Chapter 13
This new park was the best!
It was way bigger than Central Park where Mama took him every few days to run around. Central Park was big, but everywhere inside it, the rumble of traffic was a warning, and the stink of steel and concrete was not so far away.
But this new place… So big! So far away...
For the first time since he’d wandered away from his aunties, Aster wondered how loud they were going to yell. He was supposed to stay close, but in a place this big, he sort of was still close. Or so he’d told himself when he walked away while Aunt Gin was talking to some big man. He meant to just look at some flowers growing in the cool shade of the trees, then he looked up at the green tops swaying in the warm breeze—so high!—and lost track of which way he walked. So far away.
While Mama had told him—lots and lots of times—what to do if he ever got lost, it was hard for him to say his name and numbers so people could call her. But usually he had his backpack with her business card. He’d left his backpack on the picnic blanket, so far away… And it wasn’t like there was anybody around to tell anyway.
For just a second, his breath hitched. But he was a big boy and wouldn’t cry.
What would Mac do? Mac was big, bigger even than the trees. Mac had lifted him down from the tree in the front yard with just one hand. Probably Mac could see over the tops of every tall tree in this very big park. Mama would tell Mac to look for him. So he just needed to sit still—as hard as that always was—until Mama and Mac found him.
If only he’d brought a juice box and some peebee—
The very softest whisper of sounds, as soft as Mama’s hair against his cheek when she kissed him goodnight, made him turn around. They’d found him already? He straightened his back and squared his shoulders, ready to take the scolding (and the hugs) he knew were incoming.
But the green-gold stare that met his wasn’t anybody he knew.
A flash of terror, sharper than big-kid scissors, sliced through him, and Aster knew he was in real trouble this time.
***
Mac grabbed Brandy’s elbow when she staggered, as if the heavy black boots weren’t enough to hold her upright. The same jolt weakened his own knees, but he tightened his throat against the urge to roar out a denial.
Keeping his voice calm, he asked, “Did you tell Kane? He won’t allow a child to go missing in this town.” Not to mention, he was a wolf with one of the sharpest noses around.
Rita darted a glance at Brandy. “We had to tell you first.”
“It was my fault,” Gin whispered. “I just looked away for a second—”
Brandy jerked out of his grasp to go to her sister. “I know how he is. Believe me, I know.” She stiffened. “He can’t have gotten far. His legs aren’t that long.”
Mac frowned. “If we get Kane and the others, they’ll have no problem finding one little kid—”
Brandy whirled to glare at him. “I don’t want a bunch of animals hunting him,” she snapped. “I’m his mother. I’ll find him.”
The multipronged note in her voice, sharp as the tines of a marshmallow roasting stick, startled him. The panic and guilt he could understand—that caustic brew was burning through his calm too—but why would she not want shifter help?
Because she didn’t want him either.
He really was just a slow, dumb bear. How many times did she need to make it clear that she didn’t want him around? Oh, for a hot, rough tumble maybe, but not forever, not for a mate. She’d left him after their day together, hadn’t tried to contact him even when she’d found out about her baby, never sought him out for anything, tried to keep Aster secret. He didn’t need to be some clever wolf or sly cat to figure out he wasn’t wanted.
He took a step back, his jaw hardening. Not wanted maybe, but needed, at least for this moment. “Where did you see him last?”
Brandy’s stricken gaze snapped to him. “You don’t—”
“Show me,” he all but roared.
Despite the fury of his insistence, the three sisters exchanged silent glances before Rita offered, “He wanted to look at the flowers on the other side of the playground, but I told him he needed to wait until you two got back.” Her thoughtful gaze tracked over the two of them, and while she might not have a shifter’s predatory senses, even a human couldn’t miss the evidence of what he and Brandy had been up to.
For the last time.
The loss he knew was coming mixed queasily with his fear for the missing child, but he stomped down the pain to do what he had to do. “There’s a path that takes off through the trees there,” he said tightly. “It would be natural enough for him to follow the path. So he’s not really lost, just farther away than you want him to be.”
Brandy swallowed hard. “Where does the path go?”
It went straight to a fast, cold creek that could easily sweep away an unwary child. But no way was Mac going to say that aloud. “If we bushwhack from here, we can meet up with the trail and get ahead of him.”
“What if he’s not on the trail?” Brandy fretted. “He could be anywhere.”
Mac lifted his chin. “You might not like shifters, but we have a few advantages.” He touched his nose. “We’ll find him.” He looked at her sisters. “Rita, you should stay at the festival grounds in case he wanders back. Gin, if you walk down the path from that direction, you might even find him first.”
For once, they nodded without doing that shared look thing with Brandy.
