Mate Bond

  “Yeah.” Jamie whispered a brief prayer to the Goddess to look after Serena’s soul. “So you think the sniper shooting at you and whoever got her are two different people?”

  “Two different guns,” Bowman said. “She was shot close range with a pistol. The sniper had a high-powered rifle that could pick us off from a long way away. Though it might have been the same person using a different weapon.”

  “Great. A killer is out there who could shoot us before he’s in scent range, and he has no qualm pulling the trigger point-blank.” Jamie glanced around, as though the sniper could be lurking behind any tree. “We should keep the cubs inside.”

  “Agree. That’s why we’re going to give the cops as much cooperation as they want.”

  “I hear you. How much will you bet that the cops try to accuse one of us?”

  “Nothing,” Bowman said dryly. “I don’t want to lose.” He looked around, but not for the same reason as Jamie. “I haven’t seen Marcus for a while,” he said, naming his third tracker, from Jamie’s pride. “What’s with him?”

  Jamie made a derisive noise, his tatts rippling as he stretched his hands. “Sex. Frenzy. Scent of a female. He’s relieving his stress with Kenzie’s cousin.”

  Bowman envied the man. He wanted nothing more right now than to be holed up with Kenzie, the two of them naked, not leaving the house for days. “Well, maybe he’s better off than the rest of us.” He let out a breath, suddenly tired, wanting to be done with this. He was coming to understand why Shifter leaders often welcomed the challenge by a younger member of their pack, knowing it was time to lay down the burden.

  “If you can pry the two of them apart, tell Marcus I need him,” Bowman said. “I’m going out to talk to that Turner guy again. I want you and Cade with me for that, and Marcus needs to guard the fort. And my mate and cub.” Who were not coming with him.

  The only way to make sure of that was to sneak off with Cade and Jamie, and so he did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Before Bowman made for Turner’s cabin, he led Cade and Jamie up into the woods toward where he was sure the sniper had been sitting.

  They found indentations in the earth where someone had set up a camp stool or chair to wait. Near a rock, which would have made a good blind, they picked up shell casings. Bowman plucked them from the mud with the end of a twig and put them into a bag Cade had brought with him. With any luck, the casings might carry fingerprints—then again, would the shooter have left them around if they did?

  “Why was he shooting at you?” Cade asked as they wandered the area, looking for more evidence. “Or was he just shooting anything that moved, for fun?”

  There was nothing to tell them which.

  They did at last find prints of thick-soled men’s boots leading up a trail toward a road. Not much of a road—rough dirt and only wide enough for one vehicle. Tread marks showed that a pickup had sat here for a time last night. Snow had piled into its tracks, but the truck had left deep enough ruts in the mud that they were easy to read.

  “Looks like it was a pickup about the size of mine,” Cade said, a regretful note entering his big voice.

  There was nothing sadder than a bear mourning the loss of his truck. “You sacrificed it for a good cause,” Bowman said. “You know I’ll make it up to you.”

  “You sacrificed it,” Cade answered darkly. “But I’ll hold you to the making-it-up part.”

  Jamie let out a laugh. “Are you going to build a funeral pyre to send it to the Goddess?”

  “Maybe.” Cade didn’t smile. “I love that truck.”

  “You’ll have as much fun fixing it up the second time.” Bowman followed the tire tracks down the road a few yards before he stopped. This road, if he remembered from studying a map of the area this morning, led to a paved one that fed into an east-west highway. But so what? The shooter could have driven here from anywhere.

  “Let’s visit the strange professor in the trailer,” Bowman said, coming back to them.

  “Goody,” Cade answered. “Just what I wanted to do today.”

  “I’ll be the only one meeting with him,” Bowman said. “I want you two to investigate the perimeter, find out all you can. I can’t believe he wants so much isolation. No one could love that; I don’t care if his dad left him the land and he’s sentimental about it. He has to be up to something.”

  “Felines and Lupines couldn’t love that, you mean,” Cade said. “Bears like solitude.” He grinned, his grief over his truck momentarily forgotten. “Although we’d prefer solitude with a hot female.”

