Chapter 2 Guy
Guy
“Putain de Noel ,” I growled under my breath, cursing the stupid jolly holiday. Normally, I wasn’t someone you would consider a Scrooge, but this… was not Christmas.
I unslung my backpack from over my shoulder and threw it into the passenger seat of the rental car, before forcing my large frame into the tiny car, my knees wedged tight under the steering wheel.
I swore I couldn’t even draw a full breath, the space was so narrow.
This car was not built for legs as long as mine, but the rental place had made a mistake with my reservation, and now it was all they had left, what with the influx of seasonal travelers.
They didn’t even apologize, I thought bitterly.
The rental office was bedecked in all its garish Christmas glory, with flashy silver garland and twinkling lights.
We didn’t have anything so flashy back at home at the beaver lodge in Quebec.
Nothing so… fake. Who needed imitation plastic trees, with no bark, no sap, no spicy scent to fill your home, when we were surrounded by nature in all its natural splendor.
Now, I was surrounded by glass and steel, annoyingly catchy carols about jingling bells and dashing sleighs following my every step, and even though I just got here, I was already homesick.
I hated traveling so much. There was never enough legroom on a plane, battling for space on the armrest, and everyone was coughing in each other’s faces.
And aside from the plane, it was always too hot, with too may people, and I always felt like I couldn’t breathe with all the pollution compared to my home north of the border.
Maison, my beaver nudged at me from within. He wanted to go home too.
As sympathetic as I was for my beast’s plight, since we were obviously in the same boat, we both knew that if we wanted to make a go of this little maple syrup empire we were building, this condiment convention was a necessary step.
As it was, we were a small fish in a big ocean of syrup companies, but with a little visibility, we could land a few major sellers.
This convention brought distributors from all over the world, looking for the next blockbuster sauce, promising to bring life to their customers’ tastebuds.
Although, why they decided to have a convention of any kind the week before Christmas was beyond me. Wouldn’t the summer have been better?
Honestly, it probably wouldn’t have made a difference to me when they decided to have it. I hated traveling no matter the circumstances. I much preferred my own bed, my own quiet log cabin, far from humans and their nosy, suspicious ways.
When they’d pulled my bag aside to search it, my heart had raced in my chest, sweat prickling my skin. Oh gods, my identity as a shifter would be found out! Except all they’d pulled from my bag was a bottle of water I’d forgotten I had.
“Oh, merde. Sorry,” I’d said quickly, taking my bag back with shaky fingers.
When I’d gone through customs on the US side, though, the border security had eyed me the entire time, as if I were some kind of criminal.
What, just because I had a beard, that didn’t make me a thug.
The intense scrutiny, in turn, had made me feel guilty, even though I’d done nothing wrong.
I swore the guard’s narrowed glare had followed me all the way out of the airport.
This was the price I paid to venture into the human world.
Shifters had been hiding forever, afraid of their secret being discovered, the inevitable persecution that would follow.
But as I drove the miniature car up the snow-slick road toward my accommodations, I found myself sniffing.
I rolled down the window to let the stinging breeze whip over me, taking a deep inhale.
Shifters! All kinds!
Having spent most of my life in the woods, I was able to pick up the familiar earthy musk of bears and wolves, and something lighter, perhaps some kind of wildcat. But there were many more flavors on the wind, creatures both big and small that I’d never encountered before.
Aigles! my beast said, wanting to join in the fun. écureuils! I congratulated him on smelling eagles and squirrels too, and he chuffed with pride.
As the highway climbed into the mountains, I felt my heart thrumming in my chest, excitement coursing through me. I’d been prepared to be all business at this convention, but if there were this many shifters, maybe my time here didn’t have to be all work. Maybe there would be time for some fun…
Even though the road had been plowed, my car’s Hot-Wheels-sized tires struggled to get me up the incline, skidding and skating, spinning the car into a dangerous angle until I found myself pointed toward the ditch.
I was more than familiar with driving in the winter, and I turned the steering wheel into the slide, turning the car with a stomach-clenching lurch, narrowly missing an accident.
I held my breath as I made the final push, coming to a stop at last in front of the main lodge.
I blew out a shaky breath and peeled my aching fingers off the steering wheel.
Home away from home, I told my beaver, for the next week at least, but he’d snagged on the word “lodge.”
Hutte? he asked hopefully, gazing through my eyes eagerly, looking for other beavers.
