The Right to a Bear's Arms (A BBW Shifter Romance) (Wolf Rock Shifters) (6 page)

Somehow she’d made it.
He
wouldn’t find her, and maybe he wouldn’t even be looking. This place felt like another universe to where she’d woken the day before, and she was filled with gratitude for it, and even for Colson, the handsome, frustrating spirit bear, despite the fact that she knew she might never see him again. He seemed to want to watch over her and though it irked her she felt a warmth as well; she wasn’t used to being taken care of.

This was a new emotional state for Zoe; gratitude wasn’t particularly in her internal vocabulary. She wondered if the altitude was beginning to mess with her brain.

“What can I get you, hon?” asked the waitress when she came by.

“
Bacon and eggs, please. Eggs scrambled. Brown toast, coffee. Oh, and do you know of somewhere where I can buy a cell phone?”

“Yeah, there’s a little shop around the corner, if you take a right out of here and then another right,” the young woman said.

“Great, thanks.” Zoe closed the menu and handed it to her.

Sh
e had a plan for the day ahead: she’d buy a phone and then call or text Kyla, and she would meet with her about the school she’d mentioned. Much as she wanted to remain inconspicuous, she knew that a woman who disappeared into the woods nightly would gain more of a reputation than a nice young lady who’d come to town looking to help children, and it seemed like she should err on the side of normalcy. Elementary teachers generally didn’t draw attention as fugitives, at least not in her limited experience.

Besides which, as the previous night had reminded her, s
he did like children. She always had, and had constantly, as a child, wished for siblings. But her adoptive parents seemed satisfied that they had their hands full with her and had denied her the pleasure, or else had saved themselves from it.

Zoe hadn’t been an easy child, she knew. She was prone to nightmares and her imagination always seemed cruelly to tell her that she’d been discarded because she was no good. Her new parents had the job of assuring her constantly that she was loved,
which she’d never fully believed. How could anyone love such a person? She was an ugly child, she’d thought, and dull, and it was for these reasons that she’d begun to create new personas for herself when she came into her abilities. She could play the roles of different girls, different women, and satisfy her own needs as well as those of others. If one person grew tired of her she had only to become someone else. It was like plastic surgery without the knife.

The problem was that she no longer
entirely knew who she was.

After breakfast Zoe settled the bill and walked down the street towards the shop the waitress had mentioned. She was still barefoot, but this wasn’t an uncommon state for shifters. Still, she stopped in at a store on the way that sold outdoor gear and bought a pair of flats so that she wouldn’t feel quite so much like a homeless person, even if that was exactly what she was. She would eventually need to buy some new clothes as well; this one dress would only last her for so long, after all.

As she turned the corner and approached the
phone store, she noticed that across the street was a well-kept automotive shop with several cars parked out front, including a shiny red pickup truck. She knew that Colson would be inside, working on someone’s engine. Zoe kept focused on the store, not wanting to be seen, and was relieved when she finally entered.

A non-descript man of thirty or so was working behind the desk, seemingly playing games on his own phone to occupy himself.

“I need a cell phone,” Zoe told him when he’d finally acknowledged her presence with an awkward smile. “Nothing fancy. I just need to be able to call and text.”

“Okay, but we’ll
still need to set you up with an account and all that stuff,” he said apologetically, sensing that she probably didn’t want to be there for a long time.

“Whatever’s quick and easy,” she said, her eyes darting to the shop across the street. She wanted to get the phone and make herself scarce.

“This model’s pretty good,” the man said, holding up a smartphone that looked like perfectly ordinary and pretty well like every other phone Zoe saw in the glass case.

“That’ll work. Let’s just ge
t the paperwork done,” she said.

As the cashier
printed out the pages that she’d need to acknowledge and sign, the door opened behind Zoe, who remained in place pretending not to hear it. She didn’t want to make eye contact with anyone if she could possibly avoid it.

“Hey,
Zoe,” said a voice behind her as she fidgeted with a package of headphones on the wall.

She turned, her jaw clenched.
Colson stood before her in a pair of green coveralls which were partly undone, revealing a white t-shirt underneath, his strong chest stretching the cotton thinly over his muscles. Damn, he was a good-looking man. What a pain in the ass.

“Hey.”

“I saw you come in here,” he said, wiping engine grease off his hands on the legs of his coveralls. “You doing okay?”

“I’m fine. Y
ou’re good at finding me, aren’t you?”

He knew that she must have been referring to that morning’s outing to the woods.

“I’m good at a lot of things,” he smiled. Zoe thought she detected a hint of suggestiveness in his tone and his face. “Anyhow, I just wanted to check and see that you were all right. You took off sort of fast last night.”

“I’m all right. I’m very good at looking after myself.”

“Right, so you tell me,” he said, a blackened hand scratching the stubble on his chin. “Okay. Well, you know where to find me.” Colson nodded to the garage across the street. “If you need me.”

“Thanks. I don’t
need
anyone.”

“Saying that is a sure sign that you do,”
he said, “and the sooner you figure that out, the better.” And with that, he walked out of the store.

Zoe stood watching him, frustrated at his ability to sense her inner workings. She wanted to argue with him and to insist that he was wrong, but somehow he always seemed right.

“Are you new here in town, then?” asked the shopkeeper, pulling her out of her thoughts. Zoe rolled her eyes before turning to him.

“Yeah. I am.”

“Would you…like to go on a date with me?” The man looked immediately apprehensive after he asked the question, as though she might hit him.

