Love for Heller (Alaskan Pebble Gifters #9)

1. Sergey

1

SERGEY

I open the door to my rental car and cool Alaskan air rushes at me. I’ve traveled to every continent, including some places with colder climates than Anchorage. But damn if the crisp, cool air here doesn’t feel better than anywhere else in the world.

A short, old man in a large coat walks over to my car. That must be Russell, the guy showing me the rental property.

I climb out and give him a friendly smile. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”

“It’s a bit chilly. Last I checked the temperature was barely above freezing.” He glares at my short-sleeved shirt meaningfully, as if scolding me for being underdressed.

This guy is a Gentoo through and through. No other shifter in the world is so judgmental about the stupidest things. One time when I was welding a prosthetic hand for a Gentoo boy on the west side of Anchorage, his omega mom glared at me for a full hour while I put on the finishing touches. Come to find out, it was because I shifted my arms into their bear form while her son was present. The woman knew I would be welding magic metal. I explained to her beforehand that I’d need to partially shift to do that. Hell, the project was even pro bono. But instead of being excited for her son when he was given a magic hand that moved and functioned almost exactly like the real one he’d lost, she continued to glare at me.

I’d hoped Russell would be different because he’s trying to sell me something, but apparently not.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Sergey.” I don’t bother to outstretch my arm for a handshake. Gentoo don’t touch anyone but their mates.

He nods. “I’m Russell Gibson. The property we’ll be touring today has been in my family for generations. Like all rental properties in the jewelry and warehouse districts, it’s Gentoo-owned.”

He mentioned this several times in our email exchanges too. I wonder why. The good news is that even though Gentoo own the land in this area, polar bear shifters are the ones who work and live here. The only time I’ll have to deal with judgmental twats like Russell is when I pay the rent.

He leads me to the entrance of an enormous warehouse. The front door is already unlocked when he pulls on the handle. Inside are a series of forges, lined up next to one another. They’re too small for my purposes and too close together, but the space itself is large enough that I could build a few bigger forges to replace them.

“Parking on the north side of the lot will be yours. The parking on the south side of the building is designated for a different property. This warehouse is not zoned for residential living, so you and your employees are not allowed to sleep here.”

Again, nothing new. I’ve already gone through the contract with my lawyer and everything seemed to be reasonable.

“The one thing we need to discuss is the price,” Russell says.

“The contract stated that it was $52 per square foot every year,” I remind him. That number is the main reason I’ve been reticent to expand to Anchorage. I currently operate out of Albuquerque, New Mexico, where I can rent warehouse space in Albuquerque for a song. Unfortunately, I’m already employing all of the welders in New Mexico who are capable of doing the complex metal magic required for my prosthetics. I’ve tried luring welders from Anchorage to Albuquerque with higher salaries. They aren’t interested.

If I want to make more prosthetics, I need a forge in Anchorage.

“We’ve had to make a minor adjustment to the contract,” Russell says. “After discussing it with the Gentoo council, we’ve decided to raise the rent to $108 per square foot.”

My stomach drops. “What? That’s more than double.”

His lips slide into smug smile. “Yes, that’s true. Given the current pricing of your prosthetics, we think you can afford it.”

“That isn’t legal,” I tell him.

“I assure you it is. We haven’t signed any contracts yet. There’s nothing illegal about changing the price of rent, as long as we advertise that same price to any interested party.”

I take a deep breath. Losing my temper with Russell won’t solve anything. Sure, this is frustrating, but there are other warehouses in Anchorage.

“Thank you for your time. I’m no longer interested in renting the property,” I say.

Russell raises his hand to stop me. “Hold on. I think we can come to an arrangement that will work for both of us. We’ll lower the price of the rent to only one dollar per square foot in exchange for two prosthetics every year, made for members of the Gentoo community.”

I should have known this wasn’t about money. My email inbox is flooded daily with messages from parents around the world begging me to make a prosthetic foot for their wolf shifter son who wants to run in his animal form again or their artistic daughter who lost her dominant hand and misses drawing. The heightened functionality of a magical prosthetic is life-changing for most of my patients. I wish I had time to weld one for everyone in the world who asks. But I don’t, and I have a specific process to decide who gets one. It’s the only way to keep things fair.

“No,” I say. “Each prosthetic takes weeks to make and can only be done by a highly skilled welder. I cannot possibly give you two a year.”

Russell folds his arms across his chest. “Then you will not be able to rent from any Gentoo in Anchorage.”

Damn him. This is why he kept repeating that every rental property in the warehouse and jewelry district are owned by the Gentoo. It isn’t fair. They shouldn’t legally be allowed to strongarm their tenants into doing whatever they want like this.

“One a year,” I relent. “And it goes to a child living in poverty.”

My prosthetics are especially helpful for children in poverty. Just like clothing, kids grow out of their prosthetics, and poor families struggle to replace them as often as they should. A prosthetic that’s too small can be painful and hinder mobility. That isn’t fair to someone who’s just getting started in life.

“I am not at liberty to accept anything less than two prosthetics a year,” Russells says. “The recipients will be chosen by the Gentoo council.”

That probably means I’ll be making prosthetics for rich old white men as judgmental as Russell. My stomach twists in revulsion. One thing I’ve learned since developing the spellwork to create magical prosthetics is that rich old white men will stop at nothing to get something they want, even if that means stealing it from people who need it a lot more than they do.

“You can tell the Gentoo council to fuck off,” I say.

Russell visibly blanches. “There’s no need for that kind of language. I assure you that if you don’t rent property from us, you won’t be able to find anywhere to do business on the polar bear shifter side of town. And from what I understand, you desperately need more polar bear shifter welders to expand your business.”

“Then I’ll do my business on the penguin shifter side of town.”

He gives me that smug smile again. “Good luck. They only rent to other penguin shifters.”

I want to grab my white wig on my head and rip it off my head, but I don’t. Revealing my gray hair to someone like Russell would be a mistake. Most people assume that polar bear shifters with mixed blood aren’t strong welders. That’s why I wear my wig during all prosthetic fittings and business negotiations. Besides, it doesn’t matter that my alpha dad is a Gentoo penguin shifter. Russell is right. No one will rent to me on the penguin shifter side of town anyway.

There’s a reason why my parents moved from Anchorage to Albuquerque when I was young. The hate between penguin shifters and polar bear shifters runs deep here. Maybe it’s a mistake to try to do business in a place where people believe someone like me shouldn’t exist.

“Excuse me,” Russell says. “I have a very busy day ahead of me. Will you please see yourself out?”

I’m tempted to do something petty, like tell him I don’t plan on making prosthetics for Gentoo patients anymore, but I keep my mouth shut. That won’t solve anything, and it wouldn’t be fair to the Gentoo kids who might need one in the future.

If only all Gentoo were as kind as my alpha dad, this would be a lot easier.

“Have the day you deserve,” I say instead, and head for the door.

I can’t change men like Russell. They’ll always be small-minded and insufferable. But I can try to avoid them as much as possible as I build a name for myself here in Anchorage.

I just need to find a forge to do it.