HAPTER ONE
“Ugh, this place is terrible,” Matthew said, looking out through the window of the rental car. Dylan sighed, glancing at the man in the passenger seat with growing annoyance. “Every few minutes it reeks like we’re driving past a dump.”
“Yeah, well, it’s about as far away as we can get away from the others without leaving the country, so get off my ass,” Dylan countered. “Besides, it’s neutral territory.”
Dylan glanced up to look at the sign that loomed on the side of the highway, listing the upcoming exits.
“We could have gone to New York,” Matthew pointed out.
“First of all, New York reeks every bit as much as it smells here—if not worse,” Dylan said. “Second, we’d have been chased out of New York. There are too many groups there already. South Florida is neutral ground—no one owns it.”
“You know where else is neutral ground? LA. The fucking Caribbean.”
“LA is too close to the sleuth,” Dylan said firmly. “And the Caribbean would be just as bad—no work, no prospects, and maybe even a few natives who want our blood.”
“Yeah, well, this is still shit,” Matthew said, shifting in his seat.
Dylan rolled his eyes, turning his attention back onto the road. He and Matthew had driven steadily for a week to get from Portland to Florida. They’d had enough money to barely make the trip, but they would have to find work almost immediately as soon as they arrived. He caught sight of the sign on the right, indicating the next exit would be Broward Boulevard.
“This is us,” Dylan said, signaling a lane change. He glanced in the mirrors, making sure he was clear, and moved into the right-hand lane, pushing towards the exit ramp. He wasn’t precisely sure where their new home would be, but he and Matthew had looked it up on the map; they had somewhere to go, even if it was a rundown rental. “Just think of it, Matt: beautiful beach babes, clubs, all the Cuban food you can eat. It’ll be great.”
“Beach babes wearing a metric ton of suntan lotion,” Matthew said sullenly. “Clubs full of people doused in cologne and perfume.”
“Dude, if you’re not going to stop bitching about every little difference between here and Portland, I’m going to drop you on the side of the road and leave you to fend for yourself.”
“Fine,” Matthew said, shifting in the seat once more.
Dylan caught the scent of his best friend’s pheromones; Matthew was still simmering in a stew of anger and fear. There had been a few close calls on the way to Florida—a few times when they’d nearly run afoul of rival groups, people who would have either killed them or turned them over to the police or beaten them senseless for encroaching on their territory. Dylan shook his head, taking the left lane to pull onto the surface road to go east.
“We’re unaffiliated,” Dylan pointed out. He glanced at Matthew. “Until we can get into a new sleuth, or something—we’ve got to just make sure we don’t step on anyone’s toes. Don’t give anyone an excuse to off us.”
“I know that,” Matthew said, his voice sullen. “I just wish...” He growled low in his throat. “Whatever. It’ll probably be fine. Beach babes and clubs, right?”
“Right,” Dylan said, smiling slightly.
They had had to put their plan into action quickly and it wasn’t even very much of a plan. When the leader of their sleuth accused Dylan and Matthew of killing the clan-leader of the Seattle group, telling them in front of the whole gathering of their clan that they had the choice of either exile or justice at the rival sleuth’s hands, Dylan had known they would have to get as far away as possible.
He sighed as quietly as possible, watching the storefronts and street signs flow past the window. They were down to their last few hundred dollars; they’d paid over two thousand for the rental they were taking, sight unseen. If we’re lucky it will actually be what the pictures showed, Dylan thought with more than a little bitterness. It wasn’t fair, neither he nor Matthew had been involved in the murder of John Carrol. Dylan had never even met the man—he had only heard the name in passing before the murder happened.
Dylan found the street and turned onto it carefully, glancing around to make note of the landmarks. There was a Circle K on the corner across the street, a Latin supermarket on the opposite side of the street from the gas station. He followed the curve in the road and took a deep breath as the house numbers changed.
“This isn’t too bad,” Matthew said absently next to him and Dylan nodded.
