He turned to two men standing just behind him. “Make sure his mate knows we have his human. Don’t be subtle. Trash his room and be sure to leave your scents everywhere. I want all the credit for what’s about to happen. He’s staying at Bobby’s.”
“On it, Kipp.”
Kipp, the bear man’s name was Kipp.
“And you three,” he pointed to people behind me, “make sure the clearing is ready. We don’t have a lot of time. If I’m right, he’ll be here soon.”
Who was he? Did he mean Asher? Please don’t let him mean Asher. He didn’t deserve to be part of a mess I accidentally created.
13
ASHER
I pulled up at the B&B eager to reconnect with Weston, but when I got out of the car, my beast told me polar bears had been in the area.
I sniffed, trying to discover if they were my wild kin, who needed food and had been marauding through the trash cans, or den members.
They’re from the den. I pulled up their scents from my memory.
The last time we’d been in the den, my beast had been hibernating, as most shifter beasts did until they were ready to meet their human other half.
My gut twisted, and I leaned on the car, telling my belly I couldn’t be sick. I took the porch steps two at a time and burst through the front door. Bobby was at his desk listening to the radio, and he scraped his chair over the floor.
“Did you forget your key?”
I didn’t reply and charged up the stairs. Weston’s door was closed but not locked, and I shoved it open. More than one polarbear had been in the room and their scents were oppressive and suffocating. Papers were scattered over the floor, and a chair had been overturned.
The den took our mate. I lost control of my beast, and claws extended from my fingertips until I told him to retreat. Scaring the town by charging through the main street wasn’t going to help Weston and would thwart any attempt to save him. I pictured the townspeople advancing on the den with guns and a determination to cull my kin.
Racing back to the first floor, I almost collided with Bobby who yelled, “Should I call the police?”
“No, this is a personal matter.” Other than my mate, I couldn’t get any humans involved because humans loved their guns.
The drive to the den took twenty minutes, but time seemed to stand still. Not just because my mate was in peril but returning brought back memories of trying to get Father’s attention and longing for Kipp to love me as my omega dad had.
My father thought I was dead, and my stepfather had spent twenty years believing he'd succeeded in killing me, and as I drove, I listed reasons why they’d taken my mate.
He was a scientist and they’d learned he was going to harm them.
My stepfather had discovered I was alive and he wanted to succeed in killing my mate when he’d failed with me.
Kipp had convinced Father I was about to overthrow him and kidnapping my mate was a way to draw me out.
It could’ve been all of the above, but humans were dangerous. Both the den and the pack had instilled that in me, and now ahuman with questions and research equipment threatened their existence and had to be eliminated.
I pushed the truck harder as I flew down the dirt road that led into den territory. Instinct guided me past landmarks that triggered memory. There was a boulder at a sharp corner and a creek where I'd played as a small child.
But as I rounded the last bend, the den clearing appeared before me. I slammed on the brakes so hard, the truck skidded over the snow.
There were maybe forty shifters gathered in a circle around three figures in the center. My father, the Alpha, now so much older than when I last saw him. His hair was more silver than black, and he had one hand raised, his beast’s claws were visible.
My stepfather was there, and while he had aged, the cruelty in his expression was the same as the day he tried to kill me.
But it was my mate on his knees that got my attention. Blood trickled from a cut above his eye, but when I wrenched open the truck door and started running, he yelled at me to stop.
Every head turned toward me as I pushed through the throng. There were gasps and cries and whispers about seeing a ghost.
My father’s hand fell limply to his side, and his face was whiter than his beast’s fur.
