Chapter 1

Bruin Berard Bloom the Fourth picked up an item without looking at it, then put it back down again, moving one step to the left, in line with Mac, his best wolf friend, who had just done the same thing. They were alongside a rack of curios in the San Antonio Airport gift shop. He and Mac were browsing, just for something to do, as they waited for their flight to Chicago to board.

Bruin’s eyes were on Rogue, who was wandering around in the terminal, aimlessly, her face vacant. She passed Trent, who was lounging in a very doggy-like way, next to a row of empty seats, guarding everyone’s carry-on luggage, looking almost approachable in his orange rescue-dog vest.

Rogue had become crankier each day that they’d been on the road without any sign of her sister, Amaranth. When days had turned to weeks, and weeks to over a month, she’d gone from cranky to desolate, changing from the spunky, fiery, sometimes bitchy woman he loved like a sister, into someone quieter, meeker, with less spark, less life. Bruin missed fiery Rogue. What he wouldn’t give to hear her call Mac, “Princess.” Instead, she was barely speaking to anyone and was engaging in behaviors that Bruin didn’t know what to think of.

Their mission to find Amaranth had been a complete and utter failure, and Bruin’s mind spun with how to best move forward. He had some ideas, but he needed to sleep on them to be sure which was the best one to try first. They’d searched San Antonio for over a week, then headed to Wisconsin, to the river walk in Milwaukee, then out to Pittsburgh, then over to Chicago, even though Rogue insisted Amaranth wasn’t in Chicago, she would have known. They’d then hit the river walks in Portland and Reno, and even Savannah, before heading back to San Antonio to search one more time for that purple door.

He had been the one to spout the nonsense that got them started on this foxen’s errand in the first place, and he felt responsible for all of it. His heart hurt knowing he’d given Rogue hope, hope that was now crushed.

For the millionth time, his mind replayed the words that had come, unbidden, unrecognized, even unheard by him, out of his mouth.

Caught between her future and her past, Amaranth calls for her sister, but denies it even to herself. Find her along the river walk, behind the purple door.

Mac hip-checked him to get him to move along, then picked up the same thing Bruin had held for just a moment, saying something about it. Bruin had to focus to get his brain to interpret the words.

“Why is honey always in bear-shaped containers?” Mac said, making Bruin’s eyes snap from Rogue to Mac. He held a plastic bear filled with the sweet, viscous liquid that was Bruin’s biggest vice. The sight made Bruin lick his lips.

Mac’s voice was speculative. “I mean, bees do all the work, so why do you guys get all the credit?”

Bruin read the label. Clover honey, which wasn’t rare, or even his favorite, which meant he could resist it. Plus he’d dumped most of his clothes so that he could fit fifty pounds of Texas honey into his suitcase. He could always get new clothes, but new types of exotic honey? That was a rarity and a luxury he would not even try to pass up.

Bruin took the bottle of honey and held it up to the light. Habit. “Because bears are naturally sweet. We’re born delicious.” He squeezed the plastic. “If you really want to get technical, this bottle should look like a honeycomb.”

Mac snatched the bottle out of Bruin’s upraised hand and returned it to the shelf. “Right. Let me guess, a Dalmatian told you that. What I want to know is, why is honey being sold here? You having tea and crumpets on the plane?”

Bruin nodded idly, mumbling something about a honey emergency, but returning his attention and his gaze to Rogue, stiffening when his eyes landed on her. Her head was high, her eyes hidden by sunglasses, but they appeared to be looking straight ahead. Her arms hung loosely at her sides, swinging softly, and her path would take her directly past a group of women clustered in a circle next to a coffee shop. Bruin knew what Rogue’s sure gait meant. He shot a look at Mac, but Mac was still contemplating the shelf in front of him.

Bruin bit the inside of his lip as Rogue passed the group of women, brushing by an older woman with a large brown purse over her shoulder. Quick like controlled lightning, Rogue’s hand shot out and delved into the purse. Bruin winced when it came out with a slim, pink, expensive-looking wallet, which Rogue didn’t even look at. Instead, she made it disappear in one of her voluminous sleeves, rounded the group, and made another pass, this time slipping the pink wallet back in the woman’s purse.

Bruin had to give her credit. She was good. No one had noticed either her or her momentary crime.

A soft chuff in his head made him realize he was wrong and that someone else had. He took a step to the left to better see out into the open airport.

