Mate Bond
Page 43
* * *
Kenzie and Ryan polished off the cinnamon rolls, Ryan eating most of them. They’d left none for Bowman, but Afina had stashed a second batch of dough in the freezer, the rolls formed already. All Kenzie had to do was bake and frost them.
Afina was like that—hard-edged, but then . . . cinnamon rolls. She could be thoughtful, kind, and loving, exactly what Kenzie had needed as a scared and lonely cub.
As Kenzie contemplated what she’d learned from her phone conversation with Gil, someone pounded on the front door. Alarmed and wary, Kenzie went to answer it.
Her cousin Bianca stood on the doorstep, bringing in the scent of winter plus a flurry of snow that had started to fall again.
Bianca was much younger than Kenzie, having been only a cub when they’d moved to Shiftertown. She’d gone through her Transition here, which was never easy on a Shifter, but she’d been able to do it surrounded by love and support. Bianca was actually a distant cousin, the daughter of one of Cristian’s cousins. Her hair was lighter than Kenzie’s, a shade of butternut, but she had the golden eyes of the Dimitru pack.
She was smiling at the moment—radiant. Not worried about snipers or murderers or monsters. Happier than Kenzie had ever seen her.
“Kenz, Bowman isn’t here, is he?” Bianca asked, looking around the empty living room and into the kitchen.
“No, he’s out with the trackers.” Kenzie folded her arms and gave Bianca a severe look. “He’s been trying to call Marcus, you know. Where is he?”
“Outside. Hiding.” Bianca waved her hands, flustered. “I know. Marcus was afraid to come in—he knows Bowman is mad at him. So he sent me in to ask you to ask him. Bowman. I mean . . .” She broke off with a laugh. “Goddess, listen to me. I don’t know where to start.”
“Take a deep breath . . .”
Bianca took a big one, her chest lifting her sweatshirt. “We came to ask you to ask Bowman if he’ll do the mating ceremony for us,” she said in a rush. “For Marcus and me. We know . . . I mean.” Bianca put her hand over her heart. “We know.”
“You’ve formed the mate bond,” Kenzie said, excited.
“Yes,” Bianca answered, laughing and crying at once. “Oh, Kenzie, it’s so wonderful. I’ve never felt anything like it . . .”
Kenzie’s throat closed up abruptly as she whirled between several emotions at once. One was gladness—Shifters mating and forming the bond was the most joyful event in Shiftertown.
The second emotion was stark envy. Then grief. The mate bond came so easily for some. But for Kenzie and Bowman . . .
Bianca’s face fell. “Oh, Kenzie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .” Bianca enfolded Kenzie in a sudden embrace, her flowing tears wetting Kenzie’s cheek. “I didn’t come here to make you feel bad. I just . . . It’s so exciting . . . I’ve never felt so happy, and I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m crying again. Marcus says I’m the biggest crybaby. ’Course, he keeps doing it too.”
“No.” Kenzie took Bianca by the shoulders. “Mate bonding is a good thing. I’m so happy for you. Bowman will be too—even if a Lupine is mating with a Feline. He’ll tease your asses off, but he’ll still be happy. I know he will.”
“I’ve always loved you, Kenzie. You’re the big sister I never had.” Tears streamed down Bianca’s cheeks again, and she broke from Kenzie to wipe them away. “I have got to stop crying. But I’m so emotional. We think . . . We hope . . . No, we really do think . . .” Bianca slid her hand down to her abdomen, her eyes shining with joy.
Kenzie forgot about her envy. Cubs were the best things of all. “Goddess, that’s wonderful.” She placed her hand on Bianca’s belly. She felt nothing, but a mother always knew when a cub was there. The spark was unmistakable.
“Are you having a cub, Bianca?” Ryan asked, interrupting the female tears. He punched the air, then danced around in a circle. “Woo-hoo! That’s awesome. Hey, when he’s big enough, I’ll teach him how to ride the zip line!”