“We’ve stayed in worse places,” Dylan remarked. He spotted the house number they were looking for: 4718, third to the last on the block. The front yard was full of scraggly, browning grass, and the paint had faded in the sun, but it looked like a solid house—better than the place they’d stayed in overnight in New Mexico, and definitely better than the flophouse they’d found in Baton Rouge.
“Where did he say the key would be?” Dylan tried to remember.
They’d corresponded with their new landlord—one of their kind, though a different type—via email. They’d found the posting for the rental on Craigslist while en route from Baton Rouge.
In Portland, with the rain and bone-chilling temperatures, South Florida had seemed like a dream: sunny and hot, miles of beaches, club and bar culture. They’d find work, they’d get themselves settled, and hopefully—if there were any justice in the world—they would eventually find another group to belong to.
“He said he’d leave it in a planter on the back porch,” Dylan said, finally recalling that detail. Dylan pulled into the driveway and parked the car, sighing. “It’ll be good at least to have somewhere as a home base.”
“Yeah,” Matthew said, echoing Dylan’s sigh. “Good to sleep in a real bed at least. Eat real food.”
“Can’t hunt until we find out the places we’re allowed to be,” Dylan reminded his longtime friend.
“We have enough to buy maybe a week’s worth of groceries at least, right?” Dylan shrugged.
“Hopefully,” he said wryly. “The first, last and security on this place almost wiped us out.”
“I know,” Matthew said. “But we’ve got—what? Three hundred? That’s enough to live on for a week, with everything else paid.”
“Let’s see what it’s like,” Dylan suggested. He turned the key in the ignition, shutting the car off. Pocketing the keychain, Dylan opened the driver’s side door and climbed out, groaning at the protest of the tight muscles through his back, his shoulders, and his legs. He glanced across the top of the car and saw Matthew emerge from the passenger side.
After days on the run, Dylan knew that they were both looking ragged around the edges; they had barely had time to gather up some clothes and necessities before hitting the road. Dylan peered more closely at his clan-mate. Matthew’s eyes were ringed with dark circles from sleeplessness, his cheeks coarsely furred with a three-day stubble. Like Dylan, Matthew had the lean, rangy build that most male were-bears seemed to inherit; but Matthew was slightly more muscled than Dylan was, after years of working out at the gym. Other than a similarity in height and weight, they were almost as different as could be; Matthew had dark, curling hair and swarthy skin, with big, almost black eyes, where Dylan had hazel eyes that appeared green in some lights and gray in others, and sandy light brown hair, set against pale skin.
Dylan pressed the lock button on the key fob and strode towards the fence separating the front and back yard. He took a deep breath, sampling the air for scents. The damp smell of the humidity pervaded everything, intensifying the press of flowers and growing vegetation, the sickly sweet decay of some kind of dead rodent in the next back yard down from their house. Dylan smelled the paths of cats crisscrossing the yard, the unmistakable trails of rats and mice, and the dry scent of birds’ nests. Somewhere down the street, someone was grilling hamburgers; the smell made his mouth water.
“Seems clear,” Dylan told Matthew. His friend nodded, following him into the back yard through the chain-link gate.
Dylan looked around until he found a cluster of terra cotta planters, gathered at the corner of the patio. He sniffed, seeking the elusive metallic smell of keys. Matthew moved just a moment quicker, picking up one of the pots to reveal the glint and shine of a key ring with three keys on the tray underneath it.
“Let’s see what we’ve got,” Matthew said, looking at Dylan over his shoulder. Dylan nodded.
Matthew tried one key and then another, until he found the one that fit in the knob lock on the back door to the house. Within a few moments, they both walked into their new home. Dylan looked around slowly, taking in as many details as possible. Like casing a place for stakeout, he thought idly. The place they’d taken was furnished; neither of them had any time—or even the inclination—to move furniture across the country with them. They’d gotten into the house in the back, some kind of sun room. Big windows, mercifully covered in the heat and brightness of the day, dominated the walls. Hardwood floors peeked out from underneath worn but mostly intact rugs. A long, low-backed couch took up the one wall of the sun room without windows, with chairs flanking it and a coffee table in front of it.
