The next morning, Ted took a dip in the stream while still in bear form, then shook the water out of his fur. The night on his own hadn’t helped—it never helped. Why did he have to be the only bear shifter in history who not only preferred company, but actively hated solitude? His brother laughed himself sick over that on a regular basis.
Ted shifted back to human—resisting the urge to stop halfway, just for old times’ sake—and, shivering, pulled on his clothes. Bet Q-Bert would have felt the chill in his fancy suit if he’d stuck around long enough.
Guilt pricked Ted’s conscience as he hiked the last couple of miles into town. The guy was clearly not the outdoorsy type. Maybe Ted should have at least hung around long enough for him to get off the mountain.
Who am I kidding? I don’t need to worry about him. Judging by his clothes, shoes—and oh, yeah, the not-so-subtle hints about his money, family, blah blah blah—Q-Bert probably just called his limo or helicopter or private fricking jet to pick him up. Unlike Ted, he damn sure hadn’t spent his last dime on his marriage contract. In fact, he probably had money to spare for a magical divorce and to give it another try or ten.
Ted frowned as he pushed open the diner door. Come to think of it, he didn’t know how you got magically divorced. It wasn’t supposed to be necessary, after all, but there must be some hocus-pocus that would do the trick. There always was. Witches never spelled themselves into a corner. Although they sure made it tough for the spell-ees.
Ted nodded at Wanda, who was pouring coffee for a couple of truckers, then ducked to peer through the pass-through and wave at Javier, who was flipping bacon at the grill. He sat down at his usual seat at the corner of the counter—Wanda had reinforced the stool just for him—and pulled one of the menus from between the napkin dispenser and the salt shaker.
“I don’t know why you bother to look at that,” Matt said as he took the stool kitty-corner from Ted. “You always order the lumberjack special, eggs up, extra sausage on the side.”
Heat crept up Ted’s throat and he shrugged. “Maybe I’m in the mood for something different. Ever think of that?”
“Tell me another one.”
“I’m serious.”
“I’ll believe you after you order.” Matt grinned up at Wanda. “Morning, Wanda. I’ll have coffee and the short stack.”
She eyed him, pencil poised above her pad. “You sure about that? Looks like you’d better stick to the egg-white omelet with a side of collard greens. And decaf.”
Matt clutched his chest. “You wound me. Are you insinuating I’m not keeping my girlish figure?”
“I’m insinuating that Doc Adams told you not two days ago at this very counter that you needed to cut back on the carbs and caffeine.”
“Doc Adams is an old fussbudget. What happened to doctor-patient privilege?”
“I suppose it’s still alive and well, but not if you talk about it in the middle of my diner. You’re getting the omelet.” She poured him his coffee, then turned away from him. “The usual for you, Ted?”
Ted glanced at Matt, who was scowling into his coffee. “Not this time, Wanda. Gimme the corned beef hash, double order. Eggs poached. Coffee, please.”
She frowned at him. “No side of sausage?”
“Hey!” Matt slapped the counter. “How come he gets to have all the things?” He poked Ted’s side, where his usual winter love handle was already bulging over his waistband. “He’s got some extra upholstery too, if you hadn’t noticed.”
She grinned and stuck her pencil behind her ear. “Oh I noticed, believe you me. But on him, it looks good. Besides, he’ll lose it again come spring, same as always. You? Not so much.”
“But—”
“Listen, sweetheart. I like you. We all like you, even though you’re kinda squirrelly and you still haven’t told us what you do for a living. We’d like you to keep on doing it, whatever it is—and that means you got to keep on living. So follow Doc’s orders.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Wanda disappeared behind the swinging door into the kitchen. Ted nudged his own coffee toward Matt. “You want mine? I don’t mind decaf.”
Matt smiled crookedly. “Nah. She’s right. I need to eat better and stop sitting around on my ass. It’s bad for me and it sucks for my bank account. What’s new with you?”
“Me? Not a thing.” I just sank all my dough into a lodge that won’t be finished in forever and I’m married to a guy who can’t stand the sight of me. Although maybe he should try to do something about that last one. “Hey, could I borrow your cell? I, uh, left mine at home.”
“Sure.” Matt handed over his phone.
“Thanks. Won’t be a minute.”
Ted pushed through the doors and ducked around the corner so he wasn’t visible through the diner’s window, then punched in Supernatural Selection’s number. How pathetic is it that I’ve got it memorized?
