Page 17 of Bear My Heart

"I think there's a Torben in Shkalnik," Pete said, still slowly. "A woman who moved there when I was a kid. Married to a local guy. If they're the same family then hopefully everybody in Shkalnik has been warned, too, but I'm going to need to check in on that. We had some trouble there with possible exposure, too, but that was years ago now and it all slid by."

"It happens. The world's too connected now for us to never be exposed, I guess. Anyway, give me your number and I'll get you into a couple of emergency contact groups. You're going to have to download a new app for it, one of our friends built as secure a chat program as is possible and it's only available to our kind and their ma…partners." Rowly's caution matched Pete's own, just then: he obviously didn't want to say words like shifters or mates aloud, either.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. Thanks." Peter gave Rowly his number and got a confirmation text with the name of the app to download a few seconds later. "Got it. Thanks again."

"No worries. Sorry to drop this on you when all you did was stop by to help."

"Better to know. I'm usually careful anyway, we all are, but if it's in the air…"

Rowly nodded, smiled apologetically, and clapped Pete on the shoulder. "Welcome to Virtue, eh?"

As he said that, Pete saw Shanti walking up the block from down past the town hall, all bundled in her winter gear like she'd been at every first glimpse he'd had of her. Even with the new knowledge of a threat to shifters in general, Pete couldn't help a broad smile, first toward Shanti, who hadn't seen him yet, and then at Jake Rowly. "It's worth it."

Rowly turned to look where Pete's attention had gone, then grinned back at him. "I met the love of my life here, too. Congratulations. Does she know yet?"

Pete shook his head. "No, and now it's going to be even more to drop on her than I expected."

"Good luck." Rowly went into the doughnut shop, leaving Pete on the sidewalk to watch Shanti approach and wonder how on earth he was going to explain his suddenly-more-dangerous world to her.

CHAPTER 9

Peter was waiting for her outside the doughnut shop, his jacket unbuttoned and his hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Shanti's heart leaped and she couldn't contain a smile when she saw him. She waved, feeling suddenly silly, like a nervous teenager, though a lot of that faded as his smile lit up and he waved in return. Maybe she wasn't just a scared teenager at heart. Or maybe he was too.

"I'm so sorry about last night," she said as soon as she was in earshot. "The road was closed for hours. I ended up driving around the other way."

"It's fine," Peter said gently enough that she felt better about it. "I heard about the pile-up on the radio this morning. I'm glad nobody got killed."

"Me too. It was bad. I wasn't that far behind it when it happened." Shanti shook herself. "Anyway. Doughnuts? I see they've started setting up the bazaar."

"I woke up way too early and ended up helping them for a while," Peter confessed with a sparkle in his eyes. "And I met a local guy, Jake Rowly? He said there'll be a hundred booths! No wonder they start setting up early!"

"Yeah, it's turned into a huge bazaar. I don't know Jake, but I know of him. His step-son is the kid who spearheaded the playground effort."

Peter said, "Oh!" sounding impressed, and turned around like he'd find Jake and congratulate him on his son. Then he made a face like he realized what he was doing, and instead offered Shanti an arm to lean on as he pushed the doughnut shop door open. "He seemed like a nice guy. It's a good town."

"It is." Even Shanti thought she sounded wistful, but she shrugged it away when Peter glanced down at her. Angsting over wanting to leave Virtue would be tedious, and that was the last thing she wanted when she got to spend a whole day in Peter Baranov's comforting presence. They stepped inside the shop and both of them took deep breaths, then sighed them out in contentment. "Boy, it smells good. Do you have a favorite doughnut?"

"I'm an old-fashioned kind of guy," Peter said almost absently. He was looking around the little shop with wide, delighted eyes, and Shanti couldn't blame him. It had a kind of old-fashioned charm, which was what she assumed he was referring to. "What do you like?" he asked, and she turned her attention to the big glass-fronted display case visible beyond other customers.

"Everything," she said after a moment, with a groan. "Jam in the middle. Although only Imelda's, because she uses real homemade jam. Cinnamon twists. Glazed twists! Sometimes I come in here and stand around for ten minutes and finally leave without anything because I can't make a decision."

"Have you considered buying half a dozen doughnuts at once?"

Shanti blinked. "No, not really. I can't eat that many. I'm not sure I can even eat that many over several days. I know I definitely shouldn't, even if I can, because the last thing I need is a doughnut habit that I can only get fulfilled from November through February!"

Peter laughed. "Right, I forgot you said she's only open in the winter. Is winter actually over in February here?"

"Sometimes. Is it in Shkalnik? I looked it up last night," Shanti said, pleased with herself. "It's gorgeous. The mountains!"

"Winter's usually not over until sometime in April or sometimes May, no," Peter said, but then smiled down at her like he was personally responsible for Shkalnik's beauty. "Aren't they incredible? I never get over seeing them. Oh, we're up."

They moved to the front of the line and Peter asked for two each of old-fashioneds, cinnamon twists, glazed twists, and, with obvious amusement, a bear claw. But just one of those, because they were enormous. Shanti, feeling silly, said, "Oh. I forgot there were doughnuts called old-fashioneds. Oh, those are good too, oh dear, what am I going to do."

Peter said, "Two more old-fashioneds, please," and leaned to loudly whisper, "The twists are for you, too," to Shanti, like he was a kid doing a terrible job of keeping a secret.

"You've ordered four of them!"

"Better get some jam-filled, too," Peter told Imelda, who was a short, sturdy woman with dark, greying hair, bright brown eyes, a ready smile, and a pair of tongs to collect doughnuts with. She started putting them into a box with professional speed, eyebrows lifted as she pointed at each kind of jam doughnut questioningly. Peter waved a hand. "One of each."