Page 3 of Eager Beaver
Not that kind of lodge, I told him, and grumbling, he retreated glumly to the back of my mind, sulking. Not even the whiff of mink and snow leopard shifters could rouse his spirits after his hopes had been dashed.
The wood gave a heartwarming groan as I walked up the steps, and when I pushed the heavy door open, a blast of heat greeted me, bordering on stifling. There was a crackling fire in the grate, the orange light dancing around the room. My body temp tended to run a little warmer than your average human’s, and it was with reluctance that I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, knowing the snow-scented outdoors would be there waiting for me when I was done checking in.
As my boots clomped across the floor, the human at the desk lifted his chin to greet me, customer-service smile already in place. Then he lifted his chin some more, until he could finally look me in the eye. He smiled a little harder for good measure.
I wasn’t a huge guy, by any means, but I wasn’t exactly svelte either. I’d been told I could be intimidating, though that was never my intention. My beaver was obviously much smaller than I was, but even he was the largest within our lodge.
After taking a long, slow breath, the guy finally attempted a greeting. “Good afternoon, sir. Checking in?”
“Yes, please. My name is Guy Charpentier.”
The man, whose nametag said he went by Branson, blinked a few times, no doubt trying to wrangle my French-accented words into something he could recognize. “P-Pardon?” he stuttered, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a gulp as he continued to eye my broad frame.
I repeated myself, slower this time, trying to enunciate for an English-speaker.
“Gee Sharpened Yay?” he attempted, mangling my name horribly.
Sighing, I snatched a pen off the desk and wrote it out on a pad of paper for him. This wasn’t the first time I’d had to do this, and I knew from experience that it was easier this way. It was an unfortunate reality of traveling somewhere primarily Anglophone.
With a few keystrokes, I was checked in at last, and Branson gave me a quick rundown on their amenities and where to find them. “And of course, sir, there is plenty of space to go for a…run.” He put heavy emphasis on the last word, and I halfway expected a littlewink, wink, nudge, nudge. He was no doubt hinting that he knew all about shifters, which made sense since this was a shifter resort. “Now, I just have to explain about a problem we had with the website…”
“Right. Thanks,” I said, already headed for the door, eager to escape the heat. I didn’t need any more explanations. This was just the place where I would be sleeping. I didn’t intend to spend any more time at the resort than necessary. I had work to do.
“Wait! I’m supposed to take you to your cabin,” Branson called after me, but I waved him off.
“Don’t worry, I’ll find it myself.” The door clicked shut behind me, and I sighed in relief. Honestly, I just needed to breathe, and I was looking forward to stretching my legs.
I grabbed my bag from the car, slinging it over my shoulder, then headed out into the pristine snow, sparkling in the sunshine. There were paths, of course, and signs indicating which direction to go. I also saw snowmobile tracks, alongside pawprints and hooved tracks of all kinds and sizes. I followed the arrow pointing toward cabin 5, my boots making a marvelouscrunch-crunchthrough the snow.
My beast was still pouting, but I could feel his curiosity tingling at my insides. It wasn’t stiflingly hot like it’d been that time we went to Florida, thank the gods. My beaver liked the cold just fine, and the air was clean and fresh, scented like pine. When the distant roar of a waterfall caught his attention, I knew I was forgiven. The water was largely iced over along the riverbanks at this point of the winter, but the fast-moving water had resisted so far.
Nager?he asked, already dreaming of diving into the water.
Soon, I promised. But before we could swim, I had some work to do.
Arriving at the quaint cabin, I opened the door with my key and stepped inside. There was just the main room plus a door I assumed led to the bathroom. There was a stone fireplace, thankfully unlit, along with minimal furnishings. Just a dresser, a short love seat, and a queen-size bed that took up most of the space. It wasn’t exactly home, but it would do.
I dumped my backpack out on the bed, plugging in my laptop to charge, then decided a shower was in order to wash off the travel cooties. My shifter immune system meant I wouldn’t getsick from human germs, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t feel them on my skin. Ick.
Shucking my clothes, I cranked on the water and stepped up and over into the clawfoot tub. I was halfway through lathering my body with soap, humming a French ballad, when I swore I heard a sound. Almost like the cabin’s front door opening.
I paused, soap in hand, and stuck my head around the curtain. I frowned. There was a faint whiff of something on the tendrils of steam. Something tantalizing… delectable… Sweet and spicy, it was something that had my heart quickening and my cock hardening.
Âme sœur, my beaver said.
Stomach swooping, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was right.Mate.
3
Fable
Istoodthere,frozen,debating my choices. Stay or go. There had clearly been some kind of mistake, and they’d put me in the wrong cabin. Or maybe they’d put this other person in the wrong cabin, but either way, one of us didn’t belong here. I could simply back out the way I’d come in; I could maybe even still catch Branson outside if I hurried. On the other hand, I could also just stay and explain to the person in the shower. We could laugh about it.
The decision was taken from my hands when the shower was turned off. My heart stuttered in my chest. This suddenly felt likethe wrong choice. I was no doubt about to scare the shit out of whoever was in there.
In order to avoid any screaming, I called out, “H-Hello?”
The bathroom door swung open with a cloud of steamy air, and I went weak in the knees. There in the doorway stood a man—no, not a man. Agod! The kind of figure ancient artists carved from marble. Tall, broad, stacked with muscles, and he was dripping wet. He was in nothing but a towel that barely made it the whole way around his waist, the ends held together by one fist at his waist. His eyes were dark and dangerous, focused directly on me with absolutely zero surprise that a stranger was currently standing in his room.
