The Bears of Blackrock, Books 1 - 3: The Fenn Clan

by Michaela Wright

  Papa ignored her comments, keeping his focus on choosing their path ahead.

  “It will be fine. You’ll be just like any other bear. Once you’ve made the shift, the bear will take over, I promise.”

  “Has anyone ever shot at you? What if there’s a hunter out, or another bear?” Maggie asked, her heart racing.

  Her mother spoke in a soothing tone. “It’s illegal to hunt in these woods, and hunting season isn’t for another two months -”

  Papa shushed her from up ahead. “Do you smell it?”

  Karen stopped dead, closing her eyes as though she could smell better somehow when blind. Maggie smelled something as well, and whatever it was, it was by no means subtle.

  “Are you two ready, then?” Papa asked.

  Maggie’s stomach turned, instantly. Could she say no? Would her father be disappointed if she just refused to even try?

  Yet, it was too late. Maynard Talbot pulled his shirt from over his head and moved closer to his teenage daughter, dropping his hands into the dirt. A moment later, his back hunched upward, and black fur sprung from every inch of skin. Maggie watched her father change, everything human about him disappearing in the matter of an instant. She’d seen this more than once, but it never ceased to send a strange shudder down her spine.

  The black bear shook his head wildly as though shaking off a fly. He settled then, turning away from them and heading into the woods.

  “Alright, girly. Your turn,” her mother said.

  Karen Talbot turned after Maynard, and in one graceful motion, untied her ceremonial dress, letting it fall to the forest floor as her body changed shape. A moment later, she was gone into the darkness, following Papa out of sight. Maggie took a deep breath.

  It was now or never. It was up to her to keep up, but – how was it supposed to feel to shift? Was there a button to push, a thought to focus on?

  Be a bear, Maggie. Come on, you moron. Be a bear. Grr. Rarr.

  Maggie bent over, fighting to feel that familiar shudder that being near her dad’s bear caused her.

  Find it, damn it.

  Maggie planted her hands into the ground, forcefully arching her back, feeling absolutely idiotic. What else was she supposed to do? Is it working? Will I know if it works?

  She heard rhythmic grunts and growls up ahead, her parents calling for her to follow. They were drawing further away with each passing moment. Catch up, Maggie.

  Despite the absence of light, Maggie knew those woods well. She’d traveled them a thousand times as a girl. She took off between the trees, letting her feet dance over the ground, leaping over fallen trees and briars. Her body moved with barely a sound, just as it always had, but now with adrenaline pulsing through her system, she felt twice as fast, gaining on her parents as they lumbered through the trees in search of their prey.

  “Maggie!”

  She stopped dead, her mother’s tone startling her back to reality. Maggie turned back toward the sound of the voice – she’d run straight past her parents.

  Maggie moved like her father taught her, lithe and quick, making no sound as she bounded back toward her mother’s voice.

  She smelled her father before she spotted him, his massive, black shape almost invisible in the darkness. Maggie stood there, watching him approach.

  “Oh god, Maggie. No,” her mother said, frowning.

  Maggie turned to find her mother standing there, her brown skin bared to the cool air, the expression on her face that of pain and something else – was that disgust?

  Maggie felt her father approaching behind her as she looked down at herself.

  She startled at the sight. She’d tried so hard, fought to feel what they told her to feel, but as her father shifted back into his familiar shape, Maggie felt their disappointment as though someone draped it over her like a shroud.

  Maggie hadn’t shifted as they’d hoped. Maggie wasn’t like her parents, or her siblings, or much of the rest of the Talbot family.

  Maggie was just Maggie – and by the look on her mother’s face, Maggie was a massive disappointment.

  ***

  August 14th, 2011

  “Oh my god, don’t be such a buzzkill. Come on! You said yourself you wanted to check out those weird stick figure things.” Maggie’s older sister, Candyce, stood in the doorway with their cousin, Beth, glaring into Maggie’s bedroom with such fierce disapproval that Maggie couldn’t help but see the resemblance between Candyce and their estranged mother.