Mac took Brandy’s hand and led her from the clearing into the trees. Her pretty floral skirt wasn’t the best choice for a cross-country hike, but at least her boots were sturdy. And considering how well she’d done in the race, maybe he was underestimating how tough she was. Mama bears might be the gold standard for toughness, but Brandy Wick was definitely in the running.
The towering ponderosas cut down much of the understory growth, but a few downed snags plucked fretfully at their shins as they hurried through the forest. He quickly found a game trail leading generally in the right direction and they picked up their pace. When they came to a fallen old-growth giant, he paused to reach back and lift her over the thigh-high trunk.
She might not want him, but God, as his hands settled on her hips, every part of him was achingly aware of how much he wanted her.
Forcing himself to focus, he lowered her gently to the other side of the log, releasing her though even the tiniest muscles in his fingers told him to hold on. “Don’t worry,” he assured her as he slid over the snag to join her on the far side. She was staring into the trees as if her eyeballs could laser burn through the entire forest to find her son. “The shifters know these lands like you know the subways in New York. We’ll find Aster.”
To his surprise, she didn’t rush off along the trail. Instead, she cut him a wary look, half angry, half frightened, as if he were one of the trees standing between her and Aster. “If you are using your nose to find him, you should know”—she let out a harsh breath—“he might not be a little boy anymore.”
Mac stared at her. “Not a…” A rush of emotion as cold and confusing as the wild tumble of the creek swept through him. “He’s a bear.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle, low, where she would’ve carried a baby. His child. A bear shifter son.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was a wounded growl.
“It didn’t matter before.” She stared up at the maze of open sky visible between the dark crown of the trees. “It matters now.”
“It always mattered,” he said. “He’s not just my son, Brandy. He’s a bear. He needs to be with other shifters.”
“He’s a little boy!” Her voice cracked higher than his. “My little boy. He needs to be with his mother, not…not out there.” She waved her hand wildly so that Mac wasn’t sure if she meant the woods or the big, wide world.
He grabbed her hand, stilling her frantic gesture with her fist pressed against his chest. “You don’t have to be afraid of the wild,” he said gruffly. “It’s just a part of us.” Of Aster. And of him.
Though she didn’t try to pull from his grasp, she tilted her head away so she was glaring at him sidelong. “Not anymore. It’s not part of him anymore.”
Something about her tone made him stiffen. “You can’t just ignore the bear.”
“I didn’t even know it was there, until…” She let out a harsh breath. “When Aster changed and wouldn’t change back, I knew I had to do something. I wasn’t going to let him be a…” She sucked in whatever word she’d been about to say.
Monster. Mutant. Freak. The accusations caromed through his head anyway, and the reverberations seemed to knock loose his hold on her.
He stepped back, stiffening with a mix of hurt and rage that he could neither let loose nor deny. Much like his bear, the beast that Brandy so hated.
She gazed at him, her eyes shimmering. “I just want to give him the chance to be normal,” she said in a broken voice. “Because I never… He shouldn’t have to pay for what you are, or what I am.”
Mac jerked his chin back. What was she? Besides a liar who had kept his child from him? What could be worse than that? Not that it mattered. Now that he knew about Aster, he wouldn’t let them just walk out of his life. He’d find his son and find a way to stay in the boy’s life.
He took another step back, his face hardening. “You might not like animals,” he said tightly. “But that’s who’s going to help you find Aster.”
The misery in her eyes wrecked him. Did city people really hate the wild that much? “You were born here in Angels Rest,” she said. “And you never left. You have no idea how cruel the world can be to anyone who’s…”
“Who’s a monster?” he finished harshly.
“Who’s not normal,” she countered, as if that were so different. Her exhalation this time was almost a sob. “The spell was supposed to make him normal. All I needed was your blood to banish the bear from Aster.”
He reeled back. “My blood?” When she stabbed him with her hairpin… It hadn’t been a careless, clumsy move in the midst of their shared lust. She’d lain in wait and hurt him deliberately. Obviously she was pretty good at that. He scoffed to cover up the pain. “There’s no such thing as an anti-shifter spell.”
“There is now,” she said. “We made one, my sisters and I.”
“What, you just twiddled your fingers and…”
“And cast a spell.” She lifted her chin. “I’m a witch.”
A witch? Shapeshifters, he knew, and animal spirits, and even the terrible drugs synthesized by the Kingdom Guard to create and control new shifters. But he’d never encountered actual magic.
Not until he met Brandy.
Her tilted chin trembled. “Telling you what I am could endanger everyone I love,” she said. “I hope you’ll keep our secrets as we’ve kept yours.”
