1. Brandon

1

brANDON

"Hey, Brandon! How did your hike go?"

Brandon Davis looked up at the park ranger's greeting and shook a lock of chestnut hair out of his dark eyes. "Pretty well. We had good weather, no snow, and these folks knew what they were doing. Uneventful."

Ranger Williams chuckled. "Better than the last bunch?"

Brandon rolled his eyes. "Definitely. But that's how it goes. It's their adventure—I'm just the guide."

"I hope you don't have any other long treks planned," the ranger said. "We're about to get some real winter."

"So I heard. I have a few short hikes, nothing major. People who book at this time of year tend to know what they're getting into. Thanks for the heads-up," Brandon replied.

Winter in the northern Adirondacks of New York had a dangerous beauty. Temperatures often fell well below zero. Rocky drop-offs camouflaged by snow could be deadly. Buried trails and markers made it easy for people to lose their way. The forest claimed the unwary, which made Brandon's job as a licensed wilderness guide essential.

"Go get some good food, and for heaven's sake, close your parka! I'm getting frostbite just looking at you," Williams joked.

Brandon jokingly "flashed" Williams, opening the front of his parka wide to display his sweater, henley, and flannel shirt. "I've got layers."

And you're a moose, for fuck's sake, his inner shifter rumbled.

"Go home and have a hot dinner. That's what I plan to do." Williams sent Brandon off with a wave.

"See you next week." Brandon climbed into his ten-year-old Suburban and returned the salute as he drove away.

I hope you're planning on getting vegetables, his moose said. That awful stuff you take on hikes is not real food.

You are a very spoiled moose, Brandon jokingly chided his shifter alter-ego. I buy you the best produce that I can find.

Let's shift and go strip some branches. Twigs and leaves—yum.

Fortunately for me, I don't have to chew on trees when I'm human.

Your loss.

The last tour had gone well and put a substantial deposit in Brandon's bank account. He had taken four clients on a multi-day outing that included hiking, ice fishing, a pre-set winter camp, and a photo safari to snap pictures of winter wildlife. They were the type of enthusiasts he enjoyed guiding—serious cold-weather outdoors fans who knew what they were doing and were in shape for the adventure.

None of them suspected their guide was also a moose, even as they spotted non-shifter animals in the wild and eagerly snapped photos.

At thirty, Brandon liked his life. He had moved to Fox Hollow, NY, from Plattsburgh, unhappy that his family held their human side in low regard, preferring to stay in their moose form as much as possible. Brandon loved his moose, but he also loved being human. He left as soon as he turned eighteen, already set on making a place for himself in Fox Hollow, a town known as a haven for misfit shifters and psychics.

Now he had his license and certification, as well as first-responder training, and over a decade of experience. Brandon enjoyed meeting people and seeing their awe of the outdoors. While he didn't dare shift on an outing, the strenuous exercise kept him fit, and he liked seeing his clients experience the wonder of the forest. The work was demanding, but he had a base of returning vacationers as well as a steady stream of referrals, enough to buy a cabin not far from Fox Hollow and provide necessities along with occasional comforts.

Working for himself also suited him as an Aries, where he could put his tendencies to be protective, assertive, and a little headstrong to good use.

Brandon's phone rang through the SUV's sound system so he could answer hands-free. "Hey, Drew. What's up?"

"Just making sure you're back and planning on poker night."

"Wouldn't miss it! Everybody else coming?" Brandon smiled at the thought of seeing his friends.

"Yeah, we've got the whole crew. We'll order pizza later. I already shopped for beer and snacks—but I wanted to make sure you've eaten so you don't clean us out," Drew Lowe joked.

"Real funny, Wolfie," Brandon razzed back. "I have to stop for people food since the fridge is empty, but I was planning to strip a few trees before I come over. My other half has opinions about trail rations."

"I bet he does," Drew laughed. "I understand. Mine gets snotty if he doesn't get enough steak."

Fox Hollow had a strict "thou shalt not eat thy neighbor" policy, so even though the rest of their usual poker crew were carnivores, Brandon never felt unsafe. Wild wolves were something entirely different.

Brandon's telepathy helped. While he did his best not to intrude on other people's privacy, his ability to read minds made it easier for him to sense threats or insincerity. Years of working with the psychics at the Fox Institute had helped him strengthen his shielding to avoid accidentally rummaging through other people's thoughts, which gave him more confidence to make friends.

"See you after dinner," Drew replied. "Leave a few trees for the rest of us to pee on, okay?"

"No promises. I'm rather peckish," Brandon tossed back.

"I'll tell Russ and the others you'll be here. Hope you don't mind parting with some cash, 'cause I feel lucky."

Brandon snorted. "Keep telling yourself that, dog-boy. Whatever gets you through the night."

"Right back at you, Moose Munch," Drew retorted.

