Heart's Redemption (MxM)

Chapter 17 ~ Ian

Rockbridge, Alaska, is barely a town. Located northwest of Fairbanks, it lies alongside a river. There's a gas station, a store, a post-office, a rail-yard, a couple of churches and graveyards, and not much else.

As we pass its borders, a sign informs us the population is 324. If what my contact told me is true, then a good percentage of that number are Shifters.

Following the directions I'd been given, I drive a few more miles past its far edge before turning down an unpaved road marked only with a stack of caribou antlers arranged in a macabre sculpture. I follow this for about three miles through a wild country of scrubby meadow, groves of aspen, and forests of slender spruce.

Rounding a bend at the base of a hill, our destination comes into view.

It's a group of small cabins clustered loosely around a larger, lodge-like structure, all spread out along the edge of a small, natural lake.

My contact—Inez Walker—told me her Clan manages this place. It's a hunting lodge, where people come from all over and pay money to be taken on guided hunts. I'd rather it was something else, but I guess business options are limited this far into the middle of nowhere.

I park my truck in front of the lodge, alongside a few other vehicles, in a broad, level area of hard-packed earth.

Getting out, I stretch and take a deep breath of cold, fresh air. After two weeks of driving at least seven hours a day, in a truck with two other dudes, fresh air is something I've never appreciated more.

Sam and Carlos follow my lead, Sam yawning widely and rubbing sleep from his eyes. Carlos looks grumpy for some reason. He and Sam haven't been getting along well the last few days, leaving me feeling a little like a dad with two bickering kids.

Secretly, I've always wanted children, but these two make me glad I don't have any.

Companions in tow, I mount the wide wooden steps to a large porch that wraps around the sides of the building. The wood is weathered and cracked, and the boards are slightly uneven. Sam catches the toe of his shoe on a raised nail and trips, jostling Carlos, who shoves him away with an admonition to watch where he's going.

Inez made it sound like the lodge was doing well, but whatever money the Shifters are taking in, it seems like they're not using it on repairs.

The door is simple and unadorned, fixed with a carved wood handle, and since a hand-painted sign leaning against the wall invites us to 'come right in' I pull it open and step through.

While the outside of the lodge had given me an impression of a ruin in disrepair, the inside is anything but.

The lodge's main hall is huge, dimly lit, and packed with arrangements of tables, chairs, and couches—all currently empty—but obviously intended to create a cozy, welcoming atmosphere.

Exposed rafters add to the rustic vibe, and a huge, double-sided stone fireplace occupies the middle of the room.

In keeping with the 'hunting lodge' theme, mounted animal heads line the walls, and furs lie upon the floor.

The decor reminds me of my dad's little hunting cabin, and I suppress a rush of bad memories. It was the last place I'd seen him alive.

I shake off that thought, eyeing the reminders of death with distaste.

My dad was an avid hunter, but I never had the stomach for it. I have nothing against people hunting for food—I figure they're more in touch with reality than some who only ever see meat wrapped in plastic—but I never could understand why someone would want to kill for 'sport.' I guess I'm too much a bear not to see things from the non-human perspective.