Page 3 of Omega's Bears

Chapter Two

I’m hoping the worldmight look different—less intimidating, with more possibilities—in the light of day. I’m hoping the rash decision I made last night in a haze of fear might actually turn out to be my best option once I’ve slept on it. But I wake up more convinced than ever that going to Alaska and seeking out the Hell’s Bears is the only thing I can do to ensure my safety.

Not that it’s exactly a safe bet. Far from it. The only reason I even know about the Hell’s Bears is that I’ve heard the rumors. I know their reputation for violence, and for living outside shifter law. They don’t take the measures my clan lived by to conceal themselves from the rest of the world. They don’t try to blend in with ordinary people. They’re rough and mean, and if the stories are true, they get by on what they can steal from honest, hardworking folks. They’ve been presented to me as a cautionary tale, as a story of what can happen when a shifter clan defies the law.

But they’re bears. They’re the only other clan of bears I know, for sure, exists. Bears are better than wolves, no matter who they are. And I’m an omega, so I’m pretty sure they’ll have me. I just have to hope that life with them will be tolerable.

I’m feeling a little braver in the light of day, so I risk a shower to help wake myself up. I’m about halfway to the Alaskan border, and I know that if I ride hard all day, I’ll be able to make it there by nightfall. A part of me is eager to do just that and avoid spending another night on the road in a seedy motel. I know that’s the sensible choice. Once I’m with the Hell’s Bears, I’ll be out of danger. The wolves will have to think twice before daring to attack me there. And I need to prioritize the saving of my money. But there’s another part of me that wishes I could delay the moment when I have to meet up with them. If they’re as bad and dangerous as everyone says, there’s every chance I won’t receive a warm welcome. I’m reasonably sure they’ll want an omega to help grow their pack, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be treated as an equal.

Once I’m out of the shower, I take a quick inventory of my supplies. I don’t have much. A couple of handfuls of clothes and a wad of cash that I grabbed before I left home. The granola bars and water bottles from the gas station last night. There’s plenty of room still in my pack, so I return to the bathroom and gather up all the toiletries. I also take a couple of washcloths for good measure. It’s stealing, I know, but my need is greater than the motel’s. I consider taking the towel I used this morning after my shower—it’s got my scent all over it and could be used to track me—but I abandon the idea. My scent is on the bedclothes too, and I can’t take them. It isn’t worth getting all my other possessions damp.

I was planning on eating a granola bar for breakfast before hitting the road, but as I’m repacking my bag, I see a sign on the dresser, partially concealed by the TV, advertising a free continental breakfast. I’m surprised. I wouldn’t have thought a place like this would offer any amenities. And maybe it won’t be any good, but at the very least, it will be a free addition to my stock of food. I can’t say no to that. I put the granola bar back in my bag, figuring it can’t hurt to check out the breakfast situation in the lobby as I’m checking out.

The continental breakfast offering turns out to be pretty paltry. There are cereal dispensers with what look like the store brand versions of more familiar cereals. I wish I could fill plastic baggies and take them with me, but I can’t, so I fill two bowls and take them to a table in the corner. I’ll eat quickly and get out of here.

It’s early in the morning, not yet seven o’clock, but there are a surprising assortment of people eating breakfast. An exhausted looking mother tries to corral two toddlers as she sips her coffee and does something on her phone. An older woman, looking unkempt in clothes that probably haven’t been washed for days, is eating cereal with her fingers, one piece at a time. A boy who can’t be twenty years old has his feet up on the chair opposite him and a novel in his hands that’s probably older than he is.

And a burly looking man with his back to the door is watching me.

My breath freezes in my lungs. My spoon halts halfway to my mouth. I’ve never seen this man before in my life. I’m miles from home. Who is he? Why is he looking at me like that? Is he just checking me out because I’m a woman of about his age? Is he simply looking around the room, like I was doing a minute ago, casually noticing who’s here with him? Or is it something more sinister?

Could he be one of the wolves?

I force myself to swallow my bite of cereal and keep eating. I breathe slowly, consciously. I can’t act suspicious. There’s a chance they don’t know what I look like. I don’t know what any of them look like, after all. If he is a wolf, has he scented me already, or do I still have a chance to walk out of here? I don’t know. All I know is that I need to stay calm, and I need to move as soon as possible.

