Bears Behaving Badly Page 6

  “Can I come?”

  The kit, right on his heels. Should’ve guessed. “No. I won’t be gone long. Stay here.” He reached for Dev’s shoulder. “I mean it, kit. You…wait.” Dev had flinched, then tried to cover. “Thought you said you weren’t hurt.”

  “I’m not.” Dev twisted away. “Not bad, I mean. It’s no big deal.”

  “Let me see.”

  The young werefox sighed and stood still while David took a peek and saw deep-purple bruises blooming along the boy’s shoulder and side. “From Annette tossing you,” he guessed. “You smacked into something—the SUV?—before you could get back to your feet.”

  “Don’t tell Net,” he pleaded. “She’ll freak, she’ll…uh…”

  David almost smiled. “There’s not a German or Italian or French word for ‘freak’?”

  “I guess not,” he admitted. “But please don’t tell her. She’ll get all upset and verärgert and…um…irritato. And I’ll take bruises over getting smeared all over a parking garage pillar.”

  “Me, too. If it gets worse, you’ll tell me? Or her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Eat a big supper. Couple of ’em.”

  Dev waved that away. “Yeah, yeah, ‘sizable caloric intake with an emphasis on protein is essential for wound healing as protein is found in all cells and thus speeds up the healing process.’ I’ve known that since I was a kid.”

  “Yeah, for ages and ages, I’ll bet.” This time David did smile. “If you were a kid way back when, what are you now? A short adult?”

  Dev ignored the question. “I’ll have some eggs or something. And before you say it, I won’t leave the house.”

  “Not sure I believe you.”

  “That’s because you and Net aren’t paying attention. Why would I leave? What’d you think my endgame was?”

  “Jesus, you’re a kid. Why do you even have an endgame?”

  “Hey, everybody needs a plan.”

  “Yeah,” David pointed out, “and you’ve usually got half a dozen.”

  “All I’m saying is you don’t have to worry about me leaving. This is where I’ve been trying to get to.”

  Oh, hell. The “maybe my juvenile advocate will adopt me and we’ll be a perfect family” fantasy.

  Not that he could blame the kit. But at least now that he knew Dev’s motives, he could take him at his word (a rare and wonderful thing when dealing with Dev Devoss).

  “Besides,” Dev was saying, “someone should stick close to Net, doncha think? People are after her, too.”

  “Net?”

  Shrug.

  “What’s up with that?”

  Dev took a breath and stared up at him. “I’ll tell, but only ’cuz you’re helping her. It’s a nickname some of us have for her.”

  “Ah. ‘Net’ like you can’t escape? Because she’s always scooping you off the streets and tossing your delinquent butt into lockup?”

  “No,” Dev replied, giving him a don’t-be-a-dumbass look. “‘Net’ like what trapeze artists fall into while they’re doing incredibly dangerous shit that could get them killed.”

  “That’s…” Adorable. Literally adorable. “Don’t worry, I’ll take it to the grave.”

  “You better. Or I’ll put you there.”

  “Consider me warned. You think Caro killed Lund? Broke out, tracked him, finished the job she started last night?”

  Dev snorted. “Yeah, that ‘I’ll do an abrupt subject change and surprise the truth out of him’ thing hasn’t worked since I was eight.”

  “That’s a no?”

  “Totally a no.”

  “I’ll learn some new tricks. So you don’t think she did it?”

  “I…don’t know. I really don’t,” he added, anticipating David’s next question. “She’s capable. I mean, you saw for yourself. And I get why you might think that. But she made her point last night. I think going back would’ve been overkill. No pun intended. Did I get that right? It’s a pun?”

  “What point was she trying to make last night?”

  “That she’ll put up with a lot, but there’s a line, even if she’s the only one who knows where it is. Cross it, and she’ll fuck you up.”

  “Blunt,” he observed.

  “Accurate. Look, before last night, I hadn’t seen her for a bit. I don’t know why she went for Lund. But she wouldn’t just, y’know, randomly attack someone. Whatever she did, she’d have a good reason.” He paused, gauging David’s reaction to his words. “Maybe even life or death.”