* * *
“You want to know the attractions of living out here by myself?” Turner looked unperturbed by the question Cristian so bluntly asked.
They were seated in his office-like living room again. By the light of day, Turner seemed nothing more than an ordinary man. His thinning hair was partly gray, his blue eyes clear, though he peered nearsightedly at things through his thick glasses. He wore a sweatshirt, jeans, and running shoes—casual clothes for a casual setting.
Turner had given them cups of his excellent coffee before settling in on a chair and drinking one himself.
“I’ll tell you why,” he said. “I am finishing my book, remember? I need to have it done soon. I have soft money, you see. That means grant money,” he explained. “I have a grant from the NEH—National Endowment for the Humanities—for my research into Shifters, their social history as far back as I can take it.” Turner relaxed into his chair, crossing his legs comfortably. “When you accept grant money, however, you agree to produce something with it, like a book or articles published in peer-reviewed journals. That’s so the grantees don’t simply take the money and run. You have to account for every dollar spent and produce something that contributes to your field. With me, that means a thick tome with all my findings, charts, maps, and so forth. I only have a few months to finish the book and get it to the press that’s publishing it.” He heaved a long sigh. “So this year, I took a sabbatical and moved here to get away from phones, research assistants knocking on my door, endless committee meetings. You wouldn’t believe how many committees I have to be on, and how many meetings each one generates.” He looked pained.
“So this is your hideaway,” Cristian said. He set his cup on the table next to him. “And we are disturbing it. Our apologies.”
“Not at all,” Turner said pleasantly. “I always have time for Shifters. You’re my subject matter, after all.” His eyes twinkled with his smile.
Bowman had said little, letting Cristian ask all the questions. Cristian, he had to admit, was much better at dealing with humans than Bowman was. For a man who hadn’t seen a city until he was a hundred years old, Cristian could be urbane, and people liked his accent. Humans thought him cultured and cosmopolitan, when in reality, he’d been raised in a cave in Transylvania.
Kenzie and Ryan polished off the cinnamon rolls, Ryan eating most of them. They’d left none for Bowman, but Afina had stashed a second batch of dough in the freezer, the rolls formed already. All Kenzie had to do was bake and frost them.
Afina was like that—hard-edged, but then . . . cinnamon rolls. She could be thoughtful, kind, and loving, exactly what Kenzie had needed as a scared and lonely cub.
As Kenzie contemplated what she’d learned from her phone conversation with Gil, someone pounded on the front door. Alarmed and wary, Kenzie went to answer it.
Her cousin Bianca stood on the doorstep, bringing in the scent of winter plus a flurry of snow that had started to fall again.
Bianca was much younger than Kenzie, having been only a cub when they’d moved to Shiftertown. She’d gone through her Transition here, which was never easy on a Shifter, but she’d been able to do it surrounded by love and support. Bianca was actually a distant cousin, the daughter of one of Cristian’s cousins. Her hair was lighter than Kenzie’s, a shade of butternut, but she had the golden eyes of the Dimitru pack.
She was smiling at the moment—radiant. Not worried about snipers or murderers or monsters. Happier than Kenzie had ever seen her.
“Kenz, Bowman isn’t here, is he?” Bianca asked, looking around the empty living room and into the kitchen.
“No, he’s out with the trackers.” Kenzie folded her arms and gave Bianca a severe look. “He’s been trying to call Marcus, you know. Where is he?”
“Outside. Hiding.” Bianca waved her hands, flustered. “I know. Marcus was afraid to come in—he knows Bowman is mad at him. So he sent me in to ask you to ask him. Bowman. I mean . . .” She broke off with a laugh. “Goddess, listen to me. I don’t know where to start.”
“Take a deep breath . . .”
Bianca took a big one, her chest lifting her sweatshirt. “We came to ask you to ask Bowman if he’ll do the mating ceremony for us,” she said in a rush. “For Marcus and me. We know . . . I mean.” Bianca put her hand over her heart. “We know.”
