The Bear Claw

Chapter 2

Chapter 2“Coffee.”

Pitch grunted. “What?”

“I need coffee, and we’re out.”

He rubbed his face, scratched the stubble on his cheek, and squinted at Lyra. “So go shop.”

“We’re going to have breakfast at that bakery.”

Pitch closed his eyes again. He was sticky from last night. The scent of three subs clung to him and he wrinkled his nose. None of them was his, and while he’d enjoyed them in the moment, their scents were all wrong now, and it made his skin crawl. “I need a shower.”

“I agree, but make it a quick one.”

Fifteen minutes later, Pitch winced as the sharp August sun pierced his eyes. “Oh, bollocks.”

Lyra huffed. “Coffee, this way.” She yanked him along. “I can smell it.”

Pitch pulled in a breath, but he couldn’t scent anything, and since he had a better sense of smell than Lyra, she was lying. They rounded the corner, and the bakery came into view as did a sign with a crossed-over wolf. Pitched slowed. “What the feck?” He gestured at the sign; he hated those signs. He was a dominant, why be in areas where he wasn’t allowed to use his power?

“Come on. It’s right there.” She gestured at the bakery. “You won’t die from stepping outside of Shifterville for half an hour.” She handed him a pair of gloves which he accepted with a low growl.

He read the sign. The Bear Claw. Pitch refrained from rolling his eyes. “A bear establishment?”

Lyra grinned at his rough voice. “Bernard told me about it.”

Bernard? “Who?”

“The doorman.”

Right, Bernard. “So, it’ll be packed with bears?” He glanced in through the window and blew out a breath of relief. It wasn’t packed at all.

“I think his cousin or something owns it.” She pushed open the door and the scent of vanilla and coffee swirled around them.

“Ms. Murray.” Bernard grinned at them from behind a paper. He looked worse than Pitch felt.

“Oh, hi, Bernard.” Lyra walked over and sat by his table. Pitch reluctantly followed.

“Bad night, man?” Pitch didn’t mind Bernard too much. He was less dominant than Pitch, which made things easier.

Bernard shrugged. “Schedule got a bit messed up, so I haven’t been in bed yet.”

Pitch nodded. He didn’t care. He’d only asked to be polite which was more than he normally bothered with, but Lyra had developed a soft spot for the bear. Not a romantic one, two doms never had romantic relationships with each other. It didn’t work. Both expected—demanded—to be obeyed. Not always with true mates, then there was a stronger bond and more of a balance. The dominant was still dominant, and the submissive still submissive, but there was more give and take, a deeper trust, and Pitch wanted that. He’d seen true mates. They’d die for each other, they sacrificed for each other, and they worked more as a team than mates who weren’t true mates.

“Hello.” A dark-haired man appeared by their table. Pitch studied him. There was something…He wanted to say he recognized him, but…Had the man been a sub, he’d assumed he’d f****d him at some point, but this man held his head high, his stance relaxed.

He didn’t meet Pitch’s eyes, but many doms had a hard time holding his gaze. He wanted to send out a trickle of power to test the man out, but they were in a fecking human district. He didn’t believe anything would happen if he did, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk to the human police.

“Hi.” Lyra’s voice wormed itself into his mind. “We’d like some coffee, please.”

“Black.” Pitch regarded the man, waited for him to at least glance at him now when he’d spoken, but he didn’t. He had black hair, dark eyes, and his skin was white, but not the same kind of white as his was. Mixed race. Pitch didn’t care—he f****d every color and every shape, no discrimination—but he guessed one of the man’s parents were from Japan or Taiwan or something.

He pulled in a breath, tried to catch the man’s bear scent, but he couldn’t separate it from Bernard’s.

“You want something, Bernard?” The man’s voice wasn’t soft and it wasn’t weak, but it lacked…something.

“I’ve drunk enough coffee to give me heartburn. You don’t have energy drinks, do you?” Bernard gave the man a soft smile and it made Pitch want to snarl at him. Strange. He cracked his neck and drummed his thumb against his thigh.

“I’ll get you something.”

The man hurried off and Pitch watched his every move. “That’s your cousin?”

They looked nothing alike, but cousins didn’t have to.

“Oh no. Shiro is a fortune cookie—”

Pitch snorted. He hadn’t taken Bernard for a racist.

Bernard stilled. “Not like that. He’s my cousin’s mate.”

Pitch wanted to snarl. His cousin’s mate? The man couldn’t be mated. Shiro. Everything inside Pitch objected to Shiro having a mate.

* * * *

Shiro’s hands shook as he grabbed a brownie and allowed energy and a dash of vitality to drip into it. It was his power, but it took a few tries to get it right when he was nervous.

He could ingrain emotions in food. It was a strange skill and he’d never heard of anyone else who could do it. A fortune cookie, Bernard called him. And he guessed he was. Torben sure had tried to exploit his skill to make a fortune. It hadn’t worked—Shiro had been unable to call up the emotions needed when he’d been beaten half to death.

To be able to exude calm and happiness, Shiro needed to be calm and happy. Torben had wanted him to make aphrodisiac cookies, but to feed someone arousal he needed to feel arousal. Ice filled his veins and he looked down at the brownie.

“What are you doing?” Astra’s voice was low.

“I was going to give Bernard an energy boost, but I filled his brownie with fear and disgust.” He threw it in the trash and grabbed another.

Astra tickled him right above the hip bone, making him chuckle and squirm. He held his hands over the new brownie and allowed some of the joyful lightness to drizzle into it followed by energy he didn’t know he had. At least he’d slept, which was more than Bernard who’d come here as soon as they’d let him go from that terrible bar where he worked. It might not be an enormous energy boost, but he could give Bernard the feeling of having slept.

His powers were contradictory. He was weak in that he couldn’t shift, which most subs could, but his powers of imbuement were strong even though they didn’t last long. The effect would wear off a few minutes after the last bite, but the brownie would hopefully be enough to keep Bernard alert while the new dominants were here.

Shiro recognized them. They’d passed them very early this morning.

“You want me to bring it out to them?” Astra watched him with narrowed eyes. Her bronzed skin was darker now in the summer and her black curls were tied back while in the kitchen. She was short as most submissive were, but she was no wisp, and Shiro loved that about her. He wasn’t attracted to her, but her looks calmed him. There was something motherly about her despite her not having children. She was calm and secure in herself. Sure, she was aware of the dangers of dominants, and she didn’t hang around any shifter clubs offering herself up to random alphas, but she didn’t walk around in constant fear.

Shiro hated what he was. He didn’t want to be submissive. He wanted to be able to control his own life, and he couldn’t find peace when a random dominant could walk into his kitchen, order him not to move—order him not to breathe—and take everything from him. One little bite was all it took, and if they ordered Shiro not to fight, Shiro wouldn’t fight. If they ordered Shiro to enjoy it, his body would while his mind screamed to be let free.

He’d lived through it before. He would not live through it again.