl she didn’t recognize, someone very young—sixteen, maybe.
And the last was a stately, steely lady—someone who frightened Ginger by virtue of her pure otherworldliness. Her fair hair was silvering to grey, her thin face was lined, and the gold of her eyes had a pale, flaxen cast—but she was still slender, straight-backed, and ruggedly lovely. She wore nothing but an otter-hide mantle and a wrap of fur, apparently unbothered by the fact that her breasts were exposed.
More than her appearance frightened Ginger. It scared her the way Dane took a ritualized step back and lowered his eyes from the woman’s—a sign of animal submission, acknowledgment of a higher-ranking bear.
Everyone was an animal here but her.
This is fucking bananas.
“Ginger, right? We met, really briefly,” Catríona said, decidedly friendly as she stepped forward to where Ginger was frozen. She was a tall, pretty girl, with cherry-red hair. “I brought you some fresh clothes of mine. So you’ll have something to wear while you’re with us.”
“Thank you,” Ginger answered, from force of habit, as Catríona pressed a stack of clothes into her arms. The folded sweater on top of the pile was green.
“Nana, she looks just like us,” the young girl said with interest. She was very blonde, with very large, very lash-y brown-and-yellow eyes.
“You might better say we look just as they do, child,” the old woman answered calmly. “There is little difference between our kinds, when we wear flesh.”
“But they’re so much weaker.” The girl frowned, unembarrassed. “Aren’t they, Nana? That’s different.”
“Tara’s never left her clan grounds,” Catríona explained hurriedly, over this weird conversation. “They’re just outside Kootenay, so she’s a bit—sheltered. Not much experience with—ah—strangers. Kids, you know?”
“Kootenay? Kootenay National Park?” Ginger asked thinly. Kootenay was remote, protected backcountry in the Canadian Rockies. Who could live there? Who would? And who would live there with teenagers? You can’t Tweet in the fucking wilderness!
“Ginger,” Dane said shortly, interrupting. “This is Catríona, who you seem to know. And this”—he gestured respectfully to the older woman—“is Riona, one of our elders. And her granddaughter, Tara.”
“She’s pretty. Very pretty. I can see why you want her, Dane,” Riona said placidly, gazing at Ginger with chilly approval. “Why you keep her.”
“It’s not like that. Ginger’s not my woman,” Dane said, slightly too quickly. Ginger glanced at him.
“No? But that’s the complaint Gunnar brought before the council.”
“He’s mistaken, Riona. Ginger’s only my assistant. From Seattle.”
“You can ask Hunter,” Ginger cut in. They all stared at her. “He’s a witness, kind of. I told him I was Dane’s secretary before he brought me over—which, come to think of it, shouldn’t he be in trouble for doing?”
“He is,” Catríona muttered.
“Gunnar has no right to persecute me for this,” Dane continued darkly to Riona. “If anyone is going to be punished by the council, it should be him. He came to my territory and started a fight. That’s against Gathering law!”
“It’s also against our laws to lead a human to this island,” Riona said, leaning forward to tuck some of Ginger’s hair behind her ear; Ginger managed not to flinch. “Or to let them witness our Gathering.”
“That law hasn’t been enforced for a century.”
“Because it hasn’t been broken for a century.” Riona ran her fingers testingly over Ginger’s cheek. What was she looking for? “But how can you say this girl isn’t yours, Dane? You claimed her last night. There are witnesses.”
That’s right. When Gunnar and his little pack had come to the cabin, demanding Dane turn Ginger over for—for—well, she didn’t want to imagine what for—he’d told them no. “She’s mine.”
“I only meant she was under my protection.”
“Even if you did, that’s not what you said.” Riona thumbed Ginger’s chin, turned her face right and left. “And she smells like you.” She stared deep into Ginger’s eyes. It was unnerving, especially since when she spoke, it was to Dane: “In three days’ time, the council of elders will meet and decide what’s to be done with you. You may speak in your own defense, of course.”
