Call of the Bear

by T. S. Joyce

  She’s human.

  Rocking upward, he sat on the edge of the bed and scrubbed his hands over his face.

  His head knew last night was a mistake. But his heart didn’t seem to give a shit.

  Turning, he watched her make a sleep sound and reach out across his empty side.

  His bear had chosen her last night. He’d as good as claimed her, and the only way to appease his beast was to be with her. It would cost him his place in the clan. It would cost him his rank and his friends. He wouldn’t be allowed to come back here, and there would be no more sanctuary for him.

  He would grow weak without the clan. Shifters were social creatures by nature, and he would be a rogue out amongst humans, always hiding what he was, always afraid of someone finding out. His bear was dominant and blood thirsty, and was happy with the challenges and battles that came with being second to the alpha. Here, he could fight a man to calm his beast, then take him out for a beer the next day. Away from Joseph, he couldn’t blow off steam or someone would die.

  His bear demanded he stay with his mate, but the price of him leaving here would eventually be his sanity.

  Too caged feeling to stay in the small bedroom, he sauntered into the bathroom and flipped the light switch. With the water running full blast, he lifted his gaze to the mirror above the sink.

  The glass there gave an unflattering reflection. His eyes were inhumanly light, and cold looking. The angles of his face were jagged and he looked tired despite having the best sleep he’d had in weeks. Gripping both sides of the sink, he gusted a breath of air.

  If Samantha ever looked close enough at his pale skin, she’d be able to see the scars from his battle to the top. Faint silver slashes crisscrossed his torso and back, but humans didn’t have eyesight like he did. They were so obvious to him. No, he wasn’t vain, but his marred skin served as a reminder of the peril that encompassed his life.

  Sam had no business bonding with a beast like him.

  He’d already dragged her into more danger than she could even imagine, and now the thought of something happening to her at the hands of his people gutted him.

  The bedroom door creaked, and he could hear her soft footsteps down the hall. She was probably worried and coming to check on him. Leaving the door cracked, he cupped water and scrubbed his face in an attempt to dim the shifter brightness out of his eyes.

  Sam screamed.

  ****

  Samantha couldn’t even tell what kind of animal it was. Most of its skin was missing and blood ran rivers across the new porch. The early dawn light illuminated the word whore, written in sticky crimson.

  Another scream of horror bubbled up from her, and as she took a breath to shriek again, Bron clamped his hand over her mouth and pulled her inside.

  “It’s dead,” she sobbed, clutching the elastic waist of his boxers. “Who would do that to an animal?”

  Bron had hidden the dead creature completely from her sight by placing his wide shoulders between them, but she still saw it in her mind as clear as day. The little animal’s lips had pulled back over its sharp teeth, like it was terrified in death.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  “Who, Bron? Who would do this?”

  “Sam, I need you to go inside. I have to do something.”

  “Bron, please.” Her whisper was ragged. “Who?”

  He turned and gripped her shoulders. “My people. It’s old magic. They think they’ve cursed you but I’m going to fix it, okay? Go inside and wait for me. Make sure the back door and the windows are all locked.”

  Without waiting for her to answer, he stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind him. Out the window, she could see him bend over and pick up the creature by its tail in one swift motion and haul it to his truck. After he tossed it in the bed, he strode back to the house, muttering something too low for her to hear through the door. He crouched on the cracked pavement path and picked up a handful of soil, then scanned the yard. The wind lifted dirt from his grasp, throwing it to the west, and Bron’s nostrils flared.

  His look darkened by the moment, and he picked up something from the yard too small for her to see. Lips pursed into a grim line, he hit the outside faucet and sprayed down the porch with the kinked old water hose, and Samantha went and checked the locks.

  Fear pounded adrenaline through her veins and she couldn’t stop shaking as she checked and rechecked the windows. Someone had come to her house, wrote that awful word in some defenseless animal’s blood and knocked on her door to make sure she saw it. She thought it was Dillon and the crew here early for their shift.

  Bron had called them his people. How could he claim to be part of a group who would do such a horrific thing?