“Supernatural Selection.”
“Yeah, this is—”
“You have reached the AI. At this time, all our counselors are assisting other supes. Your call is important to us. Please hold and the next available—”
“Crap,” Ted muttered, disconnecting the call. He couldn’t stand around out here on Matt’s phone until somebody at Supernatural Selection decided to pick up. If they were helping a sloth shifter, he could be waiting for hours. Days. Weeks.
He deleted the number from the recent call list, then walked back into the diner and returned the phone. “Thanks, man. I owe you.”
“No problem.” Matt glanced through the side window at the parking lot. “I didn’t expect to find you in here today. Your truck’s not in the lot.”
“It’s still in the shop.”
“Still? What’s Larry doing? Knitting you a fuel pump with his own lily-white hands?”
“It’s not his fault. It’s an old truck. He’s having trouble finding the parts.”
“Uh-huh.” Matt took a sip of his decaf and winced. “Damn. It’s just not the same.”
Wanda returned with their plates and plunked them down on the counter. “Here you go, boys.”
They both tucked in, Ted because it was November and he always ate like a starving platoon, and Matt because he always focused on anything like his life depended on it. Ted slowed down about halfway through his hash, thinking back on what Wanda said about Matt’s work.
“Doesn’t Wanda know you’re a photographer?”
He glanced at Ted sidelong, shaking his head, his mouth full of eggs. After he swallowed, he grasped Ted’s arm. “Don’t tell her, okay? You’re the only one around here who knows about it, other than Larry, since the two of you had to rescue me from that tree after my first bona fide Sasquatch sighting.”
Ted snorted into his coffee. “That was pretty funny.”
“Funny, nothing! Skunks can really move when they’re pissed.” He wrinkled his nose, lifting the edge of his half-eaten omelet as if he expected to discover a hidden cache of hash browns. “But Wanda has a point. When I decided to quit Scoop Weekly and go freelance, I didn’t expect my main source to flake out on me. He’s been so reliable up until now, but that tip I told you about in the car?” Matt turned his thumbs down. “Nada. Guy stood me up.”
Ted nudged a morsel of potato with his fork. He felt bad about that, but after Dr. Kendrick’s warning about tagging . . . “I saw one of your pictures on the cover of the New World News just this week though.”
“That was an old shot they pulled from the morgue. I had to call and give them shit about the royalties too. They only had the rights to print it once, and they’ve run it three times. Guess news is as slow for them as it is for me.”
“Yeah. We’re not real exciting around here. Can’t compare to a big city, I expect.”
“Don’t you believe it. I love Dewton, the hills, the woods—even without another Sasquatch sighting. That fishing spot you showed me outside of town? Awesome.” Matt sighed and pushed his plate away. “I just wish I could find a way to make some cash so I can afford to stay here.”
“I’m sure you’ll find something.”
“Yeah. I’ve got a couple of ideas. A lead or two to follow up. It’ll work out.”
“I’m sure it will.” Ted stood and slapped Matt on the shoulder. “See you around.”
“See you.” Matt looked out the window again. “Hey, if you don’t have your truck, how are you getting home?”
“Same as yesterday. I’ll hike up.”
“Need a ride? I don’t mind. Not like I’ve got anything else to do, and I’d love to see your place.”
The last thing Ted needed was the council finding out he’d let a tabloid photographer onto his property. “Nah. The walk does me good.” He patted his belly. “How else can I work off breakfast?”
“If you’re sure . . .”
“Sure as sure. Thanks, though, buddy.”
Ted paid for his meal and left, but as he headed out of town toward the path up the mountain, his hair lifted on the back of his neck. He glanced behind him. Nobody there. But he had to force himself to walk at his usual pace. Maybe it was the conversation with Matt that had set him on edge. Had there been a little too much interest in Matt’s eyes? Did Matt suspect that Ted had something to do with his anonymous tips—and their disappearance? Worse, did Matt suspect Ted was the “Bigfoot” that had shambled out of the woods briefly whenever Matt bushwhacked his way up the mountain?
Matt was a smart guy—Ted had never gotten the impression that he actually believed any of the shit the tabloids published. Wouldn’t it be just Ted’s luck if he’d turned Matt into a believer with the actual truth? Or a version of it anyway.
Just to be on the safe side, he hunkered down in front of the cave for half an hour or so to make sure nobody was on his trail. When he was convinced he was alone in the woods, he stowed his clothes inside and shifted, taking the path through the woods at a steady lope.
