by Hart, Alana
The brown bear watched her as she rose to her feet, propping herself against a nearby tree.
“Alright, you son of a bitch. Let’s do this,” she said, straightening, her left ass cheek screaming in protest.
The bear snorted, shaking his head as though to shoo a fly. Then he hoisted himself up onto his hind legs, towering over everything. She snatched up a large stick from the ground, wielding it like a baseball bat. The bear just watched her, its rumbling breaths coming in calm bursts.
She took a step back, poking the stick in its direction. “John?” She hissed into the wilderness, praying she might hear him call.
The bear shifted on its hind legs, and slumped down, then as Catherine watched, it seemed to shrink into itself, as though cowering from something. Yet, it wasn’t cowering, it was growing smaller, the dark fur giving way to the pale smoothness of skin. Catherine backed away several steps, mumbling to herself. This wasn’t real. What she was seeing was impossible.
“No, no. No!” She yelled at the sight, as though she could argue it out of being. Yet there on the forest floor where the massive brown bear had been was a brown haired man, his face as familiar as her own name.
She tripped over a tangle of branches, catching herself against a tree trunk. John moved toward her, arms out to catch her, his body naked now, bleeding from a long scrape across his shoulder.
“Don’t come fucking near me!” She screamed, swinging the stick in his direction.
“I’m sorry, Catie. I’m so sorry you had to see that. I meant to tell – I wanted to tell you years ago.”
“Back off! Back the fuck off!”
She threw the stick at him, stumbling away, unwilling to take her eyes off him, as though doing so would invite the bear back.
“I’m not going to hurt you, sweetheart. I didn’t have a choi -”
“You were a fucking bear!”
He displayed his hands out before him, moving toward her cautiously. “But I’m not now.”
The impossible screamed in her mind as logic and reason fought desperately to deny what she’d just seen. Yet, there was no means of denial. She’d just watched the impossible happen.
“You were a bear,” she said, and dropped.
CHAPTER FOUR
John’s voice was gentle, shifting in distance from as close as a whisper in her ear, to the sound of someone calling from across the harbor. She tried to call back to the sound, but no sound would come.
“Catie, can you hear me, sweetheart?”
Catherine opened her eyes and found herself lying beneath the open beams of a lodge ceiling. She swallowed, her throat painfully dry and hoarse. She reached for her throat, and quickly remembered why she’d been screaming. Catherine jerked across the bed, nearly toppling off the far end as John reached for her, frowning.
“You’re safe, honey. You’re safe.”
Catherine sat up in the queen sized bed, glancing around the room. This place was foreign; wooden plank walls and high windows facing the harbor, misty in the early morning.
“Where am I?”
John turned to the bedside table, lifting up a steaming mug of something to hand to her. “You’re in my bedroom.”
Catherine glanced around again. This wasn’t the bedroom she remembered from John’s childhood home.
He seemed to read her expression. “This is my house.”
“You have a house?”
Catherine leaned toward him, cautiously, glancing into the mug to decipher its contents. It looked like tea. It smelled like tea. She trusted it about as much as she trusted a snake oil salesman.
He chuckled softly. “I do. It was Great Uncle Greg’s, but when he passed without any kids, it went to me.”
Catherine swallowed, taking the mug from him, but still wary to drink from it, despite the ache in her throat. She glanced at him, clad in a Bruins T-shirt and ratty old jeans. He looked as aimless as she was, but here he was a homeowner, and the last job she’d held down was as a masked lunatic with a fake knife at the Cougar Mountain Haunted Hayride. Not exactly a career that affords a person property taxes – on Oceanside property.
“It’s chamomile. It has a metric fuck ton of honey in it, too. Thought it might help your nerves.”
Her nerves? Why would she need help with her nerves? Oh, that’s right, your newly declared boyfriend is a god damn bear.
Catherine nearly choked on the sweet tea as the memory came flooding back to her. She coughed, only further agitating her throat.
“I should go. Bennett will be wondering where his truck it,” she said, shifting under the covers. The pressure on her backside reminded her of her injury. She could only imagine the size of the bruise she must be sporting.
“Please don’t go. I talked to Bennett. He picked up his truck last night.”
You bastard, she thought. How am I going to get home now?
“You’re welcome to stay. As long as you like.”
Catherine swallowed. She wanted desperately to curl back up into this mountain of pillows and bask in the sleep of the dead until her throat and her ass stopped throbbing, but how could she sleep under the same roof as a man who only last night turned into an eight foot tall wild animal. And she’d slept with him.
Despite the terror she felt at the end of the night, the sudden memory of that intimacy gave her butterflies. He was just a few feet away, this man that had his way with her in a manner she’d only ever dreamed of. It would be hard to walk away from that.
Catherine took another long sip on her tea. The honey was helping, though she didn’t want to admit it.
John sat down on the other side of the bed, and Catherine shirked away.
He displayed his palms. “Please, Catie. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“Forgive me if I’m not wholly convinced.”