  The front door creaked open and Bron walked in with his cell phone pressed to his ear. It must’ve been in his truck all night. “Two minutes? Yeah, I hear you. Don’t leave her until I get back.” He clicked the phone closed, and locked the door behind him.

  His gaze only landed on her for a second before a frown furrowed his brows and he ducked around her toward the bathroom.

  “More mysteries?” She knew where this was going and was already pissed. “Now there’s dead animals and curses and black magic?”

  “Not black magic,” he said, hitting the tap in the bathroom and washing the red off his hands. “Old magic.”

  Rubbing her eyes, she moaned, “What does that even mean? What’s the difference?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Isn’t everything with you?”

  “Dillon is going to be here in a minute, and I need you to stay here with him and the boys until I get back. I’ll only be gone a couple of hours.”

  “You gonna go un-curse me?” she spat out. “And your people are dicks, by the way. A whore? Really? I bet that isn’t in your witchy culty old magic books. That word sounds pretty friggin’ modern to me.”

  “Sam,” he rumbled. “Don’t let this ruin what we had last night. It’s not a big deal. I’ll handle it.”

  “Oh, last night. You mean the part where you said you loved me, but this morning you’re still stacking secrets between us.” Her voice faltered and her lip trembled. “You’ll never let me in, will you?”

  It hit her then. It didn’t matter if she stayed three days or for eternity. There would always be walls too thick and too high for her to ever hurdle to get to him. He didn’t know how to love. Not like she deserved.

  His eyes burned with fury as he turned and leaned back against the sink. “I can’t be what you want, Sam. I can’t answer the questions you want answered. I’m trying my best here and I’m wading through waters I’ve never navigated before. I’ll be back soon.” He left her trailing behind him to the front door, and at the last moment before he shut her in, he turned. “Trust Dillon, Grant and Reese, and no one else. You hear?”

  Too furious to speak, she nodded once, and the door slammed behind him.

  He was a jack-hole-dick-wagon for leaving her completely in the dark. Maybe she should leave Joseph now. He had warned her she was in trouble, but it hadn’t seemed real until someone left a dead animal on her porch. Now she was scared. Real scared.

  A knock on the door made her jump, but it was just Dillon and Grant. The third crewmember, the giant one she’d never caught his name, wasn’t with them today.

  “Heard you had some drama,” Dillon said when she opened the door.

  “Someone left a dead animal on my front porch.”

  “What did it look like?” he asked, setting down a bucket with a bunch of tools inside.

  “I don’t know. It had been skinned, but it had sharp teeth, little pink toes and a tail.”

  “Opossum,” he and Grant said at the same time.

  “Whoo,” Grant called over his shoulder as he hauled a giant box on a dolly into the kitchen. “You pissed someone off good, didn’t you? Hot water heater is in, so I’m going to be in here for an hour. Holler if you need me.” The box clanged as he set it down and opened a closet
door.

  “Dillon, do you know anything about this? Who would be dropping a dead animal on the stoop of my house?”

  “You have to take that up with your mate, darlin’. I’ve got orders to stay zip-lipped, and I’m not pissing Bron off again. He’ll bleed me.”

  “Mate?”

  Dillon tipped his chin and narrowed his eyes. His fair hair fell out of his eyes and back as he studied her with a calculating look. “See? You already have me all turned upside down. I’m not talking to you anymore. And if you tell Bron I said that, we’re not friends anymore.”

  “Dillon.”

  “I mean it, Young. And I’m a good friend to have. I share my food and listen to boring girly shit with minimal whining, and I haven’t even stolen any of those sexy panties you leave lying around everywhere.”

  “Oh, God, just stop talking. I won’t tell him.” She made a mental note to clean up any clothes she left lying around while she was at it, now that his temptation to pocket lingerie was out on the table.

  Two hours of ignoring her completely, and the house was starting to feel too quiet. Dillon said he needed to be able to hear if someone was coming, so she wasn’t allowed to even drown the silence in old classical songs. Really, it just sounded like he didn’t want her to crank the volume because he didn’t appreciate her taste in music.

