Page 30 of Diners, Damsels & Wolves

He needed to figure out the issues with these bears. Something about this bear pack wasn’t sitting well with him. No matter how much he wished it, there was definitely more to it than just a random pack traveling through and a rogue hunt. If they were truly hunting Tom, then why hadn’t he seen them yet? Bears were unstable and volatile. If they were hunting him, wouldn’t they have made themselves known?

Without any firsthand experience with bears, all his assumptions could be wrong. The last time their pack encountered bears was when his dad was a teen, not yet able to shift. He needed to call them.

Heading south, he ran home, allowing the rhythmic thudding of his paws on the earth to carry his mind. Running on autopilot, he replayed the events of the day.

He was over the moon when Clarissa agreed to eat with him. Then even more so when she opened up to have a conversation with him. It had started awkward and guarded, but she’d eventually relaxed. He had to find some way to make his intentions clear, to mark her as his without scaring her off.

When he tried to brush her face … the way she flinched away from his touch made his heart bleed. Someone had hurt her so bad it left lasting scars on her spirit. After that, he finally understood why she was so guarded, why she didn’t want to talk to strangers, or accept him even for a simple conversation. That and the burns she tried so hard to cover.

The amount of pain she tried to conceal. Pushing her own well-being to the side so she could soldier on with a brave face; it broke his heart. Someone that exquisite, a soul that tender, deserved to be cherished and loved, not abused and worked to the bone.

He wanted to take her into his arms, to protect and worship her body and soul the way she deserved. Keep her safe and warm, prevent her from ever feeling pain like that again.

Slowly, he saw cracks forming in her defenses. Head thrown back in a laugh at his bad jokes, then allowing him to walk her to her car. He’d resolved to be patient with her—seeing her for an hour at the diner was better than never seeing her at all.

Now what? Was he to selfishly pull her into his life when his pack might be on the brink of war?

Was his pack at war?

If a war did start, being inside the circle of the pack’s protection, his protection, might be the safest place for her. That is, if this even was a war. It was too soon to tell, and he didn’t want to cause alarm before it was necessary.

Slowing to a trot, he rose up to run on two legs. The spattering of pines and oak trees thinned, eventually giving way to the estate’s vast lawns. At the garage, he phased back. Cold rain sprinkled his bare skin, his legs coated in mud. He didn’t feel the chill as his breath danced in the air around him. His unusually high body temperature came in handy on nights like this. Shifting wouldn’t be as fun if every time he turned back to human, he was left naked and cold.

Since nothing inanimate shifted with you, nudity was a normal part of shifter life. You learned quickly not to be too bashful, or even bothered, by everyone seeing everything and vice versa. The bare form wasn’t considered a perversion in pack life.

Hell, he knew of a shifter pack up in Utah that were full-blown nudists. Personally, Tom wasn’t too keen on his pack going full nudist, he thought the human employees at the lumberyard might not appreciate that.

Tom punched the code on one of the garage door panels. It creaked open and he ducked inside. Going straight to the mudroom shower, he cleaned up. Washed and swaddled in his bathrobe, he went to the kitchen.

The high ceilings had exposed beams stained a deep brown. Forest green subway tiles lined the walls behind the stainless steel industrial appliances and dark counters encircled the room. The vast island, stained to match the beams, was large enough for ten stools on one side. All of it was empty—the others must be out running or asleep.

He found a lasagna in the fridge and put a plate in the microwave. Pulling out his phone, he sent an update in the family chat and assigned patrols for the next two weeks.

After eating and cleaning his dishes, he called his parents. Heart hammering, the sounds of his dad’s screams echoed through his mind again. Pulling him out from under the pile of logs, his legs were splayed in an unnatural position, his back bent from a broken spine.

Tom’s mom answered on the second ring, putting him on speakerphone and pulling him from unpleasant memories.

“Charles, Thomas is on the phone!” she called out and the whirr of an electric chair hummed through the speaker. “Thomas, what’s wrong?”

“Can’t I call you without something being wrong?” He frowned.

“Is there something wrong?” Charles asked.

“Well, yes, but can’t a guy say ‘hello how ya doin’?’ first?” Tom said.

His mother sighed. “We’re fine, Tom, the weather’s nice, what’s wrong?”

“Calm down, Elaine, give the boy a minute,” Charles said. “I got my second electric chair all fixed up, it has mudding wheels on it. To test ’em out we went on a riverboat tour yesterday, met some gators. You should come down and visit when you get the chance, I think you’d really like them. They’re feisty.”

While Charles laughed, Tom’s mind was filled with images of his dad trying to pet an alligator. He pinched the bridge of his nose, the ball of anxiety in his chest snarling.

“How’s the pack?” Charles asked after a pause.

“They’re fine, Dad,” he said. “The annual picnic is coming up, and I invited some other shifter families from the area. Seems like the turnout is going to be good. This could be a new chapter for us, all getting along, being friends.”

“Good, that’s real good, Tom. I’m impressed you were able to pull it off,” Elaine said.

“Thanks. It really hasn’t been easy; the pack elders are still kicking up a fit about it, trying to get me to cancel. They don’t like the idea of inviting others onto our lands, think it will welcome an invasion.”