He saw Troy first. The huge black wolf with the white bomb renqua on his shoulder had his head in the lap of a random seated woman, watching a video on her phone, something about cats in circles, so it hadn’t been him. Bruin took one more step to the left, peering around a sudden crowd until he could see Trent, Troy’s brother. Trent and Troy were both non-shifting wolven, who had accompanied him, Mac, and Rogue on the trip to San Antonio, acting as extra guard for Rogue, Mac’s One True Mate, a state which made her a sure target for the ruthless demon nemesis of all of them, Khain. Trent was also big and black, but with a figure eight renqua and a spot of white on the tip of his tail and his chest.

Trent’s eyes were on Rogue, his canine expression inscrutable. Yep, he knew. Blast it all. Bruin wondered how many times Trent had seen Rogue do this in San Antonio. Bruin had counted six times, all in the last week. Bruin shot a look at Mac, but Mac had a Cosmopolitan magazine in his hand and was flipping through the pages, mumbling something about, “…the balls, too? Really? I’ll have to ask Rogue…”

Tell Mac? Don’t tell Mac? To tell him would be betraying Rogue, but to not tell him was betraying Mac, wasn’t it? Rogue wasn’t actually stealing anything, just-

Rogue abruptly changed direction, heading straight for them. Bruin dropped his eyes and blindly grabbed a magazine off the shelf. Seventeen. Perfect. Maybe Rogue would make fun of him. He opened it and held it up so she could see the cover, keeping track of her with his peripheral vision.

She didn’t even look at him or Mac. Instead, she headed to a display of scarves, then detoured to go around it instead. Bruin gave up his pretense of looking at the magazine to stare directly at her, catching her snagging one scarf off the table. But it didn’t go into her pocket or other hand. Instead, she flipped it so the tag didn’t show and wound it over her head to hide her light brown hair, slouching slightly at the same time, pulling into herself in that way she had that disguised her height.

She narrowed her eyes and threw him a warning look that said she knew he knew but he’d be better off keeping his mouth shut, then she sidled next to Mac on his other side, and picked up the honey jar they both had handled. Sadness welled inside of Bruin, making his chest heavy. He didn’t know what she was trying to do, and he didn’t know if finding her sister would have helped her avoid whatever pain she was feeling, but if she hurt, he hurt, and she was definitely hurting. He tried to imagine losing one of his brothers at age five in the manner she had, and couldn’t do it. To not know if that brother was alive or dead? Had been treated well or abused? The strain losing her sister had put on her must have been immense. Must be immense.

Bruin tried to catch her eye, but she hovered next to Mac, waiting for… something.

A faceless female voice boomed over an intercom in the high ceiling. “Flight 82 to Chicago, now boarding.”

The announcement caused Rogue to shoot to her full height, then whip the scarf off her head and return it to the pile before striding to Mac and taking his arm. He turned to her, smiling that special smile that was only for her, but his hands were clenched into fists, wrinkling the magazine he was still holding. “Time to go already?”

She nodded and her lips curled slightly, but her eyes stayed sad and hard.

Mac dropped his magazine, trying to stay nonchalant, but Bruin could read the fear in the set of his shoulders as they all headed out to grab the luggage. Bruin reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a tiny glass bottle, handing it to Mac. “Take a dropper-full of this under your tongue. It will help you relax on the plane.”

Mac’s fear of flying had only gotten worse with all the trips they’d been making, so Bruin had decided to help if he could. He’d been to a Chinese herbal doctor the night before and gotten a concoction created.

Mac eyed the label-less bottle in his hand suspiciously. “What’s in it?”

Bruin rattled off the ingredients quickly. There were only a few, valerian root being the strongest.

“There’s no cumin in it?”

Bruin shook his head. Rumor confirmed. He’d heard the wolven were sensitive to cumin, but also sensitive about the fact that they were sensitive to it, so he’d never asked. “No.”

“Xylitol?”

Bruin kept his expression neutral. “I’m not trying to kill you, Mac-attack, at least not this week.”

Mac threw him a grin, while Rogue watched from slightly behind, her face almost slack. Mac nodded. “Right. Bottoms up, sugar-bear.” He twisted off the top and dumped the whole bottle in his mouth.

Bruin didn’t say a word. He’d expected as much, which was why he’d only gotten a tiny bottle. Mac and Rogue were both alike in that way, in that they never went halfway on anything. One dropper-full was for pups, Mac might say.

Mac mimed tossing the bottle over his shoulder and grinned, showing all his teeth. “Thanks, bear.”

