Polar Heat

Chapter 1-2

The thought of Riley drove his bear right up onto its hind legs and he roared with frustration, knowing a relationship with the young woman would be slow to develop. Then he hunkered down in a pile of pine needles and closed his eyes, drawing his consciousness deep within himself, to the place where man and animal existed together, in a constant battle for supremacy. Here, that tension generated energy to do what neither human nor bear could do alone. Here he could touch the minds of others. In his subconscious, he could see, clearly as he could with his eyes, the very spot on which he sat: a small hollow in the forest where the silver moon bathed him in icy light. In this place, he resembled his human self, though much bigger and bulkier, animal muscles stretching human skin. Reaching out with his consciousness, he performed an action he had not done in decades, one that could get him into a lot of trouble if anyone objected. The stars drew down from the black velvet blanket of the night sky and approached him, pinpricks of light like stationary fireflies. He extended his hand. “Will you come to me?” he asked in a low rumble. “Will you share your dreams with me, Riley Jenkins? The choice is yours.”

A tiny orb drew away from its place and cautiously approached. He grinned. Shy in sleep as she is in wakefulness. “You can refuse,” he informed the orb. “It's your choice. Will you share, Riley?”

The orb quivered and then zipped into his hand, where it rested lightly, warm and pulsing. The forest shifted and dissolved in a streak of green. Now Russ stood inside a small bungalow in a spare bedroom that had been furnished as a den and library. Darkly stained wood warmed the floor and bookshelves in a complimentary tone graced the cream plaster of the walls. Each shelf groaned under the weight of ancient leather-bound tomes whose titles Russ, in his mingled state, was no longer capable of reading, though the scent of the leather made the animal part of him want to nibble on the bindings. In a tufted burgundy armchair, a man with sparse steel-gray hair and horn-rimmed glasses sat with a child on his lap. The girl, who couldn't be more than about nine, wore a pink nightgown. Her light brown hair had been pulled into a ballerina's bun. Her whiskey colored eyes scanned the page of a book propped in front of her.

“The end,” the man said.

“Daddy,” the girl asked, shifting so she could look behind her. “Why did the girl cheat Rumpelstiltskin? He did what she wanted. Why didn't she just tell the prince the truth from the beginning?”

“If you think about it, dearest, you'll know the answer,” he replied.

Her little brow furrowed in thought. “She was afraid the prince would be angry because of her father's lie. But why did her father lie about her? He caused her so much trouble. He shouldn't have bragged. The way the story is written, it seems like lying and cheating are the ways to get what you want.”

“You're wiser than your years, Riley. No, I don't suggest you learn life lessons from Rumpelstiltskin, or any other fairy tale, unless you consider whether what they seem to be teaching is right. Though maybe you should heed this warning: liars and tricksters are everywhere. Sometimes honest people get hurt by them. In this story, it's hard to see anyone as sympathetic. They all tried to trick each other, and the trickiest creature won.”

“Is that how it is in real life?” Riley asked, and the wounded wariness already audible in her tone made Russell's heart twist.

“Sometimes,” her father admitted. He looked down at his daughter's arm, his expression sad. A deep bruise circled the girl's wrist like a macabre bracelet. The way she shifted had a wincing, pained quality to it.

“Where's Danny?” she asked, as if changing the subject, though the expression on both their faces told Russ that nothing had really changed.

“He's gone, my dear one,” her father said, and the girl relaxed, shoulders slumping. “He did… some bad things and now he has to spend some time paying for them.”

“When will he come back?” the child asked with heartbreaking hesitancy.

“I don't know,” her father replied. “He may be let out before too many years pass, but he will never be welcome in this home again.” He paused, ink-stained fingers brushing lightly over his daughter's wrist. “I'm sorry, Riley.”

Riley didn't speak. Instead she turned in her father's lap and threw her arms around his neck, shoulders shaking.

Stunned at being included in such a private memory, Russ withdrew… or he tried to. The dream seemed to hold him fast, to prevent him from withdrawing, something he'd never experienced before.

The scene shifted, pulling him with it. A streak of brown and maroon sped past him and suddenly Russ found himself standing in the strangest place. It looked like an ice cave, but one completely devoid of texture, each block perfectly smooth with only the faintest indication of seams. The room had enough height for him to stand, but his head brushed the ceiling. Uncomfortable at the tight, clutching space, he scanned for a door, but found none. He was trapped inside a white ice bubble. Russell's polar bear roared in frustration.

A soft answering sound drew his attention to his feet. Riley crouched on the frozen floor in front of him, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her face, in this dream world, had only half the attractiveness of reality. She looked plain, washed-out and tired, and the stink of fear obscured her enticing natural feminine scent.

“Why are we here?” he asked her. “What is this place?”

“You invited yourself in,” she replied. “I don't know what this is. Maybe you can tell me.”

“It looks like a prison,” he said. “Feels like one too. Are you trapped here, Riley?”

She nodded. “I don't know how to get out. I spend most nights stuck between the past and this igloo, and I don't know how to break free. It's wearing me out, Russ; I never rest. But why are you here?”

“You drew me,” he replied.

