After all, the payout will damn sure be worth it, and a week away from the office? Can’t say no to that.

  Chapter Six

  Jensen

  The eight-and-a-half by eleven paper rests on the desk in front of me. I stare at it as if it’s a bomb, ready to explode at any second. I can’t move, can barely fucking breathe. Yet, I can’t pull my eyes away.

  How the fuck can this be happening?

  The stars and the moon must have lined up in perfect sync with Uranus to royally fuck me over.

  There’s no other explanation as to how this could be happening to me. No fucking way.

  I read it over again, but still refuse to touch it, just in case it’s some kind of trap. Actually, I’d much prefer that than taking this trip. Suck me into another dimension. Take me far, far away.

  Flight: 1528

  Seat: 17A

  Departure Time: 5:20 PM

  Arrival Time: 10:55 PM

  Destination: Kierheart, ME

  I’ve read it over a hundred times already, and I keep getting stuck on one thing.

  Destination: Kierheart, ME.

  Kierheart... Maine.

  How the fuck did Norwick even find that place? And more, how the hell did Debra find a direct flight to it? Did she charter her own damn plane? Kierheart is small as hell... the town anyway, but the woods that surround it? Miles and miles of land filled with shifters who make it their home. There’s close to a hundred packs who reside in those woods. Since the area isn’t great for humans due to there being nothing but trees, mountains, and lakes, it’s the perfect place for shifters to live and hide away.

  In the US, there are quite a few areas like that, where most of the shifters band together to make homes. Humans know shifters exist, but we’re pretty much treated like mountain lions: ignored until we’re right in your face. Most humans couldn’t care less about where we are or what we’re doing as long as we aren’t bothering them. They know we live in the woods and do our own thing, and they usually leave us alone.

  Us.

  Look at me talking about shifters like I’m one of them.

  Physically, yes, I am one of them. but I left that life behind six years ago and I never intended to go back to it. Never. I haven’t shifted in six years—not willingly anyway, there’s been a few accidents along the way—and I hadn’t planned on ever doing it again. If I could tear this bear from my soul, I would.

  He grumbles deep within me but I push him down further. That isn’t me anymore. I’m not a shifter. I chose a different life.

  So, not only does my brother show up to stir up feelings for an old girlfriend, but my biggest client wants me to fly out to my old home to scope it out for a fucking resort?

  I scrub my hand down my face and let out a frustrated sigh.

  This is a fucking nightmare.

  Do I tell him no? Do I suddenly get sick? Should I climb to the fucking rooftop and jump?

  How the hell did I get put into this mess? Of all the places to fucking pick, of the thousands and thousands of places in the US, he finds the smallest, bullshit town here?

  “Unbelievable,” I mutter to myself, still in disbelief. I keep blinking my eyes, waiting for the words to change, or for my brother to pop out with a “Gotcha! Joke’s on you!” He doesn’t though. This is real.

  I could just tell Norwick I went there, and that it’s shit for space. That he’s better off looking elsewhere... but he asked for video and photos. I could fake them, but with my luck, the arrogant asshole would find out and probably send them to some fancy forensics team just to make sure I wasn’t fucking him over.

  Oh, and not to mention he’s sending one of his guys down there halfway through the trip to “assist me.” Why the hell send me at all, then? There’s got to be an ulterior motive here... This can’t just be about scoping an area for him. It has to be more. Maybe he just wants to know how much he can push me? How much I’ll do for him? He seems like the type, wanting everyone to do as he says. If he didn’t give my company so much damn money, I wouldn’t be doing this at all. It wouldn’t even be a question. Though, if I land the Brookes account when I return, I may not have to deal with this asshole anymore. Brookes will give me equal if not more income, and even though the both of them will make my dream come true quicker, I’ll wait if it means not being stepped on like a fucking ant by Norwick.

  Knowing I don’t have much of a choice here, since my meeting with Brookes isn’t until after my return, I guess I have to go. I can’t risk not having both of those accounts.

