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“Robert, is everything okay? I’ve been feeling off since yesterday. At first I thought it was the cold front coming, and then I thought maybe a big storm, but last night I dreamed about you, so I think the cold and the storm are yours, not mother earth’s.”

I snorted. “I thought I was part of mother earth, Mom. Aren’t we all her creatures?”

“Don’t you get smart with me!” she snapped, moving from Zen hippie to pissed-off mom in a flash. “Your father had a dream too.”

“That’s because you and dad smoke from the same pipe before turning in for the night.”

“It’s herbal. You know that. And I know you use sarcasm and rudeness as a defense mechanism.”

“A lot of things are herbal,” I said. “That doesn’t make them safe.”

“Robert Kenneth Cimino.”

“Heroin, cocaine,” I listed. “Bears.”

“Oh, baby,” she sighed. The woman was five foot tall on her tiptoes and weighed eighty-five pounds soaking wet. It was ridiculous that she called me baby. I liked it anyway. “Talk to me.”

“I met a man,” I confessed. “A good man.”

“That’s wonderful!” I heard shuffling. “Anthony! Robert met a man.” More noise, which I knew from years of experience came from my parents wedging the phone between their ears, and then, “Your dad’s on too. Tell us about him.”

“Your cell phone has a speaker feature.” I pulled into a parking spot in front of the coffee shop.

“What?”

“The cell phone.” I’d bought them both phones for their wedding anniversary. The flip phone they’d shared for a decade was ridiculous, so I’d replaced it with two easy-to-use smartphones. Turned out they weren’t so easy for people in their late sixties who had never owned a computer or television. “Look at the screen. There’s a button on the bottom that says ‘Speaker.’ Press it.”

“There aren’t any buttons on this phone,” my mother said.

“I don’t understand why they had to get rid of the buttons,” my father added.

“Well, not a button button, but”—I smiled, really smiled for the first time since Vy had flown out of my campsite in a huff—“there’s a spot on the bottom of the screen that says ‘Speaker.’ Can you see that?”

“Do you see it, Jennifer?”

“I think it’s this o—” My mother was cut off midword and there was silence.

“That’s the mute button, Mom.” I waited. “I can’t hear you. You need to press the button that says ‘Mute’ again.”

Another pause, and then, “Robert? Can you hear me now?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Where are you?”

“Uh, parked in front of a coffee shop. I’m in Colorado. It’s early here, and I need caffeine.”

“Where in Colorado?”

“Elk River.”

“He’s in Elk River,” she said, presumably talking to my father. “We’re coming to see you.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Mom.”

“Of course it’s a good idea. Your father and I both had a dream about you, and I already told you about the cold and the storm. Something’s wrong. We can meditate together and figure it out.”

“I meditate every day, just like you taught me. You don’t need to drive here for that.”

“I doubt very much that you meditate like
I
taught you, dear.”

“Yes, I do.”

She was quiet for a long time, and then she said, “When was the last time you let yourself take your bear form?”

“Mom, you know I can’t—”

“What I
know
is that mother earth gave you a gift, and you’re hiding it instead of being grateful.”

Only from her and my father would I allow those kinds of comments without getting angry. No part of me, not the man and not the bear, could ever feel anything but grateful toward the man and woman who had raised me.

“I realize you feel that way, but you don’t understand,” I said, trying to keep my tone respectful.

“Your father and I have been studying grizzly bears since long before you were born. We have literally written the book on grizzlies. There is nobody who understands better than us. Your bear is not to be feared, Robert. What have I always told you?”

“Mom,” I sighed in frustration.

“Robert,” she said firmly.

“Expression not repression,” I muttered.

“That’s right,” she sounded very self-satisfied.

She meant well, and she was right about her knowledge of bears. My mother and father were highly respected experts on the subject of grizzly bears. No doubt she knew everything there was to know. But knowing about bears and having the emotions and feelings and drives of a bear weren’t the same thing. Regardless, it wasn’t a conversation worth having again.

“Thanks, Mom. I’ll remember,” I said instead, trying to placate her.

“Good. We should be there in about a month.”

“I’m not even sure I’ll still be here in a month.”

My plan hadn’t changed. I still wanted to seduce Vy, to show him how I felt about him, to see if I could treat him so well he’d feel the same way about me. And I was willing to swallow my pride and park in front of his house night after night, waiting for him to listen. But I also knew that being rejected over and over again, being ignored, being shunned by a person I wanted to have under me, wanting me, respecting me…. I knew my emotions, my temper, my anger, would eventually break through no matter how often I meditated or how deeply I breathed. I would leave town, leave Vy, before I let that happen.

Expression not repression sounded good, but in real life, expression was vicious and bloody and deadly. Repression was safe.

“You’ll be there,” my mother said confidently. “Your man’s there, right? Or are you taking him with you?”

“He’s not my man, Mom,” I said sadly.

“Well, then,” she huffed, “go on and get him. We’ll only be able to stay a couple of days, and I want to make sure I meet the person you’ll be spending your life with.”

She only listened to about 20 percent of what I said. And it was the 20 percent she wanted to hear, even if it meant rearranging the words and their order.

“Call me when you’re about a day’s drive out, and I’ll tell you where I am,” I said because it was easier than arguing and also because I had a feeling I’d need my parents’ help if my agitation level continued to rise.

“We will.” It was quiet, so I thought maybe we got disconnected, but then she spoke again. “And Robert?”

“Yeah?”

“Your father and I don’t just know about bears. We know
you
, honey. We know you, and we’re proud of you.”

Everything I was, everything I ever hoped to be, was because of them.

“I love you,” I said.

“We love you too.”