Not that kind of lodge, I told him, and grumbling, he retreated glumly to the back of my mind, sulking. Not even the whiff of mink and snow leopard shifters could rouse his spirits after his hopes had been dashed.
The wood gave a heartwarming groan as I walked up the steps, and when I pushed the heavy door open, a blast of heat greeted me, bordering on stifling.
There was a crackling fire in the grate, the orange light dancing around the room.
My body temp tended to run a little warmer than your average human’s, and it was with reluctance that I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, knowing the snow-scented outdoors would be there waiting for me when I was done checking in.
As my boots clomped across the floor, the human at the desk lifted his chin to greet me, customer-service smile already in place. Then he lifted his chin some more, until he could finally look me in the eye. He smiled a little harder for good measure.
I wasn’t a huge guy, by any means, but I wasn’t exactly svelte either. I’d been told I could be intimidating, though that was never my intention. My beaver was obviously much smaller than I was, but even he was the largest within our lodge.
After taking a long, slow breath, the guy finally attempted a greeting. “Good afternoon, sir. Checking in?”
“Yes, please. My name is Guy Charpentier.”
The man, whose nametag said he went by Branson, blinked a few times, no doubt trying to wrangle my French-accented words into something he could recognize. “P-Pardon?” he stuttered, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a gulp as he continued to eye my broad frame.
I repeated myself, slower this time, trying to enunciate for an English-speaker.
“Gee Sharpened Yay?” he attempted, mangling my name horribly.
Sighing, I snatched a pen off the desk and wrote it out on a pad of paper for him. This wasn’t the first time I’d had to do this, and I knew from experience that it was easier this way. It was an unfortunate reality of traveling somewhere primarily Anglophone.
With a few keystrokes, I was checked in at last, and Branson gave me a quick rundown on their amenities and where to find them.
“And of course, sir, there is plenty of space to go for a… run.” He put heavy emphasis on the last word, and I halfway expected a little wink, wink, nudge, nudge.
He was no doubt hinting that he knew all about shifters, which made sense since this was a shifter resort.
“Now, I just have to explain about a problem we had with the website…”
“Right. Thanks,” I said, already headed for the door, eager to escape the heat. I didn’t need any more explanations. This was just the place where I would be sleeping. I didn’t intend to spend any more time at the resort than necessary. I had work to do.
“Wait! I’m supposed to take you to your cabin,” Branson called after me, but I waved him off.
“Don’t worry, I’ll find it myself.” The door clicked shut behind me, and I sighed in relief. Honestly, I just needed to breathe, and I was looking forward to stretching my legs.
I grabbed my bag from the car, slinging it over my shoulder, then headed out into the pristine snow, sparkling in the sunshine.
There were paths, of course, and signs indicating which direction to go.
I also saw snowmobile tracks, alongside pawprints and hooved tracks of all kinds and sizes.
I followed the arrow pointing toward cabin 5, my boots making a marvelous crunch-crunch through the snow.
My beast was still pouting, but I could feel his curiosity tingling at my insides.
It wasn’t stiflingly hot like it’d been that time we went to Florida, thank the gods.
My beaver liked the cold just fine, and the air was clean and fresh, scented like pine.
When the distant roar of a waterfall caught his attention, I knew I was forgiven.
The water was largely iced over along the riverbanks at this point of the winter, but the fast-moving water had resisted so far.
Nager? he asked, already dreaming of diving into the water.
Soon, I promised. But before we could swim, I had some work to do.
Arriving at the quaint cabin, I opened the door with my key and stepped inside.
There was just the main room plus a door I assumed led to the bathroom.
There was a stone fireplace, thankfully unlit, along with minimal furnishings.
Just a dresser, a short love seat, and a queen-size bed that took up most of the space.
It wasn’t exactly home, but it would do.
I dumped my backpack out on the bed, plugging in my laptop to charge, then decided a shower was in order to wash off the travel cooties. My shifter immune system meant I wouldn’t get sick from human germs, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t feel them on my skin. Ick.
Shucking my clothes, I cranked on the water and stepped up and over into the clawfoot tub. I was halfway through lathering my body with soap, humming a French ballad, when I swore I heard a sound. Almost like the cabin’s front door opening.
I paused, soap in hand, and stuck my head around the curtain. I frowned. There was a faint whiff of something on the tendrils of steam. Something tantalizing… delectable… Sweet and spicy, it was something that had my heart quickening and my cock hardening.
me s?ur, my beaver said.
Stomach swooping, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was right. Mate.