BECK
Istood at the kitchen window, my gaze on the gold and pink dawn smearing the sky above the mountains. The snow descended halfway down the peaks. More would come. It always did.
I’d slept poorly, my thoughts returning again and again to my unwelcome house guest. Charlotte Mills was a problem.
And in more ways than I cared to admit.
Steam rose from my coffee mug in a lazy curl. The rich, bitter scent mingled with the aroma of evergreen that drifted from outside. The various scent signatures of my brothers drifted, too, each one unique to the bear who bore it.
After eighteen months as alpha, I’d learned to pay attention to subtle shifts in the clan members’ scents. Smoky undertones usually indicated anger. Fear was acrid. Hints of sweetness meant contentment, while sour notes signaled illness. Keeping it all straight was a full-time job. It was also a job I’d never expected to take on, especially at age fifty.
Some days, I felt every one of those years. Other times, the weight of responsibility made me feel twice that. But the clan was thriving.
Everett Laskin had his mate, Skyler, and their eight-month-old son, Wyatt. Everett and Skyler were perfect for each other, their bond growing stronger every day, and their cub giving hope to every bear in the clan.
Then there was Cal Boyar, the head of Bear Cove’s search and rescue team. He’d never expressed any interest in settling down until Margot Sutton showed up in town. A werewolf princess running from a forced marriage, she’d been looking for a safe place to ride out the scandal. I’d asked Cal to keep an eye on her. Nothing more.
But two weeks ago, Cal took a bullet for her in Anchorage. When Everett and I burst into their hotel room, Margot’s scent had been everywhere. All over Cal…and all over the sheets.
Under normal circumstances, I’d have shut it down immediately. Bears and wolves couldn’t mate. Our genetics didn’t allow it.
Except Cal was head over heels. I’d never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at Margot Sutton. The clan needed cubs, but it wasn’t fair to deny Cal happiness, even if that happiness was doomed to be temporary.
My phone buzzed on the counter. I picked it up and peered at a snippet of text from Everett. Swiping the screen, I read the rest.
Heads up. Your new guest is legit. I read some of her scientific papers last night. She’s brilliant. I dug deeper, and it turns out she was a child prodigy. Graduated high school at 14. Got her master’s degree at 21.
My jaw tightened. I’d hoped Charlotte Mills would be an amateur—someone I could politely scare away with a few well-placed warnings about Alaska’s dangers.
Another text appeared.
She’s 23
Christ. Twenty-three years old. There were twenty-seven years between us. Not that it mattered because I had no business thinking about her as anything other than a customer.
Dots filled the screen, and then a third message followed.
Her advisor is Dr. Rupert Henry. He’s a notable geneticist
Well, that explained Everett’s interest. He was a medical doctor, but he’d earned a PhD in genetics. He put his training to good use testing blood samples of human women to learn if they were compatible with bear shifters. I didn’t understand a bit of it, but even a child could see that his work was impressive. If he said Charlotte was brilliant, he meant it.
Setting down my mug, I typed out a response.
Thanks for the info. Do me a favor and check on Cal.
I hesitated, then continued typing.
Tell him to get his ass to Seattle before I put him on a plane myself
Everett’s response came a second later.
You got it, boss
I pocketed my phone and returned to my coffee. New scents made me pause with the mug halfway to my lips.
Mint toothpaste.
A faint whiff of antiseptic layered with florals.Deodorant.
