She could simply refuse the mate bond altogether. As she’d just told herself, Gil wasn’t Shifter. He didn’t understand the implications. She’d talk with him and tell him that humans didn’t have to live by Shifter rules, and she was staying put.
Kenzie’s head liked this idea, but her body, she knew, would rebel. The mate bond wasn’t logic or reason, and it wasn’t quite the same as falling in love. Similar, but not the same.
The mate bond was a basic compulsion left over from feral days, when they’d been bred as fighting beasts. A mate bond ensured that two Shifters latched on to each other and didn’t let go. They’d fight for each other, protect each other to the death, give in to the mating frenzy, and raise plenty of cubs. To deny the mate bond brought physical pain, relieved only when the couple surrendered to it.
There was magic in the bond, not just a chemical reaction. Gil might not be affected as much, being human, even with his shaman magic, but it could tear Kenzie apart.
She would fight it as hard as she could, regardless. Her mating with Bowman had been more than the two of them deciding to keep Shiftertown together. They’d needed each other—they’d both realized that.
If Kenzie left him, Bowman would have to find another mate, one who would help him keep Shiftertown stable. There were plenty of female Shifters who would be delighted to take up the position. Kenzie had seen that during the mating ceremony yesterday.
The burn of that thought threatened to combust Kenzie right there.
She rolled off the bed, grabbed clean underwear from her drawer, and strode into the bathroom. “I’m not leaving,” she called over her shoulder and slammed the door.
When she emerged, clean and damp, Bowman had gone. She found no trace of him in the house, though a coffee cup was now in the sink, the pot emptied and rinsed. The envelope of photos Gil had brought was gone too, as were Bowman’s leather jacket and motorcycle.
Kenzie blinked back another flood of tears, found her phone, and called Gil. He wasn’t there.
“Please call me back when you get this,” she said to his voice mail. “We need to talk.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The last person Bowman wanted to see this morning was Cristian, fearless leader of the Dimitru pack. But as soon as Bowman pulled up at the makeshift arena where they’d found the truck, Cristian was there.
Bowman had intended to do two things here—first, go over the ground again and find some answers. Second, shift to wolf and run until he dropped.
He knew damn well he was using the first as an excuse to do the second. He was breaking inside, and he needed to give in to his wolf, which was urging him to run until he could feel no more grief.
Bowman’s skin itched, his human form barely containing him. Having to face Cristian and his not-so-thinly veiled hostility wasn’t what he needed.
Bowman didn’t trust himself to speak, but Cristian was already talking, even as Bowman swung off his motorcycle.
“Have you come, as I have, to see if there are any more of these creatures wandering about?” Cristian asked, his breath fogging in the cold morning air. “The second monster, I mean. I speculated that they came in pairs.”
“Yes, I remember,” Bowman snapped.
“I have been here since the dawn. I have found many things.”
“Yeah?” Bowman made himself focus. “Like what?”
Instead of answering, Cristian peered at Bowman’s motorcycle, then behind him to the dirt road. “Where is my niece? She would be helpful in this.”
Bowman turned his head abruptly so Cristian wouldn’t see his face, and pretended to scan the area. “She’s busy. So am I. Just tell me what you found.”
“Tracks. They tell a story.”
“What tracks?” Bowman made himself pay attention. He had a job to do; hurting would have to be pushed aside for later. “We checked all over the place and didn’t find any tracks, except the ones the sniper made, but they were way over there.” He pointed.
“That is because they weren’t here then. These are new.”
Bowman faced Cristian again. “Someone’s come back? Why?”
“Who can say? It may be innocent, or it may not. Until we find out who brought the monster here, whether there are any more, and why all the shooting is going on, we should not rest.”
“I know.” Bowman clenched his jaw.
“We have been lucky so far that the monster did not live, but someone shot at us to keep us from discovering things.”
“I know,” Bowman repeated, louder this time. “But I don’t want you going behind my back, digging into things without telling me. I make the decisions about this. Me. Don’t forget that.”
“So then, make decisions.” Cristian’s look was steady. “We cannot sit around and wait for you to discover the answers. The danger is too great—”
Bowman gave up on control. He slammed himself to Cristian and grabbed him by his leather coat; screw being diplomatic. “And you undermine me at every chance—that’s just what you want, isn’t it? To charge out here to make it look as though I can’t handle it. Then you can go back home and tell the Shifters you fixed everything, not me.” Bowman gave him a fierce shake. “You keep it up, and I’ll kill you. I’ll do it now if I don’t like what you say to me, and dump your body in a ravine.”
Rage flared in Cristian’s eyes, but as Bowman’s rapid speech ended, his golden gaze narrowed. “Something has happened to you. What is it? Is Kenzie all right?”