Snowman (Arctic Station Bears Book 2)

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C
hapter
O
ne
- 1
00,000
Y
ears
A
go

Before he was Calder, the Snowman had no name and had never needed one. He’d been alone most of his life, after all. As a child, his first shift had caused his own family to abandon him to the wilderness. The looks of terror on their faces were his only company in those hard first few months. He didn’t blame them, though. He even considered it mercy to be exiled. They could have simply killed him. The first of his kind.

He didn’t want to hurt them.

He spent some cold and hungry weeks before he stopped being afraid of the shift. It kept him warm. It kept his belly full. It kept him safe. He watched members of his tribe from afar. Their routines were known to him. Their relationship with the land was something he completely understood. There were even times he thought he might rejoin them, but isolation was a comfort. Less so later, when he became a man.

The first time he saw her, he knew she was special. Her dark hair blew wildly around her olive skin. Her son chased butterflies on awkward legs as she gathered fruit each day. There was no marriage, but there were mates, and she’d had one previously. He died during a hunt many moons before. Calder had watched it happen. The mammoth dragged him and crushed him underfoot. com

The village made sure she wanted for nothing. It was just their way. But even so, Calder began to leave fresh kills by her door. Eventually she’d caught him doing so.

Even though he was a stranger to her, the look in her eyes told him everything. It spoke to him on the level of the animal
and
the man. Her voice was the promise of something he’d waited for his entire life. Her touch swept away the years of loneliness. Even when he shared his secret, she had no fear of him. Even her child had touched his soft fur with gleeful fascination. Many chilly nights found the child fast asleep on Calder’s back while his mate looked on in smiling approval. They were fated to be together. He was the first of his kind. She was the first fated mate.

The village had no knowledge of him, his family having long since moved on. Many just assumed that he was from a neighboring tribe. Either way, he was welcomed with open arms. He and his mate even had a child of their own together. His son was like Calder, a shifter. He was no longer alone.

Calder always assisted on difficult hunts as a man, but was much happier to hunt alone as a cat. He always returned generous portions to the tribe. They were happy for the meat, and seemed content not to question the source, since everyone was well fed without risking danger.

Calder was content. Contentment bred carelessness.

One winter night, as Calder and his son were running as cats across the savannah, men from the village burst into his home. Hearing his mate’s cries in the cold, still darkness filled Calder’s stomach with a pit of dread that he had not felt since childhood. He made sure his son knew to stay hidden, then raced toward the village as fast as his four powerful legs could carry him.

He arrived too late for his stepson. The boy was put to the knife while trying to defend his mother. The warriors held the same knife to her throat as Calder approached. Both cat and man roared and screamed and wanted to tear them apart, but he dared not act for fear of losing his mate.

The men shouted at Calder. His secret had been uncovered. Someone had seen him shift during his last hunt. The villagers were afraid — they didn’t understand. But they offered him a choice. Offer himself up for destruction, or lose his mate. He shifted into a man and fell to his knees.

It was no choice at all.

Even as the first spears drew blood, Calder could not take his eyes from his mate. Even through her rage and fear, he saw love there. His rapidly closing wounds prompted her to taunt the warriors and Calder could feel his heart breaking even as it seemed to work at a fever pace. She was so powerful. Her voice was in his mind, soothing him. A cold hole began to form in Calder’s chest. He could not draw breath. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

The warriors demanded to know the location of Calder’s son. When he refused and spat on them, the fire came. Calder screamed as the flames consumed his flesh, but still he could not die.

The warriors were frustrated and terrified. And Calder’s mate paid the price. She and Calder said tender things to one another, inside the silent connection they shared, and she forced one last smile for him. Then the knife to her throat.

Calder’s roar shattered the night as he transformed. His bones cracked and reshaped, showing through his torn and burned flesh in places, but he was beyond caring. He fought with teeth and claws and all of the rage he could muster, but he was too weak, and the warriors too strong.

He closed his eyes and wished for death, but even then it would not find him.

His next memory was being swallowed by icy water. He was disoriented, so before he started to right himself and swim, he had already moved underneath the thick ice that covered the lake near the village. The torches of the villagers were the only points of light in the blackness as the freezing water filled his lungs. He tried smashing the ice with his fists and again with his massive paws, but to no avail.

Calder closed his eyes and thought of his mate. Surely now it would be over. In a few moments, they would be together again. They would lay by the fire while the children slept. He would brush her dark hair from her eyes and kiss her. It wouldn’t be long now.

Be safe, my son
, Calder thought.
You are the last of our kind.