  Hopefully, I won’t run into anyone while I’m there.

  Highly un-fucking likely because that place is jam-packed with shifters who know me, and I bet Norwick knows it too. Maybe he found out who I am and this is all a game. A sick punishment. He’s made comments on many occasions about not being a fan, but they go right over my head. I’ve heard them for six years now, not only from him but from a lot of people, and of course, Kierheart is the fucking entryway to Blackcreek, located right at its entrance. There’s no way Norwich doesn’t know that.

  This is going to be a long fucking week.

  The plane ride is absolute bullshit.

  What kind of parent takes their days-old baby on an eight-hour fucking flight? What in the world could be so important out in fucking Kierheart, Maine that a crying infant needed to come along? If that kid doesn’t grow up to be an opera singer with those set of lungs, it’ll be a damn waste. Honestly, I don’t know how this flight is so full to begin with. I can only assume it’s last-minute flight issues; people unable to find a direct flight to where they’re going, so they’re taking this one instead. I’m pretty sure the population of this plane equals the amount in Kierheart.

  The landing is a fucking bust, thanks to some ice-cold rain that is particularly rare for this time of year, but just my luck. We go around three different times before we’re able to make a “safe landing.” At this point, I was ready to do up a makeshift parachute and jump out of the emergency exit. Wouldn’t be mad if I broke a leg on the way down and had to be brought to the hospital.

  Kierheart doesn’t have a hospital, so it’s perfect.

  My seat belt is off and I’m standing before we’re told, which earns me a glare from the flight attendant, but before she can open her mouth to scold me, someone comes over the intercom to let us know we can get up. I almost want to flip her off for being a bitch, but know I’m just cranky and she’s only doing her job. So instead, I quickly grab my carry-on and hurry off the plane before I get stuck behind a long line of old people who probably can’t even remember where they are.

  I make my way to the front of the airport and hail myself a taxi the old-fashioned way since this place is still living in the ’90s. I’m pretty sure there’s only two taxis in the entire town, so you better believe I’m grabbing one before someone else does.

  There’s one place to stay in this town, the Hersch Inn, and it’s within walking distance but considering there was just a bunch of rain, I opt for the rusty taxi instead.

  “New to town?” the driver asks with a smile. He’s an older man, but one I don’t recognize which means he’s either new to town or just came in to make some money with his car.

  “Nope,” I say in a clipped tone. I’m in no mood to chat with anyone, especially not anyone associated with Kierheart.

  “Business or pleasure?”

  I glance up and give him a hardened stare in the rearview mirror. He obviously didn’t get the hint the first time, and something tells me he won’t get this one either, so I try a different tactic.

  “You telling me people come here for fun?”

  He huffs out a laugh. “Sure do. People love exploring small towns in the US. It’s like a big thing nowadays since they’re getting harder and harder to find. Kierheart has become a bit of a hot commodity over the last few years.”

  “I see,” I grunt out before staring at my phone.

  “So I guess that’s not why you’re here, then?”

  With a huff, I respond, “No.”

  Thankfully he doesn’t say another word to me until we get to the inn, something along the lines of “have a great stay,” which I probably won’t do.

  The light above the red wooden front door is the only thing illuminating the area, which is fine because I don’t plan on taking in the scenery for a bit of nostalgia. There are no streetlights out here, never have been, but I bet it’ll be something they’re forced to put in at some point since more and more pussies are born into this world every second and can’t stand to be in the dark.

  The sign on the door tells me to come in, so I do. I find a small reception area to the right, and head that way. I’ve never actually stayed here before, considering I lived in Blackcreek—which is in the woods. There isn’t anyone around that I can see, so I press the gold bell that’s on top of the desk. I know it’s late but there isn’t a sign anywhere that says it’s closed. I assume they get people at all hours of the night and if they wanted us to check ourselves in then they’d leave the keys... which I also don’t see anywhere.