Dylan wandered through the house slowly, finding the living room and the entryway. The rental house was small, but it was clean, and most of the furniture looked relatively well cared for. Two bedrooms flanked the living room, each with its own bathroom. Dylan decided on one: the walls were painted a deep green, with a dark brown trim, and the rug covering most of the hardwood floor felt like the forest under his feet. The room smelled of wood and cleaning products—comforting smells, smells that Dylan associated with home.
“I’m totally claiming this one,” he called out to Matthew.
“That’s fine by me,” Matthew called back; Dylan placed him in the other bedroom the house boasted. “This one has the bigger shower.”
“You planning on luring a female in there with you?” Dylan grinned to himself, stepping into his new bathroom.
The other room might have the bigger shower, but he thought the tub in his new room was plenty big enough for himself and one other person. The landlord’s a shifter; he knows what we need. Dylan wondered idly if their new landlord ever let out the property to any normal humans. If he does, he probably charges them double. Maybe triple.
“Hey—who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Finding mates—willing women to spend their lives with—would be a good step towards finding their way into a new sleuth. Dylan shook his head; mates were not the priority. Even one-night stands were less than important. The biggest thing they needed was to make enough money to survive.
“Work first,” Dylan called out to his friend.
He left the bathroom and then the bedroom altogether, walking towards the kitchen. The cupboards and pantry were bare, along with the fridge and freezer, save for dishes, glasses, and utensils. Dylan sighed, turning his head one way and then the other, taking everything in.
“So, this is home now,” Matthew said, a few feet away.
Dylan nodded, looking down at the granite countertop.
“Yep, this is home now,” Dylan said. “At least for as long as we can make the rent.” He grinned wryly at his long-time friend.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Matthew agreed. “So we load our stuff in, and get down to finding some work?”
“Let’s give it an hour. Grab a shower, put out some feelers. I want food, too.”
“Me, too,” Matthew said. “A nice big steak. I saw a grill out back.”
“Lucky us.” Dylan took a deep breath, thinking of all that would need to be done for them to establish themselves in their new home.
He shook his head, his mind turning to the clan they’d left, the clan they would likely never see again in their lives, unless they could get their lives together and clear their names. Work first. If you can’t survive you can’t get revenge. Dylan took the keys to the rental car out of his pocket and started towards the front door. As long as he put one foot in front of the other, and kept moving forward, kept doing the next right thing, he thought he might be able to avoid the sense of loss that teased at the corners of his mind every time he thought about everything they’d left behind in Portland, and how utterly unfair their reason for fleeing their own family and friends had been. Dylan unlocked the front door to his new home and strode into the front yard, towards the car, putting his old home and his old life resolutely out of his mind.
*
Matthew’s laptop chirped, notifying him of a new email. He opened the email window and quickly read the subject line.
“Hey—Dyl! We’ve got a live one, looks like,” he called out, opening the message.
Matthew smiled slowly to himself as he read. It had been twenty-four hours since they’d arrived at their new home, and only about twelve hours since they’d posted their first tentative ads soliciting work. Part of the reason for choosing the part of the state they had was that it was open territory—which meant there would be no sleuths of bears attacking them as interlopers. Neutral ground also meant there were many more shifters like themselves who were either no longer affiliated with a clan, pride, pack, or other group—or who had been exiled. That meant there would be shifters who’d been done wrong by other shifters almost certainly; and where that was the case, there was work for a large class of shifter like a bear.
“What’s the spec?” Dylan stepped through the door into Matthew’s room without hesitation.
Matthew turned his laptop around to show his longtime friend the email.
“Some panther in Miami wants trackers to find the people who lifted some stuff from his place,” Matthew summarized. “Offering five thousand.”
“Must be some valuable stuff,” Dylan said musingly.