“Riona!” Cat gasped.
“This is the twenty-first century,” Dane objected, and Ginger caught the faintest note of anger in his voice. “This is insanity. We’re not actual animals. We can’t execute an innocent girl from the mainland based on ancient, worm-eaten edicts. Just send her home. Who would believe her about us, anyway? There’s no danger!”
“I agree with you,” the elder said, finally turning away from her inspection of Ginger. “And many of us do, but not all. You can be sure Gunnar will work hard to influence every mind that he can in the coming days. I suggest you work just as hard.”
“Why can’t I leave?” Ginger blurted out. “Let me go home.”
Riona’s gaze was level as she turned to look at Ginger; Ginger shivered. “Surely Dane has told you that you would be pursued, girl. You are not free to leave until a judgment, according to our laws, has been decided.”
“I don’t see why Mr. MacAlister chose her,” Tara piped from the end of the island counter, where she was helping herself to some of Dane’s almonds from their bowl. “Mama always says no humans are allowed. Everyone knows better.”
“Well.” Riona ignored that, turning to Dane. “I have only come here to warn you. Gunnar’s designs are already in motion. You have handed him a perfect means for your destruction with this girl. You know no man can be an Alpha if he has paired with a human woman—much less if he has brought her to our Gathering.”
“I didn’t bring her here. Beaumont did that.”
“Yeah, Hunter did that,” Ginger agreed.
“Don’t split fur, Dane,” Riona chided, disregarding Ginger. “True, she came on Beaumont’s boat, but she is your woman, and you told her enough to know where to find you—enough to find this island. Can you deny it? No. And now you protect her in your cabin. You will have much to answer for before the council.”
“What about him?” Dane was bristling now; the gold of his eyes flashed. Ginger’s heart skipped a beat. “He set foot on another man’s territory and attacked him. He locked fangs with me! That’s just as forbidden!”
“Yes. You may point that out at the council of elders. Until then, you and he are not to fight each other, or each other’s people. That means he won’t touch your girl—for now.” Riona spared a look for Ginger. “Poor lovely thing. So innocent in this… I know. I’ll do my best to save her, Dane.”
Ginger’s blood turned to ice.
I could really die here.
“Tara,” Riona said. “We’re leaving now.”
Tara hopped off her bar stool, crunching nuts. “Alright, Nana. Bye, Cat. Mr. MacAlister.”
“Thank you for coming, Riona,” Dane said, holding open the back door for them. “I appreciate your counsel.”
“We’ll talk again,” the elder said, stepping outside into the mild, sunny morning, a guiding arm around her granddaughter’s shoulders. “Keep your mate safe.”
Dane shut the door behind them. There was a brief silence; then: “I take it you’re stayi
ng, Cat?”
“Yes, because your girl here is a mess, and I knew she would be a mess.” Catríona put her hand on Ginger’s arm protectively. “I’m going to get her cleaned up—and cheered up.”
Dane sighed. Ginger realized with a start that he looked tired. That bothered her—he never looked tired. The gold fire that had risen briefly in his eyes had died down.
“Alright. Is that fine with you, Ginger?”
Was it? She was split between the urge to punch him in the face, and the urge to wriggle into his arms, be comforted, and melt away. Maybe it was for the best she spent a little while with someone else.
“It’s fine,” she managed, though the thought of nuzzling her cheek against his rough neck was—tempting…
“Great,” Catríona interrupted, tugging her out of the kitchen. “Let’s get these old clothes off of you, sweets.”
Chapter 2
Catríona had brought toiletries for Ginger to use—homemade apple-butter shampoo and lavender soap—so she could wash with them instead of Dane’s, and avoid “smelling like men’s things. It will just make you seem more like his lover if you do.”
She stood right outside the shower while Ginger washed up, chattering to her.
“No one will hurt you before the council makes its judgment. So don’t be afraid, alright? A lot of us here are friendly. Some of us even see humans every day!”