“No,” she insisted. “You sought me out. I heard your voice calling me through the ice. You wanted to come.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Because you drew me. From the moment I saw you, I knew.”

“What did you know?” she asked. “What are you?”

He laughed, low and dry and without humor. “You are not ready for either answer.”

She lowered her head. “After that roar, I'm sure that's true. I know you're not human. Maybe that's enough for now.”

“I'm not,” he agreed, “and yet I am. If you can accept so much already, it's certainly enough for now. We have time, Riley. Time together in my airplane. We can talk and find out if and when you're ready to know more. But I want you to know one thing. No matter what, when you're with me, you're safe.”

“I'm never safe,” she replied, her voice dark and sad, her eyes glued to the floor. “Never.”

“Riley,” he rumbled as the bear wrestled for control of him.

She lifted her face and those intoxicating eyes captured him. “I believe I'm safe from you, Russ. That you wouldn't hurt me, at least. My heart tells me as much. But out there…” she waved her arm at the smooth walls of the igloo.

Russ reached out one paw, cursing at the sight of his nails, no longer the blunt, square human shape. Long, curved claws tipped each thick finger. Her eyes widened and she gulped. Time, Tadzea. You must give the human time.

Something tugged on his consciousness. Heat. Heat enough to melt the ice around them, and yet it remained solidly frozen.

“Morning comes,” he informed the cowering girl. “I can feel the sunlight. If I come to you again, will you let me share your dreams?”

“I will,” she replied. “This prison is so lonely. It would help to share it.”

“Then I will come again, Riley.”

She nodded.

The heat grew, drawing Russ out of Riley's igloo. He opened his eyes and was still a bear, lying in a clearing near his remote cabin. Even the chilly Alaskan morning felt hot under his thick white pelt. He lived too far south for his own comfort, except in winter. But he took the sun stoically, knowing the snow was on its way.

I wonder how Riley will react to the cold… I wonder if she'll remember the dream.

Russell had no answers, except that he would feel more comfortable without fur. Shifting back into his human form, he returned home, creeping through the trees in his yard to avoid being seen n***d by his only neighbor, who was picking the last of the squashes from a luxurious vine. He barely managed to slip through the door and draw the curtains shut. Then, secure in his privacy, he stretched. Though much smaller as a man than a bear, at his full height, his extended hands brushed the ceiling beams of his cabin. He looked upward into the rafters, enjoying the sight of the raw arched wood above. His copper skin looked pale against the darkness, and thick muscle curved from every limb. There's a lot me, he thought, his eyes drawing down to the sculpted curves of his chest and abs, his bulging thighs. His s*x, erect from sleep and from his dreamtime encounter with Riley, stood thick and strong from the silver curls at his groin. I wonder what Riley would think of this. Grinning Russ headed into the bathroom to take a shower.

* * *

The house seemed to have been carved into a low hillside, though the hill itself was manmade. Grass covered the earthen roof and a set of four rough-hewn pillars, set in close pairs on either side of the door, supported a tiny awning. Russell knocked once and then opened. A small room with a roaring fire invited him into pleasant warmth. A pair of leather armchairs supported a set of men. One, ancient and dressed in dyed-red caribou hide, toyed with a necklace of red and white bone shells. His copper-colored faced had been deeply grooved with age, and yet it retained a look of power and authority. He twined the beads in his gnarled fingers as he regarded Russell, and the nearly black pigment of his eyes had leaked into the white, leaving irregular brown spots.

“Father,” Russell said in a quiet, respectful voice. “Randy.”

He turned to greet his brother. Like him, Randy looked younger than he was. His sixty years rested lightly on his unlined face, though all three men had matching white hair.

“Son, welcome. It has been too long since you visited,” his father intoned in his slow, careful voice.

Russell bowed his head, acknowledging the words. “A new school year is beginning. I was needed at many planning meetings. I came as soon as I could.”

“Very good,” his father replied. “You have always been dutiful, son. Please, won't you sit? I sense you wish to ask me something.”

Russell sank to the brilliantly colored handwoven rug before the fire. “Yes, Father. I… how… I mean…” suddenly his words abandoned him.

Both of the other men crimped the corners of their mouths. Russell remembered the lessons of his youth. Words are sacred. Do not waste them. Take the time to consider your words before they leave your lips. Russell took a long moment to think. Silence was nothing to be feared among his father's people. At last he spoke. “I think I may have met my mate, but I'm not certain.”

His brother's eyes widened. Though Randy came from the same parents as Russell, his life had been more human, and he'd had a wife long since. Children. Even grandchildren.

“Perhaps this is good,” his father said. “I do not know. I see you seek answers, but I cannot give them. You are very much your mother's son. Perhaps you should contact your uncle.”

Russell bowed his head. “There is wisdom in what you say, Father. I will do so.”

“Will you be staying for the festival tonight?” Randy asked. “We are short a drummer.”

Russell nodded. “I won't be needed back in Lakeville until Tuesday afternoon.”

“Good,” Randy replied.

Russell couldn't help but grin at the taciturn conversation. His life in town was so filled with words, he always felt the adjustment keenly when he returned to his father's people. I wonder what Riley would think of this.