Page 24 of Bear Creek Valentine
Three months after his high school graduation, Dash arrived on the campus of Albright College in his hometown of Reading—ready to begin his freshman year. He’d come from a litter of five and longed to be out on his own, meet new people, and get out from under the scrutiny of his family. He was warned that dorm life might be difficult, but the school made allowances for shifter students and gave them the freedom to wander the campus in bear form.
Much to his delight, Dash had been assigned a shifter roommate who, like him, wanted a business management degree. According to his welcome packet, Harv Whitmore was a sophomore this year who wanted a shifter roommate. Dash didn’t know anything about him or if they’d get along, but he soon discovered that his worries were for nothing.
Dash reached the assigned room first. Like the entire dorm, it reeked of too many bodies in an enclosed space. What it provided, though, was his first taste of independence. Once his parents helped him carry his meager belongings inside, they admonished him to behave, gave him hugs, and left him to get settled. Two hours later, Dash got a whiff of someone in the hall, and his bear went crazy. He’d never scented anything so intoxicating and arousing in his life and wondered who it could be.
Just then, someone keyed open the door, and there stood his new roommate—the source of that incredible scent. At just over six feet, the man was a head taller than Dash, with a short buzz cut and miles of muscles. Harv shut and relocked the door before Dash ran into his arms for a sniffing frenzy that segued into a make-out session. The kisses ended when Dash dropped to his knees for a sloppy blow job, and the formal introductions were put off until after Harv emptied his balls into Dash’s very willing ass.
It wasn’t unusual for shifters to recognize their mate at first sniff, though both young men were surprised it had happened to them. Following some anxious phone calls home for guidance, both sets of parents encouraged them to trust their bears. Before the end of their first week together, the pair were properly mated, happy, and planning for the future.
Harv’s family were big players in the hospitality industry, and following Dash’s graduation, helped the boys begin their own little empire. Starting with a run-down motel, they worked their way up to rehabbing a struggling hotel in the Allentown area, turning a sow’s ear into a silk purse. Their ultimate goal, an expansive getaway destination for tourists, would take a great deal of money. Not to be deterred, they worked even harder and socked away every extra penny.
Dash continued ruminating while he prepared supper, warmed from the inside out by thoughts of his beloved. Valentine’s Day was almost upon them, and Dash couldn’t wait to see what Harv got him this year. His mate was fiendishly good at keeping secrets, though if he looked hard enough, he’d find this year’s gifts somewhere. He wouldn’t do it, though. The anticipation was almost as good as the presents, and it would spoil Harv’s fun. He was always good to him, but Harv had spoiled Dash on Valentine’s for years, and now the holiday was his favorite. There were always gifts, mostly small inexpensive things, romantic cards, chocolates, flowers, and more sex than you could shake a dick at.
Outside, Dash heard a nearby ambulance racing to rescue someone in trouble, and it suddenly occurred to him that Harv had been gone for two hours. His bear likely didn’t want to leave the snowy playground just yet and was dragging his paws. Instead of putting supper in the oven, Dash held off until Harv returned. He covered the meat mixture with plastic wrap and turned to carry it to the refrigerator.
As he reached for the door handle, a bolt of searing pain flashed through his head and chest. The heavy bowl shattered when it hit the floor, and Dash stumbled out of the kitchen, gasping for breath. When the intense pain faded, it left something behind—a cold, empty space where Harv used to be. The mystical, unexplainable thread that connected them at the moment of claiming had been severed somehow, and for the first time, Dash’s bear bellowed in despair.
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Aiden held Dash as he wept, unsure if there was anything he could do to comfort him. The poor man whimpered in remembered pain, and Aiden cried along with him.
“I’m so sorry, love. I’ve got you, so let it all out.”
Thankfully, the intensity of the moment passed quickly. Presumably, Dash had lived with this pain long enough for it to lose the jagged edges. Still, Aiden didn’t know how much it hurt to lose a mate or how it might have affected Dash in other ways. While Ryder had hinted at this recently, he’d declined to reveal any details. Dash stirred and pulled back to look Aiden in the eye.
“There’s more to the story. It’s just... I’ve kept it locked up for a long time, and there are some things I can’t explain. I sensed the moment Harv died but didn’t know until hours later what happened.
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Bereft of his beloved, Dash was paralyzed with grief and uncertainty. What should he do? Who could he call? Where did he go for help? The only one thinking clearly was his bear, who demanded he go look for his mate. Dash obeyed the insistent voice in his head, knowing he couldn’t simply sit there and donothing. He stripped, slipped outside, and shifted—following his mate’s tracks into the woods.
It took almost an hour to reach the spot where his mate’s scent was most potent. There were drops of Harv’s blood in the snow, though not his body, along with multiple human footprints. He followed them to the nearest road, where they disappeared among the wide tire tracks of a truck, or perhaps it was the ambulance he’d heard earlier. If so, someone must have tried to help his mate, which meant he might get some answers.
Dash retraced his steps, running full bore for home. After some time, he crashed through the trees behind the house, picking up the scent of two humans, firearms, and a warm vehicle at the front. He reached the back door, shifted, and slipped inside to put on a pair of pants. Amid insistent pounding on the front door, Dash opened it to find two policemen waiting for him.
“Pardon the intrusion, sir, but are you Dashiell Hawthorn?”
Dash growled at the men, startling them.
“Yes! What happened to my mate, Harv Whitmore? Where is he?”
“We regret to inform you that Mr. Whitmore has died. We need you to accompany us to the morgue to identify the body and answer some questions.”
Numb in both mind and heart, Dash finished dressing and followed the police car to the morgue. When they showed him Harv’s body, he broke down with full-throated cries—inconsolable and nearly out of his mind with grief. Somehow, they coaxed him into providing a next of kin or family member’s name and then gave him privacy to mourn his beloved.
Eventually, both Dash’s and Harv’s parents arrived to console him. There were hugs, tears, and gentle words, butDash couldn’t recall much of anything until the investigator on duty met with them to explain. Harv’s death, he said, had been a tragic accident of mistaken identity. When pressed for details, Dash listened with disbelief and became so angry he nearly attacked the insufferable human.
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Aiden couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Mistaken identity? I don’t understand. What in the world happened?”
Dash heaved a great sigh and distracted himself by caressing Aiden’s hand.
“The place where Harv liked to run was a protected state game area bordered by homes. One of our new neighbors, who didn’t know we were shifters, spotted him in the woods and called the DNR to report a nuisance bear. When they caught up with him, they didn’t even try to find out if he was a shifter or a natural bear. Instead, they tranquilized him on sight.
“Shifters can’t process the neuroleptic sedative they use, and it’s designed to work quickly. Harv shifted back and told them who he was, but by the time an ambulance reached him, he was clearly in distress. On the way to the hospital, he suffered a massive heart attack and died before they arrived.”
