2.It should be noted that only experienced lunologists should tamper with their natural bodily processes in this way. It is imperative that novice lunologists train under supervision. If you or someone you love are looking for assistance with learning to use lunula safely, please contact your local chapter of the Egan Ghanim Foundation to access a network of surviving lunologists.
3.One can imagine these nightly dreams plagued us both, and I like to think of this week we spent torturing one another as the beginning of our courtship.
4.Berne’s shifted form is ursus maritimus, now commonly known as a polar bear.
Chapter four
Berne
IN WHICH, IN ORDER TO PROTECT THE SAFETY OF A FINE LADY, OUR HERO STEALS HER SHOES
Thecuriouswomancreptaway from him, back toward the tree line. She’d already tortured him for a week with her scent and her noises as she slept, and her closeness, and now she was going to force him to stop her. For a week he’d tried redirecting her away, but she’d continued determinedly on, strangely acting as if she was entirely nonplussed by the danger he posed.Howcould he dissuade her from continuing? How could he convince her to leave entirely? Was sheintentionallycrossing the Boundary or was it just the way she was progressing? His people, the Shades, had maintained complete secrecy for nearly a thousand years and he wasn’t going to be the one that endangered them or their Lady, nor was he going to get the woman he was increasingly sure was his mate killed because of his carelessness. A week of wrestling with his options hadn’t gotten him anywhere.
For the entirety of the time he’d followed her, he’d been plagued by erotic dreams of her at night, and worries of how flippantly she careened through life during the day. He’d often had fantasies about dragging her back to one of his caves or his cabin and feeding her a proper meal, rather than the bland ones she’d eaten since he’d been following her. During each day, she interrupted his worries at least three times with a specific form of torture. She’d stopped to masturbate often enough to torture him mercilessly. For a week, he’d deluded himself that shewasn’tgoing exactly where he thought she was, that shewasn’tpointed like an arrow at the very people and place he was meant to keep her from.
As much as he’d tried to deny it, shewasfollowing the river. There were things written in her wee book and on her well folded map whichcouldnotbe made public in the Compact of Nations. One hint of a hybrid creature would have scholars flocking here. Before he could even think of what to do though, hehadto get her away from the border proper of his people’s territory. If she crossed, he wouldn’t have any choice left at all. He’d have to turn her in and he’d no longer have a say in the matter.
He waved his arms and reared up, urging her away from the Boundary and the choices he needed to make. He didn’t have the slightest idea what he would do with her once she was back within the tree line, but first, he’d get her there. He knew what he wassupposedto do, but the thought didn’t sit well. Her flushed face remained pointed at him, but her brown eyes frantically darted around the forest as she crept slowly backward..
She is,he thought,quite good little prey, going exactly where I need her.He feinted left, hoping to herd her a bit farther away from the river. She was nearing the first spruce, almost back in the forest. All he needed to do was to get herawayand then he could confront his moral dilemma.
Before he could blink, before he could react, she was falling backward, toward the massive tree, feet flying over her head.
Berne froze, panicking. His heart pounded in his chest and a wave of cold swept over him. Perking his ears, he listened for any sound which might indicate if she’d survived, but he couldn’t hear even a whimper of pain. She’d gasped as she fell but now it was horribly silent. He could, however, taste the sharp tang of her blood in the air. The taste or scent of human blood had never bothered him particularly, but this felt wrong. Some place deep inside of him rebelled at the idea of her hurt. She wasbleeding.
Berne rushed over, careful to avoid the lip of the tree well she’d fallen into.1The branches of the spruce stopped the snow from reaching the surrounding ground, creating a deep hole with the trunk at its center. This specific well seemed to be a good bit deeper than he was tall, so he spread his body wide to not collapse the wall of snow atop her.
The tree above her hung heavy with snow. As soon as she woke and struggled, she would be buried, suffocating from the weight. The more she attempted to dig herself out, the more would fall on her. Inching closer to the edge, he peered inside. His woman had cracked her head on the trunk of the tree and her blood oozed slowly from the wound. Her hat was dislodged, her long black hair becoming matted with blood, and she was far too pale. One of her arms lay at an unnatural angle and she was uncharacteristically still.
