Chapter One
Thousands of feet below the north ridge, the wind roared as the cub bear tried to muster up enough strength to make it to the clump of trees for shelter. She shuddered for a moment, but continued to make her way there, until finally she entered the tree line, collapsing from exhaustion. She curled herself into a ball, hoping that she’d somehow make it through the night, but without the protection of her mama bear, she was destined to freeze out in the elements.
Low growls nearby were heard over the howling of the wind, and as the cub bear glanced up, a gray wolf slowly slunk forward, its mighty head lowered slightly with teeth bared. The bear cub couldn’t move any longer and held the wolf’s gaze no longer than a moment, dropping her head back to the snowy ground.
The yellows of the wolf’s eyes took in the sight of the weak bear. Instead of finishing off the cub as the food supply was low, he felt compassion. His nostrils could smell the human beneath the fur. This bear was a shifter as was he. He approached the cub, taking ahold of the fur behind its neck, and lifted it up and carried it off through the forest. With any luck, they’d make it back to the cabin before any more of the pack detected what he was about to do. Harbor the small werebear.
What on earth are you doing so far away from civilization? Samson thought. He knew one thing was for certain, one so young shouldn’t be way out here and alone.
* * *
By the time the wolf made it to the cabin, he nudged the door open with his nearly frozen snout. He stared at the dimming light of the fireplace and set the child on the bed, using his nose to cover the cub with the blanket. He knew when the child shifted that she’d be without clothing and didn’t want the child to feel uncomfortable if she woke up.
In the corner of the room, the wolf’s eyes lost their animalistic look, his limbs elongated as his paws were exchanged for arms and legs, fingers and toes. Samson then covered himself with a nearby robe. In all of Samson’s fifty years, he’d never run across a bear cub alone. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was the little one he was prophesied to protect as told to him by his grandfather many moons ago.
Samson then made the painstaking journey to the fireplace and tossed in kindling, watching in anticipation as the embers took hold, and ignited it. Samson waited patiently, wiggling his toes to remove the numbness. While in wolf, he was never cold. His human form was more fragile and could easily succumb to the elements. He’d been frostbitten before, lost two toes in his thirties, but as the pinpricks began now, he knew all was not lost. The flames of the kindling licked upward and Samson tossed in more wood, and soon the fire was roaring to life. He lifted the frail child from the bed as she was no longer in bear form, careful to keep the blanket wrapped around her, carrying her to the fire and laying her on the bear rug. He wished he didn’t have it now. It seemed somehow wrong to put the child on what might be the fur of her kin, but it was important to warm the child. He rubbed her limbs, and when he saw the blood rise in the form of reddening skin, he knew that she hadn’t suffered too much exposure to the elements. But what was she doing here? He could well imagine what his pack would think and do if they found the child here, or figured out what she really was, a werebear.
He was happy that most of them had traveled south this time a year, but Samson relished his time alone, even though it was so cold. He hadn’t lived amongst the other wolves in many years, not since he was quite young. His cabin felt much more comfortable than a damp and frozen cave.
Samson smiled down at the child’s dark head as the glow of the fire warmed her skin, and only then did he rise and pull a book from beneath a loose floorboard. He skimmed through it until he found the pictures that were painted on the wall of a cave—images that told
Thousands of feet below the north ridge, the wind roared as the cub bear tried to muster up enough strength to make it to the clump of trees for shelter. She shuddered for a moment, but continued to make her way there, until finally she entered the tree line, collapsing from exhaustion. She curled herself into a ball, hoping that she’d somehow make it through the night, but without the protection of her mama bear, she was destined to freeze out in the elements.
Low growls nearby were heard over the howling of the wind, and as the cub bear glanced up, a gray wolf slowly slunk forward, its mighty head lowered slightly with teeth bared. The bear cub couldn’t move any longer and held the wolf’s gaze no longer than a moment, dropping her head back to the snowy ground.
The yellows of the wolf’s eyes took in the sight of the weak bear. Instead of finishing off the cub as the food supply was low, he felt compassion. His nostrils could smell the human beneath the fur. This bear was a shifter as was he. He approached the cub, taking ahold of the fur behind its neck, and lifted it up and carried it off through the forest. With any luck, they’d make it back to the cabin before any more of the pack detected what he was about to do. Harbor the small werebear.
What on earth are you doing so far away from civilization? Samson thought. He knew one thing was for certain, one so young shouldn’t be way out here and alone.
* * *
By the time the wolf made it to the cabin, he nudged the door open with his nearly frozen snout. He stared at the dimming light of the fireplace and set the child on the bed, using his nose to cover the cub with the blanket. He knew when the child shifted that she’d be without clothing and didn’t want the child to feel uncomfortable if she woke up.
In the corner of the room, the wolf’s eyes lost their animalistic look, his limbs elongated as his paws were exchanged for arms and legs, fingers and toes. Samson then covered himself with a nearby robe. In all of Samson’s fifty years, he’d never run across a bear cub alone. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was the little one he was prophesied to protect as told to him by his grandfather many moons ago.
Samson then made the painstaking journey to the fireplace and tossed in kindling, watching in anticipation as the embers took hold, and ignited it. Samson waited patiently, wiggling his toes to remove the numbness. While in wolf, he was never cold. His human form was more fragile and could easily succumb to the elements. He’d been frostbitten before, lost two toes in his thirties, but as the pinpricks began now, he knew all was not lost. The flames of the kindling licked upward and Samson tossed in more wood, and soon the fire was roaring to life. He lifted the frail child from the bed as she was no longer in bear form, careful to keep the blanket wrapped around her, carrying her to the fire and laying her on the bear rug. He wished he didn’t have it now. It seemed somehow wrong to put the child on what might be the fur of her kin, but it was important to warm the child. He rubbed her limbs, and when he saw the blood rise in the form of reddening skin, he knew that she hadn’t suffered too much exposure to the elements. But what was she doing here? He could well imagine what his pack would think and do if they found the child here, or figured out what she really was, a werebear.
He was happy that most of them had traveled south this time a year, but Samson relished his time alone, even though it was so cold. He hadn’t lived amongst the other wolves in many years, not since he was quite young. His cabin felt much more comfortable than a damp and frozen cave.
Samson smiled down at the child’s dark head as the glow of the fire warmed her skin, and only then did he rise and pull a book from beneath a loose floorboard. He skimmed through it until he found the pictures that were painted on the wall of a cave—images that told
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