The Way Home: The Bears of Blackrock, #6

By Michaela Carr

Dear God, what had she done?

The anger had gotten away from Amelia. She'd fought all her life to control this strange simmering aggression she felt bubbling just beneath the skin. She'd always won that battle - until that Sunday afternoon when the beast within took hold, leaving her mother's face scarred by claws - Amelia's claws. She'd turned into a bear.

Freedom doesn't bring peace.

Darrell Holden is a free man, no longer interred in a camp with his shifter relatives in Labrador. Though the nightmares are less frequent, he still aches for something more - for something to feel like home. Blackrock feels safe, but when a panicked, naked woman comes careening out of the woods, fresh from a shift, Darrell sees his quiet rural life turned upside down.

No one has ever felt like Darrell Holden

Amelia feels drawn to Darrell, instantly. Unlike all other men, he feels strong, powerful - and he's not afraid of her. Yet she can't give into these passions, she has bigger fish to fry. She has to find her biological parents.

With each new lead, she finds herself at yet another dead end, and a new fury to set her off. She's losing the battle with the beast more and more. It's only a matter of time before she shifts again - but what if next time, the damage is irreparable?

Can Darrell soothe Amelia's wild soul long enough for her to find answers, or will her inner beast take over and ruin them both?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chaos Press
• Release date: Sep 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386994480

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

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AMELIA

The snow was cold underfoot, making a harsh crunching sound with each step.

Amelia stumbled, collapsing into the slope, the half-frozen surface of the snow drifts scraping her skin.

She was bared to the cold. Naked.

Oh god. It happened again, she thought.

Tears stung at her eyes, but she fought to get back on her feet and move. She didn’t know where she was now. The last thing she remembered was pulling up the empty lot.

The address said 449 Forten Hill Highway, yet there was nothing there. No office building to inquire within, no storefronts or door to knock on and say, I’m trying to find my birth-mother, is there any chance you might know who she is?

Birthmother. That’s not right. Biological mother?

Amelia shook her head, and the tears tried to come with twice the fury just as her foot cracked through a drift of frozen snow, the sharp edges raking across her ankle bone.

She felt her face contort as she remembered her mother. The last time Amelia laid eyes on her mother, she’d had a massive bandage across the left side of her face. A bandage that covered the long claw marks of an animal.

A bandage that reminded Amelia with every passing second that she’s almost killed her own mother.

Amelia stomped up another small hill, smelling the familiar touch of salt in the air. She was getting closer to the water.

Where the hell did she leave her car?

Shoot! She hissed as another crack in the snow left her shin scraped and bleeding.

It’s ok, baby. It’s not your fault. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, her mother said. Yet, Amelia could see that fear in her eyes.

She’d been halfway into the same argument they always had when she was home – You might find a nice boy if you’d simply agree to go out with someone.

Amelia was tired of her mother eyeing her the way she did. It wasn’t Doreen Stimpson’s fault that she wanted grandchildren, and Amelia understood that, but she was tired of explaining herself.

I’ll settle down when I find someone who doesn’t make my skin crawl.

Because every man did. Not in a skeevy, creepy way, but simply – they didn’t make her heart sing. She noticed handsome guys from time to time, and she certainly wasn’t a virgin, but the notion of making a home with a man, of waking up next to them?

The thought always left her wanting, and wanting left her walking away.

She’d rather be happily alone, than unhappily coupled.

Stupid, she said to herself, shaking her head as she remembered her temper flaring. She’d been standing in the living room, her heart racing when her mother asked the question one too many times. The resulting argument traveled from room to room, her mother bringing up childhood faults, Amelia trying to get away, feeling her temper firing with such fury, she feared she’d say something she would regret.

She didn’t say anything she would regret.

Instead, she turned into a bear, and tore her mother’s face open.

Amelia stumbled and dropped into the snow, tired now from far more than just the trek through the woods.

She’d turned into a bear. She’d gone from a twenty something blonde girl with Ugg boots and leggings to a massive, predatory animal, all in her mother’s living room.

Despite the prick of ice against her bare backside, Amelia just sat there for a moment and cried.

Sure, her mother forgave her, but forgiveness couldn’t fix the one glaring horror or Amelia’s life.