When he got to the edge of the clearing by the lake, he stopped and checked out the place. It was as still and quiet as usual. The birds had flapped a bit when he had pushed through the underbrush, but they always squawked at his bear. Stupid birds. It’s not like he ever actually ate any of them.
Although a hint of fancy cologne lingered in the air, there was no movement in the clearing, and the luggage was gone from the porch. Good. Q-Bert must have abandoned ship and gone back to wherever he’d come from to keep his money company. Ted headed for the back door and shifted, then collected the shirt and pants he’d abandoned yesterday. He dressed quickly, his clothes damp from lying outside overnight, but he didn’t want to take the time to fetch dry things from inside because he had that feeling again—someone was watching. Or maybe not watching, exactly, but like he wasn’t alone. The hair on his neck stood at attention and he crouched down, sniffing the air, cursing his less sensitive human nose.
He crept into the vast unfinished main room, freezing when he saw a black leather briefcase and a matching overnight bag next to the front door. What the heck? Ted didn’t in a million years believe that Q-Bert was the kind of guy to leave his fancy monogrammed baggage behind, so he had to be here somewhere.
“Q-Ber— Quentin? Are you here?”
Nothing. But the sawdust was disturbed as if someone had shuffled through it and the parallel double tracks looked a hell of a lot like the tread of suitcase casters. Ted followed the path and found one of those silver space blanket thingies draped over the end of a stack of plywood.
“Quentin?” Again, no answer. Jeez, was the guy still pissed because he’d gotten stuck with a big lumbering bear instead of whatever fancy-ass partner he’d expected? It’s not like he wasn’t at least half responsible.
Ted heaved a sigh and stomped across the floor, but there was no movement under the silver tent. “Come out, come out wherever you are.” He leaned over and peeked into the shadowed hideout. “Holy shit.”
He yanked the blanket off and tossed it aside. Underneath a pile of clothes, Quentin was curled up tighter than a hedgehog shifter. His lips were blue. “Quentin! Quentin, can you hear me? Are you okay?” Jesus, was he breathing?
Ted scrabbled the pile of clothes off Quentin—who seemed to be wearing another pile of clothes—and was his shirt on backwards? Underneath all that stuff, Ted couldn’t tell if Quentin was breathing or not, but he knew how to take a pulse and he could barely feel anything beneath the cold, dry skin. I bet this is how a vampire feels. Is he a vampire? No, he couldn’t be. He was in the sun.
He piled the clothes back on top of the unresponsive man. What good is that gonna do? Clearly they hadn’t kept him warm overnight. Equally clearly, Ted wouldn’t be able to fix this on his own. He didn’t even have his truck to get Quentin down the mountain to the hospital. And if he was a vampire or one of the other kinds of supes whose vitals were so weird that they couldn’t be treated in human hospitals, Ted would catch unbelievable shit from the council for Secrecy Pact violations—not counting what a well-meaning but clueless human doctor could do trying to treat a supe.
He needed help. He needed a supe practitioner—and further, one who could get here immediately.
Dr. Kendrick and David. David was an achubydd, a magical healer. He’d be able to help. And Dr. Kendrick was fae. They could gate through Faerie and show up here in a matter of minutes—there was a threshold in the woods near Ted’s cabin.
Ted’s hands trembled as he pulled his cell phone out of his clammy pocket. It didn’t have any juice—or any bars for that matter—but he didn’t need either to contact Dr. Kendrick. He had the doctor’s special supe communications app, powered by druid spellcraft.
He had to push the button twice before he could get the damn thing to connect. Oh right. The magic words. “Please and thank you.” The phone started to ring, its sound like the call of a hunting horn. What if Dr. Kendrick wasn’t there? What if the spell didn’t work? What if—
“Ted? What’s wrong?”
Thank Ursa. “Dr. Kendrick, there’s this guy. He’s hardly breathing and his lips are blue.”
“What guy? Where?”
“Here, at the lodge. His name’s Quentin Bertrand-Harrington—”
“Quentin Bertrand-Harrington, the incubus?”
Incubus. Holy shit, I’m married to a sex demon. “He didn’t go into that, but his family’s a big deal, I guess. Never mind that. I can’t get him to respond. I need help. Could you and David—”
“We’re on our way. Don’t move him, but try to keep him warm.” He disconnected the call.