Bruin smiled back, but sadly. Mac hadn’t smiled a real smile in several weeks. Bruin had decided it was anxiety-related, not Mac’s, but Rogue’s. Rogue didn’t broadcast her anxiety over not being able to find her sister, but it was there. Bruin could see it clearly, both in her and in Mac. The two were connected so strongly Bruin was surprised Mac wasn’t stealing, too.

The boarding announcement came again. They gathered their bags, retrieved Troy from out of the pretty woman’s lap, and headed for their gate. By the time they arrived, Mac had dropped his bag twice and was listing to the right a bit. Holy smokes, that stuff he’d gotten to help Mac relax was stronger than he’d thought it would be.

On the plane, Rogue took the window seat, blocking Mac’s view of outside, and trying to get him comfortable. Mac took the middle seat, and Bruin took the aisle. He would have sat at the window if he could, but he didn’t fit well, even in the larger-business class seats. Trent and Troy had all three seats across the aisle from them.

Quicker than should be possible, they were in the air, still climbing, as Bruin watched Mac and breathed a sigh of relief when his eyes slipped closed and his breathing evened. Was he really going to sleep on the flight? Bruin caught Rogue’s eye, returning her slight, sad smile, then sighed deeply as she wrapped her pinky finger around Mac’s pinky finger and pulled him over to lean his head on her shoulder, their bond evident in the way Mac relaxed further as soon as his mate touched him.

Bruin tried not to stare, but seeing them together soothed him. He loved the way they came together like puzzle pieces, smoothing out their rough edges only for each other.

A young child began to cry a few rows behind him, catching Bruin’s attention. He frowned as someone actually groaned at the sound. When the child didn’t stop and his mother’s shushing turned frantic, Bruin felt around in his cargo pockets. He had to have something that would help.

Pushing aside tiny honey packets, his fork and spoon, his secondary bottle he’d gotten for Mac in case the first one didn’t work, and a few other important items, he found what he was looking for and drew it out, glancing at Mac as he did so. Eyes still closed. Good.

Bruin eyed the seatbelt light until it dinged off, then stood, hunching his back and bending his neck so his head wouldn’t hit the ceiling of the plane as he maneuvered down the aisle. He saw the mother and child immediately, the mom in the aisle seat, her hair disarrayed and hanging in her face, as she glanced up at the seatbelt sign, then pulled the belt off her child and picked him up, bouncing him and whispering in his ear. He was a cute little guy, no older than three, blond curls framing his face, but he only cried harder when his mom picked him up.

Bruin fixed a gentle smile on his face. There was no hiding his size, but if he smiled just so, people generally relaxed around him. Mom looked around, her face saying she knew everyone was cursing her. Bruin caught her eye and held out his hand, opening it slowly. Two yellow and black Minion characters sat on his palm. He’d gotten them from boxes of Cheerios, and had been saving them for Mac, hoping to have a complete collection by the time Mac had pups, but Rogue was in no hurry to start that process, so there was time to get more.

“Does he like Minions?” Bruin asked softly. “They’re his, if he wants.”

Mom searched Bruin’s eyes, shrinking back in the seat for only a moment before relaxing and smiling back. “Jerry,” she said into her boy’s ear. “Do you want toys? The nice man has some toys for you.”

“I have gum, too,” Bruin said. “If he’s old enough for it.” He always had gum.

But Jerry’s wails had already started to taper off. He twisted in Mom’s arms to examine the Minions, then held up a tentative, chubby hand. Bruin lowered his own hand so that Jerry could snatch the toys and turn them over in front of his face.

Mom mouthed, “Thank you,” at Bruin as Jerry forgot to cry for a few moments. Bruin nodded and turned around to head back to his seat, observing his companions as he did so.

Trent was curled in a ball across the middle and window airline seats, his eyes closed, his breathing even. Troy was sitting up in the aisle seat, his eyes on a pretty flight attendant who was coming his way. He cocked his head in a way that caught the woman’s eye immediately. Bruin grinned and looked to his seatmates. Mac appeared to be sleeping, comfortably nestled into Rogue’s side, and Rogue had her eyes closed, one hand brushing back Mac’s short hair with soft, languid movements.

All was currently as right as could be in Bruin’s world. He sat in his seat, carefully arranging his long legs so as to give himself maximum space but not trip people coming down the aisle, then closed his eyes, folded his hands in his lap, and waited for the flight to end or someone to need him.