She could turn into a bear.

Jesus, this stuff happens in books I read, not in real life!

As if that weren’t enough to heap on this horrendous pile of unwanted discovery, Doreen Stimpson had another secret to share with her daughter – a secret she must’ve hoped would bring her half-bear daughter some peace.

Doreen Stimpson wasn’t her biological mother.

Despite, her mother’s assurances that they’d figure it out, Amelia couldn’t bear to look at her mother’s injured face. She couldn’t go on some bonding road trip with her mother’s stitches still healing. She didn’t want to chance another temper flare.

She couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her mother again – biological or no.

Amelia wiped her eyes and rose to her feet, stumbling up the hill as the snow cracked under her weight. Her heart had slowed now from the change, and she’d realized her car would be in the opposite direction – at the end of a long trail of bear tracks through iced over snow.

Still, the trees were parting up ahead, and Amelia was sure she’d find the ocean if she just kept walking.

If nothing else, her biological mom came from a beautiful place.

Amelia reached the tree line and stumbled out into the road.

She’d been right. The waves and salt spray betrayed its presence, even in the mist. Amelia took a couple steps across the road toward the sea.

Hey. You alright, miss?

Amelia froze, her eyes darting around to find the source of the voice.

A tan skinned man with black hair stood in the middle of the road just a dozen yards away.

CHAPTER TWO

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DARRELL

A h, god damn it!

Darrell dropped the chisel into the hollowed core of the log, his blood dripping onto the handle before he could snatch his thumb up in his shirt. He clenched his right fist around the wounded thumb, feeling the throb of injury pulse down the length of his hand. Fuckin fuck, he mumbled to himself. He almost didn’t want to look.

The chisel was new, as were most of the tools he had lined up alongside his new project. He hadn’t planned to do any carving while he was in Maine. He’d planned for school work and fending off his Aunt Karen’s constant consideration.

Once school started and he found himself surrounded by strangers with each passing day, Darrell found himself longing for quiet – quiet like the north. He was only two months into his first semester and his grades were wonderful - and his thumb was bleeding.

Darrell was carving a canoe. A craft his father taught him, the same as his grandfather taught his father. Still, the wood was different here, and the new chisels were slick and sanded to a brilliant sheen. He wasn’t used to such smooth handles.

There’s no grip to the damn things, he thought.

Darrell hissed softly as he freed his thumb from his fist. The chisel had sheered right through the tip, but hadn’t carved off a slab, thank goodness. He could tape that bastard down and it would heal, no missing pieces.

Still, he was done working for the day - that was certain.

Darrell took out a dusty rag from his work bag and wrapped it around his thumb before piling his tools in to the bag. He grumbled to himself, disappointed to be heading back to the trailer so soon. He’d been looking forward to a few hours of work.

He left the canoe propped on its stands and stared at it for a moment. The bark was sheared off, the wood smooth around the outer edge. The core was gouged out enough to show what he meant to make of it, but there were many hours of work left – let alone the carvings he would add once it was done and ready for the water.

Darrell hoisted his tool bag over his shoulder and turned back toward the dirt road that led to the reservation. He had a mile and a half to walk, about thirty minutes of quiet before he could head to the Talbot cabin and Aunt Karen would demand to know how his day was. She’d be upset if he didn’t stop in. She seemed to be making up for lost time with her own son, Theron.

Given Theron was now living in Labrador, Canada, it wasn’t exactly easy to pester him about his day. Darrell would have to do.

Then he could head back to his trailer, and be done with the world for the day.

Darrell reached the dirt road and stopped. There was a strange smell in the air, something foreign and familiar at the same time. He turned inland toward the woods, watching the tree line for a sign of something there. No noise betrayed company. Still, he gave himself a long moment to listen. Finally, he started off down the road, letting the cool breeze from the water clear the air. It was early December now. More snow would be coming soon.

The tools in his bag jangled and clattered with each step, drowning out the crunch of pebbles and dirt beneath his shoes. Yet, even with the clank of tools, a sound caught his attention in the woods.

He stopped, staring into the woods, waiting.

A pale shape moved in the road behind him. Darrell spun around, half expecting to be attacked.

A light-haired woman stood in the center of the