Matthew looked at his friend intently. He’d known Dylan since they’d both been children, growing up in the same sleuth. When they’d been younger, Dylan had been the undisputed ringleader of their generation—the guy always getting the rest of the kids into trouble and then extricating them from it. Matthew had always sort of fallen in line with Dylan’s plans, they were usually more interesting than whatever else was going on at the time, and both boys had considered it all but inevitable that Dylan would eventually take over the leadership of the sleuth. Matthew had assumed he’d be Dylan’s enforcer when that happened—right up until the allegations had come out, resulting in their exile.
“Do we take it?” Matthew raised an eyebrow, looking up into Dylan’s face.
Dylan was older by a few months, but he’d always had something of a boy-like look to him, for as long as Matthew had known him. Even now, approaching thirty, if Dylan bothered to shave and got a decent night’s sleep, he’d be carded trying to buy alcohol.
“We take whatever work doesn’t look like a scam,” Dylan said with a shrug. “This seems legit to me.”
“I’ll email him back then,” Matthew said, turning the laptop to face him once more.
He feels guiltier about this than he should, Matthew thought, catching the scent of uncertainty riding underneath his friend’s bravado. Neither of them had expected the accusations that had come; while they had both been involved in pranks through the years—and there had been a few times when their pranks had gone a little too far—neither Matthew or Dylan had ever killed anyone, shifter or regular human. They’d never even injured somebody for no reason; Matthew thought bleakly of the challenge he and Dylan had faced down after their parents had died, years before. That brutal challenge fight had solidified their position in the clan, but it had also given away one of their biggest strengths: their cooperation. It was the very fact that two bears working together had killed the clan leader from Seattle that had formed most of the case against them.
Dylan nodded, and started to leave, but stopped at the doorway. Matthew continued typing as he looked up to meet his friend’s gaze.
“Do you blame me for it?”
Matthew shrugged. “I blame a lot of people for it,” he said, glancing at his screen to confirm he hadn’t made any typos on the email as he finished a sentence. “You’re at the bottom of the list. You’re only fucking on it because if we hadn’t become friends then neither of us would have been blamed.”
Dylan chuckled bitterly. “You blame yourself too, then,” he pointed out.
Matthew shrugged again. “A little,” he admitted. “But I can take it.”
“We’re going to find our way, you know,” Dylan told him firmly.
“I know,” Matthew said. “I’m going to miss the hell out of Alicia though.”
Dylan snickered. “Dude, you can get laid anywhere,” Dylan said, grinning. “Handsome motherfucker like you? As soon as we have enough money to hit the clubs, the ladies will be throwing themselves at your feet.”
Matthew laughed. “Yeah, well,” Matthew said, finishing the email and clicking ‘send,’ “she was a good time. I’ll miss her anyway.”
“There are bears here,” Dylan said. “Bears, lions, hell—you could probably run with a she-wolf if you felt like it.”
“Not if we ever wanted to join a new clan,” Matthew pointed out. “At least, neither of us could mate with a wolf.”
“We’ll figure that out later,” Dylan said, dismissing it. “Right now we should focus on getting established.”
“You get any leads?” Dylan shrugged.
“Couple of nibbles. We’ll be working on the regular before you know it.”
Dylan turned and finally left the room, and Matthew leaned back against the headboard of his bed.
They were both under more strain than either of them deserved, Matthew knew, and he also knew that because Dylan considered himself the leader, he blamed himself for the fact they were exiled. Only way we could go back is if we clear our names. Even then, we’d still have to challenge—or he would. Matthew shook his head at the thought of Dylan challenging their former sleuth’s leader. Dylan was tough—they both were, or they wouldn’t have risen through the ranks the way that they had—but he had blind spots. Amongst their own kind, Dylan was too inclined to fight fair; that was why he’d always had Matthew as a second. Matthew was less inclined to be honorable amongst other bears.
Matthew’s laptop chimed again, and he pulled up his email to see another message had arrived. He read over it, considering. They were new to the area; it would take time for them to get the kind of steady work that would keep them housed and living the way they preferred to. But it did look—at least for now—like they would have plenty of opportunities to prove themselves to the local shifter community. Maybe we can branch out and offer our services to some one-natured…on the down low, of course, Matthew thought with wry amusement.