I take another bite of cereal and look back at the toddlers, who are now clamoring for juice boxes. It’s possible the man is just looking at me because I was looking at him. That happens. If I act like I haven’t noticed him, maybe I can divert his attention. My heart is pounding, so I take a few deep breaths. If I start sweating from nerves, it will make me easier to smell. I have to keep him believing I’m just a random woman having breakfast.

In my mind, I’m already tracing the path to Berto’s bike and wishing I hadn’t parked behind the motel. I’m going to have to walk past the man to get to the exit. Then I’m going to have to double back around to get to the bike. I don’t think I can outrun him over such a short distance. If it was a long stretch, I might have a shot. I have endurance, but I’m not that fast, and his legs look powerful.

I risk a quick glance back his way. He’s not looking at me anymore, but if he’s tracking me, I know he’ll register any move I make. He won’t take me here in the motel lobby in front of all these people. He’ll let me get outside. But after that, I have no idea what will happen.

My cereal bowl is empty. I have to go now, before I lose my nerve.

I get to my feet and shoulder my backpack in one motion, and I’m already moving toward the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man push back his chair as I pass him, and my anxiety ratchets up to panic, but I don’t dare start running yet. If he doesn’t know that I’ve noticed him, or if he doesn’t know which way I’m going—if there’s any element of surprise left in this situation—it’s the only advantage I have left. I can’t give it up yet.

As soon as I’m through the door and out in the open air, I pick up the pace. I don’t know if he’s following me. I’m too afraid to look back. I fish the keys out of my pocket as I run, whipping around the side of the motel, pumping my legs as fast as I can. I spot the bike. I’m almost there.

I throw my leg over the bike. On the first try, I fumble the key against the ignition and a little whimper escapes me. I slam it home on my second try and turn. The bike roars to life. I throw it in gear, jam on the accelerator, and speed out of the parking lot and around toward the exit.

The front of the building is completely devoid of people.

The man didn’t follow me out of the building. He must not be a wolf, after all. I was safe the whole time.

By the time my breathing returns to normal, I’m on the highway speeding North. Is this what my life is going to be like now? Panicking every time someone looks at me funny, running away from perfectly innocuous situations like a scared rabbit? I’m a shifter, for God’s sake. I should be able to take care of myself. And I would be able to, I think, if it was just an average man I was facing. If I’d known for sure he wasn’t a wolf I wouldn’t have been afraid. But the problem is that I don’t know how to recognize a threat. It’s a skill I never learned. I always had my clan to protect me. They kept me indoors. They kept me safe. But now, that protection is gone, and their treatment of me has left me completely vulnerable.

I focus on keeping my speed up as the day progresses. My scare over breakfast has brought home to me, in a visceral way, the need to reach Alaska as quickly as possible. I need to get myself under someone’s protection. I have to believe this is what my clan would advise me to do in this situation. They were no fans of the Hell’s Bears, but they didn’t equip me to live on my own. And even if they had, a solo existence isn’t natural for a shifter. We’re made to live in groups. That’s part of what makes the Hell’s Bears such outliers—they’re a very small clan. I don’t know for sure how many of them there are, but living outside the law the way they do discourages others from joining with them. It will increase my value to them as an omega, I think. I hope.

I cross the border into Alaska well after nightfall. I believe it’s after midnight, but I haven’t checked in a few hours and can’t be certain. I’m exhausted, hungry, and emotionally overwhelmed. What’s more, I don’t know exactly how to find the people I’m looking for. I’m in the right part of the world now, but what’s my next step? My best hope is to follow news of the Hell’s Bears’ exploits. They don’t exactly keep a low profile.

I’m just considering stopping at a gas station to pick up a local newspaper when my tires slip on the snow covered asphalt, sending my bike into a skid. I wrestle to get control back. Even though I know it’s not what I’m supposed to do in this situation, I automatically squeeze the brakes. The bike goes into a tailspin and whips across the road, and suddenly, I’m not piloting this thing anymore. A million thoughts flash through my head, thoughts of hard pavement and whether or not I should let go and throw myself off the side of the thing before it has a chance to crash. I don’t have a chance at getting control back.

The last thing that flashes through my head is how upset Berto’s going to be that I crashed his bike. Then there’s a sharp pain in my shoulder and everything fades to black.

---