  “Yeah, in the daytime, not in the middle of the night,” Maggie said.

  Candyce rolled her eyes. “Those woods are completely safe.”

  “It’s hunting season. I’m not interested.”

  Beth scoffed openly, but Candyce just continued to glare. “Seriously? You never come out with us! When was the last time you shifted? Seriously.”

  Maggie shook her head. She’d seen the strange effigies hanging from the trees while out walking with her father, as had many of the tribe. None took responsibility for the spooky trinkets, but they all felt unnerved by them – almost enough to believe there might truly be a mad hermit living in the woods. Given that almost every member of her family was a bear, they had trouble believing this. Certainly a hermit would leave a scent they could catch. These stick trinkets didn’t smell like anything but white man, her father said.

  Alright, Maggie. Come up with an excuse, she thought. Hunting season? I’m not feeling well? I’m on my period? Something! Anything!

  “I’m just not in the mood tonight,” she finally said, only drawing further glares from her older sister.

  “I’m beginning to take offense to this, Mag.”

  Shit, she thought. “I know. I’m sorry. I just – I don’t know. I’ll tell you later.”

  Beth was distracted a moment, glancing out into the hallway as Candyce glared. Maggie gave Candyce a surreptitious look, shooting a focused glare toward Beth, as though to say ‘It’s Beth’s fault. I can’t tell you why, she’s right there. Ask later.’

  Candyce gave an exasperated sigh, storming out of the room toward the kitchen. “Oh my god, Papa. It’s days like this that I remember she’s adopted.”

  “Shut up, bitch!” Maggie hollered, throwing her copy of The Shining in protest.

  Maggie took a deep breath and slumped into the pillows of her twin bed. There was merit to her sister’s protests. Maggie was twenty seven now, and in the decade since that night – the night her parents discovered their daughter wasn’t like them, the night they promised to keep her secret from the rest of the clan – she’d never accepted her sister’s invitations to hunt together, and never told her why. Even as her mother packed up her things, disavowing her husband and her adopted child without explanation, Maynard and Karen Talbot kept her secret from everyone, including her siblings. They knew she was adopted, but they didn’t know she wasn’t a bear. Candyce rarely even asked Maggie if she wanted to go out anymore. It hurt Maggie’s heart every time to say no.

  “Alright, hurry up and tell me.”

  Candyce slipped into the room, plopping down on the edge of the bed to whisper in quiet conspiracy with her sister.

  “I know she can be fucking intolerable sometimes, but when she’s a bear she’s fine.”

  “It’s not that,” Maggie said, sighing in frustration. Damn it, how long did she have to keep this secret? They’d have to learn someday, wouldn’t they? When she gave birth to children who weren’t bears someone was bound to notice, weren’t they? Maggie stared into her older sister’s face and frowned.

  “Come on. You always say no. Is it something I did?”

  Maggie shook her head. “No, Candy. It’s not you.”

  “Then what did Beth do? I’ll kill her for you while we’re out tonight if you want.”

  Maggie laughed. “No, Beth is fine. It’s not her either – it’s not important.”

  Candyce stared at her, silent. Candyce was three years older than Maggie, and her face was nearly identical to a young Karen Tal
bot.

  “Is it because of Mom?”

  Maggie stopped dead. Maggie no longer offered such a term to Karen Talbot. Karen’s response to discovering her adopted daughter wasn’t a bear was to spurn her. She demanded Maynard do the same.

  She’s not what they said she was. The only reason the Talbots took her in was to have another female. She should be banished.

  Maynard refused, watching helplessly as his wife left him as punishment for choosing family over tribe. Despite leaving him, Karen honored his wish – that he be the one to tell the tribe when the time was right. Maynard knew as well as Karen how the tribe would react when they learned the truth.

  Not a bear, not a Talbot, not of the tribe.

  Maggie had been on borrowed time for a decade now.

  “Why do you ask that?” Maggie asked.

  Candyce shrugged, her black hair cascading over her left shoulder. “Because something happened back then, didn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?” Maggie asked, growing nervous.

  “Come on, Mag. Mom left afterward and you’ve never shifted with anyone else since.”

