Fiona's Mates_A Paranormal Reverse Harem Romance Page 2

  For the rest of the flight, Fiona chatted to Eden about cruising and the other adventures Eden and her husband had taken over the years. One thought firmed in her mind as the plane descended, ready to land in Boston.

  She wanted an adventure, damn it.

  * * * * *

  “The ice road will go from Gillam to Churchill,” Leif Swenson said, his deep voice reaching the four corners of the packed prefab church. He stood at the pulpit, but that was where any resemblance to a preacher stopped. He wore an old pair of faded jeans and a navy-blue T-shirt stretched across his broad chest. Today, he’d fastened back his long blond hair in a tail to appear tidier. “My brothers and I have planned the route and as soon as the first decent snow hits, we’ll be in business to haul freight.”

  Stig, the youngest of the Swenson clan, studied the faces in the crowd and lifted his nose, using his polar bear shifter senses to “taste” the mood of the room.

  The locals, both human and bear, harbored anxiety about the future. Since the massive storm had damaged the railway and the American owners had declared their intentions to walk away from the problem, the locals had suffered. The price of air freight meant most were digging into their savings to pay for the increased costs. The owners of the freight planes didn’t care. They were raking in profits at the expense of the Churchill locals.

  “Will you keep your word?” someone called from the back.

  “Yeah, how can we trust you? What happens if you put up the prices like the air freight companies? How can we rely on you?”

  “Why would you start a business?” a more familiar voice shouted. One of Ma’s best friends. “Why not go out on the ice with your family and friends?”

  Leif lifted a beefy right hand, and when the shotgun questions continued, he raised his voice. “We live here too. Churchill is our home, and we want to see it prosper.”

  “Old Ignor reckons it will snow overnight,” a woman commented.

  “Then we’ll be starting tomorrow,” Leif promised.

  Stig’s brothers Arve, Josef and Kirk sat in silence beside him, content to let their oldest brother field the questions.

  Arve, the second oldest brother, nudged Stig with his elbow and almost shoved him off the end of the pew. “Don’t worry, Runt. Your idea is brilliant and once the first load of freight is towed into town, the suspicions will fall away.”

  Stig—known as Runt to his siblings because at six foot, he was the smallest of the Swenson brood—nodded but continued to assess the mood of the crowd.

  Jed Blackwood, a local trapper, stood. As usual, his salt-and-pepper hair stood up in wiry spikes while his black beard, in need of a trim, concealed his lower face. “Are you willing to take products out of Churchill?”

  “Yes,” Leif said without hesitation. “We’ll be going back empty anyway.”

  “How many ice trucks do you intend to run?” Karl, the owner of Jabot Kennels, called from the back. He was thin and wiry, like his sled dogs, and never ceased his fidgeting.

  “Two,” Leif said. “We aim to have deliveries in Churchill on Tuesdays and Fridays, dependent on weather interruptions.”

  “You won’t have time to make decent roads. At least not good enough to run trucks,” a local businessowner in the front said.

  “No, we won’t,” Leif confessed. “Which is why we’re running big machines fitted with caterpillar tracks and towing sleds. I believe they used a similar method in the seventies to transport food, supplies and fuel to remote communities.”

  “I won’t believe it till I see it,” the elderly owner of Firebird café said as she pushed to her feet with the aid of her walking stick.

  “We are committed to this idea,” Leif boomed. “We will not let you down.”

  Mutters of dissent drifted from the locals, both human and shifter. Stig sensed the tension in his brothers, the mood of the crowd. He had to do something before this town meeting ended in a brawl.

  They held a tenuous peace, the humans of Churchill not fully trusting the polar bear shifters who coexisted with them. Polar bear attacks from wild bears made the locals suspicious of shifters who lived in both worlds. They didn’t trust them to act with decency and considered them half-wild and therefore dangerous. Stig had even heard the ridiculous rumors going around—that he and his brothers and the other shifters killed humans and ate them to hide the bodies.

