The baby fine hair on the back of my neck stood up as lightning cut through the sky. I almost said that this was why we couldn’t toss out his kitten brother in the rain but stopped myself. I wanted to be alone with Eran as badly as he wanted to be alone with me. We were new to each other this lifetime around and the true-mate response magic pulled hard behind my navel. Only, I still couldn’t kick his little brother out and I did need to see Gooseberry.
“Bro, this storm,” Jacand said, looking out the window.
“I know,” Eran said, his voice calmer than his annoyed scent. “We’re closer to the farm than any place else.”
“I know,” Jacand said.
“We’re probably fine,” Eran said to me. “Probably. Nothing’s came in over the phone. They’re rare here.”
“What’s that?” I asked, thinking maybe they were talking about a tornado.
“We don’t even think the word while it’s storming,” Eran said.
Thunder cracked the sky wide open above us and Jacand nearly climbed on the ceiling of the truck.
“Jacand, shift,” Eran said as if he was casting a spell on his brother.
A second later, a bear colored, fluffy kitten sat in the backseat. In human years, Jacand was a teenager, but in cat form that equated to looking like a yearling kitten. Eran patted his shoulder and Jacand leapt onto it. My mate grabbed his brother and stuffed him down his shirt.
“If we get an alarm on the phone we go to the closest hatch to the parking spaces,” Eran said. “That’s about thirty feet to the southwest.”
The sky cracked open again and I fought off the urge to hide under the seat. A strange static danced on the air. Not quite weather or magic. Eran’s phone erupted with a terrible shrill cry as if it too feared the storm. Then Jacand’s phone echoed it in the backseat. My mate glanced at my seatbelt, put one hand over his brother, holding him against his stomach, and laid on the pedal. I watched the sky for the big swirling finger of wind to descend but nothing came even as the grey clouds turned green as if all the ruckus left them nauseous.
Eran whacked the door unlock button as soon as the farm came into sight. He stomped the breaks before we reached the place we parked earlier. I didn’t ask questions. We had plenty ofextreme weather back home but a blizzard and a sky funnel that sucked on everything had little in common. We met at the front of the truck and left it there on the side of the road as he pulled me with one hand through the brush and bramble.
“Hurry up!” someone shouted and I looked up to see the bear shifter from before – Eran’s sire – half standing out of the ground. Only then did it click that the sudden change of plans probably came from them over the family or group link and I hadn’t heard because I wasn’t on them yet. I wouldn’t be until Eran and I exchanged the claiming bites.
“Tell those kids to hurry up, Kenny!” someone shouted from deep underground.
Eran pushed me in front of him and his sire opened their arms. I was about to tell them that this was no time for a hug when they picked me up and started down the stairs like I was nothing more than a paperweight. Sure, I lived with bears, but sheesh. I had feet. Eran followed down behind me, closed the trapdoor, and secured the latch.
The underground passageway was brightly lit. I squinted at one of the shining lights on the wall wondering if it was magic or electricity that was still sometimes used in DIY projects. Eran took my hand while Kenny led the way. Inside my mate’s shirt, Jacand shook.
From somewhere in the belly of the underground realm a puppy whimpered and barked as if the world itself stood against him and he had not a single friend left to stand by his side. Being separated from his mum and litter probably felt that way.
“That would be Gooseberry,” Kenny said, rubbing their ears.
“Poor baby,” I said.
“Poor us,” Eran said. “Our ears are going to bleed before this is over.”
If I knew the underground path, I would’ve run ahead to comfort him. Only, even the best nose could get lost in winding tunnels. I wasn’t a ratter after all. After a few minutes of walking, we reached the group. Evie waved, bouncing a baby on her knee.
Gooseberry sat in the middle of twin little girls and a little boy a bit younger, howling at the roof. His nose twitched when he scented me. He leapt over the heads of the girls and crashed into the back of a man’s leg who stood nearby. The man swore, “damn dog!’ but Gooseberry didn’t stop until he was at my feet. He looked up at me expectantly and I scooped him up.
“That’s our dog!” one of the little girls stood up and thumped her foot like a rabbit ready to fight.
“That’s the dog trainer, baby,” a nearby man said, tapping her foot so that she stopped thumping.
He wasn’t Canton. At least I didn’t think he was. He sounded nothing like the man I spoke with on the phone.
“Tarabell! Stop thumping!” another man scolded.
“That’s Canton,”my dog chimed into my thoughts.
“He’s stealing our dog!” she protested.
“Where’s he gonna take ‘em, girlie? Up into the storm? He’d get blown away.”
