Page 9 of Make Me Bleed (Sanctuary #2)

CHAPTER 8

RESEARCH

W orrying about Julian when I can’t stop thinking about Hank is only making it worse.

After seeing the grizzly bear out in the woods, watching over me from a distance, I accept that I’m going to have to come to a decision sooner rather than later. To leave him hanging, without at least agreeing to be his prospective mate… that’s not fair to either of us. I need to acknowledge the bond we have while it still stretches between us. It’s faded over the last week, dimming while my thirst returns, but it’s there—and with the whittled bear figuring in my pocket, no matter where I go, I carry a reminder of Hank with me.

Is there really a choice to make? From the beginning, I’ve known that he was my mate. I was more worried that he changed his mind about claiming me so boldly, but now that I know he’s treating me like a shifter treats his fated mate… protecting me from a distance, watching over me, leaving me gifts… Hank hasn’t changed his mind.

Instead, he’s just tapping in his dominant, predatory side by moving as thought I’m the most skittish prey that he desperately doesn’t want to scare off.

And I am, aren’t I?

I might not be a shifter myself, but I was born a vampire. I’ve always been a supe. I can understand his motive, and only hope that Hank will understand that I’m finding it hard to throw caution to the wind and go to him because of my own baggage, and not because of anything he’s done.

Before Bridget could read the clear signs that Conall was treating her as his mate, she had a hard time understanding the things that he did. Of course. She might have been born a supe, witchcraft in her blood, but she wasn’t raised as one. She had no idea that wolves proposition their mates by trying to feed them, and that, like Hank, he would protect her from a distance by marking her as his property even when she had no idea that he considered her to be.

I still giggle a little to remember how bewildered and annoyed she was when she caught sight of him standing beneath her window one night after dark, only to find his boot prints next to a pile of yellow snow. She thought Conall stopped to take a piss during his patrol. The obvious supe answer was that he was warning any other predators from getting close to his mate.

I wouldn’t be surprised if Hank’s bear has him doing something similar. At the very least, I treasure the gift he gave me. It’s like, wherever I go in the sanctuary, I’m carrying him with me so long as I keep the carving in my pocket.

When was the last time someone gave me a gift for no reason? Because they wanted to, not because they expected reciprocation. And, yes, I know that Hank wants something from me. He wants everything from me. I’m his mate; that’s to be expected. But he’s not pushing it. He’s being patient, waiting for me to make the next move…

Do I run into the woods and latch onto him? Stand out back, open my arms, and invite him into my home? To me, that’s the biggest hurdle I have. Fears… they don’t have to be rational to be real. If he lived inside the sanctuary, I would’ve taken him by the hand once I assured myself he felt the beginning of our mate bond and not just the thrall. I would’ve brought him home with me or gone to his place, rode him like he was a stallion instead of a bear, and completed the blood exchange to make him my male.

But he doesn’t live in Dyea. He lives just outside of it, in the wilds of Alaska, making his home in a cave. That doesn’t mean he won’t decide to forsake the outdoors to join his prissy vampire mate inside her home. It’s just… he’s a bear. He’s lived in the wilds for so long, never even coming close to the sanctuary until the day I bit him, and he chased after his mate. He seems to have no interest in the more civilized side of life, and even knowing I’m here, he still doesn’t.

And how do I know all that?

Conall .

Well, to be fair, Bridget spoke to her mate about mine. It was obvious that they at least knew of each other thanks to Conall’s constant patrols around the sanctuary, and his obsessive need to make sure no threats get too close to the town.

The hidden town is blocked from outsiders coming in courtesy of the witch spell acting as a mystical border. Because witches don’t have keen senses like some vampires and most shifters, they didn’t think of scents when they built their spell. We can’t be seen, any sounds from the settlement are dampened, but you can’t miss the smell.

