“Yeah, something did happen, and it’s weighing on my mind. Faron was kicked out of his position as king, and his wife was going to leave him. And now, she’s dead.”
Bran stiffened—and not in the good way. He pushed himself up to sit against the headboard. Turning the light on, he wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, extending his arm so I could rest inside his embrace. I leaned my head on his shoulder.
“That’s harsh,” Bran said. “He must be devastated.”
“I imagine so,” I said. “We should send flowers, or something.” Although, I thought, if he’d been kicked out of his position, was he still living with the Pack? They had a compound across the highway, and up into the Olympics.
“Flowers? Faron’s our friend. We need to do more than that.” He paused, then said, “Does he have a place to stay?”
“I don’t know,” I said, hesitating. “Why?”
“He can stay here, if he wants. If you want. I don’t mind,” Bran said. “Faron’s a good sort and he doesn’t deserve this.”
I shivered. “You really wouldn’t mind?”
“He’s going to need his friends. I know what happens when you’re ostracized by the Pack. I’ve had several shifter friends who found themselves on the outs. If they’re not immediately ostracized, then at first it seems like it might be okay. But the awkward greetings turn into silence. The invitations stop. The Pack meetings feel so uncomfortable that you just stop going, or you aren’t informed of them. And, for men especially, weakness—the allusion that you aren’t a real ‘man’ creeps in, and that tosses you to the bottom of the hierarchy. Faron’s no beta. He could never exist as one.”
“All because he can’t produce an heir?”
Bran nodded, pushing his hair back from his face. “Especially if he can’t have kids. Within a month, he’ll be a lone wolf. I guarantee it.”
I glanced at him. “You really do care.”
Bran shrugged. “I guess I do. Faron and I share something, and that something is you, regardless of how it ended. But more than that, he’s a decent guy. He cares about his people.”
I kissed Bran on the chest. “You are a good man, Bran Anderson. You give a damn about others, and that’s more than most people. I’ll call Faron tomorrow and see how he is.” I trailed my fingers down his chest, lingering on his lower abs.
“I try,” he said. “I try.” He rolled over again, caressing my thigh, sliding his hand over the top of my hip and down to finger me between my legs. “Now, fuck me, and let me fuck you,” he whispered, breathing hard.
And so I did.
Next morning, I was up with the dawn. I wandered into the kitchen and fired up the espresso machine. Fancypants, who had curled up with the cats on the cat tree in the corner, groggily raised his head and opened one eye, staring at me.
“What time is it?” he asked, sounding as tired as I felt.
“Five-thirty,” I mumbled.
“Why so early?”
“I promised to make brownies for the bake sale today and I wanted them to be as fresh as possible,” I muttered, pulling a quad shot and adding milk and chocolate syrup. “So I got the bright idea that I’d bake them on the day of the sale. I should have just done it yesterday.”
Fancypants slid out from between the sleeping cats and unfurled his wings, flapping them gently before flying over to sit on the counter next to me. “When does the sale start?”
“I have to be downtown by ten-thirty. I have time, but I’d better get started now.”
Every year near Solstice, Starlight Hollow held a community bake sale. The proceeds went towards a fund to help low income families with their holidays, and with heating bills. My first Yule in town, I was still getting the hang of living in the small Otherkin community. With a total population of around three-thousand, Starlight Hollow’s human populace were mostly artist-types, old hippies, and the requisite survivalists. The latter tended to come to town for supplies, only, and they stayed away from most events and caused, surprisingly, very little trouble. The vast majority, however, were Otherkin of one kind or another.
The town was haunted as hell—the most haunted town in Washington State. Located on the Olympic Peninsula, on Dabob Bay—a saltwater fjord that was connected to Hood Canal—Starlight Hollow was a town of mystery, lurking beneath the perpetual shadow of the Olympic Mountains that rose up behind it. The hamlet felt old, and indeed, it had been established in 1855 by Scottish immigrants.
In fact, my own heritage was set in Scotland, and Grams had come over from the land of heather and highlands to live with me and help me learn more about my magical heritage, since most of my powers came from my father. My mother ignored her magical side, for the most part, though she never tried to keep me from learning more about my potential.
All of the elements—and elementals—could be found in the area, but those connected to earth and water were strongest. Since I worked with both energies, the perpetual fog and drizzle recharged me, and I loved walking through the woods on mist-shrouded mornings.
But along with the mists and the nature entities who wandered the lands here, came ghosts and Bigfoot and the dark shadow creatures who lurked deep within the rainforest. Danger abounded, and all too many people went missing in the woods, vanishing as though they had never existed.
After making my latte, I yawned again and turned to Fancypants. “Fancy a brief walk in the morning air? It snowed again last night.”
Starlight Hollow was located in a convergence zone. We got the brunt of bad weather, and sometimes, during winter, we were snowed in. We were a ways east, away from Highway 101, and while the highway was plowed when needed, the side roads weren’t high on the priority list. Our town did have a contingent of volunteers who attached plows to their pickups and plowed the streets in town, but they weren’t meant to tackle the bigger roads and highways.
