by Lynn Red
Rogue grabbed King’s shoulders, turning him. He stared for a long moment into his eyes. “I know,” he finally said. “And that’s why I have to go. That’s why I have to keep looking for new places. That’s why—”
King swallowed hard. “That’s why we can’t keep running forever. I can’t let them live their whole lives on the run, hiding from something that can find us anyway.”
“What changed your mind?”
King shook his head. “You said the winds were changing.”
The warm orange gave way to the deepening blue of dusk. Mosquitoes buzzed, mountain crickets chirped. Fat, hungry bullfrogs croaked, looking either for mates or meals. Either treat would scratch the same itch.
“Will you stay tonight?”
Rogue nodded. “I’ll leave as soon as the sun comes up tomorrow. I want to get as far to the west as I can. I want to find a place for us.”
“That’s not all though,” King said softly.
“No,” Rogue smiled. “It isn’t all I want to find.”
That night, the clan ate and drank their fill, and then when full dark descended all the bears went to their temporary dens, except the two alphas who watched from their cave until all the cubs were safe and asleep.
“I’ll take first watch,” Rogue said, gripping his brother’s shoulder.
King shook his head. “You’ll do no such thing. I’ll just be sitting around like a lump for days on end. I’m a toad, remember?” King laughed under his breath. He wasn’t always dour, especially after he drank a few quarts of honey wine. “You’ll be out ranging – you need the rest. I’ll take both.”
For a moment the two bears stared into one another’s eyes, understanding dawning on them both. Finally, King nodded. “Get some sleep,” he said. “Morning comes early.”
“Well,” Rogue said with a grin. “Morning does, yes. That’s sort of its thing.”
The two shared a short laugh, and then Rogue pulled one of the age-softened, tanned hide blankets up over his shoulder, and curled an arm under his head. Sleep came quickly.
But what came just after he slipped into the soft, blanketed darkness of unconsciousness were visions of the woman who had been haunting him for months.
Rogue awoke, lifting himself out of the blankets before the sun came up. His brother was sitting still at the edge of his overlook, slowly scanning the horizon, back and forth, tirelessly.
“I feel her,” Rogue said as he laid his hand on King’s shoulder. “I’m going to find her.”
The two exchanged a long glance, then Rogue nodded, and hopped down the face of the small cliff.
He crouched. Shaking his huge head from side to side, his hair flew in a torrent, then shortened as fur crawled out of him. Rogue’s legs bent at an odd angle, thickened, and seconds later, he gave his sworn brother one last roar.
King smiled and nodded.
With the mark on his chest burning, Rogue was going to find two things: a place for the clan, and the mate that was making his chest tingle and itch.
She had to be out there, somewhere, he knew.
In the distance, he heard a howl, and then another. I’m not the only thing looking for her, sounds like, he thought, as he dashed into the green.
-3-
“And here we are, a guy wearing an actual cummerbund. Great.”
-Jill
“No, no, I’m not hunting Bigfoot in the forest.”
Jill pushed her hair back and sat forward. This was the eighth set-up date she’d been on, and somewhere in the middle for horribleness. “I’m a scientist, I mean, I—”
“I heard that stuff was real though. Or at least there were like lost species in the woods out there.” The guy, Tripp, sat forward. He was one of those people who really own their weird name.
He was, Jill had learned, the prince to a massively successful hotel empire. The order of those words was important.
They had argued for a while over the difference between a hotel, a motel, and an inn, but this guy insisted he was the lord of a great hotel domain, even though Jill was fairly certain something called “Stop N Drop” was less luxury resort hotel and more flophouse where you can pay by the hour.
She put up her hands, and started to correct him, but then just decided to have a drink instead. Luckily, a waiter saw her gesture and thought she was calling him over. “Need something?”
“Oh God yes,” she said, sounding a little more desperate than she meant to sound. The waiter smiled, in what she guessed must’ve been commiseration. “What can I get you? Another beer?”
“Yes,” she said, but caught herself. “Actually let’s do a Jack and diet?”
“Perfect, and for you sir?”