  Stig stood. “We understand the owners of the railroad have betrayed you. We understand you don’t trust us. That’s fine. We’re telling you what we intend to do, and you can decide whether to hire our services once our operation gets under way. Thank you for attending the meeting and listening to our plans.”

  The murmurs ceased and the locals rose and drifted from the old church in groups until only Stig and his brothers remained.

  “Way to go, Runt,” Leif said in approval. He strode up to Stig and gave him a swift hug.

  “We could’ve had a fun fist fight. You spoiled that with diplomacy.” Josef, the brother who was always laughing and joking, clapped Stig over the shoulder. Stig took an unwilling step forward before he regained his balance.

  Leif growled deep in his throat when Josef prepared to shove Stig again. “Quit that, Josef. We have no hope of convincing the locals we’re serious about this idea if we can’t keep the peace amongst ourselves.”

  “Sorry.” Josef dipped his tousled golden-blond head in an aw-shucks manner.

  Stig did an eyeroll at the penitent posture, and judging by Leif’s scowl, Josef hadn’t deceived him either.

  “You’re right,” Kirk said. He was the sibling nearest in age to Stig, and the most serious of the Swenson brothers. “It’s important for us to keep the peace and work together to achieve our goals. Ma doesn’t believe we can do this. She’d rather we journeyed out on the ice with the rest of the clan. She lectured me on following the old ways instead of embracing the modern world. I received an ear-full this morning. She’d love us to fail, so she can say, ‘I told you so’.”

  “I’m sorry,” Josef said.

  This time he meant it.

  “The last thing I want is to go out on the ice. I heard Ma has made a tentative deal with the Anderson matriarch. Their daughters for us,” Josef said.

  Arve swore under his breath. He was the gentle giant of the family and slow to anger, but Stig could see his brother’s irritation and frustration. Arve’s clipped dirty-blond hair rose at his nape, a signal of his agitation. “Ma promised we could choose our own mates.”

  Leif pulled the band from his hair and tucked it into his pocket. “A promise won’t stop Ma from maneuvering us behind the scenes. We’ve invested all our money in this venture,” he reminded them. “Failure is not an option.”

  Stig remained silent and trailed his brothers as they filed outside. The cool night air struck like a slap to the face.

  As one, they lifted their noses to scent the air.

  “Snow,” Arve said in satisfaction. “Let’s work through the night and finish our preparations so we’re good to go as soon as there is enough snow for the sleds.”

  “Let’s do this,” Josef said with not a smidge of his usual jokey manner.

  Stig nodded along with his other brothers. They had no orders to haul freight yet because no one believed in them. But self-belief was enough. He and Leif had a plan and had held back enough cash to put their scheme into action. Once they proved their fledgling business would work, they’d have plenty of customers.

  He smiled as a flake of snow hit the tip of his nose. He loved it when a plan came together.

  The Adventure Begins in Disaster

  Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada

  Fiona was so busy gawking at the fruit and vegetables, the range of delicious chocolates and the vast array of donuts in the Winnipeg winter market, she missed the pothole in the carpark. Her foot snagged on the lip, the pack on her back shifting her center of gravity. Down she toppled. Jean-clad knees collided with the gritty surface. Outstretched hands struck hard gravel, a
nd the force grated her palms as she came to an abrupt halt.

  Her bag of shiny red apples split, the fruit rolling away like tiny missiles firing across the parking lot. Something whistled over her head, thudding against the brick wall of the building in front of her with enough force for fragments of masonry to break free. A shard struck her cheek and another her coat sleeve, burrowing into the winter-thick fabric.

  “Crap.” She picked herself up with a pithy curse and checked her hands. A little blood. She blotted it away with a tissue and set about rescuing her apples.

  A scruffy homeless man wearing holey black trousers and a bright green coat beat her to the first one and took a defiant bite. Fiona raised her hands in surrender and backed away. His gap-toothed snarl told her he needed the healthy vitamins more than she.

