Fated for the Phoenix: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance (Mystic Bay Book 5)

by Isadora Montrose

  Great Aunt Ursula had been forthright. “Hmph. Well, throw him back. I tell you what, Zoe, that fellow’s a hypno talent.”

  The penny had dropped. The scales fallen from her eyes. Old Chadwick Ellery Strawn III had a psychic talent for hypnotism. He had confounded her bear shifter senses when he only had her to concentrate on.

  As soon as she confronted him with a crowd of bears, his talent had failed. She had been able to see him more or less clearly. No wonder the little prick had resisted her earlier attempts to show him off to her family.

  It was too bad that she had believed herself immune to his charms after their trip to Luck Harbor.

  She should never have accepted that last date. Had he put something in her drink? Or had she just lost her flipping mind with the help of his talent? She didn’t know. Couldn’t remember.

  They had been lovers before she realized her charm for Chad was entirely due to her trust fund. Before she took him home to meet the family. For a while, she had hoped he was The One. Her Fated Mate.

  They said troubles came in threes. And she could well believe it.

  First Daddy had been diagnosed with cancer, and passed even faster than the doctors thought he would.

  Now her big brother, Griff, was in hospital. Both legs smashed. His gut torn up and refusing to heal, even after multiple surgeries. Her stoic big brother was not going to survive his latest round of injuries. She couldn’t believe fate could be so cruel. But Maj. Griffin Worth USMC was going to succumb.

  She touched her belly again. Sorry, little one. But Uncle Griff can’t know about you. Knowing she was pregnant and unmarried would be the final blow. In other circumstances he would be happy for her. But tied to an ICU bed, wired up like the bomb that had injured him, he would be unable to settle Chadwick Ellery Strawn III’s hash. For sure, frustration would kill him.

  She needed a plan. And she needed it fast. First thing was to tender her resignation before Chad found out she was pregnant. She didn’t like to depend on her trust fund, but if she had to, she would. Second thing was to leave Olympia and make it hard for Chad to locate her.

  Except, how could she go far with Griff dying in Tacoma?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Luck Harbor,

  Oregon

  Mitchell~

  Mitchell Reynolds had done his duty. Aunt Ursula was wearing the handsome silk scarf Mitch had picked up in a Middle East soul at the end of his last debriefing. Happy birthday had been sung. Ninety-five candles blown out. The cake had been cut and distributed by giggling youngsters. He had even eaten a piece. He had danced with his mom, both his sisters, a slew of cousins.

  Aunt Ursula had placed her walker in front of her legs as an eloquent announcement that her dancing days were done. “Breakfast,” she had said to him when he kissed her cheek, “7:40.”

  He nodded agreement. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there.”

  “Go dance,” she instructed briskly.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Mitchell made his way through the throng to the back where two tall men were propping up the wall and sipping from dripping wet, red cups. His cousins smiled sparingly at him and nodded a welcome. It was already too noisy for conversation but their lips moved in greeting.

  Troy waved at the cooler he was guarding. “Help yourself,” he shouted in Mitchell’s ear.

  Cameron handed him a red plastic cup. “No bottles allowed,” he said solemnly. In Luck Harbor, Oregon, the rule had always been that you drank your beer from a plastic glass at clan gatherings. Cut down on breakages and injuries if there was a fight. With bears, especially young bears, fights were inevitable.

  The cooler contained a single bottle and a hillock of ice. Not a beer in sight. Mitchell filled a cup with the melting ice and added a splash from the liquor bottle to it. Closed the cooler and sat on it.

  “You shared with Aunt Ursula?” he asked, pitching his voice so it cut through the roar.

  Troy beamed. “Of course.”

  Cameron sat on the half foot of cooler that was left. Mitchell moved over obligingly. His cousin leaned towards his ear and murmured. “Is it true? You actually handed in your resignation?”

  “I did.”

  “Jesus. What happened?” Not if, what. Cameron obviously assumed Mitchell wouldn’t have left the military unless they asked him to go. Not that he thought Mitchell had been given a dishonorable discharge. He just figured that like a lot of servicemen, Mitchell had wounds that didn’t show. Which he did.