  “Well, hello there. Wel—” The moment I turn towards the somewhat familiar voice, he stops speaking. “Holy shit. Jensen Woodborough, is that you?”

  “It’s Jensen Stone now, but yes, it’s me.” I hold out my arms in a you-got-me stance. I should have known better than to think I could get through this town without getting caught by someone I know... or used to know, but why did it have to be so fucking soon? I couldn’t have one day? Just one fucking d—

  “How the hell are ya, man?” Redd asks. The guy looks as if he hasn’t changed a day since I saw him last. Though, I guess that’s common, considering he’s a shifter. We age slower than humans and tend to stay in our prime years longer, especially the more we take care of ourselves. I guess I just wasn’t expecting to walk into a time capsule.

  “Doing good, actually.”

  He nods absently, staring at me with a disbelieving smile, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets.

  “Yeah... What’re you doing here?”

  Way to be subtle...

  “Business.”

  “Makes sense.”

  He nods again before moving behind the desk and shuffling through some papers. “I saw a Jensen on the roster but there was a different last name. What did you say it was? Steel or something?”

  “Stone,” I correct, holding back the annoyance. I’m 95% sure he did that on purpose.

  “Yeah, that’s it. Jensen Stone.” He taps his finger on the sheet of names he’s looking at. “Saw it on the list here but thought it was someone else.”

  “It’s me,” I say, mocking excitement.

  “I can see that. Does anyone know you’re here?” He looks up with a half smile that doesn’t match his tone. I’m getting some passive-aggressive undertones from him, and I’m not sure if I should be concerned or not.

  Redd is a few years younger than me, my brother, Skye, and the guys, but we hung around with him from time to time, especially growing up. He knows about my leaving the way I did, and by the way he’s talking to me, it seems he’s bitter about it.

  “Actually, no, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep it that way.”

  His face stays stone-still, and he says nothing for a long moment before he nods and says, “All right.” He then brings his attention back to the things on his desk, shuffling through some more paperwork, and my skin itches at how unorganized it is. He could do with a secretary.

  “So the Hersches hire you to work the night shift or what?” I try to make small talk, suddenly feeling the air in the room shift. It isn’t like me to make small talk with anyone, but for some reason, I feel like I should since I’m going to be staying here and all. If I should be nice to anyone, it’s the guy housing me.

  His face turns blank as he holds my gaze. A few moments pass before he speaks.

  “Hersches died a few years back. I bought the inn from them a few months before that.” There’s a disapproving look on his face now, and I can’t find it in me to say anything, so I just grip my suitcase handle until it creaks. “I just need you to sign this and I’ll show you to your room,” he says stiffly.

  I keep his focus for another moment before I step forward and pick up the pen to sign where he’s pointing. He’s pissed about something, and I didn’t quite catch when the change happened. I guess it’s possible he’s just mad I’m here.

  As I sign my name, I remind myself it doesn’t fucking matter. I’m here for business. I’ll be gone in a week and won’t ever have to worry about this place again. I’ll be rolling in the dough, lying on a beach in Santorini, and sipping cocktails from dusk ’til dawn.

  When I’m finished, I drop the pen, and without another word, Redd moves around the desk before opening up a small cupboard by the window to grab a set of keys—because yes, apparently this place still uses old-school keys. He walks towards the back of the inn, and I hurry to move behind him, assuming I’m supposed to follow. We walk down the hall until we come to a set of stairs. Once we’re halfway up, he turns and says, “Put you on the top floor. Hope that’s not an issue.”

  “Not a problem at all,” I say, figuring he did it since it’s just me and I’m perfectly capable of climbing four flights of stairs...

  “If you need anything, just ring the desk. If no one answers, try again. It’s just me and I can’t be waiting by the phone all the time. The heater-slash-air conditioner unit can be a little loud at times, but it runs just fine. Oh, and speaking of running, you gotta jiggle the handle on the toilet after you flush it or that’ll run all night long. Hate to do it, but I’ll have to charge you for the extra water. Prices are only going up nowadays. The bed and the floorboards are squeaky, but what do you expect in a place so old?”

