No, this journey had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with protecting his son. He wasn’t sure why he felt as if he’d gone on the lam. After all, he’d been granted full legal custody of three-month-old Garth in a court of law. Without restrictions. So if he wanted to drive across the country to New York in the middle of winter, infant son in tow, there was absolutely no reason why he shouldn’t or couldn’t.
He had his reasons, of course. Even before Garth had been born, he’d asked for and received permission to take a sabbatical from his job as a college professor. As soon as his then-wife, Yolanda, had begun showing, so had her disdain for the thing she carried inside her.
The more she’d ranted and raved, the more worried he’d grown. She, too, was bear, and their kind were dwindling. A pregnancy would normally be a time for celebration. Not with her. Instead, she appeared to be coming unhinged.
In her third trimester, she’d finally come to him and asked for her freedom. She hadn’t meant she only wanted out of the marriage. She wanted out of motherhood, as well. He’d negotiated with her carefully. Since he’d offered her a hefty settlement, she’d carried their son full term. Once Garth had been born, she’d refused even to look at the tiny, red-faced infant. She’d handed over the baby to Eric, checked herself out of the hospital and took off to have fun without being tied to anyone or anything.
The divorce had gone through without a hitch. Eric settled into his new life as a single father with bemused dedication and love. He’d been shocked to learn how much he loved his newborn son, and vowed to be the best parent he could.
He’d researched everything about babies. Heavily. Some things, such as the ingrained habits borne of years spent educating others, wouldn’t be changed. He’d felt competent and prepared, until the first time Garth came down with a high fever that wouldn’t break.
But he’d managed, and now, three months in, he would lay down his life for his son. Which was why, when his unstable ex-wife started showing up on his doorstep unannounced, insisting something was wrong with the baby and she needed to take him somewhere to have him fixed, he’d realized he needed to leave California for a while.
While he made his preparations, he’d received phone calls from colleagues and friends, informing him that Yolanda had been declaring to anyone who would listen that Eric had stolen her son from her and cheated her out of motherhood.
After he’d placated numerous people, the news got worse. Now it seemed that Yolanda not only wanted her son back, but she also wanted Eric dead. She’d gone twice to the Wolf Pack authorities, the Pack Protectors, and tried to convince them that Eric was a Berserker, a form of insanity unique to the Vedjorn. When a Berserker shifted from human to bear, he or she became a crazed killing machine. If Eric had truly been one, he’d be a danger to not only her son, but others. She also had hinted a few times that Garth might be a Berserker, as well. It was this last claim that worried Eric. He could defend himself against her attacks. His son could not.
The infrequent gene mutation among the bear shifters was the reason the others—especially wolves—avoided them. Since they were the largest group, the Wolf Pack had an entire division, called the Pack Protectors, devoted to ensuring humankind didn’t learn about their existence. True Berserkers with their indiscriminate killing would endanger not only the bears, but all the others, as well. This could not be allowed. Anyone even seriously suspected of being a Berserker was brought in and contained, until the accusations could either be verified or denied. True Berserkers, though few and far between, were exterminated.
And Yolanda had named Eric a Berserker. Since this accusation was serious, one might have expected her to have some proof. Something to back her up, incidents of killing and maiming. Since she didn’t, no one took her seriously. Including Eric.
Then, without warning, Yolanda had shown up on Eric’s doorstep demanding to see her baby. She hadn’t been even close to sober. He’d turned her away. She’d finally left, shouting about how their son needed healing. And how she was the only one who could provide it.
After that, she’d had an attorney friend contact him. Even though she’d willingly signed away all parenting rights, she’d now decided she’d changed her mind. Except she hadn’t really. He knew all this was somehow related to her intense need to heal her son. From what, he wasn’t sure. Maybe she truly did believe little Garth would grow up to be Berserker. But everyone understood those signs wouldn’t start to exhibit themselves until Garth was able to shape-shift, which would be in his early teens. And if he truly ended up being Berserker, there was no cure.
With a bone-deep certainty, Eric knew his son wasn’t Berserker. Unfortunately, Yolanda appeared equally convinced he was, despite having no evidence to support her.
She’d shown up twice more at his front door, cursing, screaming and crying. And threatening. He began to understand his son was in real danger from the woman who’d birthed him. When he caught her breaking the window on the back door in order to gain entry to his home so she could grab the baby, he’d realized it would be better to disappear. In fact, his Pack Protector friend Jason had strongly suggested it.
So early one morning Eric had quietly packed his SUV, locked his house and taken off cross-country with Garth securely strapped in his infant car seat in back. The rest of his belongings had already been picked up by a moving company and would be delivered a week later, including his painstakingly restored 1969 classic Camaro SS.
His destination was the tiny town of Forestwood, New York, where he’d rented the bottom floor of a house from a website he’d found on the internet, hoping it would look the same as the pictures that had been posted. He no longer would be teaching college. Instead he would open his own business doing something that until now he’d considered only a hobby. He planned to start an entirely new life, focusing on his son and keeping his head down.
* * *
Though her new tenant was supposed to pick up his keys today, Julia Jacobs eyed the blizzard raging outside and figured he’d call her to reschedule. According to the stern yet clearly excited weatherman on TV, officials were advising people to stay off the roads. Whiteout conditions and extreme cold didn’t make for safe travel.
JJ didn’t mind. She’d been anticipating the snow with the eagerness of a child. She’d dreamed it, after all. And snowfall brought her joy. In all kinds of ways. At the first sight of big, fat snowflakes drifting down from the leaden gray sky, she was filled with the excited anticipation of a kid on Christmas Eve.
Though she knew she was out of sync with the rest of the world, winter was her favorite season. The crisp bite of the cold air, her breath pluming as she exhaled. She loved the bundling up, the sweater and scarf and coat and hat and gloves and boots. Stepping out into the white wonderland and making the first set of footprints to mar the unblemished perfection. The way the world went absolutely still and quiet the morning after a snowfall, and how wonderful it felt to sit inside her warm house by the fire drinking cocoa and watching the snow fall. Snow always felt like a new beginning, a chance to start over.
She sighed, glad once again that she was alone, that she’d left Shawn and the hustle and bustle of New York City behind. Even before his true abusive nature came out, her ex-boyfriend had ridiculed her love of all things winter, one of her many character traits that he’d found distasteful and disgusting. Of course, he’d been a summer person, while heat and blazing sunshine had only depressed her. That had just been the beginning and she’d finally broken free. This blizzard, already being ominously forecasted as the storm of the century, brought her nothing but joy.
She felt sorry for her new tenant, though. When he’d rented out the bottom floor of her house, his Norwegian accent had intrigued her. Of course, she’d Googled him after getting his name, noting he’d immigrated to California. She’d been impressed by his academic credentials. A college professor on sabbatical, he’d said. With an infant son.
The last might have given other landlords pause. After all, babies cried, and even though he’d be on another floor entirely, sound drifted in older houses like hers.
But