  Or maybe you’re lying. He’d read the interview transcripts. Dev either didn’t know anything or he did, but was being deliberately unhelpful. First he’d said Lund had been trying to kill Caro for two years, but now it was “I don’t know why she went for him.” First they were siblings, but Caro denied knowing him. In other words, it was classic Dev, who was scrupulously honest with kids but never hesitated to lie his little ass off to adults. And there was just no way of knowing the truth without more info.

  Which David intended to get.

  “Go eat,” he ordered, and headed downstairs, already unbuttoning his shirt.

  * * *

  David smiled when he saw the downstairs setup: on the wall beside the door, about four feet up, there was a bright-yellow plastic button five inches across that could be slapped with a palm or paw, or nudged with a nose. He was willing to bet there was one on the other side, too.

  Time to find out. He undressed and, mindful of colleague-guest status, folded his clothes and set them neatly aside in the guest room closest to the sliding door. Hit the button. Took a breath.

  The actual physical change was the best, most terrible part. His muscles shifted and tore, his bones cracked and remade themselves, fur sprouted, teeth lengthened while his jaw reshaped itself, fingernails morphed into four-inch-long claws. His frame lengthened to seven feet. When his knees and elbows and wrists and ankles all snapped backward, forcing him to all fours, he was five feet at the shoulder. His senses sharpened with no adjustment period; for these few seconds, scents overwhelmed him and the sounds of his transformation were deafening. His mass increased to 1,200 pounds, his hind feet lengthened to fourteen inches. Ursus actos californicus, the California grizzly bear, with its russet fur, blond tips, and characteristic hump, has been extinct since 1922 because they couldn’t adapt to Stables encroaching on their territory.

  But David Auberon wasn’t a Stable grizzly bear, locked into the same shape from birth to death. So that was all right.

  It was the delicious agony of pulling off a scab every time. He could feel his mind receding into quasi-sentience as his senses adjusted to being ten, thirty, a hundred times stronger, as everything got bigger and brighter and more, as his bipedal concerns

  (rent, unrequited crush, oil change, Skittles)

  faded, to be replaced by other, simpler worries

  (new territory, potential intruders, potential mate, protect cub, Skittles).

  He heard the door slide shut behind him and promptly forgot about it and the house and Caro Daniels and the kit because woods and forest and water and prey. In five seconds, he reached the woods, forty yards away, where everything smelled like sunshine and moss and food.

  And better than food, Her scent was everywhere. These were Her woods, and he was in them, and he’d like to be Hers, too, but it wouldn’t happen, She needed no mate and it was better that they were

  (safe)

  snug in Her den and that was enough

  (except it wasn’t)

  (am I sad?)

  and now he could pick up the lesser scent, the

  (scarface fighter)

  jackal and it made him want to fight and then he remembered the jackal was in Her den so no-no-no fighting.

  He prowled and swam and ate a trout

  (all wriggling an
d shiny and tastes like summer)

  and when the sun was down and he had satisfied himself they were

  (safe)

  alone he remembered his other self

  (two legs no fur too small can’t smell but can think and talk-talk-talk)

  and loped back to Her and there was the door-that-moved and there She was, looking down at him from the way-up part of Her den and showing Her teeth but not to fight. Alone by choice, like him.

  “Damn, David. You are gorgeous.”

  No, not to fight. And that was good; he didn’t want to fight Her, he’d rather hunt for Her.

  And that’s something his other self could do, too.

  Chapter 10

  “Nooooooo.”

  “I assure you, yes.”

  “A golden goddamned jackal?” Dev’s delighted yelp carried all the way into the living room. “I thought you guys were extinct!”

  “No,” Pat replied, “we just don’t use social media.”

  “Oh, look, a millennial joke.”

  “Oh, look, a millennial who instantly made it about himself.”