  After studying her throbbing palms again and removing a piece of grit, she adjusted the weight on her back and hustled to the donut stall. When it was her turn, she pointed at a Boston crème in the cabinet. She handed over her money before guilt got the better of her. She should purchase more fruit for the train ride. With her donut and change from the assistant in hand, she darted back to the fruit stall. An insect whizzed past her right ear. She slapped at her head, not surprised since biting bugs loved to snack on her.

  “Someone’s shooting!” a nearby man shouted, his stark panic lifting the hair at her nape.

  Fiona froze, a chill sweeping her arms and legs. Her gaze whipped to her left, her right. Frantic hands shoved her from behind, pushing past her. Another insect dive-bombed her ear.

  Except, not a freakin’ insect.

  Bullets.

  “Run!” a woman screamed.

  A woman in a blue coat fell in front of her and the happy crowd at the winter market morphed into full panic.

  Shouts.

  Cries.

  Sobs.

  Screams.

  Fiona’s heart raced, attempting to drill from her chest. Each breath rasped from her throat, rapid and harsh. She froze. Which way? Where should she go? She couldn’t think, couldn’t decide.

  With no destination in mind, she sprinted to the left toward the interior part of the market. A child stumbled right in front of her. Instinct had Fiona grabbing him before someone ran over the top of the boy and crushed him.

  “Leave my son alone!” The mother seized her child, glared at Fiona and fled in the opposite direction.

  A man crumpled to the ground, right beside her. For an instant, Fiona gaped at the pooling blood, a stark red against the pitted gray tarmac, until a black woman grabbed her arm.

  “This way!” she screamed at Fiona and bolted away.

  Fiona followed, almost hyperventilating in her fear. Her lungs ached. Not enough air. Couldn’t breathe properly. Slow. Calm. Breathe.

  Mercifully, air filled her lungs and loosened the band around her chest.

  Hysterical screams and yells filled the air, pandemonium swelling in a wave. People pushed. They shoved, desperation voiding their manners.

  A woman squeezed past her, blood dripping down her face.

  The chill on Fiona’s skin switched to full terror. Run! Which way now? Screams rippled around her. Sobs. Confusion. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, deafening her.

  Fear and chaos pulled her along with the rest of the frantic shoppers. Sirens blasted through the air in the distance.

  A policeman roared through a loud speaker. “Stay indoors. Don’t go onto the street until we give the all-clear!” He repeated the message over and over.

  Finally, finally Fiona reached the entrance to the inner market. She struggled through gaps and inched inside, her daypack a hindrance in the panic-stricken crowd. Once under cover, she spotted the black woman and darted over to crouch with her behind a wooden counter.

  The woman held out her hand and Fiona clasped it, uncaring that it was as sweaty as her own fingers.

  They were safe for now and that was all that mattered.

  Over an hour later the police announced they were free to come out from hiding.

  Fiona hugged her new friend. “Thank you.”

  “You take care,” the woman whispered.

  “You too.”

  Fiona waited her turn to exit the market building and cautiously walked outside. Police and EMS vehicles filled the open space. An ambulance raced down the street. Sirens still blasted and watchful officers scanned the crowd. She shivered, holding herself tightly for an instant and looking away.

  The unsafe feeling persisted as she scuttled in the direction of the Winnipeg railway station.

  Never had an open space seemed so big and wide. Her breathing harsh and uneven again, she sprinted into the station, her pack thump-thump-thumping her back. She paused to study the overhead signs, gulping in her urgency for air, her muscles shaking and screaming at her.

  This new adventure kick might be the death of her yet.

  New plan. Time to embrace exercise. Running. No, not running. She slowed to a fast walk, her lungs burning as her breath seesawed in and out. Walking. Now that she’d given Robert the heave-ho, she could get a dog. Something cute and fluffy that would offer unconditional love while she’d gain a reason to exercise and companionship in return.

  A pet. Something to consider.

  Fiona located the board that showed the upcoming departures.

  Five minutes before her train left for Churchill. Still shaky, she dragged her body the few steps to a kiosk and ordered a latte.