He sighed, stretching the tight muscles in his neck and shoulders. The new place had been cleaned pretty well before he and Dylan had moved in, but it would take a while to actually smell like a home that belonged to them. Underneath the cleaning solvent smell and the deodorizers, Matthew occasionally caught the scent of one of the other shifters who had lived in the place before he and his friend had; there had been at least one other bear living in the home at some point.
He closed his eyes for a moment and dozed; sleep on the road had been sparse—both he and Dylan on edge, hoping to not run afoul of any of the shifter groups they might encounter on the way from the Pacific Northwest to the Deep South. Matthew’s mind wandered to the last time he had transformed, the last time he had been able to wander the woods in his true form. His consciousness shifted into its more animalistic side, calling up scents and sights in different colors than his human eyes saw.
It had been the full moon—before the murder of the rival clan’s leader. He and Dylan had shifted together, along with some of the other members of their generation, on the sleuth’s property; a “hunting preserve” deep in the Oregon woods, where the sight of a handful of bears wouldn’t raise much alarm if someone happened to wander away from the established trails on adjoining properties. Matthew growled low in his throat, remembering the sight of Alicia in her animal form; lean but with the strength and size that came with the bear shape, her fur mottled dark and pale, the moonlight silvering her.
He pushed the thought of Alicia aside; even if he could get in touch with her, tell her that their clan leader was wrong about him and Dylan, there was no hope that he would reunite with her any time soon. Alicia had hinted to him more than once during their trysts that she was looking for something more permanent—that she wanted to mate, and have children. Matthew had wanted to wait. Now that ship has sailed, he thought with a trace of bitterness. He was sure Alicia would be snapped up by another bear within weeks—long before Matthew would be able to get back to her.
Matthew opened his eyes and sat up, pushing his laptop aside and climbing out of his bed. The animal in him needed to explore his environment; he needed to wander, to find out where he was, to get to know what lived in the neighborhood.
“Yo! Dylan!” Matthew padded out of his bedroom and found his friend and roommate seated in the living room, all his attention consumed by his laptop.
“What’s up?” Dylan glanced up from his screen, raising an eyebrow.
“We need to hunt,” Matthew said. “Or at least I need to hunt.”
“We can’t change until we know what places are safe,” Dylan pointed out.
“Doesn’t mean we can’t wander around,” Matthew countered. “I feel restless.”
“You travel to the other end of the fucking country and you only get restless now?” Dylan shook his head.
“You know what I mean,” Matthew said firmly. “We need to get to know this area.”
Dylan pressed his lips together, considering.
“Okay,” Dylan said, setting his laptop aside. “Strength in numbers, right?”
“Fucking right,” Matthew agreed.
He looked around the living room to find his shoes; neither of them needed them—especially not in the balmy South Florida weather—but the one-natured tended to notice barefoot wanderers in the night, and neither Matthew nor Dylan had any desire to attract any more attention to themselves than they had to.
In a few moments, both Matthew and Dylan were ready. Matthew slipped the house keys into his pocket and followed Dylan out through the front door, stepping into the cool, dark night. Matthew took a deep breath, sampling the air for scents, identifying each smell as it filtered through his brain: feral cats, a few rodents, birds, insects, and more lizards than he had ever encountered in Oregon.
The air was strangely heavy—heavier than it had ever been in the woods near Portland, like damp velvet against his skin. Matthew bristled at the sensation mentally, rejecting the sticky, wet breeze brushing against his forehead. His upper lip curled as the sounds of the night filled his ears: palm fronds clicking and slithering against each other, mockingbirds arguing over territory, movements of small animals through hedges and gardens. Matthew took another deep breath, closing his eyes against the yellow-orange light of the street lamps.
Matthew fell into step with Dylan as the other were-bear strode away from the house and into the darkness. The sounds of their steps blended into the other noises of the night, and as they walked down the street, following the sidewalk, Matthew’s tension started to dissolve. It wasn’t the forest, but at least they were outside; at least they were amid the tiny eco-system of the suburbs, in the darkness. He felt as if he could breathe deeper, as if his heart had finally settled into a steady, comfortable rhythm.