Painful secrets, ones he’d never be able to forget. Especially the one where she didn’t include him in her circle.
“Stripping the animal from him is taking half of what he is,” he said. “That’s worse than anything anyone else would ever do to him.”
“Half of him that would ruin his life,” she said. “The only reason I’m telling you all this is because you need to know he could be in any shape when you sniff him out.”
Right, she cared about his animal half when she needed it. “Get away from me.” He knew the beast was ascendant in his voice from the way her eyes widened.
“Mac, I know you hate me,” she pleaded. “But you can’t leave Aster—”
“Back. Up.” He reached behind him to grab the fabric between his shoulder blades and wrenched it over his head, not caring that the fine pearl snaps ripped loose from the fabric—his best western shirt, that he’d chosen so carefully this morning, knowing he’d be spending the day with her. His hands went to his belt buckle.
“You might not want this, but get out of the way and let me do my thing.”
She took a stumbling step back as he shoved down his jeans while kicking out of his boots. He hadn’t gotten all the way naked even when he took her on the fallen log. The afternoon sun, filtered by the pine needles, was hot on his bare shoulders, but the shadows in her shocked gaze left him cold.
If she couldn’t stand the sight of a bear cub—if she thought cute rounded ears and a fuzzy little butt were abnormal—she was going to hate him. He stepped back too, widening the space between them. It didn’t matter what she thought of him, not when a child was missing.
The beast in him, that he’d been keeping on such a short leash to show the town how honorable and reliable he was, expanded through him with a mighty roar more felt than heard. His spine arched with the agony/ecstasy of the change. His senses shifted, sharpened, and the animal was achingly aware of Brandy’s presence. The acrid tang of her shock and fear pierced him, along with something darker and muskier. The scent of a…witch? But he couldn’t focus on her, not when she’d made her feelings so painfully clear.
He gave himself up gladly to the deadly predator within, as he hadn’t been able to do while paying for his clan’s betrayal. The bear had the strength to resist any pain.
Dark hair tipped with amber burst from his skin, and his muscles torqued and burned as they hulked out. He kept the tension in his spine, holding his huge frame upright against the pull of gravity. On his hind legs, he balanced for a long moment, the dominant stance a warning of the heavy threat of his eventual return to earth. From its great height, the beast took in a massive waft of the summer air, reading the breezes in a heartbeat as if it was inhaling every subway map, Fodor’s travel guide, and 4G worth of text messages on a single breath.
And right beside him, the beast sensed its mate.
Not their mate, Mac argued silently. She’d made that clear. She didn’t want to love the wild and the weird.
Yet deep inside him, where the beast rooted in his soul, a smug sense of surety remained. Yes, she was terrified, the animal knew. But she didn’t scream, didn’t run. She was a mama bear in her heart.
Mac wasn’t going to argue with a grizzly—that never ended well. With an angry grunt, he dropped to all fours. The ground, packed from hundreds of years of fallen pine needles, boomed hollowly under his curved claws. Even without his upright stance, he loomed over Brandy. Delicate, the bear noted, and tasty. Tough as an acorn, but honey sweet.
She stared at him, her eyes ringed with white. “I’ve never…” She gave herself a shake, her strawberry-blond waves flying. “Can you smell him? Which way?” When he gave her an exaggerated nod and swung his head, she zipped behind him and grabbed his discarded clothing. “Go. I’m right behind you.”
Bears might look slow and lumbering, but they covered serious ground with every stride. And still, she stayed right behind him, so close that if he stopped suddenly, she’d run right into his fuzzy butt…
He kept moving.
The bear had caught a whiff of a stranger in the wood. Angling through the trees, he shouldered aside sharp branches, conscious of the thin-skinned female in his wake. The forest was untamed here, all the game trails too narrow for easy travel, but that would mean the boy would—hopefully—stick to the main path and they’d catch him before he got to the creek.
Locked on Aster’s scent of crackers, juice, and warm straw, Mac crashed through the woods. A brighter glow of sunlight through the thick needles warned him that the path was just ahead, and he hesitated. If he burst through the trees and scared Aster…
With a sharp cry, Brandy rushed past him. Her body brushed along the amber tips of his fur, and each hair ignited like a matchhead sending flames deep into his body.
The irresistible sensation distracted him, until she staggered back, her hand reaching behind her—toward him—as if for support.
Around her lush scent, the beast caught a whiff of blood.
With a warning rumble, he jolted forward to put his big body under her searching hand, angling between her and any danger. Her fingers tightened so hard in his fur, he likely lost a few strands. But he scarcely noticed as he focused on the tiny pile in the middle of the pathway.
The smell had been strong, all right, because these were definitely Aster’s clothes.