“You’ve formed the mate bond,” Kenzie said, excited.
“Yes,” Bianca answered, laughing and crying at once. “Oh, Kenzie, it’s so wonderful. I’ve never felt anything like it . . .”
Kenzie’s throat closed up abruptly as she whirled between several emotions at once. One was gladness—Shifters mating and forming the bond was the most joyful event in Shiftertown.
The second emotion was stark envy. Then grief. The mate bond came so easily for some. But for Kenzie and Bowman . . .
Bianca’s face fell. “Oh, Kenzie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .” Bianca enfolded Kenzie in a sudden embrace, her flowing tears wetting Kenzie’s cheek. “I didn’t come here to make you feel bad. I just . . . It’s so exciting . . . I’ve never felt so happy, and I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m crying again. Marcus says I’m the biggest crybaby. ’Course, he keeps doing it too.”
“No.” Kenzie took Bianca by the shoulders. “Mate bonding is a good thing. I’m so happy for you. Bowman will be too—even if a Lupine is mating with a Feline. He’ll tease your asses off, but he’ll still be happy. I know he will.”
“I’ve always loved you, Kenzie. You’re the big sister I never had.” Tears streamed down Bianca’s cheeks again, and she broke from Kenzie to wipe them away. “I have got to stop crying. But I’m so emotional. We think . . . We hope . . . No, we really do think . . .” Bianca slid her hand down to her abdomen, her eyes shining with joy.
Kenzie forgot about her envy. Cubs were the best things of all. “Goddess, that’s wonderful.” She placed her hand on Bianca’s belly. She felt nothing, but a mother always knew when a cub was there. The spark was unmistakable.
“Are you having a cub, Bianca?” Ryan asked, interrupting the female tears. He punched the air, then danced around in a circle. “Woo-hoo! That’s awesome. Hey, when he’s big enough, I’ll teach him how to ride the zip line!”
* * *
“You want to know the attractions of living out here by myself?” Turner looked unperturbed by the question Cristian so bluntly asked.
They were seated in his office-like living room again. By the light of day, Turner seemed nothing more than an ordinary man. His thinning hair was partly gray, his blue eyes clear, though he peered nearsightedly at things through his thick glasses. He wore a sweatshirt, jeans, and running shoes—casual clothes for a casual setting.
Turner had given them cups of his excellent coffee before settling in on a chair and drinking one himself.
“I’ll tell you why,” he said. “I am finishing my book, remember? I need to have it done soon. I have soft money, you see. That means grant money,” he explained. “I have a grant from the NEH—National Endowment for the Humanities—for my research into Shifters, their social history as far back as I can take it.” Turner relaxed into his chair, crossing his legs comfortably. “When you accept grant money, however, you agree to produce something with it, like a book or articles published in peer-reviewed journals. That’s so the grantees don’t simply take the money and run. You have to account for every dollar spent and produce something that contributes to your field. With me, that means a thick tome with all my findings, charts, maps, and so forth. I only have a few months to finish the book and get it to the press that’s publishing it.” He heaved a long sigh. “So this year, I took a sabbatical and moved here to get away from phones, research assistants knocking on my door, endless committee meetings. You wouldn’t believe how many committees I have to be on, and how many meetings each one generates.” He looked pained.
“So this is your hideaway,” Cristian said. He set his cup on the table next to him. “And we are disturbing it. Our apologies.”
“Not at all,” Turner said pleasantly. “I always have time for Shifters. You’re my subject matter, after all.” His eyes twinkled with his smile.
Bowman had said little, letting Cristian ask all the questions. Cristian, he had to admit, was much better at dealing with humans than Bowman was. For a man who hadn’t seen a city until he was a hundred years old, Cristian could be urbane, and people liked his accent. Humans thought him cultured and cosmopolitan, when in reality, he’d been raised in a cave in Transylvania.