Tripp hesitated. “I’m not sure you have what I want.”
“This place has a huge bar,” Jill said. “I’ll bet you ten bucks they have what you want.”
She looked around the cattleman-decorated steakhouse, and kicked one of the peanut shells she’d thrown on the floor. Unless this joker asked for something really ridiculous, they’d—
“I need a rum runner. Four shots, two light and two spiced. I need that with two splashes of pineapple juice, one of orange juice, one of crème de menthe, and top it with coconut shavings.”
The poor waiter just kind of stared at him. “Uh,” he was smiling though. “Do you want the coconuts sweetened or regular?”
Tripp regarded the waiter, like he was trying to figure out which they had so he could order the opposite. “Sweet...”
A pleasant smile spread across the waiter’s face.
“Unsweet! Natural, regular, whatever.”
“Perfect. I’ll have that right out, sir.” He flashed a quick grin to Jill, who immediately knew that he was indeed a kindred spirit. Tripp, for his part, had wide open eyes and a gawking, fish-like mouth, until he realized his date was watching. And then he settled back into a very practiced, nonplussed expression.
Jill kinda wanted to punch one of his pooched out, pouty lips to see if it was full of that stuff that fills beanbag chairs.
“I bet he fucks it up,” Tripp said, cocking his obnoxious grin. “Sorry about swearing.”
Jill pursed her lips, in a sarcastic smirk, accidentally. “I can handle bad words,” she said. She was getting nasty, which meant she was getting bored, which meant she needed to go, but she promised herself she’d at least give this guy a shot.
After all, the alternative was, what? Keep diddling herself at work? She wasn’t fooling anyone. Jill was a girl needing a release. A big one.
How long does it take until I’ve done my due diligence?
The drinks arrived, not a second too soon. Jill’s was in a highball, and Tripp’s was... a thing to be admired, that’s for sure.
A massive umbrella was jabbed into the side of a hollowed out pineapple, filled with so much rum and juice and coconut shavings that it almost sloshed out when he set it down. “Ready to order?” he asked with a grin in Jill’s direction. “Or would you like a minute?”
“I’ll take the rare porterhouse, baked potato, uh, broccoli and mac and cheese,” Jill said, smiling.
“Great. You know that’ll be extra for the three sides?”
“Yep!” Jill said. “He’s rich. Like, super rich.” She batted her eyelashes almost comically. “He told me so, over and over again. I think he can swing the extra eight bucks. Right Tripp?”
The look on Tripp’s face was a vast ocean of bullshit. Jill figured it was laid on so thick that floating an ocean liner on top wouldn’t be that tough. He smiled the kind of smile that people give off when they think they’re better than everyone, but don’t want to admit it.
“Oh yeah,” Tripp said, “I can definitely cover some sides.”
He looked back at Jill and winked.
He winked? Who the fuck winks? Am I on a date with someone’s grandpa who is about to pull a quarter out of my ear? What’s next, balloon animals?
“I’ll have the surf and turf,” Tripp said, never takin
g his eyes off Jill for a second.
“We don’t have any lobster, sir,” the waiter said. “There are cows hanging on the wall. Steakhouse, and all.”
Finally turning to the waiter to regard him like a human, Tripp smirked casually back at Jill. “What sort of steakhouse doesn’t have lobster?”
The waiter popped his neck. “One that has two lockers full of aging sides of beef and a third full of aging cut steaks. If you want a surf and turf, go to Red Lobster.”
A smile crossed the man’s face that he wiped off very quickly. Jill did exactly the same, except she hung onto her grin a little longer.
“I can’t... I can’t believe a waiter is speaking to me like this! If you don’t watch your mouth, you’re going to get this restaurant a one star Yelp review!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, sir,” the waiter said, faked meekness apparent to everyone except Tripp. “I was just joking with you, I thought we’d established a rapport, what with the drink you ordered and all. By the way, have you tried it?”
Tripp eyed the pineapple suspiciously. “Smells strong.”
“Yes sir, it is quite. Made exactly to order.” He smiled broadly, watching Tripp squirm.
