It Was A Bear
* * *
Fenrir Thorsson
The scent of coffee and fried food fills my nostrils as I scan the diner for what feels like the hundredth time today. Each female who walks through the door draws my immediate attention, my wolf rising beneath my skin with predatory focus before sinking back in disappointment. None of them carry what I'm searching for—that missing piece of my soul. Hawke said when he saw it in Melinda it glowed beneath her skin like a tiny sun.
"Last one in this town," Cormac murmurs beside me, his fingers tapping against his mug of coffee. "If we don't find anything here, we need to head toward the river. We're due back at the ranch tonight. And we need to get more ambrosia."
I grunt in acknowledgement, fighting the urge to bare my teeth at a group of loud teenagers who've just entered. Four cities in two weeks, and not a single trace. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. I knew we wouldn’t find her right away, but I had hoped. The flask of ambrosia in my jacket pocket feels dangerously light, maybe three swallows left at most. Not enough if we run into trouble.
"Another bust," I mutter, pushing my untouched plate away. The waitress who brought it—young, dark-haired, pretty by human standards—shoots me a concerned look from behind the counter. My heart had quickened when she first approached our table, but the moment she spoke, I knew. Not her. Not my mate.
Cormac throws some green paper bills on the table—American currency, though I’m not sure how paper has value—and we slide out of the booth. "I'm thinking we should try further north when we get back. There’s still a few more towns on our list for this area."
The bell above the door jingles as we step outside into the afternoon heat. The small city—Branson, they call it—bustles with tourists despite it being a weekday. Faces blur past me as my mind replays our journey so far. Kansas City, with its towering glass buildings and endless streams of people. Jefferson City, smaller but no less foreign to my senses. Springfield just yesterday, where I nearly lost control when a screeching fire alarm in a restaurant went off.
And now we’re finishing with Branson, another failure.
"You're letting it bother you again," Cormac says as we walk toward where we've parked our vehicle. I still don't trust these metal beasts, but I've learned to tolerate them. "We've barely scratched the surface of possible locations, Fen. Your mate is out there."
"We're running out of time." I pull out the flask and take a small sip, just enough to ease the constant tightness in my skin. The sweet liquid burns pleasantly going down, but the relief is temporary. "Every day it takes more to keep control."
Cormac nods, his expression grim. "All the more reason to get back to the ranch tonight. Restock on ambrosia, we should both make an extra stop in Avalon to replenish magick, then back out with fresh eyes." He unlocks the vehicle with a press of a button, the lights flashing in response. "Besides, everyone is scheduled to be back tonight. It’ll do good for everyone to have a night to relax a little together."
The mention of my brothers in arms eases something tight in my chest. They all understand this restlessness, this growing desperation. All four of us are feeling it—the pull of our missing soul shards, the deterioration of our control. We've been texting—still a strange concept—but it's not the same as speaking face to face.
"Yeah." I slide into the passenger seat, rolling down the window to let in fresh air. The confined space of the car makes my wolf anxious, but I’ve learned to manage it. "But we leave again as soon as possible. Two days at most."
Cormac starts the engine, maneuvering us out of the parking space.
I tap my silver ring against the doorframe, the metal cool against my skin.
We drive in silence for a while, the landscape shifting from crowded towns to only a few homes scattered here and there across farmland. My mind drifts back to Avalon, to the eight worlds I've known all my existence. Earth doesn’t look anything like I remember it. It’s so strange to see how much its changed.
"You good?"
I shrug, watching trees rush past outside the window. "For now."
"Three shifts in two weeks isn't bad, considering." He turns onto a smaller road, the vehicle bouncing slightly on the uneven surface. "And I managed to contain you each time before anyone noticed."
"We were lucky." Cormac barely contained me in time, using his fae magick to create a barrier of disinterest around us while I fought for control. "Your power is running low. I can’t feel it around me."
He doesn't deny it.
The road narrows further, pavement giving way to gravel. Trees press closer on either side, the forest thickening as we leave civilization behind. This is better—open spaces, natural scents, fewer humans with their endless noise and strange technology. My wolf settles slightly, though the constant burn of need remains just beneath the surface.
"We'll park up ahead in the public hiking area," Cormac says, gesturing to a small turnout barely visible among the trees. "There's a trail that leads down to the river. Should be deserted this time of day. And nobody will bother the car for a few days. Lots of people park here to go camp."
The car rolls to a stop, and I'm out almost before the engine dies. The forest air fills my lungs—pine and earth and water—much more soothing than the rancid smells in cities here. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend I'm back in Asgard, hunting through ancient forests with my brothers.
Almost, but not quite. Even the air tastes different here—thinner somehow, tainted with the lingering scent of human industry even outside the city.
"This way." Cormac shoulders a small pack and sets off down a barely visible path between the trees. I follow, easily matching his pace despite the rough terrain. "About two miles to the river."
The forest thickens as we descend, the path winding between massive trees. Sunlight filters through the canopy in dappled patterns, painting everything in shifting gold and shadow. Birds call warnings of our approach, and smaller creatures scurry away through the underbrush. This, at least, feels familiar—the forest recognizing predators in its midst.
"You know," Cormac says after we've been walking for some time, "you're handling this better than Wraith. Bracken’s last text said he's already gone through twice the ambrosia you have."
