Bear Meets Bride (R) - Amy Star Page 0,15
by floatplane.
“You said most people dismiss them.”
“Aye,” another pregnant pause, “but if there’s one thing a poacher or big game trophy hunter can’t resist: it’s those urban rumors. The ones that can’t possibly be true, but just might be. I told Dylan all about this of course… we’re both very careful about changing and touring the shoreline, just in case there is some wary hunter or fisherman out for a leisurely boat ride. But the stories are still there.”
“You think they’ve come looking for us? I mean… I mean bears?”
Chris shrugged. “I’d rather not have to ask them. But it is worrying. I’ll get on the horn and let the council know we might have some trouble… if anything, they can send a coast guard to do a ‘routine tour’ around the island. Other than that, we should put a hold on transformations.”
He said all of this, counting it off on his fingers with a judicious pause between each item. There was something definitively mature about him, despite his off-handedly simple nature. Like he could really take charge when he needed to, if the situation required it. With a pang, she realized he embodied, in as many ways, the attributes she had always been lacking in abundance. She merely nodded and then her eyes grew wider.
“What about Dylan? He doesn’t know about them… where is he?”
The patron caught the knife-edge in her voice and his eyes widened too and something like Shit passed barely as a whisper through his lips as he stood up again. “We’d better find him… I don’t think we’re in any real danger, but…”
“I’ll check the west side of the island,” Sarah finished his sentence for him, heading for the door, “you check the east.” With that, she was out the door again and didn’t turn back to see if Chris was following her.
Her legs felt weak, still achy like jelly from the hard sprint back from the beach, but she tried to focus on her breathing as she followed some of the side paths that veered toward the tributaries and little streams that circulated over the island like a fresh-water web. Dylan always seemed to enjoy those areas best, places where he could stand in the middle of the creek and snap at the salmon, which were just tapering off in their spawning season.
She could already smell the decay of dead and dying fish long before she reached the flowing creek. There was a convent of eagles on one rocky shore, all gorging themselves on dead salmon, which was red in their beaks. They gave her an inquisitive look and then hurriedly returned their attention to their scavenged kill. She looked up and down the creek but couldn’t see any sign of him. She decided to head upstream. In all likelihood, if there was good salmon hunting, it would be higher up, which is where Dylan would most likely be.
Her feet skidded over the slippery stones until she reached the small pool. There were dorsal fins of tired salmon, trying to keep themselves afloat but no sign of Dylan. She let out a breath of relief. Maybe she’d missed him. Maybe, she thought, he’d already returned to the cabin and I missed him, and here I am panting hoarsely at a pond full of dead fish worrying for nothing.
The thought was amusing and she shook her head, feeling foolish, but still relieved, and gripped her hips with both hands as she started back the way she came.
Then it came. A shot, like the trunk of an old growth fir splitting in a wind storm; something full of energy and rage, sharp as a thunderclap. It echoed, entering her body and working its way down to her toes, and she realized she’d stopped breathing. Another shot, this time she could tell the direction it was coming from, and took off running again. She couldn’t even think, her body reacted on its own and she had the distinct impression of watching it move without being able to consciously interact with it.
The only thing that ran through her head was No. It was cloudy, yes, but there was no lightning. She hadn’t imagined the gunshots; they were real and close. Her feet slipped again and up ahead she heard a scream and a series of growls. The screams were screams of pain, agony ripping itself from the throat of someone and she tried not to picture Dylan or Chris’ face.
The noise was coming from down near the western