  “Then it wouldn’t be solitude,” Jamie pointed out.

  “Yeah it would. The best kind of solitude.” Cade chuckled, then grew serious. “What I mean is, it’s hell for Felines and Lupines to be on their own. You love being part of the group, even when you pretend you don’t. But humans are different. Some of them, like bears, prefer being alone.”

  “Then why do humans use solitary confinement as a punishment?” Bowman countered.

  Cade shrugged. “I don’t know everything there is to know about humans. I’m speculating. But maybe Professor Turner is the kind of human who prefers to be on his own. You said that others laughed at him and made things hard for him before. Maybe that made him prefer his own company.”

  “Mmm,” was all Bowman would say.

  He’d had Pierce look Turner up on the university’s website last night. The man did exist. Wayne Turner, associate professor, department of anthropology, University of North Carolina, Asheville. His photo appeared on the site, along with his campus office and phone number, his bio, and his educational background. BA from the University of South Carolina, meaning Kenzie had been right about his accent. PhD from the University of Virginia. Turner specialized in the history and culture of Shifters and their parallels to human culture. He’d published a number of articles in journals Bowman had never heard of, and had been interviewed on local television and on local and national radio.

  Bowman was automatically distrustful of humans with too much interest in Shifters. He didn’t need humans sniffing around Shiftertowns, finding out more than necessary. Shifters preferred to keep themselves mysterious. Safer that way.

  Bowman also hadn’t liked the remark Turner had made to Kenzie, observing that she and Bowman had only one cub. He hadn’t missed the pain that had flared in Kenzie’s eyes when he’d said it.

  Ryan had come along after three years of trying, when Kenzie had been about to give up hope for a cub. Ryan had been big and healthy, with no problems at all, and they’d celebrated. For days. Kenzie and Bowman had assumed they’d have several more cubs quickly after that—a big family.

  But they’d never conceived again. Not for lack of trying. They had plenty of mating frenzy, but no more cubs came. Bowman knew Kenzie blamed herself—in the past, low fertility among females had led to declines in Shifter population. But Bowman knew it could be his fault. He’d read that stress could lower sperm count, and leading this Shiftertown caused plenty of stress.

  When they spied the trailer, Bowman signaled Cade and Jamie to fan out and explore. The two trackers faded noiselessly into the trees, and Bowman strode out into the clearing.

  He arrived at the trailer, stepped up on the wooden stair to knock on the door, and found Cristian Dimitru already inside with Turner.

  * * *

  Kenzie and Ryan polished off the cinnamon rolls, Ryan eating most of them. They’d left none for Bowman, but Afina had stashed a second batch of dough in the freezer, the rolls formed already. All Kenzie had to do was bake and frost them.

  Afina was like that—hard-edged, but then . . . cinnamon rolls. She could be thoughtful, kind, and loving, exactly what Kenzie had needed as a scared and lonely cub.

  As Kenzie contemplated what she’d learned from her phone conversation with Gil, someone pounded on the front door. Alarmed and wary, Kenzie went to answer it.

  Her cousin Bianca stood on the doorstep, bringing in the scent of winter plus a
flurry of snow that had started to fall again.

  Bianca was much younger than Kenzie, having been only a cub when they’d moved to Shiftertown. She’d gone through her Transition here, which was never easy on a Shifter, but she’d been able to do it surrounded by love and support. Bianca was actually a distant cousin, the daughter of one of Cristian’s cousins. Her hair was lighter than Kenzie’s, a shade of butternut, but she had the golden eyes of the Dimitru pack.

  She was smiling at the moment—radiant. Not worried about snipers or murderers or monsters. Happier than Kenzie had ever seen her.

  “Kenz, Bowman isn’t here, is he?” Bianca asked, looking around the empty living room and into the kitchen.

  “No, he’s out with the trackers.” Kenzie folded her arms and gave Bianca a severe look. “He’s been trying to call Marcus, you know. Where is he?”

  “Outside. Hiding.” Bianca waved her hands, flustered. “I know. Marcus was afraid to come in—he knows Bowman is mad at him. So he sent me in to ask you to ask him. Bowman. I mean . . .” She broke off with a laugh. “Goddess, listen to me. I don’t know where to start.”