Pulling his pineapple over by the napkin underneath it, Tripp grinned at Jill. She pretended not to notice. As the pompous jackass flashed a smile in her direction, vague remorse crept into Jill’s stomach. She wasn’t sure why, but she began to feel a little bad about the riding she was putting on.
Sure, she thought, this guy’s the giant tool who kept posturing more and more until he ended up looking like an idiot, but he’s probably a decent enough guy, I—
The slurping noise, followed by the sharp exhalation, and then the coughing, made her smile, but she banished the laughter as quickly as she could. She reached over and urged him to put down the pineapple, out of fear he might drink himself somehow more smug than he already was, and that, she thought, might actually make him explode.
“I’m okay,” he coughed again. “I mean, boy, yes, that’s fantastic! Best I ever tasted, I...”
Suddenly, Tripp started looking a little bit more like drip. He frowned, he lurched, and then he started swallowing a little too much.
“Are you okay?” she stood up as Tripp made a deep, unfortunate yurk sound, and grabbed the tabletop.
In a moment of clarity, Jill realized what was happening and also figured the answer must be on him somewhere. She pushed the woozy, gurgling jackass to the floor and started riffling through his pockets, starting with his jacket, and then the pocket of his vest – the one she’d thought so comically overdressed for a steakhouse in Santa Barbara that she’d laughed in her water – and found nothing.
“I’m not sure you can do that here,” the waiter said. “Maybe—”
“Shut up,” Jill shot back, “looking for an EpiPen. This guy was so pompous he wouldn’t admit he was allergic to something in that drink. Here, got it.” Wrapping her fingers around the metal and plastic cylinder in his man-purse, Jill threw the bag aside and glanced briefly at the instructions.
“Are you a doctor?” the waiter asked.
“Sort of,” Jill said, gritting her teeth. She readied herself to cram the needle in somewhere that wouldn’t hit a vein. Tripp raised a plaintive hand and started mouthing something.
“N...no!” he hissed. “Don’t... need...”
“You sure?” Jill asked. Already, he was starting to deflate, but slowly. He pointed for a glass of water. She shook her head, unsure this was really the best idea, but grabbed the water and cradled Tripp’s head as he drank.
Halting, choking breaths began to calm, and even though it wasn’t perfect, Tripp started breathing again in something approaching normal. She checked his pulse, he croaked, and then smiled.
“Uh... thanks,” he said, blushing. “Maybe I shouldn’t have,” he paused for a halting breath, and fell into a coughing fit.
“What was it?” Jill asked. “The pineapple?”
Tripp’s lips were a red, and still a little swollen. He nodded, but refused to look her in the face for a moment. “The Epi-Pen is for ant bites. Pineapples and chili peppers, they both do the inflated lips thing. It just takes a few minutes to clear up.” He pulled a couple of Benadryl tablets out of his wallet and tossed them back. “But I do sorta need to go to the doctor to make sure.” He was talking, but he still wouldn’t look at her.
“Hey,” she said, as gently as possible, but refusing to touch him because honestly his whole face was puffy, and it seemed uncomfortable. “It’s all right. We all do stupid shit to impress people sometimes. And at least you keep Benadryl in your wallet instead of condoms.”
His eyes were watery when he looked back at her, sad and droopy, and more than a little red. He sniffed, but then he laughed a little at her joke.
In a way she did feel for him, but in another, she was just tired of the games. The charade, the constant, pointless, endless make believe of dating. She wanted someone who knew who he was, someone who was comfortable in his own skin, someone... she’d probably never find.
And then her thoughts turned back to the year she was about to spend in the damn woods. I’m sure after a year in the Appalachian outback, even this guy will seem like the kind of treat I need to wrap my legs around and ride into the sunset.
Somehow, Jill turned the exact same color as Tripp’s shrinking bottom lip. “Are,” he coughed lightly. “Are you okay?”
She flushed when she realized how visible her embarrassment was, and shook her head with a smile as she stood up. She had her hand lying on his chest, and was absentmindedly curling her fingertips against him. She shook her head at that too.