The whole scene made bile rise in his throat. He found himself salivating and making popping sounds with his jaw subconsciously.2He shifted from foot to foot, his body wanting todosomething.3Only an hour ago, she’d charmed him with her silly little voices and wonder at everything, her sudden giggles, and happy dances. She was supposed to flit wildly from each thing she found fascinating, careening here and there on a whim. And now, she lay motionless in a hole and it made him want to roar. She was a spark of light. Everything about this was wrong.
He breathed in, trying to stifle his instinctive reactions so he could think clearly. Her scent in the air waswrong. The entire time he’d followed her, she’d smelled of determination, curiosity, and at times, frustration and exhaustion.Thisscent, though, the faintest hint of fear, plenty of blood, andnothing at allwas so incongruous with what he knew of her. Sheneversmelled of nothing at all, even asleep, her scent had broadcast her emotions from her dreams. He shook his head, snorting the empty scent from his nose. At least he could see her breath making small puffs in the air above her face and her airway didn’t seem obstructed.
Since he’d been tracking her, he’d grown a significant respect for her determination and grit. She was a small woman, rounded and soft, yet her stamina was excellent. She’d made him laugh more than once over the last week, talking to herself, or doing a wee dance when excited. It was exceedingly foolish being out here alone, why had she not brought anyone?
If she’d not been alone she wouldn’t have gotten hurt.
He growled in frustration.
Had she not been alone, they’d have never found one another.
He hated that whoever her people were hadn’t stopped her because nowhewas responsible for her pain and he was responsible for stopping her. By all rights, by everything he’d been taught, he knew the council would expect to leave her there, bleeding in that hole.
But there wassomethingabout this lone wee woman, so bundled up she was nearly round, trudging through the wilderness, that pulled at him. His woman, while using less-than-ideal cold weather attire, had trekked for days, alone, in the deepest wilderness. This soft, plump thing could notpossiblybe a danger to them. She was strong, sure, but she posed no real threat to him or his people and he was annoyed that mere interest was viewed as dangerous. She had an exuberance about her that fascinated him and it would be a shame to have it snuffed out needlessly.
But if she was searching for the source, as it seemed she must be, shewasjeopardizing their purpose. There was no good way out of this mess or at least one he would find when he was so distressed. If she was going to heal or wake up and try to cross the Boundary again, he shouldn’t leave her. No. That would be a breach of his duties just as much as it went against his instincts.
The best thing,he thought,would be to get her out of there and then figure a plan. I can’t just leave her. I can just remind them that if I left her and she healed, she’d be in Sanctuary within a few hours.
For the moment then, his course of action was clear. He shuffled to the downhill side of the tree and a fair bit back from the well itself. He dug in toward the mountainside; each swipe of his paw brought large swaths of snow down, and he stamped his feet to pack it firm. The most important thing, he knew, was making sure his structure was sound so when he broke through the wall of snow, he would be able to pull her out quickly. He shoveled and packed, shoveled and packed.4This process was significantly faster with a group to ferry the snow farther, but he was alone and he would simply have to be enough.
Seconds before he breached the wall of the well, Berne took a minute to rest and recall her positioning. If he could, he would grab her pack, but he refused to let it hinder him. He remembered one of her arms would be closest to him, so he’d grab her there.
Gently, disturbing as little of the tree’s snow as possible, he eased his way through the last bits. Several large drifts collapsed on her and he frantically pawed the snow away until he found her arm. For a moment, he considered pulling on her clothing, but he couldn’t risk it ripping. He took her forearm in his maw and gave a powerful tug. She shifted toward him, and he backed down the ramp he’d made as quickly as possible. He tried to pull at a steady pace, but he only managed lurching pulls. One arm was broken, and now the other was at least bruised, if not punctured or dislocated.
Still,he mused,she’d rather be alive and injured than dead. And she’s no wilting flower; she can take it.
With a final heave, he saw her clear of the ramp and danger.
