Bear Meets Bride (Online Shifter Dating Agency Romance) (3 page)

4

Men might think about sex every six seconds, so researchers tell us, although society as a whole is characterized as sex-crazy by today’s media, but we seldom hear mention of how happy a man can be just from having proven himself a complete charmer. The date with Erin had gone better than Tom had dared to hope for; he was certain he hadn’t come across as too shy, which was his fear, at the same time as resisting making any inappropriate approach. This latter possibility was never a very real danger—he wasn’t confident enough around a stunner like Erin to expect to trip to the bedroom on a first date. A more likely fear was that his ravenous appetite might embarrass him, but in this too he had maintained his poise. Italian cuisine was not the kind of dish to attack as if you were killing it, like he did with the almighty burgers from Erin’s bakery. The occasion confirmed that a predator’s stomach could be taught to behave if circumstance demanded, just like a dog with a bone.

As a result, the next time one of his colleagues teased him about still being a single man, he could coolly mention that he was seeing a lovely young lady on his next night off as if it was completely normal, instead of having to respond with some lame joke about playing the field—a field which everyone really knew was barren and neglected. From his perspective, he felt quite grateful that Erin also worked long hours like him, otherwise someone would definitely have snapped her up years ago. She was every bit as captivating over several hours as brief exchanges across the bakery counter had led him to imagine, and he was looking forward to finding out if there might be something more between them.

His last attempt at a relationship, two years ago, had been with another work colleague. Fortunately, it hadn’t ended badly, and he and Nana Morgan, who was an emergency dispatch officer for the entire county, still got on well and there was no disdain to get in the way of professional requirements. Back then, work had been one of the factors to get in the way of their relationship, however, and so Tom was relieved to have found someone outside the forces to focus his affections on. Women were still very much outnumbered in the workplace anyway, and so most of them were taken already.

After agreeing to meet on Thursday, this time at his place, Erin had gone easy on him after her refined dishes and was going to let him grill up some steaks. That suited him just fine, and in return, he suggested a more laid-back approach that meant she could wear her cowboy boots—news that he noted she received with glee.

Back at work the next day, Tom took a refreshing lift from still feeling the satisfaction of Sunday evening and turned up in a happy state of distraction. Alas, as the good bard would say, this was not to last more than a couple of hours because he and Jake were due to visit the county coroner and receive the analysis on the third serial killer’s victim.

The diversion of an evening with Erin had in fact resulted in Tom’s first good night’s sleep since the news that there had been another murder. Over the last few weeks he had only been sleeping fitfully, and whatever slumber he did get was disturbed by nightmares. Disappearing into a cloud of romance had proven therapeutic, but couldn’t last. There was something more personal about the case than he had ever felt before and, although the whole affair was likely to be causing him paranoia, he was beginning to imagine he was connected to it all in some way other than as being part of the investigation.

As yet he was unable to put a finger on why this might be. His bear shifter gene was a rare thing in his family, and his parents had not been wholly prepared for its onset interrupting his teenage years—when it had resulted in the decision to relocate from New York to Montana. So it wasn’t as if he was part of a network of shifter politics or had to worry about being related to the killer; what cousins he knew of who also had the gene were not in close enough proximity to be involved.

Nevertheless, something about it appeared to be goading him, as if the kills were designed to put him at the center of a storm, even though the only few people he could think of potentially bearing a grudge against him were safely behind bars. Although a cop, Tom didn’t make enemies easily or have any ongoing feuds to speak of. He had always pursued his community role with authenticity in mind, though he was unsure as to how much that would stand him in good stead if it came to a real public backlash. Mob mentality had reared its ugly head just the once during his life—when a Native American man had been wrongly suspected of attacking children—and it had not been pretty.

When the time came to be briefed and make their own examination of the remains, even Jake’s usual insistence on approaching every new challenge with a fair degree of humor—no matter how dark the case—felt a little forced. Knowing his superior for as long as he had, it was clear to Tom that the county sheriff was also having concerns as to the possible knock-on effect of word getting about that a bear shifter serial killer was active. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say the case was completely unprecedented and, in this instance, working on something unusual did not look like making a refreshing difference.

Tom must have viewed several dozen dead bodies during his time as a cop. Most as a result of accidents, perhaps a dozen being murder victims. He was not completely immune to their impact, and some of them had proven truly haunting, but none had disturbed him to such an extent as this case, or this third body. The others had given him sleepless nights but this one was worse; the killer’s capacity for ferocious violence seemed to be growing with each victim.

The deceased—a man in his thirties suspected to have been out walking his dog because of a lead in his hand (though no dog had been found)—had his chest and throat bitten and slashed at mercilessly, inflicting an unnecessary amount of damage if killing was the only purpose, and it was completely impossible to tell which wound had been the death blow. After the initial attack had taken place and the victim was either dead or dying, the bear had then proceeded to rip open the man’s guts and stomach, on this occasion going as far as to leave the body in two pieces. With such a gruesome mess on the coroner’s table, it was beyond Tom to understand the methods that had allowed him to be so precise in his work, but the monotonous individual had insisted there was evidence of ‘lapping’ about the victim’s innards, which meant the bear had lingered to drink the bodily fluids.

If having the same shifter gene as the killer meant that his stomach should have been strong enough to look upon the results without flinching, then Tom was not finding it to be so. Though cynics might say that, in his bear form, Tom was also capable of killing and inflicting exactly the same horrors on an innocent man, the truth was that he found it just as difficult to look at as any non-shifter might a murder committed by human hand.