Vy

I
T
WAS
late afternoon when I tapped on the window and watched as Robert jolted in the driver’s seat. He had either nodded off, since he’d spent the night in front of my place and it wasn’t conducive to REM sleep, or he was lost in thought. Either way, I felt bad that I’d startled him. It was really good to see him, and he looked adorable all wide-eyed with his lips parted. I waved and watched the smile bloom slowly on his face.

Making the international sign for him to roll down the window, I waited as it was slowly lowered.

His eyes softened as he gazed at me.

Taking a step back, steeling myself to do what was right, I forced a smile. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he said gently.

I tipped my head at the large coffee in his cup holder. “Needed a little pick-me-up?”

“I did, yeah.”

I shoved my hands down into my jeans to make sure I wouldn’t touch him. “I wanted to apologize.”

His gaze searched mine, and as he sat there, all quiet strength, heat running off him, it was all I could do not to inhale him so his scent would fill my nostrils. It would be agony not to touch him, but I was stronger than my carnal need. I was the kuar, after all.

I cleared my throat. “Just because I thought one thing doesn’t give me the right to treat you like I did.”

As he got out of the car, I stepped back to give him room. When he took a step forward, I took one back.

“Vy?”

“I’m the leader of my ket,” I reminded him. “And as such, I should basically be the welcome wagon for all shifters in this town, coming through or staying, who are not part of my flock. I should have been a friend first, and I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

“Vy, there’s nothing to—”

“I was an ass,” I interrupted him. “Just because we’re not gonna be what I thought doesn’t give me the right to ignore you when you’re sitting in my driveway. Friends don’t treat each other like that.”

“I don’t want to be your—”

“Lou and Carlo are having drinks and dinner out with a few friends tonight, and I’d love for you and my dickhead friend to have a do-over if you’d be up for that.”

“I’d actually like to talk to you alone. Maybe we could have dinner––just us?”

I shook my head. “There’s nothing to talk about. I was hurt and mad and everything else, and it was bullshit that just because of what I wanted I took it all out on you. I acted like a spoiled child and—there’s no excuse.”

He moved forward, but again I backpedaled.

“I can’t even touch you?”

I grinned, raking my fingers through my hair. “You gotta give me a little more time, yeah? What I wanted and what I can have—I’m still working that out.”

His breath caught. “Vy, can’t we just—”

I stopped him again. “So, you wanna come?”

He seemed lost.

“Tonight? You wanna meet me and my friends tonight?”

He was quiet a moment, apparently considering things. “I… sure. Yeah.”

“Great,” I said, exhaling sharply, as I turned away from him and walked the few feet to the motorcycle. “So seven at Gold Digger, okay? It’s out on Route 10.”

“I’ll be there at—What is that?”

“This is a 2006 Kawasaki Ninja ZX-6R,” I explained proudly as I turned the engine over. “Nice, huh?”

He looked confused. “Where’s your truck?”

I shrugged. “I have to get my riding in before winter; it’s already getting really cold at night. Between the elevation and fall, I—”

“A motorcycle?”

I squinted at him. “Yeah. Why?”

“It’s not safe.”

“Only if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Okay,” he said slowly. “But where’s your helmet?”

“I don’t need a helmet,” I scoffed, leaning over, putting my right foot back on the rest.

He stepped in front of me. “Yeah, you do. This isn’t a touring bike, Vy; it’s basically a modified racing bike.”

I chuckled. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You should get a Harley-Davidson Electra Glide Ultra Classic or something like that.”

“Well, when I make my first million, I’ll keep that in mind,” I teased him. “But it’s not the bike, it’s the rider, like I said, and my first name is safety.”

“I wish that was true,” he said solemnly.

I waggled my eyebrows at him before I rolled forward. “Look out—I don’t wanna get dust on you.”

“Vy.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” I said before I gunned the engine and flew away from the front of the Coffee Depot, owned by the Millers. I threw up gravel and a dust cloud of dirt as I ricocheted out into the street.

A lot of horns blew at me before I hit the edge of town doing eighty. The wind on my face felt great, and I forgot for a second that I wasn’t flying. I heard a siren, and when I looked around, I saw Deputy Zach Westerman behind me. Gunning it, I left him behind me when the bike hit a hundred and fifty. I would hear about it from Lou, I was sure, but no one was allowed to give me any more crap. I was letting my mate go; I couldn’t be expected to give up anything else for a good long time.

G
OLD
D
IGGER
was a schizophrenic club because it was one of those places with peanut shells on the floor, pool tables on the opposite side from the dance floor, but instead of country music blaring from the massive speakers mounted on every wall, there was pop, R&B, and even the occasional track of house music. It was loud, it was sweaty, and well drinks were only three dollars, with beer being a dollar. To say it was a rowdy, drunken meat market was a horrendous understatement.

What I liked about the club was that there was no way in the world anyone could carry on any kind of conversation over the throbbing, pounding music. It drowned out everything. So even though I could get my fix and see Robert, I wouldn’t be tempted to talk to him. He wouldn’t have been able to hear me anyway. But when seven came and went followed by seven thirty and then eight, and there was still no Robert, I figured I’d been stood up. So even though we were done, at least I had extended the olive branch. There was closure and dignity in that.

I wasn’t much of a dancer, so I was playing pool with some of the guys from Carlo’s company. Firemen were like candy for women, and men, so our table was continually bustling with visitors. Unfortunately there were also several men cruising me, which didn’t normally happen. I blamed Robert. My usual mask of frosty indifference had been thawed by the big man, and guys who didn’t, as a rule, notice me, suddenly were.

Even worse than the hands that slid over my back, traced a bicep, and even groped my ass were the loud drunken assholes who kept bumping me. How was I supposed to line up a shot if I kept getting jostled?