The Lonely Omega and Her Three Bears (Knot Her Bears #3)

Bonnie

Chapter One

My story lay hidden.

As did I.

Since my earliest memory, I’d lived in the woods alone with my mother. The cabin was surrounded by tall trees, and the only way in was a deer trail. One I had never been allowed to follow beyond the tree line that shielded it from the main road.

“You must hide,” Mother told me. “It’s not safe.”

She never said why. Not specifically anyway.

Mother left fairly often. She had to support us, and she earned enough for the basics.

Simple food, thrift-store clothes that kept me warm but always smelled musty.

Books, from the same shop, in various stages of decrepitude, but I didn’t care about that.

They were my window to a world beyond the one I occupied. And supplies for my artwork.

As Mother got ready to leave that morning, I grabbed the bucket to go to the spring for water to wash the dishes.

Oatmeal for breakfast, the usual except for very special occasions, making the cleaning up easy.

The fire-blackened pot, two bowls, two spoons, cups…

“Remember, don’t leave the cabin while I’m away. ”

“Have I ever?” At least not farther than the spring, even deeper in the woods. Which was understood. Or, at least I was prepared to fib about it. “What should I start for supper?”

“If the baby comes, I will bring us something special.” She sorted through her bag, checking to be sure everything was as it should be, which of course it was.

Mother took her midwifery seriously, and on her return from a birth or any appointment with an expectant mother, she emptied the canvas bag and cleaned everything, repacked it. “Would you like that?”

“Yes, I would.” Of course.

“If it’s a false alarm, we can have the rest of the soup from yesterday.

” She slid her arms into the jacket she wore to every appointment.

Worn and faded, she’d had it forever. If I ever had any money, I’d buy her a new one.

But I didn’t have a job, and Mother would not allow me to go into town and look for one.

“Be a good girl.” She kissed me on the forehead and trudged off toward the road.

There was a bus stop not far from where the trail met the road—I knew this from following her a few times, ducking behind trees and diving under bushes when I thought she might be about to turn around and discover me.

If I had money, I would buy a car and drive her to every appointment.

Again. No money. No way to get any.

And no knowledge of why it was unsafe for me to join or even visit the big world.

Nothing besides Mother’s warnings. Stay here.

Stay safe. Don’t ever talk to strangers.

And everyone but Mother was a stranger. No one visited, and the only people I’d seen were when I snuck to the road and watched the cars go by.

A few hikers that came too close to the cabin.

And videos I’d watched online when I was supposed to be doing homeschool lessons.

We had no running water, and our electricity came from a small solar array and the batteries attached. We needed it to charge Mother’s cell phone and for my school. Also a few lamps and things.

And whatever you do, never trust any alpha. How would I know one if I met them? It came down to, avoid everyone.

Climbing the hill behind the cabin, headed for the spring, I wondered if my situation would ever change.

I’d been shifting for a while, since I was fifteen, but rather than giving me more freedom, it added, Beware the hunters to my list of fears.

I had a view of the area around the cabin from up there, and even though I wasn’t supposed to, I pulled my hoodie over my head and stepped out of my yoga pants, folding them and placing my bra and panties on top.

Never shift unless I am there to protect you was the one rule I broke on a regular basis.

My animal drove me to shift. She needed her freedom and promised her claws and fangs could ensure our safety.

I worried about hunters, but she promised to eat them.

Seemed reasonable to me. On this day, I left my clothes and my bucket by the spring and let my wolf take over, sprouting fur and fangs, feeling my bones and muscles reform into the four-legged shape that would carry me deep into the woods.

When Mother was at a birthing, I had hours, maybe longer than a day.

Meaning, the take-out supper might be today or tomorrow.

If the baby came. She’d said it might be false labor this time—so I took a risk, but I would just have to weather her disappointment if she caught me.

Nothing ever felt as good as taking my fur.

No matter how long between the shifts, no matter the restrictions on my day-to-day life, my wolf shrugged it aside every time she launched across the woodland.

Paws pounding the forest floor, the breeze floating past our muzzle and telling us all about who and what was going on in the area.

What kinds of animals had passed by, predators, like us, or prey we might encounter.

What was blooming or fruiting or dying. Birdsong surrounded us.

Light filtered through the leaves and water splashed in the creek downhill from the spring.

I ran while the sun climbed in the sky, not turning back until it began to sink again.

We hunted a few small critters and took a nap in the sunshine.

When I returned to the spring and dressed, it was well after four p.m. If the visit had involved false labor, Mother would be back by now and frantic.

But when I got home, she had not arrived, so I just continued on with my day as if nothing happened.

Heated water and washed the dishes, dried and put them away.

Went for more water to do laundry then realized it was too late to hang them out to dry, so I sat down at my computer instead.

I’d finished high school already but was hoping to get an associate’s degree at the local junior college.

For some reason, they were not able to access my school records so far.

Mother did not return that afternoon or that night, so I reheated the leftover soup and curled up with the latest thrift-store book she’d brought me, but it could not hold my attention.

Not this time. An ache for connection had been growing.

Something beyond the vague caregiver gratitude I felt for Mother.

It wasn’t strong, not like the videos I’d seen where the moms and daughters were friends, hugged and showed love. A pale kinship.

She really tried to make my life good, but as I grew up, I had begun to question whether safety was worth the isolation. Spending my days and nights in this falling-down cabin in the woods.

My wolf chattered away about meeting out fated mate, but how could I do that if I never met anyone?