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He set the juice down on the counter. She went to the cupboard and took out a glass. She couldn’t pretend the first sip wasn’t delicious. He watched the tiny flicker of delight as she blinked. “That’s pretty good.”
“I’ll just be out walking the perimeter along the woods, or into them if I have to. We have short shifts. Three hours each. I used to work longer hours, but not since I’ve been at the clinic.”
“I’ll be okay. I have lots to do here. I brought a book. I can think about what I’m going to say to my parents, who already think I’ve gone batshit. Maybe I’ll call my sister and explain just enough that I can go over there within the next couple days and talk. It’s hard, but not that hard, to keep this a secret. I think. It kind of makes my head hurt.”
“Yes. I can imagine. Though that could be hunger. Did you eat anything today?”
Her forehead creased with agitation again, but then it smoothed out. She dipped her head. “A little. Probably not enough. I’ll make a sandwich.”
“I can do it for you.”
“You have to go. I can definitely do that on my own.”
He wanted to stay, but he forced himself to go. January was right about the smothering. He couldn’t do that to her. Not for nine months. Not afterwards. She’d come back to him. She’d made him a part of this. She wanted Josephine’s help. Not just because she was scared. She’d come back because she wanted him to share in this experience. She’d said that to Josephine and not him, but it added up to the same thing.
He had to make sure that he was protective, but not overprotective. January still had to be in control of her life and her choices. If she wanted to choose him eventually, he couldn’t force her into that. He also needed to make clear just how much it meant to him that she’d thought about him and his feelings in all this. She could have had the baby on her own, however scary it would have been. She could have found a way to live like Sam’s mom had, in the human world with a shifter child. Or she could have come to Greenacre ten years in the future, right before the transition period. She knew enough from her hours with Lily, clearly, to have made a decision like that.
She hadn’t. She hadn’t even needed to spend days or weeks thinking about it, looking at every option from every angle. She’d come back here, trusting her instincts.
He wouldn’t hover. He wouldn’t treat her like she was fragile and breakable. January was a strong woman. She was intelligent. Kind. He’d treat her like he valued that about her, because he did. He respected her courage beyond measure. It was a lot in a very short period of time.
Tavish started out walking to the end of main street, then headed past Sam’s house. The lights were all still on because it was only nine. There were no kids racing around, or shadows behind the filmy curtains, because they were all in bed by now. He smiled, thinking about Sam’s happiness. It hadn’t always been easy for him, living alone and then taking on his brother’s kids. At the start those three boys had been sullen and withdrawn. They’d gone through a heap of heartache and came out the other side. When they started to warm up to Sam, it was like a miracle. Then he met Lily and in the space of less than a year he’d gone from living in his house all alone, to having his own family. The warmth of that cabin, the joy and laughter, was unmistakable, even when everything was quiet in the chilly, dark night.
He headed past the cabin and into the woods. It was habit and had been for a long time, but he changed up his routine every night so that he’d never become predictable in the routes he took.
The fact that he ventured deeper into the woods a good distance further than normal was the only reason he heard the noise.
Strange, feral noises. Primitive, animal grunting.
He froze as soon as he realized what he’d walked into, and by then, it was too late to back out. Right ahead of him in the thick of the dark woods were two unmistakable shapes. Large and brown. Two bears mating.
But regular bears certainly didn’t mate at this time of year. Most were hibernating. Tavish had good eyesight in the darkest night, like most shifters did. He knew a bear by his markings like a person knew a friend by the way they looked. Every bear had unique traits and scents.
The male bear was unmistakably Kier. And that female? Another shifter. One Tavish didn’t know, but female bears were rare enough that she could only have come from Pinefall. Was this the woman he’d alluded to?
Tavish wheeled and tried to turn around. He was quiet, but not quiet enough.
Kier let out a bellow of animal rage, pawed the earth, sending up a shower of wet leaves and dirt, lowered his head, and charged like an angry bull provoked and intent on murder.
Tavish’s instincts took over. Not like the night in the alley. This shift was immediate. His clothes tore, his bones reformed. The shift was so familiar that he no longer felt the pain of his bones realigning into different shapes. His brain changed. The only way he could describe it was that it was all animal. With the bear, it was all instinct. And right now, his instinct was to survive.
He met the clash of a friend that he’d known since he was a child head on. They crashed together, Kier angry and snarling and half-crazed at being interrupted, protecting his mate with everything he had. Tavish trying to ward him off and keep from being dealt any sort of death blow.
They embraced in a hug that was more rage than it was any sort of friendship.
Tavish didn’t know how long it lasted, but eventually he was kneeling over Kier, both of them naked, bloody, and panting. They were both raked with scratches, the wounds quickly knitting themselves back together because they were shallow. They hadn’t hurt each other after all. Kier had pulled back. He’d shifted when he realized what was happening and the bear knew he wasn’t under attack.
“What are you doing out here, sneaking up on me like that?” Kier spat. He looked up at Tavish with more rage than Tavish had ever known the other man to possess. “I could have killed you.”
“Are you angry about that or about being interrupted?”
“I’m angry that I could have taken your head off. What were you thinking?”
“It was an accident, I swear. I didn’t mean to stumble on you, and I certainly wasn’t spying. I was doing my rounds. You have a shift in three hours yourself.”
“Right. But you don’t come out here.”
“No, I usually don’t. I do change it up, though, and these are Greenacre woods.”