And she wanted to. Why the hell did men ask strange women on dates, especially when they didn’t know shit about them?

Zoe sized him up. Everything about him was wrong; his appearance, his seeming shyness, his hair. What the hell was with his hair? Was that a combover? How could such a young man have a combover already?

“No,
” she said, grinding her jaw.

“Okay, sorry, just thought I’d ask.”

Now he looked like a puppy who’d just been struck with a rolled-up newspaper.

“I’m sorry. That was really rude of me,” said Zoe, who felt immediate remorse for her cruelty. She was beginning to realize that not everyone in the world was an enemy. “I’m just not really in a place where I can go out on dates. With anyone, I mean.”

The man smiled
awkwardly and looked down at his hands, which only served to make Zoe feel worse.

“I really am sorry,” she said
. “I didn’t mean to sound so abrupt with you. I do that sometimes, but it’s not because of you.”

“It’s okay. But thanks for the apology. I appreciate it.”

Here was a perfectly nice-seeming man and she’d done to him what she’d resented others for all her life: judged him based purely on his looks. Sized him up, assumed the worst and discarded him. Zoe wished now that she could sit and explain to him all that was wrong with her and the world, but she knew it would never happen. Life was just unfair, and especially cruel to anyone who didn’t fit the mold of attractiveness. Here she was, less than physical perfection herself, treating the poor guy like he was a leper.

As the shopkeeper
filled out his portion of the paperwork, Zoe turned away and pretended to study more accessories hanging on the wall. When she turned back, she’d grown three inches, and was blond with breasts that created a perfect, delectable cleavage where her now-loose dress plunged downwards.

“Okay, miss, I think we’re done with this,” said the man, looking up.
His jaw dropped.

“Holy shit,
” he muttered.

“Listen,” she said, “I can’t go out on a date with you, but…” she leaned forwards, elbows on the counter so that her breast
s were squeezed between them, “I just wanted to say that you seem like a really nice guy.”

With that, she touched his face with a well-manicured index finger, which appeared to make him turn tomato-red.

“Are you the same…wait…what?” he said.

“Yes, I’m the same woman,” she said.

The man took a moment to regain his composure.

“Well, here you go
,” he said, his forehead beaded with sweat. He handed Zoe the phone and the paperwork and she paid him in cash, which she extracted from her cleavage.

“No, thank
you
,” she said as she turned and walked out of the store, hips swaying.

When she was outside, she smiled, knowing that she’d probably just made that guy’s week.

Across the street, Colson stood staring at her, a look of concern and judgment on his face.

Suddenly Zoe felt as though she were wearing the skin of an alien.

Zoe wandered, her mind reluctantly focused on the memory of Colson’s face and how awful it made her feel to sense that he disapproved of her in some way. She didn’t think she cared about him; in fact she’d made an effort not to. But the look on his face had hurt more than anything she’d experienced in recent months, regardless of how unpleasant some of her days had been.

A small park sat nestled in the center of Wolf Rock, and when Zoe came upon it she walked in, past a wrought iron gate that looked as though it must never close. Vines coated its surface, seeming to bind it to the stone wall to which it was attached. This slightly foreboding entry gave the place the air of a secret garden, which beckoned to Zoe to come into its depths.

Wh
en she found herself quietly seated on a stone bench in her regular human form, Zoe texted Kyla.

Hi, don’t know if you remember me. We met last night. My name is Zoe.

Almost immediately a response came:

Of course I do! Tell me where you are, let’s meet up.

This jarred Zoe; it seemed too invasive and spontaneous, somehow, and then she reminded herself that Kyla was willing to help her.
Wanted
to help, even.

At the little park in town.

We’ll be right there.

We? Why is it a we? Who’s we?
she thought
. Jesus, Zoe, chill out.

She reminded herself that Kyla had mentioned Maddox.
They’re not coming to get you.

She sat for several minutes in silence, at first acquainting herself with her new phone but then remembering that she was surrounded by beautiful mountains. In Terrence, the town she’d come from, everything was flat and dull. On occasion one could see the rocky peaks in the distance, if the weather was particularly clear, but for the most part its landscape was nothing like as gorgeous as Wolf Rock.

As her eyes moved slowly from one summit to the next, Zoe saw two figures in her periphery
, walking towards her. One she recognized as Kyla, but without all the silk and bangles, and the other was an enormous man, at least a head taller than his mate, with broad shoulders and a dark complexion. On his arms were black, jagged tattoos which, for some reason, seemed more beautiful than threatening.

She stood to greet them.

“Hey, Zoe,” said Kyla, smiling. “This is Maddox.”

Zoe shook his hand, and the man smiled back at her, though she thought she read caution in his expression. Kyla had mentioned that he was a changer, like her, and maybe it was inherent in their ilk to be wary of others.

“Hi, Maddox,” she said. All three of them sat down on the grass. It was sunny, warm autumn day and none of the three showed any signs of wanting to go inside; another common characteristic of shifters.

“So tell me, have you given any thought to the idea of working at the school?” asked Kyla.

“I have, yeah. That’s sort of why I texted you. I wanted to talk to you about it.”

“We need more teachers,” said Maddox. “I know—I can see in your face that the word scares you. Believe me, it was weird from my end when I started. But you’re not so much a teacher as a coach. I don’t deal with math and science. I work with kids who have certain abilities.”

“What kinds of abilities?”