If anything, though he could only speak for his own sensibilities, the shock of the remains seemed amplified in his mind for also knowing that the perpetrator was one of his own kind. Not only was it a crime they were not supposed to see, now that society had become more accepting to shifters (if still a little lukewarm or resentful in certain places), the findings teased him by showing how bad he could become if ever his own mind became unhinged or anything like the stereotypes that scared and prejudiced people would torment him with. Admitting this felt like taking a blow to the skull, but he found the word ‘monster’ not far from his thoughts, though it was a word shifter folk made the point of avoiding even in fairytales. This was the twenty-first century, and people were supposed to be embracing more sophisticated terminology to understand the world, but ‘monster’ was still the most effective description available for summing up his feelings towards whomever was responsible for these killings.

Putting Tom off his food was not an easy thing to do, but he genuinely felt sick and doubted he would eat much for the rest of the day. He hid the extent of his revulsion from Jake, though his friend knew him well enough to see this one was weighing heavily upon him.

“Haven’t been feeling hungry, have we, Tom?” Jake asked after they had taken in the coroner’s report—a joke so bad but so obvious that only the best of friends would feel compelled to get it out of the way, though it was said without humor.

“Quite the opposite,” Tom replied, not bothering to scold him for it. His response went deeper than Jake knew; only an hour previously he had been looking forward to Thursday night’s steak date—though partly because of the pretty face he would be serving it to—but that was about the last thing he wanted on his dish now. The three days in-between might not be nearly enough to rid his psyche of the image.

“So,” Jake went on. “Sorry to ask you this, buddy, but how bad is a shifter’s bloodlust?”

“I can only speak for bears,” Tom replied, “but like humans I can tell you that taste is geared towards a certain…well, diet, I guess. Just as you and I might crave a burger, a bear’s taste buds will start tingling at the sight or scent of salmon—or the leftovers from a fast food restaurant.”

“But bears kill deer and moose, don’t they?”

“And feed on carrion,” the coroner added.

“Yes, but that’s partly because their diet is so adaptable, and also, letting a convenient meal go by is not wise in the animal kingdom. Taking down a large mammal is too good an opportunity to miss because it can sustain them for so long, but a bear’s real craving is for fish…and they eat more vegetation and insects than people realize.”

Tom never usually tried to come across as a nature expert. On this occasion he was inclined to offer a perspective, however, while rambling a little also served to help take his mind off the gruesome remains.

“So you wouldn’t think this could be explained by getting a taste for human flesh?” Jake then asked, adding, “Sorry buddy, but people are going to be asking these questions.”

“They are,” Tom agreed. “No, I think this is essentially a normal murder, only one that’s been done in bear form.”

“Just to make it easier to accomplish?”

“Possibly, or else to wind up people by giving shifters a bad name.”

“Why would a bear shifter do that?”

“Strange world we live in,” Tom replied. “Would be unprecedented in a bear shifter but…well, the way this kill especially is so…crazed. It looks like the killer is trying to draw attention.”

“I guess we can’t rule anything out,” Jake said, “but I still vote for craziness with work like this. He has to be unhinged in some way.”

“Or she,” the coroner added with an arched brow.

“She? Are you serious?”

“Yes, a female bear could have done this just as well as a male one. Although in the wild male bears are the more aggressive half of the species; unless the females are protecting their young.”

Jake attempted something of a poker face in response to this piece of advice, but Tom knew him well enough to recognize that he considered it the most useless piece of information so far. The county sheriff was not really interested in what went on in the woods when all the creatures came out to play.

“All right,” he said, nodding, “let’s cover this up and we’ll be out of your hair.”

“There is one more observation,” the coroner said, ending Tom’s hopes the whole procedure would be over with. “You’ve forgotten the pentagram.”

This was a reference to the previous two victims, both of whom had markings that looked like they might have been a pentagram but, because of decomposition, they could not be sure. With this third victim, however, the mark was as clear as day, left on the palm of the left hand.

“That damn thing,” Jake replied. “No mistaking it this time.”

“That’s right,” Tom agreed.

“Well, looks like this thing’s going to be the main talking point moving on from here,” Jake said, then they thanked the coroner and left for some fresh air.

After agreeing there had been a hint of a pentagram on the previous victims, some research into what sick message it might allude to needed to be taken with a local folklorist, a woman by the name of Emma Starling.

“Any idea what it could mean in this case?” Jake asked once they’d settled into her lounge room with cups of coffee.

“Well, as you two already know, pentagrams have been traditionally used in what we call satanic worship. But in this case, it’s different.”

“Oh?” Tom leaned forward, his brows wrinkled.

“Well, you said this killer is a shifter, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“There’s an old legend that werewolves would use pentagrams to pinpoint their next victims. I suppose even though this isn’t a werewolf attack—you said werebear—but that still tells us that this killer knows his history, and he’s using the pentagrams to send a message.”

“And that message is…” Jake began.

Tom got to the answer quicker. “That there’ll be more. More killings.”

Emma nodded. “Yes. I think that’s what the symbols signify.”

“Jesus…”

Because of this, Tom would have another reason not to sleep tonight, because it was a clear indication that the killer was planning to strike again, even if its references were all screwed up and it wasn’t a wolf shifter’s work at all. It was also further indication that the kills were there to wind people up, linking Montana bear shifters with old-world myths and a fictional time when shape-shifters were definitely evil and lusting for human blood.

If the killer wasn’t caught soon, bear shifters could really be screwed.