But there was no boy.
As one, he and Brandy strode forward. She dropped to her knees beside the scraps of cloth that looked even smaller without the vibrant little body inside. She splayed her hand across the Batman wings, her other fist still tight in Max fur.
He shoved his muzzle down next to her fingers and drew in a deep breath.
Not the boy’s blood. The surge of relief was followed by an even stronger rush of fear.
A cougar. And not a shifter big cat either. A purely wild animal, searching for easy prey. Most large predators avoided Mesa Diablo, sensing the more powerful shifters in residence. But sometimes young or wandering animals tested the boundaries of their claim. Inexperienced, but brash and hungry. A dangerous combo against a vulnerable bear cub on the run.
Swinging his head, Mac zeroed in his attention on the rank sent of riled cat and the heart-wrenching pang of fear-musk from a panicked cub.
He jolted forward, pulling Brandy with him. “Find him,” she begged. “Mac, you have to find him.”
He rumbled deep in his throat, a promise to her and a warning to anything that would get in his way. Head up like a homing beacon, he tracked the nose-crinkling odors into the densest trees.
Smart kid. A small, wriggly body would have the advantage here in the tight confines since the big cats preferred to attack from above and behind. But the nightmare image of Aster trundling away on all fours tore into Mac deeper than needle-sharp cat claws. Careless of everything in his way, he crashed through the wood, roaring out his challenge so that everyone might hear. Kane and the other good shifters of Angels Rest might not approve of a prime griz tearing shit up and scaring the unwitting locals, but if his bellow put the fear of fangs into the hunting scaredy-cat, so be it. He’d deal with the consequences later.
The fresh, cold perfume of water cut through the myriad scents, and among the towering ponderosas, an old oak—three times as big as the one in Aunt Tilda’s front yard—spread its wide limbs like a matriarch pushing younglings out of the way.
Torn leaves sifted down from the sky, bright green against the blue.
Mac roared again, and a panicked bawl from the oak triggered an answering cry—almost as loud as his—from Brandy as she bolted forward.
As fast as he was on all fours, he had to hustle to block her.
Because this time, Aster wasn’t alone in that tree.
The big cat was halfway up, those vicious claws digging pale wounds into the bark. When Mac reared up at the base of the tree, the cat swiveled its head and hissed down at him, ears pinned hard. Its black pupils were blown wide in fury, a dark contrast to the short scarlet streaks of blood across its muzzle.
Aster had gotten in at least one swipe. Pride and terror churned to a sickening cramp in Mac’s stomach, making it harder to stay upright. But he dug his claws into the oak and hefted his weight upward. Bark flaked around him like a snowstorm.
Full-grown male grizzlies were not made for climbing. And that wasn’t going to stop him.
The cougar let out a snarl of surprise and scrambled for one of the side branches. With its sleek, tawny bulk out of the way, Mac had a clear view of the small brown body hugging the trunk higher up where the tree was thinning.
Aster squalled a clear come-get-me!, and Mac wanted to laugh out loud. The kid might not know what he was, but somehow he knew what Mac was.
Mac chuffed out a reply and humped another grizzly-length up the tree. The cougar snarled again and swiped out with a paw, claws extended defiantly. It held the high ground and had doubtless hunted from trees before.
Yeah, like that mattered at all.
He dug his rear claws into the wood and lunged upward, jaws gaping. The cougar screamed and lashed out, but Mac slammed all his weight onto the branch. The wood was strong, had stood against countless storms…and it couldn’t hold against an angry griz.
He curled his seven-inch claws deep and wrenched. With a warning snap, the branch swung toward him and then away. The cougar swayed, its tail spiraling frantically to counterbalance the bounce.
Mac yanked again, and with a splintering crackle, the heavy limb snapped loose from the trunk. The cougar screamed, more frustration than fear, as it leapt nimbly away from the tangle of branches. Like any housecat, it twisted in midair, although it hit the earth with a much more substantial thump.
Heart slamming, Mac craned his neck to find Brandy well back from the tree. But he almost lost it when she ran forward, grabbing one of the smaller broken branches. Brandishing the oak like a Louisville Slugger, she swung at the crouching cougar.
The cat might’ve been willing to take a jab at him, but it took one look at a furious mama, turned on its fluffy tail, and ran.
Brandy yelled, not at the cat, at him. “Get Aster! Now.”
He grunted. Easy for a little thing like her to say. Peering up dubiously at the narrowing limbs, he pulled himself higher.
The cub above him whimpered, cracking his heart like it was mere kindling. He eased himself into the highest branches, though he swore the whole tree was swaying.