  “I’m not a millennial. I’m too young!” Dev insisted. “If anyone’s a millennial, it’s you and Annette.”

  “Well, what the hell are you, then?”

  “I don’t know! I don’t think our generation has named ourselves yet.”

  They hadn’t noticed her yet. There was still time to abort this disaster in the making. “Morning,” she mumbled, stumbling into the kitchen and yawning so hard she heard something crack.

  “You know who started all this generation-naming bullshit?”

  “Please, Pat, no,” she begged.

  “The goddamned baby boomers,” he declared, but since Annette had mouthed it along with him, Dev couldn’t hold back a giggle. “All this shit started with them. ‘Hey, let’s change the world, war is bad, marijuana’s good, here, have a shopping channel.’ You know the thing that defined them?” Without pausing for an answer, Pat raced on. “They were born. That’s it. Their parents didn’t die in World War II. Instead, they came home and got laid and impregnated half the country.”

  “No more,” Annette pleaded. “I’d rather talk about the madness unfolding before me. What are you two doing?” To be honest, it was all she could do to keep the stern expression on her face due to the high prevalence of whaaaaaat?

  Dev, in his new jeans (on the way to her place, she, David, and Dev had swung by Super Target, where she’d stupidly forgotten to pick up a new alarm clock for herself, as well as some groceries) and one of Pat’s old T-shirts (“I like coffee and maybe three people”), was floured to his elbows. Beside him, stirring chocolate chips into batter and bitching about the Greatest Generation, Pat was in his second-favorite blue tank top (“Don’t follow your dreams; follow my Instagram”), black capris, and…was that…?

  “But you despise lip gloss,” Annette said, astounded. “You said it makes you feel like you’re drooling strawberry saliva.”

  “I’m giving it another chance. It’s called being open-minded and you should try it sometime, sunshine.”

  “I like it,” Dev declared. “It brings out your stubble.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You guys, it’s 7:00 a.m.! Far too early for…whatever this is.”

  Pat held up his phone. “Why are you talking like everyone doesn’t walk around with a clock and therefore can’t possibly know what time it is?”

  “Morning.” David shuffled past her, and it was nice to see someone else as bleary-eyed as she was. “Coffee? Please, please coffee?”

  “Tea’s better for you.”

  “Shut up, boy,” he replied without malice. “Ah. There.” They all watched in perplexed fascination as David poured himself half a gallon of coffee

  (Is that even a go-cup? It’s the size of a vase!)

  with one lump of sug—no, two—no, three, no—Jesus. Followed by a splash of cream, if splash meant a quarter of a cup.

  “Oh, lovely, now I’m living with two people who have disgusting breakfast habits.”

  “Back off, Pat,” she warned, “or I’ll force-feed you my next omelet.”

  “I’ll die first. That’s literal, by the way. Not hyperbole. My body will shut down, and you’ll have a corpse on your hands in the kitchen. Again.”

  “You promised never to bring up the corpse in the kitchen.” But she was actually glad it had come up. It helped her focus on something besides sleepy, scruffy David, whose other self was almost as big as hers, and possibly as dangerous. And smelled divine, like moss and warm, clean fur. And seemed completely unaware of his appeal.

  No, it was good to focus on something—anything—besides how easy it would have been to slip into the guest room and wake David with mouth and hands and tongue. Which could have led to mutual orgasm but was just as likely to result in a broken nose, depending on how easily startled he was.

  All this within earshot of weres who could hear a pin drop. Actual pins actually dropping—some clichés were real.

  To distract herself, she went for a subtle cough

  “Grraaakkk-KAW!”

  and failed, given how Dev jumped. “Jesus. Are you okay?”

  “Don’t swear. Did you have any trouble sleeping?”

  He shrugged. “Naw. And that was a huge subject change, y’know. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

  “I also slept well, Annette,” Pat intercepted with poisonous sweetness. “Thank you so much for asking.”

  “You’re in a bit of a mood,” she observed.