  She spent the early morning hours sweeping the floors, painting trim and ripping up the rest of the battered linoleum flooring in the kitchen. And when her stomach finally felt solid enough to eat something, she munched on a bagel and read a flyer Clean-It-Right Maid Service had left rubber-banded to her front door.

  Anything to keep her mind from revisiting that poor dead animal.

  Grant’s phone rang and he stood and wiped his hands on an oily rag hanging from his pocket.

  “Yeah?”

  A muffled sound came from the other end, and she wished for supersonic dog hearing, because Grant was actually frowning. She’d never seen Grant frown. He was quiet, sure, but he usually had a smile, or at least a look of contentment on his tanned face. His dark eyes looked troubled when he handed her the phone.

  “Hello?” she asked.

  “Hey.” Damn it was good to hear Bron’s voice, even if she was still a little angry at the secrets he kept. “I’ll be longer than I thought. I’m going to grab some stuff from my place so I can stay with you until Saturday. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Just really confused on how I’m supposed to handle all of this. I hate being left in the dark, and this all feels like a really, really big deal.”

  “It’ll be okay.” He sounded so somber right now, and she wished she could see what color his eyes were. Usually they seemed to change hues when he sounded like this. “I took care of the person who put the animal on your porch. It was the woman who pulled your hair at the meeting. She won’t be doing that again. Hand me back over to Grant so I can tell him what needs to be done on the house today.”

  Grant had been leaning over the table, intensely watching her face, and he reached for the phone before Bron was even done speaking, like he could hear the conversation or something. These boys were weird.

  “Uh, huh,” Grant muttered into the cell. “Okay, got it.” He paced around for a while, agreeing into the phone, and then he said, “And you’re sure you want me to bring her to you right now. Like, right this minute?”

  Well, that perked her right up.

  “Okay, you got it, boss.” He hung up the phone and pocketed it. “Hey, D. Bron wants us to take Samantha to his place.”

  Dillon peeked his head out of the back room. “What? He said to stay here.”

  “I know, man, but he just told me he wants us to bring her to his house.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “No. He just told me a list of shit a mile long that we have to do today, and then said right now, he wants us to bring her to him.”

  “Hmm,” Dillon grunted with a frown. “Okay. Sam, you ready to go?”

  Did he consider paint in her hair, no make-up, and holey jeans splattered with Carriage House green ready to go? “Yep.”

  “Thata girl. I’ll drive.”

  Grant muttered, “Dick,” and Samantha followed them out, careful to lock the door behind her lest some creepy blood-cursing witch cult decided to hold a séance in there while she was out.

  She’d once bemoaned that nothing interesting ever happened in the sleepy town of Joseph, and now she wished she could be so naive again. How would she ever be able to explain anything that had happened here to Margie when she got back to Portland? Normal people didn’t deal with dark threats and dead animals and late-night town cult meetings.

  Her life had turned into a horror movie since she’d picked up Reese’s call.

  Being squished between two sexy giants would’ve been a dream come true last week, but now she felt claustrophobic. Something about the people here stifled the air, made it thicker and kicked up instincts she couldn’t understand. Twenty minutes of bouncing around between their linebacker shoulders like a squishy pinball and she was ready to hurl herself out the open window. Thankfully, Dillon turned onto a familiar driveway and a quarter of a mile later, Bron’s house came into view.

  “Hey, remember that night you hid in the woods dressed like Catwoman and we busted you?” Dillon asked with an obnoxious smile.

  She wanted to claw it off his face for reminding her. Even now, her face burned with the heat of embarrassment. “I wasn’t dressed like Catwoman,” she muttered. “I was dressed in spy clothes. Obviously.”

  “You’re trouble,” he said, pulling to a stop near Bron’s truck and an unfamiliar silver jeep. “I like that.”

  She pushed Grant’s shoulder, encouraging him to get the fuck out of her way so she could breathe, and stumbled out of the bronco after him.