  “Can’t blame this on him. I was just done,” Mitchell explained. “Suddenly I wanted a life.”

  Troy put a hand the size of a shovel on Cameron’s shoulder and squeezed. “Let the boy be,” he said. “Comes to the best of soldiers.”

  Cameron laughed. “He’s younger than me.” Cam had been given his military discharge much against his inclinations.

  Mitchell shook his head. “Nah. I was born in January. You didn’t come along till April.” He sipped and was surprised. “New recipe?” he asked.

  “New supplier,” Troy said. “We’re drinking apple brandy from French Town. Lisa Marie’s Uncle Pierre took his still legit*. That’s genuine Bear Jack from French Town.”

  Mitchell sipped again. “It’s good.” His eyes went around the room once more. Decided there were no snipers hiding in the shadows and returned to his cousins. He nudged Cameron. “Where’s your wife?”

  “Studying. Frankie’s coming up to exams.” Cam’s wife was a phoenix who had decided to give up being a cracker jack test pilot for the USAF and study medicine instead.* “Couldn’t get away. My mother-in-law came out to Florida to spoil the baby, so I’m flying solo.” Cameron reached into his hip pocket and pulled out his cell. “I have photos.”

  Troy countered with his own pictures. Mitchell admired the cubs they showed him. Nodded judiciously. “Troy wins,” he said solemnly. “Hands down. Four to one.”

  Cameron chuckled and tucked away his phone. “Frankie’s expecting again,” he said proudly. “Time you started on a new generation of Reynoldses yourself, Mitch.”

  Finding a mate had been in his mind, ever since Aunt Ursula had made her proposition. But Mitchell just nodded. “That your Lisa Marie, Troy, cutting a rug out there with Uncle Bruce?” He pointed with his chin at a buxom woman with long blonde hair who was showing old Bruce some fancy footwork to go with the old-time jazz tune the band was playing.

  “That’s right.” Troy banged his false leg. “I can dance, but my prosthetic would rather I didn’t. But Lisa Marie is a nice girl from French Town. I swear those bears were born dancing.”

  Mitchell laughed as he was supposed to. Troy had lost a leg on his last mission for Special Forces. It had taken time, but eventually his cousin had come to terms with his losses and married a widow with twin boys** and fathered another litter of cubs. By all accounts, he was one happy bear.

  Cameron had been forced out of Special Forces when he was injured. He appeared to have recuperated, but he had taken a medical discharge and was now working for some investigative agency. Now that sounded like work that might fill the gap left by the Marines. Not that Mitchell was in any hurry to decide on a new career.

  Anyway, this was no place to initiate negotiations. Too noisy. Too many interested ears. He wanted to sound out his cousin Cameron. Not put him on the spot. He sipped his apple brandy until there was nothing in the cup but melt water. Drank that too. Enjoyed the silent company of his cousins who were old warriors like him. Bears like him.

  And then, suddenly it was just too much. All the voices shouting at once. The dance music. The merriment. Too many questions he couldn’t answer about stuff he would prefer to forget. He left the hall and went outside to breathe in great gulps of fresh air.

  Not that the air was exactly fresh. Two youngsters were giggling softly in the shadows. Leaning beside the windows and taking deep pulls off a shared butt.

  Crap. He was going to have to play the heavy. Again. He was so done with being in charge. He pulled himself together
and interrupted the two teens. He recognized one of Uncle Bruce’s grandsons. Sought the boy’s name in his memory and found it. How could little Tyler be old enough to smoke dope?

  “Hand it over.” He held out his hand palm upward.

  “Huh?” Tyler said. He clutched the other boy’s arm.

  “Hand what over?” demanded Tyler’s friend. He stuck one skinny arm behind his back. Like he was a fricking magician. Nothing to see here folks.

  “Whatever you’re smoking. I don’t have all night.” Mitchell pushed a little authority into his voice. A decade and a half of telling soldiers what to do, right-this-fucking-minute, rang in his voice. Maybe it would work on civilians too.

  “Do it, man,” urged Tyler. “He’ll turn us in for sure.”

  Tyler’s friend assessed Mitchell’s face with bloodshot eyes. He must have been convinced by what he saw, for he pulled a lit toke from behind his back and dumped it on Mitchell’s palm.