According to Conall, it smells wrong . To a shifter who grew up in a pack before his fellow wolves moved on and he decided to go lone wolf, it didn’t make sense that vampires and humans lived among a motley crew of prey shifters. He was used to a single type of shifter forming a pack, plus vampires staying far away from his. In Dyea, any supe in need is willing to stay so long as they’re on their best behavior.

Conall is used to it by now. He’s also the only predatory shifter who lives in the sanctuary. Because of that, any nomadic shifters passing by the former ghost town keep moving because the smell is too strange.

Any of them except for Hank.

Conall admits that there’s always been a handful of solitary shifters who have made their homes out in the wild. The big brown grizzly is the only one who is still there now, almost as if he sensed that there was a reason to stay.

Or maybe he just got cozy in his cave, creating a den that suits a bear shifter, and never left…

After Bridget passed along the little information Conall knew about Hank—that he’s about thirty-eight in human years, he’s always been alone since he first lumbered into Alaska, and he’s never given the wolf any trouble—I realized that I needed to be better prepared, too.

I can’t avoid Hank forever. I wouldn’t want to. And while I’ll wait to get to know my mate by talking to him, there’s one thing I can do.

Which is why I’m walking into the Dyea Library with the bear in the pocket of my slacks, the silk of my blouse rustling at my quick clip, heels rap-tap-tapping as I approach the wizened old shifter sitting behind the desk, his nose in a thick book with yellowed pages.

See, wolf shifters are the vampires’ ancient enemy. Thanks to the Claws and Fangs War, I know more about their kind because, as Papa always said, knowledge is vital. The more you know, the more you can plot, you can plan, and you can win .

If it works in warfare, maybe it’ll work with my mating.

I made a mistake. It takes a lot for a vampire to admit when they’re wrong, but I never should’ve let Hank walk away from me in the first place. I allowed him to think he frightened me. It wasn’t his fault. I couldn’t find the words to admit why I was too scared to go with him to his den, and by now, he must think it’s because I want nothing to do with him.

I have to change that. And since I’m clueless when it comes to how bears in particular think, I do what I always do: research.

Despite there being enough WiFi in the town so we can stream our shows at our leisure, I don’t have a computer of my own. Bridget does because of her job, though she’s recently had to end her digital artistry business in case it somehow led the witch hunters to her again.

One of the clauses of joining a supe sanctuary is that we have to cut off contact with the rest of the world for the safety of our fellow villagers. That means no phones, most of all. Bridget got permission to close out her commissions, but if anyone discovers she’s accepting more or reaching out to her Aunt Maureen—the only family she has left—then that could be grounds for expulsion from Dyea.

I’m also allowed to borrow it if only to get in contact with Thorn about my blood deliveries. Other than that, I don’t use it, and rather than search SupeNet to look up bear shifters—and listen to Bridge’s endless ribbing of me—I decided to stop by the library and see if there are any books I can read.

Karl is an owl shifter. Even in his skin, it’s easy to tell. He has thick dark brown sideburns, large, gold-colored eyes, and a short yet pointed nose that is undeniably beak-like. His eyes are hidden behind glasses a half-inch thick, making him one of the only shifters I’ve ever heard of who need help to see.

Owls are apex predators, but in the shifter world, they’re considered prey if only because shifters have their own prejudices, and size is one of them. I’m barely 5’3” in heels, and even I’m taller than Karl.

At the sound of my heels, he lifts his head from his book, beaming when he sees me. “Elise! Welcome, welcome!”

Most shifters in Dyea skirt the vampire residents. I like coming to the library because Karl never has. If you’re a reader, you’re a friend of the owl shifter, no matter what else you are.

His kindness and welcome isn’t the only reason I like to talk to Karl. Though the library isn’t very large, and—like Gertrude’s films—the books are mostly from his personal collection, Karl is smart. Like, super smart. He has an encyclopedic knowledge of just about every subject, and no judgement.

“Hi, Karl. How have you been?”