  “Take a deep breath . . .”

  Bianca took a big one, her chest lifting her sweatshirt. “We came to ask you to ask Bowman if he’ll do the mating ceremony for us,” she said in a rush. “For Marcus and me. We know . . . I mean.” Bianca put her hand over her heart. “We know.”

  “You’ve formed the mate bond,” Kenzie said, excited.

  “Yes,” Bianca answered, laughing and crying at once. “Oh, Kenzie, it’s so wonderful. I’ve never felt anything like it . . .”

  Kenzie’s throat closed up abruptly as she whirled between several emotions at once. One was gladness—Shifters mating and forming the bond was the most joyful event in Shiftertown.

  The second emotion was stark envy. Then grief. The mate bond came so easily for some. But for Kenzie and Bowman . . .

  Bianca’s face fell. “Oh, Kenzie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .” Bianca enfolded Kenzie in a sudden embrace, her flowing tears wetting Kenzie’s cheek. “I didn’t come here to make you feel bad. I just . . . It’s so exciting . . . I’ve never felt so happy, and I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m crying again. Marcus says I’m the biggest crybaby. ’Course, he keeps doing it too.”

  “No.” Kenzie took Bianca by the shoulders. “Mate bonding is a good thing. I’m so happy for you. Bowman will be too—even if a Lupine is mating with a Feline. He’ll tease your asses off, but he’ll still be happy. I know he will.”

  “I’ve always loved you, Kenzie. You’re the big sister I never had.” Tears streamed down Bianca’s cheeks again, and she broke from Kenzie to wipe them away. “I have got to stop crying. But I’m so emotional. We think . . . We hope . . . No, we really do think . . .” Bianca slid her hand down to her abdomen, her eyes shining with joy.

  Kenzie forgot about her envy. Cubs were the best things of all. “Goddess, that’s wonderful.” She placed her hand on Bianca’s belly. She felt nothing, but a mother always knew when a cub was there. The spark was unmistakable.

  “Are you having a cub, Bianca?” Ryan asked, interrupting the female tears. He punched the air, then danced around in a circle. “Woo-hoo! That’s awesome. Hey, when he’s big enough, I’ll teach him how to ride the zip line!”

  * * *

  “You want to know the attractions of living out here by myself?” Turner looked unperturbed by the question Cristian so bluntly asked.

  They were seated in his office-like living room again. By the light of day, Turner seemed nothing more than an ordinary man. His thinning hair was partly gray, his blue eyes clear, though he peered nearsightedly at things through his thick glasses. He wore a sweatshirt, jeans, and running shoes—casual clothes for a casual setting.

  Turner had given them cups of his excellent coffee before settling in on a chair and drinking one himself.

  “I’ll tell you why,” he said. “I am finishing my book, remember? I need to have it done soon. I have soft money, you see. That means grant money,” he explained. “I have a grant from the NEH—National Endowment for the Humanities—for my research into Shifters, their social history as far back as I can take it.” Turner relaxed into his chair, crossing his legs comfortably. “When you accept grant money, however, you agree to produce something with it, like a book or articles published in peer-reviewed journals. That’s so the grantees don’t simply take the money and run. You have to account for every dollar spent and produce something that contributes to your field. With me, that means a thick tome with all my findings, charts, maps, and so forth. I only have a few months to finish the book and get it to the press that’s publishing it.” He heaved a long sigh. “So this year, I took a sabbatical and moved here to get away from phones, research assistants knocking on my door, endless committee meetings. You wouldn’t believe how many committees I have to be on, and how many meetings each one generates.” He looked pained.

  “So this is your hideaway,” Cristian said. He set his cup on the table next to him. “And we are disturbing it. Our apologies.”

  “Not at all,” Turner said pleasantly. “I always have time for Shifters. You’re my subject matter, after all.” His eyes twinkled with his smile.

  Bowman had said little, letting Cristian ask all the questions. Cristian, he had to admit, was much better at dealing with humans than Bowman was. For a man who hadn’t seen a city until he was a hundred years old, Cristian could be urbane, and people liked his accent. Humans thought him cultured and cosmopolitan, when in reality, he’d been raised in a cave in Transylvania.