“We need to find a gym soon,” Matthew told Dylan quietly as they passed another house on the block; blue-white light flickering on the blinds told Matthew that either someone was asleep on the couch or still awake, passively absorbing entertainment.
“First paycheck,” Dylan said, nodding slightly.
Matthew sniffed at the air; he caught a whiff of pot smoke and smirked to himself. That, at least, was like home, though it smelled a little different in the warm breeze than on a cool, rainy evening air.
“Ah, something smells like home at least,” Matthew murmured wryly.
Dylan chuckled. “We should find a connection here. Probably lead us to more work at that.”
“Probably,” Matthew agreed.
They continued wandering the neighborhood, and Matthew began to identify landmarks, form a mental map of their environment. He scented more drug use, both illegal and legal, as they made their way around the little community their new home was in. Matthew made mental note of each of the locations; where people were using drugs, there was the possibility that something might get stolen to feed a habit, especially harder drugs, like meth. If something turned up missing, he wanted to know where to start asking questions.
They finally headed back towards their new house, and Matthew walked willingly, his restlessness—for the moment—satisfied. He knew it would be weeks until they could find a place to safely transform and roam, but for the moment, walking after the enforced idleness of driving across the country felt good enough. It felt enough like staking his territory to appeal to the animal in his brain. Now if we can just find a decent bar, get some work under our belts, and find some willing women, we’ll be all set.
“Still hate this place?” Matthew shrugged at the question from Dylan, kicking off his shoes as they walked into the house.
“It’s not home yet,” Matthew said levelly, “but it feels good to move around. We need to get on the job.”
“What about that guy you heard from?” Matthew shrugged again.
“I’ll check, but I doubt he’s going to answer this late at night.”
“He’s a lion—he’s up all night more than we are.”
“True,” Matthew agreed. “I’ll check. Maybe he’ll have us start tomorrow.”
Matthew walked across the living room and walked into his bedroom, feeling the slight twinge in his muscles that told him that he’d been active—he wasn’t so out of shape that he’d ache the next day, but he could feel the satisfying sensation of having actually used the muscles in his body. It would be better when they were working regularly—when he could rid himself of some of the restless, animal energy constantly buzzing in his veins. Everything would be better then.
Matthew opened his laptop, unlocked it, and opened his email. He preferred checking his mail on his computer rather than his phone—at least if he was at home. Matthew smiled slightly to himself as the computer chirped, letting him know that someone had emailed him. As it happened, it was the lion that had contacted them before.
You and your partner can start tomorrow. I’ll give you more details on the case in person. Meet me at Brew Urban in Fort Lauderdale at noon.
Matthew scrolled through the email thread, reminding himself of the details the man had given them already; it seemed—at least at first—to be a straightforward case. Missing property, with some suspects already available to investigate. Matthew replied to tell the prospective client that he and Dylan would be there.
“Yo! Dyl!” Matthew heard his friend’s steps approaching his room; a moment later, Dylan opened the door and stepped in without knocking. “He wants us to meet him at noon, some café in Fort Lauderdale. I told him we’d be there.”
“We’ve got our first gig, then,” Dylan said, smiling slightly in approval. “See? This place isn’t that terrible.”
“It’s bad enough,” Matthew said, his lips twisting in a wry grin. “But it may not be the worst place we’ve ever been. Do we have any beers left from that grocery store run, or did you drink them all?”
“We’ve got a couple. Let’s drink to this new business opportunity.”
Matthew snickered and put his laptop aside, beginning to feel at least a little optimistic. He followed his friend into the kitchen to grab the last two beers from their last grocery run; once they got paid for the gig, they’d have more than enough to celebrate in style. Dylan cracked open one of them and handed it to Matthew before opening his own.
“To new business.”
“To fucking up some asshole thieves,” Matthew countered.
Dylan snorted. The two men clinked their bottles together and downed half of the contents in a few gulps. Matthew belched and sighed with satisfaction.
“This place isn’t half bad.”