  He sighed and set down the rubber spatula. “Yeah, sorry. It’s… You’re all here because someone’s out to get you. Really get you, not ‘I’ll get you for throwing away my yogurt, Bob, you inconsiderate bastard’ get you. And I’m glad you’re all safe.”

  “We are, too,” Dev said and smirked.

  “But that’s only temporary.”

  “Jeez. Way to bring the kitchen down.”

  “Dev, hush. Let Pat finish.”

  “You’ve got no idea who’s after you or what they’ll do next or how long it’ll take to put this case to bed. So what happens now? Because as much as I like having my very own sous-chef… Hey!” Dev had taken advantage of Pat’s inattention to covertly dump another half cup of chocolate chips into the bowl. “Ratio, Dev, we talked about ratio!”

  “No, you talked about ratio. I couldn’t get a word in.”

  Annette, meanwhile, had been giving their predicament some thought. “David, I was thinking the best place to start would be Lund’s apartment.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And we’ll need to check in with Nadia—we can have her meet us there so you—my God, you’ve downed half that coffee already.”

  “Yeah, well.” David shrugged. “At least now I can see. I’ll text her.”

  She turned back to Pat and Dev. “I know it’s stressful. And I promise it’s temporary—by necessity if nothing else. We’ve only got two more days to find Caro, give the judge some answers, and get Dev squared away safely.”

  “I am squared away safely.”

  “I already told you, I don’t care about having these guys hang here, they’re no trouble.” Pat waved the spatula at Dev, who ducked. “I care about the fucko who wants to kill you.”

  “You’ll have to narrow that down. And I don’t want you or Dev to worry too much in the meantime.” She really didn’t. Dev’s default when stressed/hurt/furious/hungry was to flee the vicinity and pop up days and miles away. Pat’s was to dig in and bite harder.

  “Worry too much? With him skulking around?” Dev pointed a drippy whisk at David. “Didja see him last night? I knew he was gonna shift and I almost had a heart attack anyway. As long as I’m staying here, the only thing I need to worry about is a nuclear blast. Maybe.”

  Annnnnnd now she was
back to thinking about jumping David Auberon with amorous intent. Before last night, she’d never seen David’s other self and it was, to be equal parts blunt and accurate, astounding. She’d never seen anything like it, and she was a bear herself.

  God, the size of him. Not to mention the confidence, which went nicely with the powerful stealth. And not that she had any intention of challenging him, but she had to wonder which of them would win a fight for dominance. He was bigger, but she thought she might be faster. Even if they never went out as a couple—she could hardly blame him if he was disinclined to make the embarrassing gossip a reality—maybe they could shift and hunt together now and again. Werebears were rare bears.

  “Wait ’til the other guys hear about this guy! When it’s all over, I mean,” Dev added hastily. “And we’re all safe again.”

  David was topping up his vase of coffee and managed a rueful smile. “God, kid, you act like you’ve never seen a bear before.”

  “Uh, you’re downplaying a smidge.”

  Annette could understand Dev’s fascination. Werebears weren’t as numerous as werefoxes or werewolves; many Shifters went their entire lives without seeing one in the fur. Her parents were the only one of their kind they’d met, and they were in their twenties when that happened.

  Was that part of her reluctance? Or, worse, David’s? Not seeking out the only other bear within five hundred miles because of reverse species-ism? Or would that be actual species-ism? Here’s another werebear! Bang him and also maybe get married because you owe it to your subspecies to propagate.

  Ugh. No.

  Thorny questions of duties to subspecies aside, knowing a Shifter didn’t necessarily mean having seen both halves. Nadia was the only colleague who had seen Annette’s other self. By contrast, just about every were Nadia knew had seen her fly.

  For most, showing both halves was a matter of personal preference, and subjective issues like pride, confidence, upbringing, and even personal politics played their part. Oh, and species-ism. Mustn’t forget that.

  “Well, I thought it was cool. Want to see mine? I’ll do it,” Dev announced. “I’ll do it right now. Stand back.”

  “Don’t you dare get fox fur in my scone mix!”