by Roxie Noir
“Are you seeing anyone?” he asked.
The question made him oddly nervous, even though it was a perfectly normal question. She didn’t have a ring on her finger, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a boyfriend.
“Nah,” she said. “I’ve tried dating some humans, but it doesn’t... I don’t know. It gets weird at a certain point.”
The waiter came back with her old fashioned and set it down ceremoniously in front of her, on a small bar napkin. Delilah thanked the kid, and he walked away slowly, looking back over his shoulder at her. He couldn’t have been more than nineteen, and Miles guessed he didn’t see a lot of new faces — especially ones as pretty as Delilah’s.
“Is that certain point when you explain that sometimes you turn into a large bear?”
“It is,” Delilah said, sipping her drink through its tiny straw. “That is exactly the point where it gets weird.”
“I’ve never dated a non-shifter,” Miles admitted.
“It almost always falls apart before that,” Delilah said. “I’m always going out to the country for two, three days, and they want to come along at first, but of course I tell them they can’t. After a little while, they decide I’m cheating on them and end things.” She stirred the ice in her drink idly, looking down at it. “It’s been a while since I bothered dating.”
“Shifters aren’t necessarily better,” Miles said, leaning in. He’d dated around some in Fjords — well, dated was a very fancy term for some of what he’d done, particularly in the year after Delilah had left — and he didn’t need any girls or their fathers or brothers or friends overhearing him.
“They all think that they need to be mated by the time they’re twenty-four, and if they’re not, there’s something wrong with them,” he said. “That’s a lot of pressure.”
Delilah nodded. “You can add that to the pile of things I don’t miss,” she said.
Miles lowered his voice even further. “I don’t know about this one true mate thing,” he admitted.
“Me either,” Delilah said, her voice conspiratorial. “I mean, there are all those stories you hear as kids, about the woman who walked across Siberia for her mate, or the man who waited until he was eighty, but they’re just—” she waved her hands, “—fairy tales.”
“More like beary tales,” Miles said, and Delilah burst out laughing, covering her mouth with one hand. She laughed until she snorted.
Miles felt a pang at the snort. It was so... dorky, and lovable.
“I’m sorry,” she said, still giggling. “That was the dumbest pun.”
“It wasn’t my best.”
“Are there good puns?” Delilah asked, tilting her head, still stifling laughter. “Are there really?”
Miles looked down, admitting defeat. “Probably not,” he said.
“Beary tales,” he heard her mutter. “God, what was I even saying?”
“You don’t believe in true mates,” he said.
“Right,” she said, lowering her voice again. “It’s such a part of our culture, but how many couples do you see that you think are true mates? Are your parents?”
Miles shook his head. “They buy into it wholesale, but it’s not true,” he said. “I mean, they’re always telling the story of how my dad asked for my mom’s hand in marriage every day for a month, and that’s supposed to be a big romantic thing and all, but I don’t think they even like each other any more,” he said.
Miles didn’t want to elaborate — not there, anyway — but even though his father was the pack’s beta, the second in command, he slept in the guest room most nights.
It was true that his brother Nathan was causing his parents to fight, but there was never a glimmer of real affection between them, just the show they put on in public. In private, they barely acknowledged the other’s existence.
“You know what happened with my parents,” Delilah said, and Miles nodded.
“Or maybe there are true mates,” he said. “But it takes more than just love to maintain a lifelong relationship.”
“Then why aren’t they selling that to all the kids getting mated when they’re twenty?” Delilah hissed. It almost seemed like she was starting to get upset about it. She took a long drink of her Old Fashioned, which was half gone by now.
Miles shrugged. “The pack needs new members sooner and not later?” he said.
He’d gotten his own fair share of grief from his parents over not being mated, lots of How can you be sure she’s not your true mate if you won’t even go out with her again, lots of When I was your age, you were a year old already.
He didn’t believe in true mates, that was for sure. But he didn’t tell Delilah the real reason.
It was because he already know, bone-deep, that if true mates existed, she was his.
Obviously, she wasn’t. Therefore, the whole thing was a sham.
“Okay,” Delilah said. “That got heavy, quick. Tell me who’s got three kids by three fathers.”
“Crystal Johnston,” Miles said. “She keeps threatening to go on Maury.”
“So she can turn into a bear on national TV?” Delilah said, shaking her head and then taking another sip. “I guess she didn’t get any smarter.”
They gossiped for a while, going over babies and arrests and DUIs, who else had left town and which couples hated each other but couldn’t get divorced, not while they were still in the pack. Reciting all of it, Miles felt quaint, left behind, like Delilah had gone out to see the world and he’d just stayed in Fjords, one tiny little corner of it.
Well, that was technically true, he guessed.
He was describing a classmate’s misspelled tattoo when he saw someone get up from a booth across the room. He was on his third beer and Delilah was on her second Old Fashioned, and he knew that they were getting a little loud. As he watched, he realized it was Roy — his pack’s alpha, and the mate of the woman who’d nearly been killed in the crash the day before.
