Page 35 of Bad Blood Bear

They’d found it all. Every hidey-hole, every stash. She was stunned.

“How did you find all this?” she asked. And why had they bothered to look?

“Don’t thank me, thank Xander,” Tank said. “He knew all the places to look.” he paused. “He said he used to live in squats, so he knew the drill.”

Lissa nodded. It was weird, like having someone inside your head.

Tank went on, his voice low. “He told me he was Turned against his will, too.” He shook his head. “I just thought he was an asshole. I didn’t know he was dealing with that on top of everything else.”

He sounded ashamed, like he felt he should have known. Lissa studied him. “I guess you all don’t talk to each other much, do you?” she said. “I mean, about stuff like this.”

Tank looked away. “My friend Tristan and I used to talk. But he’s in Idaho now, with his family, so… I guess not.” He looked sad about that. He and Tristan must have been good friends. “The rest of us never wanted to talk about our pasts. The bad stuff hurts too much to remember. And the good stuff—” He gave a huff of rueful laughter. “The good stuff hurts too much to remember.”

Lissa nodded, looking down at the picture in her hands.

She could feel Tank watching her.

Finally he said, “Maybe we should all talk to each other more. Remember things.”

He got up and came over to sit on the bed by her. “Is that Brother Matthais?” he asked.

She looked down at the photo in her hand. It was pale and faded, since it wasn’t printed on photo paper. But in her mind, she could see Brother Matthias clear as anything.

“He loved bread and honey,” she said. “He was like a little kid. The cult raised bees and baked artisan bread, and every time there was a new batch of honey, Brother Matthias would wait until the loaves of bread came out of the oven and he could pour honey on the hot bread.”

She smiled, remembering.

“When I built the web site, I put this picture on it because he looks so happy, and I thought it would make people want to buy our stuff.”

She touched the picture with one finger. “Brother Matthias taught me to live in the now. To appreciate all the little things in life, because all you have is that moment, you know? And even if your life isn’t great, hot bread and honey or a flush toilet or fancy shampoo can make it feel great, if you let yourself enjoy them.”

Tank reached over and put his hand on her back, tentatively at first. It felt nice, and she leaned into him, resting her cheek on his leg for a moment.

Then she sat up.

“Your turn,” she said. “Tell me something about your past.”

She looked around the room. On the dresser was a framed drawing of a woman’s face. She was laughing at something, and her face was lit up with such joy, it made her look beautiful.

She said, “Who’s that in the picture?”

Tank stiffened, and for a minute she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he said in a low voice, “That’s Angie. She was my mate.”

His mate. “Is that—is that like a wife, for shifters?”

Tank nodded.

“You said ‘was.’ Did she die?”

He nodded again, his lips pressed together. She could see the misery on his face, and her heart felt squeezed and painful.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

She folded up her picture of Brother Matthias. “Do you want this money back?” she said, holding it out. “It’s yours.”

He closed her hand around it and held it in his big one. “I gave it to you, and I have it on good authority that that makes it your money. You can spend it on pepper spray if you want.”

She gave a shaky laugh. “Maybe I’ll buy you a steak.”