  She’d never shifted at all. Damn it, would Candyce turn on her too if she knew.

  “Look, whatever happened, it’s ok. Mom is an asshole. You’re my sister. Whatever happened, you’ll always be my sister.”

  Maggie’s throat grew tight, but she fought to steel herself against it. “You don’t mean that.”

  Candyce’s eyes went wide. “Bull shit I don’t. I don’t care if you tried to rip my face off when you turned, you’re my family. I’m not like Mom. I might look like a Holden, but I don’t behave like one.”

  Maggie shifted on her pillows, scanning the room as though she might find someone hiding behind her dresser. Holdens and Talbots were the same as far as Maggie was concerned – she’d disappoint them both, equally.

  She swallowed. “Can you promise never to tell anyone?”

  “Come on, bitch! I’m itching to get out there,” Beth called from the hallway.

  Candyce rolled her eyes, giving an exasperated groan. “I’ll be there in a sec, damn it! Shove off!”

  Beth stuck her tongue out at them and disappeared back down the hall.

  Candyce turned back to Maggie, ready to hear whatever secrets Maggie possessed. The moment had passed.

  “Go. She’s only gonna get worse.”

  Candyce reached for Maggie’s hand. “No, come on. I’m here. Tell me what’s up.”

  Maggie shook her head, taking a deep breath. “It’s fine, Candy. It’s a bit too heavy for tonight. I’ll tell you tomorrow, alright?”

  “You sure?”

  Maggie nodded and squeezed her sister’s hand back. Beth hollered further complaint from the front door, inspiring Maynard to holler his own disapproval from the kitchen. Candyce stood, making an irritated face, and snatched Maggie’s book from the doorway.

  She threw the dog-eared paperback back to Maggie. “First thing tomorrow, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Maggie said, catching the book in both hands.

  Candyce disappeared down the hallway, scolding Beth as they slammed the front door behind them. Maggie lay in bed, listening to the sound of her sister and cousin laughing outside, their voices growing fainter as they walked away from the house, heading for the woods.

  Maggie never told her sister her secret. Candyce never came home.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Did it ever occur to you that I might want a say in this?” Deacon hollered, pacing back and forth across his living room.

  Patrick’s pleased expression didn’t waver, only infuriating Deacon more.

  “And what if I refuse?”

  Patrick scoffed. “Oh nothing. You’ll just start a war.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Gramps!”

  “Watch your language,” Patrick said, but the tone was almost dismissive. He was too pleased to be angry, it seemed.

  “I have a life in Boston. I have -”

  “Bull shit, you have a life in Boston. You hate it there, and we both know it.”

  “I don’t hate it -”

  “When was the last time you shifted?” Patrick asked.

  “Last night!”

  Patrick snorted, softly. “And before that?”

  Deacon paused. He knew exactly how long it had been. “Three months.”

  “That’s unnatural, Deacon. You don’t belong in the city. No Fenn does.”

  “Well it doesn’t matter, Carissa’s in Boston.”

  “Ha! Right! Now that you’ve brought that up,” Patrick said, rising from the couch to saunter into the kitchen and check the coffee pot. When he found the last cup cold within, he began dumping out the spent coffee filter and brewing another pot. The degree of comfort his grandfather showed in his house – a house that in truth still belonged to Patrick – was now grinding his nerves to dust. Had he someone less frightening in his wake, Deacon might have thrown a punch.

  Patrick poured the grounds into the coffee brewer. “That girl isn’t your fate, and we both know it.”

  “You don’t know shit!”

  Patrick’s eyes went wide. “Really? Well, I do know I can’t smell her on you.”

  Deacon’s mouth dropped open. “I live in the same -”

  “You know I didn’t mean like that. Tell me, son. When was the last time you two were intimate?”

  “That’s none of your fucking -”

  “Been longer than the last time you shifted, hasn’t it?”

  Deacon took a step toward his grandfather, but Patrick simply turned toward the kitchen sink, filling the coffee pot with water.

  “I’m doing you a favor, son. Besides, the clan needs this.”

