Page 9 of Tall, Dark and Haunted

Chapter Five

Rhiannon

Shockcoursesthroughme as I get lost in Topher’s brilliant blue eyes. And that one word echoes through my mind over and over again. Mate! Topher is my mate!

I can feel the bond connecting us. My bear side claims him on the spot, urging me to make him mine. Heat courses through my veins and ripples along my skin like angry flames.

Why didn’t I feel any of this when I was floating and translucent? Sure, I thought he was handsome. I thought all three men were. But there was none of that need to claim him.

But I also couldn’t shift into my bear then. And now… I shift! And let out a delighted roar that reverberates through the entrance hall. I can’t recall ever feeling this overjoyed. I finally have my bear back, I’m alive, and I just found my fated mate. It really couldn’t get better than this.

“Bear,” Arthur, the elderly man who’d been looking for his wife, Maggie, earlier, shouts.

A few senior citizens scream, and I quickly shift back.

“Don’t be silly,” Maggie says.

“Silly about what?” he asks. “Have you seen my cane? I never leave the house without my cane.”

“It’s right over here, dear.” She points to the object at his feet.

The two of them seem to have forgotten all about me—and the fact that I was a bear seconds earlier. Which isn’t that surprising if we really are in Silver Springs. It’s a warded town, where humans are spelled to ignore the supernatural.

I tune out their discussion as I focus back on Topher.

“Mine,” he growls. He looks like he plans to lunge toward me, and I feel another wave of heat a split second before he face-plants onto the floor. “Bollocks.”

“Are you all right?” I bend down and check his face as a feeling of rightness settles around me. When I see he isn’t hurt, I break into a slow smile.

Sure, this day didn’t start out quite so great. No one wants to drown belly-up, naked in a public fountain. It definitely wouldn’t have been my first choice for a way to go. Especially not in the heart of London, surrounded by gawking strangers, reporters, and Alice. But if it brought me here, to my fated mate, then it was worth it. Even if there is probably a photo circulating of me naked, spread-eagle, with my wonky boobs and hoo-ha on full display.

I grimace, and Topher looks like he’s been slapped. “Rhiannon, if it’s my lack of coordination, I’m just out of practice. I’ll have the hang of it in no time. And I swear I didn’t choose these clothes. Well, I did, over a century ago, but now—”

“Topher, it’s not your clothes,” I say, even though they look even weirder in full color. As a ghost, his clothes were muted, but now they’re bright fabrics in colors men don’t usually wear. Especially not at the same time. Orange mixed with blue. Then again, my hair has purple, pink, yellow and green in it—all beautiful, bright, and covered in brown spice now that I’m no longer translucent—so I probably don’t have a right to comment. “And it’s not your coordination.”

“What is it, then?” Topher looks crestfallen, and I forget all about my hair. “Is it the mustache? Because if I could remove it right now, I would. I hate the goddamn thing. And I’ll do whatever it takes for you to give me a chance.”

“Topher!” I snap.

“What?” He gives me puppy dog eyes.

“Mate,” I tell him. “Mine.”

Because he grew up in the Shifter Sanctuary at Margam, I know that I don’t need to give him an explanation. I don’t need to tell him that I don’t care about his weird mustache, or funky clothes, or random face-planting. Those two words are enough.

“Lucky bastard,” Davy grumbles, and I glance at him. I mean for it to be a brief look. My eyes are already returning to meet Topher’s, unable to stay away for long, when that same word echoes through my mind. Mate!

“Davy?” I ask in surprise. Because for a second there, it almost seemed like my bear was staking a claim on him, too. But that doesn’t make sense. What are the chances that on the day I die, I manage to meet not just one fated mate, but two? Couldn’t I have met them both before I died?

“Mate.” His face lights up. I can’t help returning his grin with one of my own.

My heart warms as I look from him to Topher, who’s no longer smiling. He scowls at Davy, the look reminding me of a kid who doesn’t want to share his new favorite toy.

“She’s a bear,” Davy says, scowling back.

“What does that—“ Topher starts, then trails off. “Right.”

“I am.” I smile. And everyone knows that female bears have more than one fated mate—some as many as five. It’s a matter of pride for us, how many men we claim. The same way men compare the size of their dicks. Usually, we don’t meet more than one mate on the same day, and I can’t help feeling a certain delight in knowing I have. Even if I did only gain them after my premature death. Which makes this the luckiest—and unluckiest—day of my life.