  Bowman continued to sip coffee and let Cristian and Turner talk while he watched. And sniffed, covertly. He still couldn’t figure out the scent layers here.

  “And you knew nothing of the large animal in the woods?” Cristian asked. He hadn’t brought it up—Turner had—asking them what all the fuss and distant fire had been about.

  “I thought I saw something skulking around, but we get bears back here, so I didn’t investigate. I leave bears alone and hope they leave me alone. Wild bears, that is. I’ve met one or two Shifter bears, but they were not keen to talk to me. Scary fellows, but fascinating.”

  Cade would be flattered by the description, Bowman thought.

  “We do not yet know what the beast was,” Cristian said. “But it is dead, so it is not likely to, as you say, skulk, any longer.”

  “Well, that’s a relief, in a way. But I’m a softy about animals, so I can feel sorry for it. I suppose that’s why I’m so interested in Shifters—an offshoot of my being an animal lover. A girlfriend in college told me I’d decided to study other cultures and how they interact because I was bad at interacting myself.” Turner wheezed a laugh. “She was no doubt right. I’m going to ask you what I’ve been dying to, but I’m trying to be polite. I’d love to interview one or both of you for my book. A chapter straight from the Shifter’s mouth, so to speak, would be just the thing. You’re so long-lived you must have seen amazing changes in human history.”

  Cristian gave him an indulgent smile. “No asking our ages, please. It is impolite. I will say that I danced the waltz in Vienna when it was first introduced. I watched Napoleon march across Europe, and Hitler do it again a hundred and more years later. Making many of the same mistakes, I would like to point out. But mostly, Shifters kept to themselves and let humans live their own lives.”

  Turner listened, his eyes filled with the same kind of eagerness that fired the women and men who came to the Shifter bars. Turner was just another groupie, Bowman decided. Except he wanted knowledge rather than sex. Well—hopefully he didn’t want sex.

  “If I could get some stories from you, it would round out the book,” Turner said. He switched his gaze to Bowman. “Have you read the part I gave you?”

  Bowman stilled. He’d caught, as Turner moved his eyes, a flash inside them, of something Bowman couldn’t decipher, an emotion he couldn’t pinpoint. Turner hid it well, and in the next second, it
was gone. But the flash made Bowman come entirely alert.

  Cristian also had seen it, Bowman could tell, though Cristian was more skilled at hiding his reaction. “My niece has the manuscript,” Cristian said, pulling Turner’s attention away from Bowman. “Kenzie—you met her. She will read and let you know.”

  “Good. Excellent. I look forward to it.”

  Cristian took this opening to rise to his feet. “Then we will leave you to it. Thank you for the coffee, Dr. Turner.”

  “Wayne, please.” Turner stuck out his hand.

  Cristian pretended to not quite know what to do with the offered hand, then become delighted that Turner was including him in the human custom. He looked hard into the man’s eyes as he performed the handshake. Trying to read him, Bowman knew, but Turner didn’t seem to notice.

  Bowman drained his cup and gave Turner a polite thanks and good-bye, then he and Cristian left the house when Turner opened the door for them.

  “I don’t think you sucked up to him enough,” Bowman said once they were well into the woods. “Sure you don’t want to go back and sniff his ass?”

  “I was, as you say, buttering him up, not sucking up,” Cristian said, not offended. “I wanted to know what he knew. He is, on the surface, harmless.”

  “On the surface, sure. What about underneath? What did you get from him?”

  “I don’t know.” Cristian looked troubled. “A very evasive man. He didn’t lie to us—we would have scented that—but he did not provide the entire truth.”

  “That’s what I got. That this whole setup is a lie.” Bowman shook his head. “But it’s not. He really is a professor at Asheville. Associate professor, whatever that means.”

  “It means he is tenured—he has a secure position at the university—but has not achieved the rank of full professor, which would give him great status and higher pay. It is my guess that with this book and all his research, he seeks to move up the next rung in the ladder.”