Ted tossed his cell on top of the plywood stack. Keep him warm, he says. Right. With what? If they were in the cabin, Ted would stand a half a chance, but here? He didn’t have a heater, or a blanket that was worth a damn, or any way to build a fire without burning the place down.
But I have me.
Ted stripped off his clothes. “Sorry about this, Q-Bert. I’m not sure how your fancy suits’ll handle a run-in with a bear, but better suit-death than you-death.”
He shifted and lay on his side, somehow wedging himself into Quentin’s little clothes nest. Careful with his claws—at least as much as possible—he drew Quentin against his belly and wrapped his arms around him.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed you were a shifter. I shouldn’t have left you alone. Please don’t die. Please don’t die.
Ted didn’t have time to chant his desperate mantra more than a hundred times before he heard the door burst open.
“Ted? It’s us.”
Ted let out a grunt—he didn’t roar and rattle the windows, but that’s what he felt like doing.
Dr. Kendrick appeared next to the plywood, David at his elbow. “Good thinking, Ted, but if you could shift back and let David get to him now?”
Ted nodded, his head heavy, oddly reluctant to let go. Quentin felt awfully good against his chest. But he shifted back as instructed. Which meant he was naked in front of people for the second time in as many days. That might be a record for me. “Sorry about the . . . you know . . .” He splayed his hands over his groin. “Clothing’s not exactly an option during a shift.”
Dr. Kendrick harrumphed, turning it into a cough. David cast him a sidelong eyebrow-raised glance, then smiled at Ted. “Don’t worry about it. Dr. Jealous can cool his jets because I would never peek. And anyway, we’re here in a professional capacity.”
Ted backed away, allowing David, who was much smaller than either Ted or the doctor, to get closer to Quentin. David knelt next to him, his brow wrinkled in concentration, and placed his hands on either side of Quentin’s face.
“Be careful, Dafydd,” Dr. Kendrick murmured. “He can’t give you any positive feedback.”
“I know. I’m just assessing. Not much energy required.” He glanced up at the two of them. “Is there someplace else we can take him? Somewhere with heat and a softer surface than—” He peered down at the floor around his knees. “Holy cats. Am I treating someone on a bed of briefs?”
Ted cleared his throat. “I think he was trying to keep warm overnight. I might have sort of abandoned him after we had a little argument.”
“Well, thank goodness you found him when you did. The exposure practically did him in, although I don’t think that’s the primary problem. So? A warmer and less impromptu bed?”
“Oh. Right. My cabin is about half a mile around the lake. It’s not a five-star hotel, but it’s got a decent woodstove next to the couch.”
“Excellent. Alun, could you carry him?”
“I can do that,” Ted said quickly. For some reason, it was suddenly important that he be the one to do it.
Dr. Kendrick raised an eyebrow. “Are you planning to do so naked?”
Ted glanced down at himself. “Oh. Right. Clothes. They’re here somewhere.” He scrabbled around on the floor and found them, pulling them on as David folded Quentin’s hands over his chest. Then David stepped aside, allowing Ted to pick Quentin up and cradle him in his arms. He nodded toward the back door. “My place is that way. It’s so easy to miss if you don’t know where to look. If I had just told him about it—”
Dr. Kendrick gripped Ted’s shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. Let’s just take care of him now, okay?”
Ted nodded, and Dr. Kendrick held the door open. Then he and David followed Ted along the lakeshore path. Quentin was barely a feather in Ted’s arms, fragile as glass, stirring a feeling under his heart that he’d never experienced before. Don’t get attached. He hates you.
Ted’s home, a cross between log cabin and craftsman bungalow, was set back from the lake shore in a little glade of fir, maple, and aspen. Ted mounted the three steps to the porch and let Dr. Kendrick open this door for him too.
Ted strode across the living room and laid Quentin down on the couch. “There’s a bed upstairs, but it’s chillier up there since I don’t need so much heat when I’m sleeping. Here, he’ll be closer to the fire. I’ll get it started right away, and bring some blankets.”
“This is lovely, Ted, thank you.” David sat on the coffee table in front of the couch and took Quentin’s hand. He smoothed Quentin’s hair back from his forehead. “What’s he doing here anyway?”
“He’s . . . ah . . . weeellll . . .” Ted grimaced, not meeting Dr. Kendrick’s eyes. “He’s my husband.”