He took his time at the bar, working through a hefty meal and several beers, until last call around two. The dive bar didn’t look like the type to adhere to the local ordinance about closing times, but Jameson didn’t feel like making a nuisance of himself. The greasy burger took the edge off his hunger and the beer promised just enough fatigue that he’d be able to sleep. Maybe.
He kept a bottle of vodka in his room upstairs just for that purpose, but if he had to sleep downstairs... Jameson sighed and slapped a hearty tip on the bar before he shoved to his feet and headed into the darkness. Maybe he could sneak back into Sasha’s apartment after making sure the coast was clear and no more kinky sex disturbed the night.
Jameson shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat, turning up the collar against the blowing snow and wind. The bar wasn’t exactly walking distance for most people, even without the snow, and through a neighborhood that should have been driven through. He wasn’t surprised that no one else strode through the storm.
Maybe he could volunteer to be Santa for the kids. Most of them barely remembered him in between naps and screaming fits and racing in circles in the backyard. He’d make sure Kaiser actually got the new Santa suit first, though. Or he’d be a Santa bear in his polar bear form, maybe get a hat and scarf that hadn’t been profaned by the Russian. Jameson yawned and ducked his head as the wind kicked up. Walking hadn’t been the best idea, at least not in his human form.
He enjoyed the hush and stillness of the night. Hopefully the rest of the bears had retired for the night, or at least begun the arduous task of arranging their young ones for bed, so he took his time getting back. Otherwise he’d get looped into bedtime again and have to read Where the Wild Things Are ad nauseum to Sasha’s little boy, Mischka.
He understood why a kid with a puppy tail would enjoy the book about monsters, but that didn’t mean Jameson wanted to memorize the damn thing. His patience with young, small things only went so far. He’d spent his entire adult life around men -- other soldiers, other freedom fighters, sometimes militias, or anyone with enough money to pay for his services. He hadn’t spent time around women or children, and it showed. The first few days had been rough settling in at the gym where Sasha and his mate lived. Four other bear families lived there as well, all of them one cozy den, and it felt like half the population of Moscow raced around his feet whenever he blinked.
Why were children so loud and fast? And they cried at everything. He’d been baffled when Mishka sobbed hysterically because his mother would not allow the boy to play with a dishwasher detergent pod thing. The pod was multi-colored and squishy, so the appeal was obvious, but the boy would not understand reason. The next morning he cried and screamed and threw himself on the floor because he was cold, but refused to put on a sweatshirt or hat. He just screamed louder when Sasha tried to make him warmer.
Jameson shook his head and inhaled the sharp, cold air to remind his lungs what winter felt like. It wasn’t as cold as Siberia, where he’d met Sasha, but it beat the miserable winter he spent in the desert out west while avoiding some people who wanted to find him. He hated the sunshine and heat and sand. Jameson shook himself and debated sleeping out in the backyard behind the gym, maybe under some of the stacked logs the other bears used for lifting and sharpening claws.
He was a block from the den when a small sound reached him through the oddly muffled night air. The snow swirled and stole away the thread of noise, and Jameson would have shaken it off and kept going except the wind shifted. It blew the snow aside long enough to reveal a lone streetlight providing a circle of watery light. Jameson paused when the sound, a mewling like a kitten, came again.
A car sat under the streetlight and a slight figure lifted the hood.
Jameson’s shoulders tensed. It was a bad neighborhood to get out of the car, even in the middle of a blizzard, and even more so for... He set his jaw. A young woman. She leaned over the hood, and spoke to someone in the car. He waited for that other someone to get out and help, hoping he wouldn’t have to approach the car himself, but no one else appeared.
He knew perfectly well how his offer of help would be received: if the woman had even an iota of good sense, she’d lock herself in her car and wait until he left to change the tire herself. A stranger walking up at three in the morning couldn’t go well. Still, though. The bear wouldn’t allow Jameson to remain across the street while the young woman shivered and fumbled with the inner workings of the engine.
He took a deep breath and checked his phone. Maybe he could call Sunny or another of the bears so they could come down and help. A female approaching another female would be far less threatening.
It was too bad he didn’t have the Santa suit, although maybe that would have been even worse. The only thing worse than being approached by a possible pervert at two in the morning was being approached by a pervert in a costume. Or so he assumed.
A thread of sound, like the whimper of a puppy, reached him through the hiss and scratch of snow against his clothes. Another thread joined it, strengthening into cries. Young ones. Not just a female, but a female with young. Not a shifter, definitely human, and alone in shifter territory and a city that still had a hefty mob presence despite Sasha’s efforts to run them out of business.
He swallowed a growl and approached cautiously. He stayed near the streetlight so she could see him, but she focused on the jack so closely she didn’t even look up. Jameson shook his head. She needed better situational awareness. He could have snuck up on her and kidnapped her without her noticing.
He cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”
She shot upright and scrambled back, sliding in the slushy ice, and dropped the jack with a clang. She stared at him with wide, horrified eyes and the babies kept crying. The female froze, hardly breathing, and remained paralyzed as he studied her. On the petite side, with the lush curves of a woman who’d carried a child. He glanced into the backseat and his eyebrows rose. Two children, perhaps at once. Her dark hair, scraped into a floppy bun on top of her head, turned even darker as the snow melted and dampened it. The streetlight revealed the fear in her eyes but not their color.
Jameson didn’t get any closer. He figured negotiating with a female around her young was the same as dealing with a terrorist with a bomb. Nice and easy, slow, disarming. “You okay?”
She just stared at him. He held his breath and debated what to do next. He couldn’t just leave but he wasn’t going to spring into action until he knew what was wrong. He frowned as he studied her and the snow kept falling. What the hell would a normal guy do?