I should go back. Bryce had been out for a while now, enjoying the brisk evening air. This time of the year everything smelled so crisp.

The moon shone bright overhead, caressing the skin of his back, bathing him in its soft glow. He tossed his head, letting the light catch his rack, the huge antlers casting a shadow on the ground. A crown for the king.

He trotted through the forest, kicking up leaves, avoiding the low-hanging branches. After a day of dealing with his grandfather and the threats, Bryce needed to get out, relax. Stretch his legs and remind himself that his grandfather was being extra ornery of late because of his enforced bed rest. No one liked to be an invalid.

If Bryce could have taken a picture of his evening stroll and sent it to the old bastard, he would have. Captioned it too. Wish you were here. #walkingtherack

Grandfather would have flipped. The old man hated not being able to shift and get out of bed, but the doctor said nothing strenuous. The open-heart surgery had taken a lot out of his grandfather. Even though he healed quicker than a human, his age made his health more precarious. Grandfather had gotten a taste of mortality and railed against it.

The sound of the stream beckoned, the thought of crisp water too tempting to resist. He had no fear on his lands. His family owned hundreds of wild acres, free of hunters and prying eyes.

What it didn’t prevent was other animals from roaming. As Bryce neared the stream’s edge, he froze as the scent of a predator tickled past.

Cat. But not the right smell for the wild cougars rarely seen in this part of Canada. Nor was it a simple housecat or even the larger Maine Coon. What kind was it?

He’d learned at an early age—at the insistence of his grandfather—to identify the varied species’ scents. Some kids went to the zoo to ooh and aah over the animals. Bryce went to learn his smells, and usually had to endure a quiz afterwards.

Slowly, he moved out of the cover of trees, not out of any real fear. A big beast like himself didn’t fear anything. However, startling something with claws could leave scratches.

At first, he didn’t see the feline, crouched low at the water’s edge, head ducked and across from him, but a shift of shadows and the glint of its eyes gave away its position.

The tips of its fur were frosted in white, whereas the rest of it was a shade of gray. A tail, edged in black, swished. The feline face lifted, regarding him with golden eyes, the tufts of fur puffing from its cheeks identifying it as a lynx, a rarity, especially in these parts.

Since when do we have one living in these woods? He’d never come across it before. He took a step forward.

The lynx hissed.

Seriously? On my land? He lowered his rack and shook it.

The cat blinked and cocked its head. Probably admiring it. He lifted his head and struck a regal pose.

The feline chuffed. It sounded amused.

He would have narrowed his gaze if his moose face allowed for it. Laughing at his rack. Did this kitty cat not know who it faced? The Great North’s fiercest beast, one of the biggest as well. Other animals wished they could have Bryce’s rugged countenance. His thick shaggy brown coat. And his legs…he could run over thirty-five miles an hour, over uneven terrain.

The cat yawned and lay down by the water, lazily batting the current. Pretending disinterest. Surely pretending because no one could ignore his grand presence.

Arrogant? Totally. There were not many moose, especially intelligent ones like him, roaming the world. He was a creature to be admired.

The feline rolled on its back, four legs in the air.

Utter disrespect. Bryce dipped his head and wetted the tines of his rack then shook his head, shaking the droplets free. They soaked quite nicely in the lynx’s fur.

With a yowl, the cat flipped upright and glared at him. Her back rounded, her hackles rose, and she pulled back a lip.

He turned around and showed his insouciance by kicking up some dirt and striding away. Head held high, he trotted, knowing she admired his rear. Would have walked all the way back to the house except he heard something, a distant howl. Then another in a lower timbre.

Wolves. Not unusual in and of itself. The local pack, which numbered just over twenty in number around town, had permission to use these woods. Most bands of shifters in the area did.

Grandfather might be curmudgeonly in some ways, but when it came to keeping their secret and helping others of his kind, he honored the treaties his great relatives enacted.

The yipping, several of them together, grew louder, and he thought of the cat.

A possible were cat. The actions had a certain cognizance behind them.

If any of them are shifters, they’ll know the rules and abide by them.

The howls became sharp excited barks, and that was when he heard it. The first yowl.

He stopped walking.

Awoo.

He turned his head to peer behind him.

Don’t get involved.

Rawr.

A moose couldn’t sigh or he would have as he turned around and began trotting quickly back in the direction from which he’d come. He picked up speed and barreled through the trees, lighter on his feet than most people expected, and fast. He reached the river and took in everything with a quick glance.

The lynx backed against the water’s edge, snarling and body arched, trying to make itself look larger. Three wolves faced it, their muzzles pulled to show teeth and growling.

Bryce trumpeted a warning—which the wolves ignored.

He didn’t slow his pace as he charged, right at the streaming water, a soaring leap taking him over. His hooves hit the soft bank on the other side, and he stumbled slightly. Righted himself. Reared upward as the closest wolf took aim with its paw.

Is he daring to strike at me?

The claws missed, and Bryce trampled down, managing to strike a good blow.

The wolf yelped and retreated, leaving only two of his mangy companions.

He lowered his head, rack in position to cause serious damage.

The wolves went silent as they turned tail and ran.