  Mitchell dropped it to the ground. Crushed it beneath his shoe. Recovered the remains, field-stripped them and cast the bits to the wind. “Okay,” he kept his voice flat and businesslike. “Let’s have the rest.”

  “What do you mean?” whined the teen with bloodshot eyes.

  “Tyler?” Mitchell meant, ‘Do you give it to me, or let me get your dad out here?’

  Tyler demonstrated that even if he was stupid enough to smoke weed at a family reunion, he wasn’t dumb as a box of rocks. “Give it to him,” he said desperately. “My dad’ll kill us.”

  Grudgingly his cousin’s pal dug a baggie full of dried green leaves out of his pocket. “We weren’t hurting nobody,” he griped.

  Mitchell took the baggie. “Who’s your friend?” he asked.

  “Morgan,” Tyler admitted sullenly.

  “Morgan who?”

  “Finley.”

  “Okay, Tyler, here’s what’s going to happen. Your friend here is going home. You are going inside to drink some coffee and keep your nose clean. I’ll keep this to myself – unless I hear you’ve been hanging out with Finley.”

  Tyler stared at him in horror and disbelief. Pimples stood out on his white face. “Morgan and I are buddies,” he croaked. He was no longer giggling.

  “Not anymore. You’re a bad influence on old Morgan. He needs to find himself some better friends.” Mitchell showed Finley his teeth. The boy took a step backward.

  “That’s not fair,” Finley said angrily, going from sulkiness to fury in one bound.

  Mitchell stared them both down. He wasn’t about to repeat himself. They knew their options. Do as he said or face the wrath of the Reynolds clan. Nowadays, the family didn’t gather often, but they still had their standards. Smoking grass at Great Aunt Ursula’s ninety-fifth wasn’t acceptable. Or smart.

  Finley shoved himself away from the wall with a burst of wrathful energy. He kicked the pine needles lying on the ground. “Shit,” he said eloquently.

  Mitchell was prepared to allow Finley the last word – if he left. He watched until the kid hit the street. “Do I have to tell you all the reasons that smoking dope is idiotic?”

  “Everybody does,” Tyler protested.

  “Everybody isn’t a bear. Everybody isn’t a Reynolds. Inside.”

  He didn’t follow Tyler back into the hall. He turned to the girl – make that woman – standing under the tree, listening in silence. Zoe Worth hadn’t been a girl in a long time. “Hey,” he said softly. “Sorry about that.”

  She joined him in the light cast by the bulb over the back door. Honey-brown curls danced on her plump shoulders. She was as pretty as he remembered. Prettier now that she had the braces off.

  “How are you doing, Mitchell?”

  He shrugged. He liked Zoe. More than liked her. But he wasn’t about to bare his soul to her. “Enjoying my freedom,” he lied.

  She nodded. Her lashes drooped over her brown eyes. They made thick crescents on her cheeks. “Will you be hanging around Luck Harbor now that you’re not a Marine anymore?”

  “I’m still a Marine.” No such thing as an ex-Marine. “I’ve just been discharged.”

  “Sure. So will you stay in Luck Harbor?”

  There was a picnic table if he remembered right. Over by the two old oaks. “I’m only in town for this party.”

  Her shoulder bumped against him as she followed him to the blue plastic table and benches. He felt a jolt. She wasn’t a great beauty. Not even as tall as he liked a woman. But she had It. Of course, hitting on his oldest buddy’s kid sister was not an option.

  “You heard about Griff?” she asked, seating herself.

  “Uh huh. How’s he doing?” Griff had enlisted the same day as him. Of course being from the same hometown they had wound up in different units. Griff’s company had taken a direct hit six months ago. Maj. Griffin Worth had messed up both legs. He was still in the hospital.

  “He’d like to see you,” Zoe said.

  “It’s on my list. I kinda expected to see him here tonight. Figured he come to a big bear bash. Hang with the clan.” It was a question.

  Zoe laid a little hand over his. Her gentle pats felt like coming home. “He’s not going to make it. It’s not just his legs. Something to do with his GI tract. Antibiotic-resistant infection. He’s wasting away, and there doesn’t seem to be much anyone can do about it.” She brushed a finger under one eye. Repeated it on the other side. Smudged the heck out of her mascara anyway.