“We can do that,” he swallowed, “if you want,” he swallowed again, his throat clicking that time. “But I’m not sure we can do it here.” A mischievous smile crossed his face, and the two of them laughed for a moment. Tripp chuckled at his own joke, and Jill at the idea of actually having sex with this guy in the middle of Ruby Montreal’s steakhouse.
“We should get you to the hospital,” she said, helping him to his feet. “You okay to walk?”
“Oh yeah,” Tripp said, his voice hoarse and raspy, but he was absolutely going to continue talking like there was nothing wrong. “Go get patched,” he paused to cough, “patched up, get a breathing treatment and then get the okay from the doc to—”
“Uh, yeah,” Jill said, smiling. “I think that might have to wait for the second date.”
For once, he let his humanity shine through his bullshit. When Tripp threw his arm around Jill’s shoulder, she knew it was because he needed the help walking, not because he was trying to cop a feel.
Even though he did.
And that was how dates went for Jill Appleton, PhD.
One thing, at least, was that even if they very rarely resulted in anything resembling the earth shattering, screaming-and-pounding-the-wall kind of nights she longed for, they were never boring.
At least there’s always something interesting happening, she thought, as the unlikely pair shuffled up the steps into Santa Barbara General, and her date pretended to need her help signing the insurance papers.
She went along with it, if nothing else, because making this guy feel good, even if he was a jackass of legendary proportions, made Jill feel good.
He wasn’t so bad, he just tried too hard.
Way, way, too hard.
They sat in the alcohol-smelling waiting room, on rubber-seated chairs that squeaked and protested every time anyone shifted their weight back and forth. For what seemed like hours they sat and waited and watched Anderson Cooper, and then a re-run of The Andy Griffith Show where Barney screwed up an arrest. Andy set it all up so that his overly intense, slightly doofy deputy ended up hauling the pair of would-be burglars in, and you could just see the scrawny, cartoon-faced Barney Fife puff up with pride.
Andy smiled, and so did Jill.
She grabbed Tripp’s hand, and gave him a squeeze. He looked over, and they exchanged a mome
nt’s glance that said they both knew why she was holding his hand, but reality didn’t matter just then.
Really, when does it?
Tripp let out a long sigh and curled up in the chair, laying his head on Jill’s shoulder.
She sighed, and rolled her eyes a little, but in the end, it was fine. She didn’t mind being the alpha here. In fact, she rarely minded, because she generally ended up in eerily similar situations. But what she really wanted? She really wanted someone who she could lay her head on, someone who made her feel as safe and taken care of as she apparently made her allergic date.
Jill wanted herself an alpha, one with big shoulders, strong eyes, and a way of kissing her that took her to another planet.
And... I’m about to spend a year in the woods. Only alphas I’m going to find there are bears. And somehow, I doubt any of them are interested in a date.
She smiled, blowing a fallen curl of brown hair back out of her eyes.
Tripp, for his part, started snoring.
-4-
“Am I ready? Does a bear shit in the... you know what? Nevermind.”
-Jill
Whipping above her head, the chopper blades thump-thump-thumped deep in Jill’s stomach, giving her a distinct I’m-not-so-sure-about-this feeling.
“All ready, Doc?” Jacques Poirot, the displaced Cajun pilot who was taking her from the small regional airport in West Virginia where she flew in, all the way to her outpost camp, asked. “The bears, them is waitin’.”
She smiled, or tried to, but the vague green tinge on her face gave her actual feelings away. “Yeah,” she gulped. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Hopping down from the small, low-altitude helicopter, Jacques helped her load up an overstuffed backpack. Both of them were glad the camp had already been outfitted over the course of the year it’d been built. She’d been in two times before to oversee construction and setup, so she knew what to expect.
Grabbing Jacques’s hand, she pushed off the ground with a half-hop and climbed in beside him. This was the sort of helicopter big enough for two seats, and a pick-a-nick basket. Jill laughed, Jacques looked at her like she was crazy, but he knew she wasn’t.