He gave chase, galloping after them, cursing mentally as they split apart, forcing him to choose one.

He went left and kept sight of the tail. He wanted to run the wolf down and ask it questions. The oversized dog was a shifter, like him, which meant it recognized that lynx, the female, was also one of them.

It also had to have known who Bryce was. Only one family of moose in the area and everyone knew them.

How dare those mangy curs attack. And on Elanroux land.

The wolf slowed as they hit the graveled edge of a road. The cur began to change, fur receding, limbs shaping, and the man who stood up was slender and dark haired, his pock-marked face distinctive.

Hoof clomping on the hard surface of the road, Bryce took a step towards the fellow who compounded his crimes by giving him the finger. Sudden bright lights from around the bend blinded him but didn’t prevent him from realizing his moose versus a big truck wouldn’t feel good.

Bryce stumbled back, and the SUV shot past, slowing only for a moment, long enough for the naked stranger to jump in.

Fuckers. Cursed as they sped away, but retained enough wits to memorize the last four letters of the license plate: BYTU.

With no further pursuit available, he returned to the woods, heading back to the river. No surprise, the lynx was gone, the scent, female and feline, ending at the edge of water. Had the cat gone into the creek to hide its tracks?

Good thinking.

As for him, no point in sticking around. Someone had to be told about this. No matter his issues with his grandfather, this couldn’t remain a secret. An attack on their land was an open act of rebellion. A serious crime.

He hurried back to the house—the many acres he’d wandered taking him time. He emerged from the woods shortly after midnight, a man with his shirt untucked, walking barefoot, carrying his shoes. The items were dry because he’d stashed them in a secured weather-tight bin a wee way inside the forest.

Bryce immediately went to his grandfather’s room, intent on speaking to him, even if he had to wake the old man, only to pause just outside the door.

He heard voices.

Male voices.

He pushed open the portal and frowned at the guy standing by his grandfather’s bed. A fellow as tall as him, his hair a golden blond, his eyes a vivid blue.

“Who are you?” he barked.

“Say hello to your cousin Rory. And before you start your bitching, I suggest you get nice and close for a whiff of him,” Grandfather suggested.

Implying…

Bryce drew near and inhaled. Smelled something canine. Not moose, but definitely a shifter.

“Pleasure to meet you, cousin.” Rory held out his hand.

Grabbing it, Bryce stared at the guy as the battle of strength began, the two of them posturing for superiority. Eyeballing each other, chests out, gauging the other’s worth.

A clap of hands broke the impasse as Grandfather crowed, “Glad you’re both here. Means I just have to say it once. Had the doctor in today for a check-up.”

“And?” Bryce asked. “How much longer do you have to stay in bed?”

“A while longer because it’s not looking good.” Grandfather mustered a suspicious cough. “Doctor says I need to get my affairs in order, which means deciding on an heir.”

“What’s there to decide?” Bryce growled. “I’m standing right here.” He shot a look at the old man, lying in bed, clutching his sheet. He didn’t look like a dying man.

“You might be standing here, but I’ve got my doubts as to whether you’ll do your part to continue the family name.”

“Don’t you start with the marriage shit again,” Bryce groaned.

“Marriage is a wonderful thing. I loved your grandma until the day she left this earth.”

“So, why not wait until I fall in love?” Which would happen like never. No woman would ever be interesting enough for him to give up the single life and share his bed. A man liked to sprawl at night.

“I don’t have time to wait. I need to know the future is taken care of. So, here’s the deal, boys. Whoever gets married first and impregnates his bride is going to be my heir.”

“You’re fucking senile,” spat Bryce. “You can’t make this a competition. You don’t even know if this guy is related to us.”

“I will soon enough, but seriously, look at him. How can you doubt it?” Grandfather pointed.

Bryce refused to look. No denying his supposed cousin had the same brilliant blue gaze. “Appearances mean nothing. I’m your grandson.”

“And he’s my nephew. The important thing here is making sure my legacy stays in the family.”

The fraud cleared his throat. “While I appreciate your warm welcome, uncle. Now is probably time to mention the unfair advantage I have with your stipulation, given I’m already engaged.”

“Engaged?” Grandfather pushed himself up in bed. “Excellent. When’s the wedding?”

“We haven’t chosen a date yet. However, we have spoken of doing it soon. We just need to tidy our schedules. It was a touch unexpected, but I just couldn’t resist popping the question.” Rory smiled.

Slick. The guy was super slick. Bryce bristled. “That’s bullshit. He’s lying. He just made up a fiancée because of your contest.”

“Don’t accuse man of lying just so you can triumph by default, boy.” Grandfather gave him a stern stare. “Be a good sport and win, fair and square.”

“You’re blackmailing us into getting married.”

“I’m asking you to do the right thing,” grandfather stated with an implacable stare.

“I, for one, am okay with the stipulations, cousin. But I understand if you’re chicken.”

No, I’m a moose. I fear nothing…but losing his freedom.

There had to be a way out of this mess. A way to satisfy his grandfather long enough to prove this Rory was an imposter and to make sure he got what he deserved.

But in order to buy time, he might have to find himself a bride—and curtail his freedom.

#betweenarackandahardplace