  “I didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear it. I’ll go tomorrow.”

  She shook her head. “He’s still in Tacoma.”

  “I’ll make a special trip when I’m done here. Promise.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So what are you doing here? I thought you had some sort of high-powered job in Olympia?”

  Curls bounced when she shook her head. “I’m just visiting. I’m still a cog in the governor’s office. One of many aides.”

  “I hear you write his speeches.”

  “I edit the stuff other people write. Turn it into effective prose.” Her lips twisted wryly.

  How old was she? He didn’t have to think that hard to figure it out. If he was thirty-three, she was twenty-nine. That four years had been unbridgeable when he was eighteen. Didn’t seem that big a gap now. She certainly looked all grown up tonight.

  “Want to dance?” he asked.

  She smiled. A watery smile, but a smile. Brave as a bushel of boar bears. “Sure. I don’t think I’ve ever danced with you.”

  “Probably not. You were just a kid when I finished high school.”

  “Yup.” She took his hand.

  With the pretext of the uneven path, he pulled her close against his body. Breathed in the scent of warm honey hair. Lemon-scented soap. A staggering amount of some sultry perfume. He wasn’t much for artificial scents, but on her it smelled sexy.

  It was good to breathe in the aroma of this sweet woman. Sweet, she-bear. Sweet, pregnant she-bear. He halted and she crashed into him. Soft breasts smooched against his side before she righted herself. She brushed down her dress indignantly.

  “I forgot to ask,” he explained. “Is there some guy inside who’s going to want to rearrange my face when I start showing you my best moves? Like a husband?”

  “No,” she said. “There’s no one at all.”

  Which was a lie. That baby had a daddy somewhere.

  *Bear Fate

  CHAPTER THREE

  Zoe~

  Mitchell Reynolds was bigger and taller than she remembered. She hadn’t grown much herself. She was the baby of the family and the runt. Her big sister, Cindy, was six inches taller than her. Mitchell had to be over a foot taller. Taller than Chadwick Ellery III. But she felt safe walking beside Mitch as she never had with Chad.

  Thank goodness those boys had been smoking dope. She couldn’t smell Mitchell, so it stood to reason he couldn’t smell her. Besides, knowing she was going to be in a room full of bears tonight, she had doused herself in the musky, industrial strength per
fume the governor’s wife had handed out to all the female aides last Christmas.

  Her baby was her secret and for the present her dilemma. She was going to have to decide what to do real soon. But not tonight. Tonight she was going to dance with the most handsome bear in Luck Harbor. Growing up she had had such a crush on Griff’s best friend. Mitchell was still pretty crush-worthy.

  The slim handsome youth she had fantasized innocently about had turned into be a rugged alpha male with hard muscles and a harder face carved out of pure granite. She hadn’t been surprised those boys turned their stash over to Mitchell without much fuss. Just that they had held out as long as they had.

  She cleared her throat. “Hadn’t you better get rid of that baggie? Before we go inside?”

  A dull wash of color rose from his collared knit shirt. “I forgot.” He opened his hand where he still clutched the baggie. The leaves were crushed to dust. He stalked into the trees, scuffed a line in the pine needles, dumped the contents of the bag, mixed them with dirt, and covered the mixture with pine needles.

  It was a quick operation. Neat and economical. He rejoined her almost immediately. Threw the empty plastic bag into the trash barrel by the rear door. Held it open for her. Smiled down at her. The smile changed his face. Turned the grim planes into handsome. Displayed his high cheekbones, and showed off a dimple in one cheek.

  She smiled back. A genuine smile, unlike the ones she had been handing out in Luck Harbor all evening. The band was playing something rousing that had most of the room on the floor. People made room for Mitchell as soon as he swung her among the dancers. Partly because he was just that kind of guy, and partly because he was a hometown hero.

  It was just a dance. A modern dance. They barely touched. But he matched her move for move as if they had danced together a thousand times. He was still the coordinated athlete she remembered. For a big man he was light on his feet and he seemed to anticipate every flourish she initiated. She let herself float. The music and the moment were all that mattered.