“Miles,” he said.
His eyes flicked to Delilah, and he had a smile on his face that wasn’t quite in his voice.
“Roy,” Miles responded.
He tried to make a show of looking cool and relaxed, even if he didn’t quite feel it. He was always uncomfortable around the older man, always somehow aware that their priorities didn’t exactly line up, and always aware that, in a grizzly pack, that could get dangerous.
“And you’re the lovely lady who saved my mate, aren’t you?” Roy asked.
Miles grit his teeth.
Roy knew exactly who Delilah was and Miles knew it. “This is doctor Delilah Silver,” he said. “She grew up here.”
Roy made an exaggerated movement with his hands, acting like he was surprised or something. “Of course,” he said. “Marge and Ethan’s daughter. I’m so sorry to hear about your father.”
“Thank you,” she said. “It was a long time coming.”
“Well, I just wanted to thank you for saving Susan’s life,” Roy said. “She’ll be up in Anchorage for a while, still, but she’ll live.”
“I’m just glad I could help,” Delilah said. “It was an awful accident.”
Roy’s jaw tightened a little, and Miles could see his barely-contained rage. “It was,” he said. “And that asshole’s going to stay in jail until he dies, if I’ve got anything to say about it.”
Delilah’s eyes widened a little, and Miles felt them flick to him. He straightened up, his own bear on alert: Roy was the alpha, sure, but if he was about to do something...
Roy’s hands flexed into fists, but then he nodded quickly and walked away. Both sets of eyes followed him as he walked through the glass doors, into Alaska’s long twilight.
“He doesn’t like me,” Delilah said. She seemed almost amused by the fact, removed from it. “Even after I saved his mate.”
“He doesn’t like your parents,” Miles said. “He’s always been a big believer that blood will tell and all that. Only likes me because he’s best buddies with my father.”
>
“You’ve got other good qualities.”
“Not that he cares much about,” Miles said. He felt a little sulky after Roy’s interaction, but tried to shake it off. “You want another drink? It’s last call.”
Delilah looked at her watch and frowned. “It’s eight thirty.”
“You’re in Fjords,” Miles reminded her. “You want another one of those?”
“Sure.”
Half an hour later, they paid — Delilah utterly insisted on paying half the check, and Miles knew better than to argue with a tipsy bear — and then she tried and almost failed to stand.
“Whoa,” she said, almost tripping over her own feet. “Miles, I think I’m drunk.”
He raised his eyebrows. He’d had four beers, but they didn’t make much of a dent — it took a lot more than that to take him down.
“You need a ride home?”
“Do you mind?”
“Course not.”
“I’m parked over on third,” Delilah said, waving her hand in the direction of that street. “Is my car gonna be okay there?”
“It’ll be fine.”
They walked to his truck and he helped her in, offering her his hand then walking around and getting in the driver’s side. Delilah was already buckled, looking behind her seat at something, just barely touching it with her fingertips.
It was the sleeping bag.
Shit, Miles thought.
He’d been meaning to get different blankets to keep in his truck for a couple of years now, but he’d just never gotten around to it. Deep down, he knew it was because he didn’t want to forget all those times in that sleeping bag. In a strange, almost masochistic way, he liked having that daily reminder.
“Gotta have blankets or risk freezing to death if you break down somewhere,” he said, forcing some jocularity into his voice. “Bet you don’t miss that.”
For a moment, Delilah looked right into his eyes, and Miles knew that she wasn’t fooled, that she knew exactly what it was and why it was still in his truck.
Then she smiled.
“Not at all,” she said.
Chapter Six
Delilah
It was a short drive back to her dad’s house, and Delilah was quiet the whole way, her mind spinning. For one, she shouldn’t have had so many drinks — she wasn’t quite drunk, but just tipsy enough that she was afraid she’d make a questionable decision.
For two, Miles still had that sleeping bag. It had to be totally worn out and disgusting by now, but seeing it there, in this truck, just like it had been all those years ago gave her feelings. Soft, squishy, nostalgic, wasn’t-that-a-happy-time feelings, and that wasn’t at all what she wanted.
Hell, she hadn’t wanted to come back to Fjords at all. She’d been done with it for years, a nowhere town that she didn’t have a reason to ever visit again. Aside from Miles, growing up hadn’t been any fun at all. Most of the shifter pack either mocked her or just ignored her being smart and getting good grades — anyone who wanted more out of life than a job on a fishing boat and three kids was reaching above their station, the sentiment went.
But then the sleeping bag was still there. Miles was still there, and despite being surrounded by macho asshats, he was still Miles, funny and warm and charming and...
Stop it, she thought as the truck pulled into the gravel driveway in front of her dad’s house. She hadn’t given him a single direction.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the door.
Miles turned off the truck and started getting out himself. “I’ll walk you up.”
“I’m okay,” she said, quickly. Delilah knew what happened when men walked women to their front doors.