He sighed, slumping back into the pillows. “I’m sorry. I should have found a way to tell you.”
She half laughed into her tea, almost spilling it into her lap. “I wouldn’t have believed you.”
“No, probably not.”
His body language was relaxed, leaning into the pillows of his own bed as though they’d woken together on any other morning – any regular morning where one of them wasn’t – well, whatever he was.
She stared out the windows, listening to the roar of the waves crashing on the rocks outside. Then she shook her head. “’Yeah, but what if?’”
John rubbed the scruff coming in at his jaw. “What’s that?”
“The thing you always used to say – when you went on one of your tangents.”
“What tangents are these?”
Catherine swallowed. “The Bear Folk. ‘Yeah, but what if?’”
John took a breath, then he licked his lips, but he didn’t speak, instead pursing his lips.
“Have you always been like that?” She finally asked, breathing in the steam from her tea.
He gave her a half smile. “I have. Though, I’d never shifted the last time I saw you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. In my kind, the bear is a part of becoming a man – or a woman, if the case may be.”
“A woman? Wait, there are more of you?”
He chuckled. “My whole family.”
Catherine’s jaw dropped. She thought of Janice Fenn, proud mother and garden club chair. The thought of this sweet woman tearing through the woods with her teeth bared, ripping smaller animals to bits didn’t settle well.
“Is that what you meant by ‘I don’t know him?’”
John smiled. “It is. When we down in Parkhurst, I did know him.”
She swallowed. “You did?”
He nodded. “That was my grandfather. Had a feeling he might come down and try to scare those assholes away. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Patrick Fenn is a bear, too.”
This wasn’t a question, this was a dawning; a sudden revelation of what it was about the Fenn family
that made everyone from Blackrock to Bar Harbor think twice about them. They weren’t the only family that kept to themselves in those parts, but they were the only ones who felt like thunder when they entered a room.
“We all are. It runs in the Fenn blood.”
Catherine gasped. “That’s why there’s no bear hunting in Falkirk’s Seat!”
“It is, indeed.”
They both sat a moment in silence as Catherine mulled this over. He didn’t seem different, now. He felt like the same man, the same boy she’d curled up with to play hours upon hours of video games when they were young, the same boy who drove with her in his truck to Canada, all to kiss by the rocky shores of New Brunswick. He felt the same. She wanted him to be the same.
“Gramps has been fighting tooth and nail to keep it that way ever since Ali.”
Catherine thought of her beloved grade school teacher and frowned. “Oh God, she was one too.”
John nodded. “Yeah. He thinks that’s how she – how they died.”
Catherine stared at him. “They were shot.”
“By hunting rifles. We think some asshole hunter went out tracking where he shouldn’t. They’d both gone out into the woods for the night. We imagine someone saw a bear and an opportunity, and took the shot.”
“Oh my god, no,” she said, imagining Alison Fenn hobbling through the woods as a bear, picking berries and chasing bunnies. Her heart hurt. “But they found their bodies.”
“That’s the thing. Dead or no, we always turn back. I can only imagine the therapy some poor bastard is going through these days after shooting what he thought was a bear and waking up to a dead woman in his truck the next morning.”
Catherine’s eyes welled with tears.
“Oh sweetie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
John reached for her, and she let him. His hand felt strong at her shoulder, sliding across her arms to pull her into him. He squeezed her against his chest, sighing gently in her ear. “God, I was afraid you might never let me touch you again.”
The tears spilled over, rolling down her cheeks. Despite what she knew, despite the fear and confusion it caused her, the thought of this man never touching her again hurt far more than the bear scared her.
She turned into him, burying her face into his chest as he rubbed his hands over her back. “Does anyone else know?”
John rubbed her arm, kissing her ear. “Well, I suppose the hunters that took Ali and Greg most likely have an idea. And the clan on the rez certainly know of us.”
“What clan?”
John smirked. “We’re not the only ones of our kind, little lady.”
The Fenn land was surrounded by the rez. Their long standing camaraderie made sudden sense. “My god, there are more of you?”
He nodded. “Yeah, those two girls that disappeared last year, as well. We’d thought the hunting ban would protect us all, but clearly there’s always a chance.”
Catherine thought of how hard her Uncle Bodie and Grandfather had tried to fight the Falkirk’s Seat ban. Hunters from all over the county came to the town meeting to argue their case, claiming the hunting in Falkirk and the bear population were too good an opportunity, and that without culling the numbers, the whole county would soon be overrun. Catherine suddenly reconsidered every time her heart was set to racing when her mother woke her up to watch a bear meandering through their yard, eating their blueberries. How many of those creatures did she know by name?
“So that’s why you took me to Canada? To tell me?”
He straightened, searching her face. “How’d you know?”
She crinkled her nose. “I overheard you telling your mom.”
“Ah, shit. Yeah. Couldn’t do it though. Ended up making out with you instead.”
She smiled. “I don’t know. I kinda thought that was pretty great.”