  I don’t miss the passive-aggressive tone, but I’m beginning to wonder if all the rooms are like this, or if he’s just trying to torture me.

  Chapter Seven

  Jensen

  After spending five minutes trying to get into the room because the key is “old” and “in need of some WD-40” but he “just ran out,” I’m finally inside this dilapidated room, cursing Norwick and his bullshit company for making me come here. I’m also certain I was put into this room on purpose, because I’m pretty sure Redd’s list of things wrong with it was only a summary and not a full report. The chair is torn, the lamp doesn’t work, squeaky doesn’t even begin to describe the sound the bed makes, and that heater-slash-A-fucking-C he was talking about? It’s nonexistent and hot as Satan’s nut sack in this room.

  I drop my bag and move to the window, fidgeting with it for another five minutes before I can get the thing to open, and at that, it only opens a damn crack and I’m dripping sweat.

  “At least it has its own bathroom,” I mutter to myself as I move to the small door to check it out. Shower and bed are exactly what I need right now. The more I can sleep, the less I have to spend being conscious in this fucking place. I’ll get up bright and early and head out, hopefully before anyone else is even awake. I’ll get as many photos as I can and be back here by early afternoon to hide away for the rest of the day.

  I slide open the hideaway door and step into the bathroom, a curse leaving my lips before I can help it. This has got to be a joke. How am I supposed to fit in that thing? The shower looks like it was made for a fucking child. How am I, someone who is bigger than the average guy, going to shower in there?

  I scrub a hand down my face and take a deep breath. Then I take another because if I don’t calm down, I’m going to lose my battle with this bear dwelling inside of me and if I shift while in this bathroom, it’ll knock the damn walls down. Redd will not be happy about that, and neither will the person residing in the room beside mine.

  Stepping out of the bathroom to get the damn sight of it out of my mind, I decide to dig out my phone and text Marco. We aren’t the kind of friends to share personal shit, but maybe bitching about this situation—as much as I can share with him—will make me feel better.

  Me: Got a meeting with Brookes on Friday afternoon. Thanks for the good word, bro. Norwick is pushing his limits. He has me out here in East Titty Bum Fuck to scope out some land like a fucking real estate agent.

  I stare at my phone, waiting for the little dots to pop up showing me he’s responding. It doesn’t take long even though I know he’s at The Denvers, just like every Friday. This guy is the definition of party animal. Whatever makes him happy, I guess.

  Marco: Norwick’s making you his bitch boy. Sucks, but the payout will be GOLD. Where you at, anyway?

  Me: It better be. I’m already looking at beach houses!

  Me: The dank woods of Maine. I feel like I’ve entered another realm.

  I stare at my words after I send them, conflicted with how I feel. Part of me does feel like I’ve entered another realm, like I don’t know how these people live and survive like this. Like I don’t fit in. But another part of me is slightly comforted knowing it hasn’t changed one bit, even though the rest of the world around it has.

  Marco: No bueno! Watch out for the mountain lions. LMAO

  I shake my head, knowing I wouldn’t have as much knowledge as I do if I weren’t a shifter. Marco is a human and entirely ignorant of shifters and wildlife, apparently—like most of the people I work with. It’s like we’re aliens living on another planet.

  We shifters always know one when we see one. We can smell them. Of course, it depends on the animal, how in tune they are with them, when they last shifted, etc., but usually, we know, and Marco is definitely a human. I’ve spent enough time with him to know there is no way he is anything else. I ignore his ignorance of animal life because that’s just normal human behavior when you live in a place such as Seattle where the most animal life you see are pigeons, seagulls, and squirrels. Which is why I don’t tell him mountain lions don’t live in Maine and haven’t for years... There’s plenty of things to watch out for here when it comes to animals, but I’m the biggest predator in these woods, so I’m not worried one bit.