“Like Dane?” Ginger asked, enjoying the drum of water on her skin.
“Sure… well, no, he’s a special case. Hardly any of us live in cities. Too difficult.”
“Difficult? Why?”
“We have urges. They don’t suit city living.”
“Urges?” Ginger paused midway through shampooing. What the hell does that mean? The urge to fish salmon from a river with your bare hands? I’m sorry, bear hands? Ha.
“Yes, urges. Like—I don’t know. The urge to hunt… to mate… to dig a den… to roam the woods… to challenge each other… urges you can’t satisfy in Seattle, or Portland, or Vancouver. Well, maybe you could satisfy the mating urge.” She chuckled.
“But you seem so normal, Cat.”
“Do I? That’s interesting. Are you almost done, Ginj? Not to rush you—it’s just that it’ll get cold soon.” She paused. “You know, Dane has the only hot water heater on the island.”
“Really?” Ginger furiously scrubbed herself with Cat’s lavender soap. It didn’t froth—that was strange. I guess fat-and-lye soap just doesn’t foam up. “You don’t have hot water out where you are?”
“Not like this! Just for a shower?” Cat laughed. “We could heat up a pot on our stove, but that’s it… no, Dane has the best of everything here. In fact, Ginger, you’ll have to be careful. Some of the women will be jealous as hell that you’ve landed him. And the men will be jealous you’re close to him, because really, no one truly is.”
“I didn’t land him!”
“Yes, well, I know. But people will think you did. Gunnar has a lot of influence, I’m sorry to say, and people will believe what he—”
Ginger shrieked and leapt out of the shower: it had gone ice cold.
“Ah, that’s that, then,” Catríona clucked, ready with a bear-print towel; immediately, she started rubbing Ginger down like a child. “Bit of a shock, eh?”
Ginger would have stopped the rubdown, but it felt reassuring to be taken care of. She chewed a finger. “Cat?”
“Ginj?”
“What was Riona looking for? In me? She was touching me so much that I…”
“She just wanted to get a good look at you.” Cat toweled off Ginger’s hair so aggressively that Ginger had to giggle. “She likes Dane. Favors him for Alpha. If you were his mate, you’d have to meet her standards.”
“I’m not his mate.”
“Yes, like I said, I know that. But you’ll have a lot of people to convince. There. All dry!”
“Why does everyone want Dane? For a friend, or—for more?”
“Why?” Cat raised an eyebrow. “Because he’s a powerful bear and a powerful man. Influential… intelligent… wealthy in the outside world. Handsome.” Her look sharpened. “Very handsome. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that.”
“I don’t care,” Ginger lied. “If you want him, you can have him.”
Cat burst out laughing, a loud and vibrant sound, uninhibited. “Want him! I’m mated, Ginger. Angus is my man. I don’t need another.”
“Oh… I see.” Secretly, stupidly, Ginger was glad.
“Ah,” said Catríona, catching the light in her eyes. “So you’re only a woman, after all.”
“What does that mean?” Ginger snapped defensively. “I didn’t say—”
“Shh, love. Don’t get upset.” Cat still looked amused, but she softened her voice. “It’s nothing. Let’s get you dressed. Come on.”
She handed Ginger some clothes.
“I owe you,” Ginger muttered, shimmying into clean panties.
“Nah.” She watched Ginger flap open the folded jeans. “You know, Ginger, just let me say—with your looks and your body, if you wanted Dane, you could have him.”
Ginger glanced down at herself: at the soft ivory skin, the slender little waist, the curvy hips, the flat stomach… the pert, plump, pink-nippled breasts… she flushed. “Catríona!”
“He likes you.”
“Stop! I can’t think about this now!—or ever!”
“Alright. You’re right. I’m sorry,” she soothed. “It’s okay. Just get dressed.”
Ginger stepped into the jeans and pulled them up roughly. Then she slid on some wool socks and wriggled into a borrowed bra. As she pulled on a Henley sweater, she asked gruffly, “So what are you, anyway?”