“It was. If only I’d known it was the last time I’d ever see you.”
Catherine frowned at this. “Not the last.”
“No. Not the last.”
He leaned into her, pressing his nose to her cheek. She stiffened, unsure of how to react. By all accounts, she should run, get as far away from this strange thing as was humanly possible. Yet, despite the logic behind that notion, nothing could argue with the way his arms felt when he wrapped them around her, or the way every cell in her body danced when he pulled her in, resting his head atop hers. Strange or no, he felt so safe, so warm.
His exhales changed, coming in rhythmic bursts across her forehead. He was laughing.
“What?”
John leaned away, reaching behind her ear. A moment later he pulled a tiny twig from the tendrils of her tangled hair.
She touched the top of her head. “Oh, god damn it.”
John was up and in the bathroom without pause, running the shower for her. He appeared in the bathroom doorway and tossed her a towel.
She watched him a moment, pulling the dusty pillow cases and sheets off the bed, unable to leave the room as he suddenly became this domestic creature. He tucked the sheets into a hamper and hoisted it into his arms.
“Go ahead, baby. I’ll be here when you’re done.”
Catherine slipped into the bathroom, stripped her shorts off, being careful not to irritate the scrapes at her hips, then slipped out of his John’s hooded sweatshirt.
The water was warm and the flow was strong, running down her sore back as she let the dirt and nature wash from her hair. She was halfway through a second shampoo before the water finally ran clear at her feet.
“Catherine?”
She startled, wiping the water from her eyes. She turned to the fogged up shower door, John’s outline just visible through the opaque shower door.
“Yes?” She asked, her answer coming in a nervous burst.
John stood there silent a moment. She suddenly felt as though she could feel his struggle through the glass and the silence. She took a deep breath, settling herself, then she opened the shower door, holding it wide open to let him see her, and to let him know he was welcome. John’s whole body visibly relaxed, and he quickly slipped out of his jeans and his boxers, tossing his t-shirt onto the bathroom counter.
He was in the shower with her a moment later, his arms around her, his hands moving over her wet skin with such tenderness that she almost startled at how new and strange it was. The night before he’d been a beast – a violent predator worthy of fear. Now, his fingers moved as though wrapping around the fragile shape of a moth.
“Oh Jesus, baby. Look at you.”
She glanced down to the massive purple and yellow bruise that had appeared on her backside and hip.
She cringed at the sight of it. John simply ran his fingers over the sore flesh, the sensation dancing under her skin.
She touched his smooth skin, running her fingers over the hairs on his chest before she kissed his collar.
He took hold of her hips, turning her around gently. She pressed her hands to the wall as he positioned himself behind her. Yet, he stopped, taking hold of her, pulling her back against his chest.
“Say it again,” he whispered, slipping inside her as he held her against him.
She gasped, pulling his arms around her as she pressed her nose to his jaw. “I’m yours.”
His whole body shook, as though he’d shaken free of some burden. He held her even tighter, moving inside her with the softness of a very different lover than the night before. He moved his hands down between her legs, working to please her. And he did with surprising ease as he moved with her, the warm water at his back. Catherine came in sudden waves, his fingers moving with such precision that she was helpless to it. A moment later, his thrusts deepened, John taking hold of her, careful not to touch the scratches at her hips, and came himself. Then he slowed his movements, holding her against him as though meant to absorb her.
He leaned down to her ear. “You are so much more than I ever hoped for, you know that?”
Catherine’s throat tightened. She let him hold her there, forgetting everything for just a moment. Everything but the aching bruise on her backside.
Finally John planted a comfortable kiss on her lips – the kind given when the one you love leaves for work, or comes home; the kind shared between people who’ve spent their lives together. She’d never expected such a simple thing to feel so good.
John slipped out of the bathroom, drying off there a moment, letting her enjoy the sight of his naked form. “I’ll go make us some breakfast, yeah?”
Catherine smiled.
She emerged a few moments later feeling clean and new, the smell of bacon frying downstairs. She’d never before been in Uncle Greg’s house. Greg was Patrick’s brother, and his land only became a part of the Fenn Compound, as many in the area called it, when Greg died. Further reason many suspected Patrick of the deed. Seeing that Patrick handed the property down to his eldest grandson seemed to refute such theories.
John bustled in the kitchen as she arrived, setting platefuls of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and buttered toast along the counter for her to partake. She filled her plate and turned toward the breakfast nook – a built in bench seat tucked along a massive bay window. She slid into the seat and glanced out the window at the Atlantic, gray and teeming as far as the eye could see. She forgot her breakfast a moment and simply took in the view.
“You not hungry?”
She sighed.
John chuckled as he slid in beside her rather than across from her. “I know, right? I lucked out something fierce on that view.”
She shook her head and turned to meet his gaze. He was smiling at her. It stopped her instantly, forgetting the scene outside the window as she took in the expression on his face.
How could anyone not fall in love with this view? She thought.