Aster’s four stubby legs were wrapped tight around the trunk, and though his ears were tipped curiously in Mac’s direction, showing no fear, he showed no signs of coming down on his own either.
Sure had been easier to snag him with human fingers.
Keeping his claws dug in deep, Mac stretched his neck carefully toward the cub, inhaling. The plush brown fur was patched with reddish-blond and scented with crackers and juice along with a sweet perfume, some sort of pollen. Yeah, this was definitely Brandy’s kid.
And mine.
Delicately, he closed his jaws around the little scruff, fur tickling his tongue. Aster bowed his head and his legs went limp, releasing his death grip on the tree. Mac rumbled in the back of his throat, trying to keep it to a thundering purr.
Going back was always harder than going forward. But with his son dangling from his teeth, he’d do both.
“Aster!”
A mother’s shattering cry was more than the little boy could take. His pluck faltered and he let out a whimper that changed—along with his body—into an answering wail. “Mama!”
Mac released his grip hastily. One thing to bite the loose ruff at a cub’s nape, but the human shape had no such convenient handle.
Fortunately, they were almost to the ground and he was able to dump Aster directly into Brandy’s upstretched arms.
They clung together, their arms a-tangle, her strawberry-blond locks dangling over the boy’s narrow spine, both of them heaving with not-quite sobs. Mac shuffled away, feeling too big, too beastly.
And it would be worse if he shifted.
Not that he was hiding behind his heavy fur. Nope, he just needed to keep watch in case that cat came back.
Brandy finally raised her gaze from where her nose had been buried in the crook of Aster’s neck. “Thank you,” she whispered. “If you hadn’t—”
He whuffed out a breath to silence her. He wasn’t going to think of what would’ve happened if they hadn’t arrived.
At his sound, Aster twisted in his mother’s arms to stare at him. His face was blotchy from crying. “Mac.” He arched back in Brandy’s embrace. “Down.”
Her jaw worked with clear reluctance, but she sank to one knee and put his bare feet on the ground. He bolted for Mac and flung himself into the long ruff fur, little fingers digging deep.
Mac took a deep breath. Somehow, those scrawny arms managed to choke him.
He glanced up at Brandy. She was watching, eyes brightened with tears.
“There’s not a mark on him,” she murmured.
Which would’ve been easy to see, considering the kid was naked. Luckily, cubs had thick fur to withstand their rough and tumble lives.
After a long moment, Aster pulled away, and not even steel plates would’ve deflected the pain of losing that grip.
Brandy wrapped him in Mac’s mangled shirt—she must’ve left the blood-speckled Batman outfit behind on the trail. The too-long hem dangled around his shins, and he twirled once with a little-kid laugh then stomped through the pine duff, growling.
“See that kitty?” he crowed. “Grrr!” He raked his curled fingers through the air. “Booped him nose. So mad! And I go up!”
Pressing her fingertips over her lips, Brandy watched him with tears streaming from her eyes. Unable to let her huddle there alone, imagining what hadn’t happened, Mac took two long steps toward her—and no steel plates or tons of concrete or miles of skyscrapers going straight into the air would stop him.
She wrapped one arm around his neck, even tighter than Aster had, and leaned hard into his shoulder. “Are you supposed to wander away from Aunt Gin and Aunt Rita?”
Aster twirled again to face her, his expression more wary than it had been when talking about his standoff with the cougar. “No?”
“No,” Brandy said firmly, though her fingers in Mac’s ruff trembled. “If you want to go up or anywhere else, what are you supposed to do?”
He scuffled one bare foot. “Ask?”
“Yes.”
“Ask mad kitty?”
Mac chuffed under his breath in amusement.
“Ask me,” Brandy clarified. She held out her arms, and Aster ran into her, hard enough to jolt her into Mac’s side with an oof. “Don’t run away again, okay?”
Aster stared past her shoulder at Mac. “Teddy go up.” Flecks of amber glinted in his dark brown eyes.
“Yes, Mac did go up the tree to get you,” Brandy replied.
But Mac knew the kid meant his own beast. Whatever magic the sisters had tried to wield to banish it, the bear had protected Aster. It would never leave him, just as Mac’s bear had sustained him through the years. Somehow, he’d forgotten that, so fixated on the clan’s troubles that he’d ignored all the times the beast had lifted him up.
Commotion from the trees warned him, and before anyone appeared, he faded back into the trees. Probably it would be just Brandy’s sisters and maybe Kane’s best trackers, but he didn’t want anyone seeing him. He had some thinking to do.
A stalking kitty was nothing. And neither was a whole town’s mistrust. None of that mattered now. Mac wouldn’t let anyone hurt his cub.