  He led her up the porch stairs and barged through the door without knocking. Rude.

  “What are you doing here?” Bron asked from the bottom of the stairs where he sat with his arms draped over his knees. His eyes were wide with confusion, and a woman slowly stood from a couch in the living room.

  Samantha recognized her dark hair and light green eyes from the funeral reception. Muriel.

  “What are you doing here?” Samantha asked, trying to stifle the jealous rage that slashed up her spine.

  “I told you, I’m packing so I can stay at your place without having to make another trip out here.”

  “This isn’t what it looks like,” Muriel said, her delicate eyebrows knitted with concern. Probably fake concern. Samantha wanted to kick her in the vagina.

  “Wait, what?” Bron turned to Muriel. “What does this look like?” Suspicion grew on his face and his nostrils flared as the breeze picked up through the open door behind them. “Samantha, why are you here? Seriously.”

  “Because you told Grant to bring me.” What, Lying Shit for Brains had amnesia too?

  “No. I told Grant all the work that needed to be done, and then I hung up.” His eyes slid to Grant and turned cold as ice. “You sack of shit.”

  “I’m under orders,” Grant explained meekly, voice shaking.

  “Whose?” Bron barked as he stood. His voice echoed against the walls of the cabin, and the sound made Samantha hunch into herself.

  “I’m sorry, man. She has to go for the good of the clan. You know it. You can see it, you just don’t want it to be true.” Grant’s voice dipped lower as he turned sad, dark eyes to her. “I’m sorry, Sam. He’s a Cress.”

  Like that explained anything. She was perfectly aware of Bron’s last name.

  Grant had betrayed her somehow, but hell if she knew what that meant. Did he want her to see Bron with Muriel? Okay, that sucked, but it didn’t account for Dillon rearing back and punching Grant in his dumbfounded weasel face.

  A tremendous crash rattled the house and Samantha covered her ears with her hands. Outside, all three vehicles had been pushed over and were still rocking. Shattered glass covered the la
wn, and a streak of fur bolted past the doorway.

  Something monstrous was outside.

  “Oh, my God!” she screamed in terror as she lunged to close the door.

  Dillon was pummeling Grant, who wasn’t moving anymore, and Bron grabbed her hand before she reached the door.

  “They’re coming,” Bron said in a tone so quiet, his words sent shards of ice through her veins.

  Chapter Eleven

  “We have to get you to the main road,” Bron said.

  “How do we get to the road? There’s a monster out there and the cars are upside down in the fucking yard!” Samantha was growing hysterical, but an utter adrenaline dump had flooded her system and she was ready for fight or flight. Either would do right now.

  “What should I do?” Muriel asked in a rush. “I can help.”

  “No, you can’t and this isn’t your fight. They aren’t after you. Go home. Dillon, he’s out. Leave him.”

  Dillon’s eyes had gone dead, but he stopped pummeling Grant and followed them with a look of grim acceptance.

  Dragging Samantha through the kitchen, Bron flipped open his phone and hit a speed dial number. “Reese, Sam’s in trouble. I need you at my place now. Right now. They’ve come for her.” He hung up the phone and yanked the back door open.

  Dillon followed close behind and took his shirt off. Oh, dear goodness, that awful sobbing sound was coming from her. Dillon was all abs and arms and seriousness and why the hell was he chippendaling it when there was a giant furry monster hunting them?

  Samantha’s breath came in pants and she balked when Bron led her outside. “We should stay in the house. That thing is out here.”

  “The house won’t stop them. We have to get you to the road and headed back toward town. They can’t get you there. Not like this.”

  “Them? Like more than one of those things?”

  “Four at least, maybe five, but it’ll be okay. Dillon and I are here, and Reese will be here soon.”

  She was crying as he dragged her toward the tree line. His hand was strong and steady, dry and warm, while hers was clamming up more with every step they took away from the safety of the house. That thing upended three cars. No, not cars. A jeep, a bronco, and a jacked-up pickup truck. What chance did four people have against something like that?