He ignored her, getting out of the truck and walking around to her side, though she hopped out without waiting for his help. In silence, they walked the short concrete walk to the front door, Delilah already fishing for her keys in her purse. She practically ran up the front steps, putting a key in the deadbolt while Miles was still behind her.
“Hey,” he said, putting one big hand on her arm. “Is everything OK? You got weird all of a sudden, in the truck.”
Delilah swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said. “It’s just —” she waved her arm around in the air, indicating this or maybe that stuff that happened or maybe everything, even she wasn’t totally sure.
“Sorry,” he said, looking down and half-smiling. “Dumb question.”
His hand was still on her arm, and Delilah took a step away from the door. How could she run away from the one person in Fjords who wanted her to be there?
“Look, despite the shitty circumstances, it was great catching up with you,” he said.
Now they were facing each other, not too far apart. Delilah could hear her heartbeat, loud as anything, crashing through her ears. Her hand was still on the key, in the deadbolt.
“I had a good time,” Delilah said. She looked down as Miles’s hand slid up her arm to her shoulder.
This can’t happen, she thought. This should absolutely not be happening.
“Can I see you again?” he asked. He was closer now, his tall frame looming over her, his face tilted down.
Delilah closed her eyes and tried to fight against herself. Every single fiber of her being wanted her to tilt her face up, stand on her toes, and kiss him, but she knew she couldn’t. If she did, she would only end up hurting him again.
“This is a bad idea,” she said.
“I don’t care,” Miles said, simply.
Then he kissed her.
For a moment, everything went perfectly still, and the whole universe narrowed to just them, standing under an ugly porch light, the world spinning around them.
Then Miles brought his hand up to the side of her face, his calloused thumb running softly along her cheekbone, and Delilah stepped in closer to him, let him wrap his arms around her again.
It felt exactly right.
Then Delilah pulled away.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his hand trailing after her. His voice was full of hurt, and she looked back at him for one second, his eyes pained.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t. I’m leaving again in a couple of days, this wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“What—” Miles started to say, but Delilah turned the key in the knob and practically leapt through the door, her heart pounding.
Inside, she collapsed onto the ugly brown couch, still half-full of Time magazines, and she stayed there, motionless, until she heard Miles’s truck drive away.
What did I do? she thought.
Chapter Seven
Miles
The phone rang three times before Miles’s father picked it up.
“Kamchatka residence,” he said gruffly.
“Is Nathan back yet?”
“No,” his father growled. “I said I’d have him call you when he got back. Now stop calling.”
“Sorry,” Miles said, and his father hung up the phone without saying anything else.
That was how they ended most of their conversations, whether in person or on the phone. His younger brother was hours late. The two of them had made plans to drive up to the national forest that morning and spend the day shifted, just two bears in their wild state in the middle of nowhere.
He’d been in a foul mood all day. Last night, outside her house, he’d kissed Delilah, even though he’d known he shouldn’t. She’d returned the kiss at first, warm and yielding, just like he’d dreamed about.
Then she’d pulled away from him, apologized, rushed into her house and locked the door leaving Miles standing there in the cold, wondering what the hell was going on.
It had felt so good, so natural, to kiss her again, but obviously something was off. Was it him? Had he changed? He still felt like the same guy he’d been seven years ago. Older, sure, a little bit taller, more experienced and probably more responsible, but basically the same person.
And she’d gone
away, sure, lived outside the pack and outside the state for all that time, but she still seemed like the same person too: smart as hell, feisty, utterly gorgeous, not about to take shit from anyone.
What had gone wrong? Why had she rejected him again, already?
To top it all off, something was up with Nathan. Miles didn’t know exactly what, but he thought that maybe some bear time together might help his little brother out — didn’t bear time help most problems?
Over the past couple of months, Nathan had been acting weird, more sullen and withdrawn than usual, and a couple of times Miles had overheard him and his father, talking quietly.
They’d always stop when Miles came in, but he could hear them talking in low voices. Something about it had made Miles stop for just a moment and wonder what was going on, but he had no idea what that word meant, or if he was even hearing it correctly.
But now, Nathan was hours late, and there was no way to contact him. Miles figured he could probably try Brock if he really wanted to, but he didn’t like the younger man at all. There was something so strange and slimy about him, Miles thought. He’d rather wait around for Nathan all day than speak to Brock on the phone for five minutes.
With nothing to do, Miles tuned on the TV. It was ten years old, probably, and he hardly ever watched it — the signal out where he lived was terrible, and the picture was wiggly and staticky when it came in at all. He flipped through the few channels restlessly, trying to watch some talk show for a few minutes before giving up and pacing around the little house some more.
Finally, there was a knock on the door. Miles jerked open the interior door to find Nathan standing there, staring through the screen door glassy-eyed, like he didn’t quite see his brother.
Miles was unnerved for a moment, then furious.
“Hey,” Nathan said, sounding a little distant, looking somewhere past Miles into his house.
“You’re three hours late,” Miles said, not opening the door yet. How could his brother just look past him like that?