“Good, good. Got a recent donation from a UAF. An old sparrow buddy of mine accepted a couple of boxes of culled textbooks on my behalf, then shipped ‘em over.” His nails are curved, almost like talons even in his skin rather than his feathers, and he taps the tips on the page he’s reading. “It’s a good day when I have a new book to read. And you? What can I do for you?”

“I’m doing well,” I tell him, and it’s not a lie. My thirst is getting a little annoying again, and Hank rules my thoughts constantly, but since I’m working toward claiming him Elise-style, things are looking up. “I actually was interested in borrowing one of your books.”

“Of course! Any in particular?”

Here goes nothing… “Do you have any on bears?”

“Bears?” he echoes. Karl adjusts his glasses, pushing them back up his nose. “Can’t say that I do, but I’m a bit of an expert on the subject.” In my experience, he’s an expert in every subject. “I’m assuming you’re referring to the local species? The Alaska Penninsula brown bear?” At my puzzled look, he amends it to, “Also known as the Alaskan grizzly since we’re inland.”

Assuming that’s the same as a shifter, too, then yes. I nod.

“What would you like to know?”

“Anything. Everything.” I swallow the nervousness rising up my throat. “Specifically their mating habits.”

Karl’s eyes brighten behind his glasses. For a second, I almost regret doing this, but then he launches into such a detailed explanation about the bears, I’m too bombarded by information to be embarrassed for asking it.

He explains their diet (they’re opportunistic omnivores who eat meats, plants, and fish, with the local salmon in particular), and what hibernation is (or, really, torpor: a deep, sleep-like state that lasts from about October to May in fact, though it’s not a constant rest), and their tendency to be solitary creatures… except for mating season.

It’s a perfect segue for Karl to tell me about their mating habits. However, instead of going into details about the act—and as sexually liberated as I am, I can’t bring myself to reroute the conversation back to that—he says, “It goes back to these bears being solitary. They only come together for mating. They mate for a short period of time, then the male and females go their separate ways. Cubs stay with their mother, of course, while the male don’t typically stay. Plus, bears can be quite promiscuous. They can have multiple partners during their mating season.”

My heart feels like it’s being squeezed. Wolves… they mate for life; at least, wolf shifters do. I guess I thought bear shifters did as well, but is that why Hank finds it so easy to keep away? Because, to a bear, they just want to rut, then disappear?

“Oh,” I murmur softly. “I didn’t know that.”

Karl bobs his head. “It’s true. Though, if your interest veers more toward us supes, a bear shifter is quite different than their wild counterpart. They usually don’t live in groups, but like any bonded shifter, they will commit to a mate for life.”

That’s… that’s better . I mean, I can’t say I love that Hank’s type of supe isn’t a fan of living among others, especially when my next goal is trying to convince him to join me in Dyea, but at least I don’t have to worry about bonding my beloved to me, only to watch him walk away.

Or for him to take me as a mate, then want another…

I open my mouth, ready to ask another question, when Karl’s head swivels on his neck, nearly a full two-hundred-and-seventy degrees.

“Van!” he chirps. “I didn’t see you over there. Come in, come in. What can I do you for?”

Van. I follow the direction of Karl’s stare, noticing a striking olive-skinned vampire with soft brown eyes, slicked-back black hair, and a slight startled expression as he stares at Karl’s unusual twist of his neck. Van recovers quickly, shaking off his discomfort, replacing it with a composed grin as his gaze lands on me.

And I know without understanding quite how that he didn’t come into the library for a book. He came in here because I did.

It’s not just Julian who’s been watching me. There was Clarice and Helen. Van. Stacey… and all in the last few weeks. What is going on?

I don’t know, but I don’t have time for it, either. So, with a quick wave, I abruptly say, “Thanks, Karl! I’m sure I’ll see you again soon!”

He untwists his head, looking at me as I make my quick escape. “But, Elise, I didn’t even get to to tell you about?—”

“Later,” I call back, sidling right by Van, daring him to make it obvious and follow behind me.

He doesn’t, and I don’t know what to make of that , either.