“What am I?”
“What kind of bear?” The sweater was a soft heather color, and warm. “Thanks for the clothes,” Ginger added a little grudgingly, still annoyed from the teasing.
Cat smiled. “I’m a brown bear.”
A brown bear. Great.
But how? How is this even possible?
“Where does it come from?” Ginger shook out her still-damp hair, working some life into it. “This—this power? Is it a curse?”
Catríona shrugged. “They say the ancients thought so. We don’t call it that.”
“Who cursed you?”
Cat shrugged again. “There’s no single answer. We don’t all come from one lineage, Ginger. It’s different, depending where your people come from. So, take me.” She angled a thumb at herself. “I’m Scottish—all my ancestors were Highlanders. Scottish bears—”
“There are no bears in Scotland,” Ginger interrupted. “They’re extinct.”
“For a thousand years, yes, they have been. But shapeshifters aren’t. We’re an ancient people—our bloodline dates from before the Roman invasion. Did you know, Ginger, Caledonian bears were said to be the fiercest creatures ever brought to Rome to fight in the arena?” She was proud—glowingly proud—and made no effort to hide it.
“But anyway. In Scotland, since we were cursed before all the bears died out, and now we’ve survived them, we still have their form. When my family came to the New World, we brought our particular curse with us, and our particular shape. Eh? Shapeshifters whose stock comes from—I don’t know, Norway, or Korea, or Alaska, or wherever—they’ll all have different stories, different forms, and different ideas. There’s First Nations people here who would never call this power a curse, for example. Do you follow me, Ginj?”
“What about Dane? What’s his background? Why is he a—”
Catríona interrupted her smilingly: “Ask him yourself, sweets.”
***
Catríona left just before midday to go back to her own homestead and take care of her own people. “Buck up,” she’d said. “Dane will protect you, and Riona’s on his side. You’ll be alright.”
But Ginger couldn’t buck up. She sat cross-legged on Dane’s bed, picking at the comforter; squares of sunshine from the windows extended slowly
across the mattress. Her situation was so depressing, so bewildering, that she couldn’t even think about it anymore; she just felt sick. Really sick. Sick as balls.
A knock at the door made her start. Dane opened it.
“Ginger.”
“Dane!” She straightened a little bit; he stalked over to the bed and sat on its edge, right in front of her. His smoked-wood smell made her head swim.
“How are you feeling?” There was real concern in his voice.
“Not great.” Understatement.
He folded his arms. “I know. I know you’re scared.”
He was wearing a fleece, a North Face, so she knew he’d been outside. What had he been doing, while Catríona was keeping Ginger busy? “Where did you go, Dane?”
He hesitated. “To talk to people.”
“What people?” She picked at the comforter some more, loosening embroidery threads. She stared at the bear she was passive-aggressively trying to unravel.
“Ginger.” His tone made her look up. “I need you to promise me you’ll stay indoors.”
She frowned. “Catríona didn’t seem to think I needed to stay indoors.”
“But I do.”
“Why?”
“Please, Ginger. Promise me.”
There was a pause.
“No.” She shook her head finally. “I’m not promising you anything.”
“Why not?” His jaw clenched, but he kept emotion out of his voice. She’d seen that before—usually when he was on a conference call and some junior solicitor was pissing him off.
“Because my trust in you is pretty low at the moment, Dane. I think you can imagine why.”
“Ginger…”
“Oh, you’re confused. I’ll explain.” She gripped the bedclothes, dander rising. Fuck him. He wants me to spell it out? Fine. “I work intimately with an important and demanding man for months. It’s a challenging job, being his assistant, but I think I do a pretty good job. It’s rewarding, even scintillating. I’m happy! Finally I’m feeling good about something in my life.” She laughed darkly. “We fly around the country—even the world—together. I handle all his personal affairs—and some of his business functions, too. Everything is fabulous. Everything is stable. It’s amazing. We make a great team.”
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