  At least her luggage was in the right place, delivered earlier by the hotel as part of their special butler service. All she needed to do was produce her luggage receipts in Churchill to reclaim her bag. One less thing for her to worry about now when her mind refused to focus.

  As she waited for her coffee, legs still shaky, sirens blasted in the distance. An alarm shrieked from the opposite building. Outside, an ambulance raced past.

  “Did you hear about the shooting?” the man serving coffee asked. His freckled face shone with curiosity.

  She shuddered, recalling the blood. “Yes.” The blood. People falling. The screams. She swallowed, trying to switch off her busy mind.

  “My brother works at the fruit stall. He hid behind his produce boxes. He told me the police shut down the entire area and have only just let everyone leave.”

  “Were many people hurt? I-I saw several fall…” Fiona clenched her hands to fists, digging her nails into her palms to stop herself from blubbering. She’d been right there, standing by the woman who had fallen first. Cold. She was so cold. Trembling fingers attempted to button her coat. On the fifth try, she fastened one button. Her legs trembled in concert. God, she needed to sit before she fell. She hugged herself, trying to chase away the chill that had sunk deep into her bones.

  The man tugged on his ear, his brow furrowed, face pale now. “At least two dead. Several injured by the crush, my brother said. He called to let me know he was okay. He knew I’d be terrified for him once I heard. Terrible, terrible business. A market. What is wrong with society?”

  He handed over her coffee, his expression grim.

  “Thanks.” Her hand wrapped around the cardboard cup. She sipped the coffee, grateful for the simple luxury and the warmth.

  This was an experience she could’ve done without on her first adventure.

  * * * * *

  Stig edged the cumbersome cat closer to the railway station, hyper-aware of the bystanders who were peering at him and his brother and their vehicle.

  Roll up. Roll up. The circus has arrived in town.

  Glad of Leif’s suggestion to contact the local authorities and arrange traffic cones to hold a space for his engine and two sleds, he slowed enough for Kirk to leap down and clear the barriers. The big engine rumbled, a throaty, eager purr, the steering wheel vibrating beneath his hands. He and Kirk were keen to get the sleds loaded and the first shipment on the way to Churchill.

  With the way clear, Stig accelerated into the space and pulled on the brakes. Once the engine shut
down, he grinned at Kirk and excitement leapt between them. This was a big deal. They’d worked hard for the last few months, and now everything was coming to fruition.

  Arve and Josef were bringing their other vehicle south to meet the train due in four days while Leif manned the office and attempted to drum up business.

  The mournful whistle of the train sounded in the distance. None of the humans reacted, but Kirk straightened his shoulders, his unruly white-blond curls stirring in the brisk wind. Stig jumped down from the cab.

  “Let’s wait for the train on the platform,” Stig suggested.

  “Someone is eager. You realize we’ll have to shift all the freight ourselves?”

  Stig shrugged and pulled a bright blue beanie from his pocket. He dragged it over his short hair, still missing the longer locks he’d had until last week. One of the female shifters had wanted his attention and grabbed him by the hair. Ma might have arranged a mating, but he intended to choose a mate when he was good and ready. He’d got Arve to chop off his hair that day and bore no regrets for his decision even if he regretted the loss of warmth. “So what?” he said. “I’m not afraid of demanding work.”

  The train whistle pierced the general hum of conversation again, closer this time.

  “We’ll sell the fruit and vegetables at a profit, and the Churchill locals will realize we’re doing what we promised,” Kirk said. “And we won’t need to worry as much about conserving our fuel. It was an excellent idea, Runt.”

  “There’s the train now,” Stig said.

  Stig glanced at his watch and Kirk tapped his right foot, his impatience showing, as they waited for the engine and carriages to pull up at the station and the passengers to disgorge. Once the platform cleared, they’d shift their purchases from the freight carriages, load up and get going on their return journey to Churchill.

  “Whoa!” Kirk said, his unusual tone drawing Stig’s attention since his brother was a loner and slow to warm to people.