  Deacon clenched his fists. “Needs what? Needs me to be sold off to some Talbot girl like a fucking mule.”

  Patrick shrugged, laughing at his own joke. “More like a stud.”

  “I fucking hate you,” Deacon said, turning for the living room. He was slumped down on the couch, staring at his phone when Patrick reappeared a while later with two cups of coffee. When Deacon refused the cup, Patrick set it on the table before him and took a seat in the recliner.

  “Look. I went through hell to get this set up. It’s what’s necessary for the clan.”

  “You’ve got Kirk and Joe having a baby in, what? A month?”

  Patrick shook his head. “You know as well as I do, that baby has just as much a chance of being a norm as it does being a bear.”

  “75% chance, they said.”

  “No. It’s 50/50. Terry and Deedee just got lucky. We need a Mama bear. I can’t take any chances. I’m getting too old to worry about this shit.”

  Deacon almost growled at his grandfather. It was well known amongst all bears that a Bear father had only a chance of passing on the bear genes to his children, but a mother – a mother would always give birth to a shifter, every time.

  “You don’t know, Kirk’s baby could be a bear,” Deacon said, desperate to change a decision he knew was no longer Patrick’s to change.

  “True, but we won’t know for sure until the kid is eighteen. I might not be around long enough to see it. We might get lucky there, but given we’re not sure if poor Catherine can even have children anymore -”

  “What?”

  Deacon held his breath a moment. Catherine Calhoun had been the reason he and John survived their ordeal with Bodie Calhoun, but she’d paid the price. Deacon’s heart ached to think that Catherine might suffer the loss of motherhood because of him.

  Patrick took a sip of coffee, taking his time to savor it before he spoke. “John hasn’t told you?”

  Deacon shook his head. He was surprised. John told him everything. “I’m surprised he told you.”

  “He didn’t. I have friends at the clinic. I have my ways of learning what I need to know.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Deacon said, slumping into his seat. He’d lost steam at this news.

  “Not a day goes by that I don’t wish your Aunt Ali
son was still here. She was meant to be a mother, that woman. Just like your Mum.”

  Deacon frowned at the thought of Alison Fenn, Blackrock Elementary School teacher and without question one of the sweetest women to ever walk the Earth, until Bodie Calhoun hunted her down one night and shot her. This wasn’t the first time he thought of what life would’ve been like with Alison still in the world – all the cousins that were never born because his Aunt didn’t live long enough to find her mate.

  Deacon straightened up. “Shit, what are you sayin? Gracie! Gracie’s kids will be bears, guaranteed.”

  Patrick snorted into his coffee. “Yeah, if she was ever going to have kids. That girl has never so much as dated a man. I’m pretty sure she’s like Tiernan, anyway. Rug muncher or whatever you kids call it -”

  “Thanks, Gramps. Asshole.”

  Deacon and Patrick both startled toward the kitchen door to see Gracie standing there, a pained look on her face. Patrick was up and crossing the room in an instant, but Gracie was gone.

  “Ah, fuck,” Patrick muttered to himself. “There I go again. Putting my foot in my damn mouth.”

  “I’m not going through with this, Gramps,” Deacon said, finally finding the courage to say the words he’d been chanting in his head.

  Patrick raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah you are. Clean yourself up nice for tomorrow night. You’re a good looking fella, she deserves to see that.”

  “I’m not doing it!”

  “Yes, you are, and you know it.”

  Deacon glared at his grandfather. “What makes you say that?!”

  Patrick moved in, speaking quietly as he approached. “Because you’re the next chief of this clan, and I know you’ll do what’s best for the Fenns, every time.”

  Deacon stopped dead, watching his Grandfather grab his coat from the hook and fling open the front door. Patrick had never once let on who he intended to name his successor. Terence had become too gentle since Deidre passed, and Tiernan prided himself on his docile nature. How could he not choose John or Kirk? John was all piss and vinegar, and ready to brawl at a moment’s notice, and Kirk was the eldest and the strongest. Did his grandfather truly see Deacon as the next chief of the Fenns?