Brandon enjoyed his poker nights. The gang did plenty of razzing and trash-talking, but their joking was never mean, and more than once, they had come together to save lives.

Russ and Drew Lowe, wolf shifter brothers, hosted the weekly game when their commitments to the garage they owned or their EMT duties didn't conflict. Russ's husband Liam Reynard, a fox shifter, ran the local library. Drew's partner, Noah Wilson, was a lynx shifter and nature photographer. Tyler Williams was a bobcat shifter who worked at his family's hotel. Only Justin Miller, the local seaplane pilot, was fully human but he had some helpful psychic abilities.

Brandon felt grateful for a circle of friends who knew the truth about his "other half" and still accepted him. Even more importantly, they weren't afraid of his telepathy, a secret that Brandon shared with few others.

He debated whether to go home and shower or stop at the grocery store on the way. He sniffed the air in the SUV and decided getting cleaned up came first. While people in Fox Hollow were used to people roughing it, even the best deodorant couldn't hold up against several days on the trail.

Once he got home, Brandon pulled the SUV into the garage and unloaded, dividing his gear between what needed to be replenished and what was ready to go again. He ran inside, stripped off his clothes, and ducked under the hot shower, letting it wash away the sweat and dirt of the last several days.

Much as he loved being out in the forest, Brandon was equally happy coming home. The only thing that would make it better would be finding a mate. So far, love had proven elusive.

He rinsed off the soap and toweled, tossed his dirty clothing into the hamper, and dug a new outfit out of his dresser.

He doesn't have to be a moose, Brandon's moose said. We're not getting any younger. It would just be nice to have someone of our own.

He dreamed of a partner who could make him laugh, someone enthusiastic about life who liked long chats and lots of cuddling. As an Aries, his ideal match would be a Gemini, but while Brandon took the stars as a guide, he was willing to be open-minded about the details if he met the right guy.

Mixed shifter pairings were common in Fox Hollow, although less so in other places. His friends' marriages proved that. Big vegetarian shifters like deer and elk were rare. He hadn't met another moose shifter since relocating. Brandon believed he could make things work with a carnivore and perhaps even with one of the other omnivore or vegetarian shifters that weren't as large as he was. Brandon was happy for his friends who had found love. And although he was busy with guide tours and being an EMT, he still wished he could find someone special of his own.

Now that he felt suitable to be in public, Brandon drove back to the grocery store. For its size, the shop provided a remarkable variety of products, including some specialties crafted by his neighbors. That saved everyone from trekking to Lake George to go to one of the big-box stores. Online delivery only worked in the summer months.

He parked and headed inside. The familiar mix of smells from the bakery and deli, as well as all the luscious produce, made Brandon sigh happily. He waved to Brenda at the register, grabbed a cart, and started to make the familiar trek around the store.

Brandon loaded up on salad, especially cabbage, broccoli, and cauliflower. He skipped the carrots since they gave him indigestion. That was true for some fruit as well, although he loved frozen berries and added them to the cart. His human side craved coffee, oatmeal, and eggs, so Brandon made sure to replenish. He couldn't resist some chips and cookies and reminded himself to grab a bale of hay from the garden supplies on the store terrace.

Halfway through the store, Brandon stopped dead in his tracks and sniffed the air. A scent he had never picked up before enveloped him, making him light-headed. Anise and maple. How strange. Maybe they're baking something?

Mate.

Brandon startled, not expecting to hear from his inner moose in such a human-centric place. What?

That's what our mate smells like. Find him!

Brandon seriously doubted he'd spot a moose in the frozen food aisle or even a moose shifter. Still, the scent captivated him and stirred a hunger deep in his groin that had nothing to do with food.

He steered into the next aisle, forcing himself to keep a normal walking pace. I can't just run past people and sniff them. That would be weird—even for Fox Hollow.

Shopping forgotten, Brandon searched for the elusive, overwhelming scent. He turned down the baking aisle, and the aroma called to him, far stronger. Only two people were nearby—Mrs. Prendicott—an elderly psychic—and a handsome stranger.

The stranger looked vaguely puzzled like he couldn't find what he wanted on the tightly-packed shelves. The store overstocked during the bad weather months, especially if there was news of a storm in the offing. That sometimes made it difficult to locate items.

Brandon stayed back despite the pull he felt to make the man's acquaintance. The handsome man stood a few inches shorter than Brandon's six-foot-four, with spiked dark blond hair and a defined jawline.

He didn't look like he was from around here. The expensive blue parka was good quality but not hard used, and his insulated boots looked new. His pockets bulged with heavy gloves that peeked from the opening, and a gray scarf wrapped around the man's neck.

Brandon reminded himself not to stare, although between the overwhelming scent and the stranger's good looks, restraining himself took effort.

He did his best to lock down his telepathy, even though everything in him wanted to know more about this man. Brandon permitted himself a superficial sweep, nothing that would dig into secrets or private information, the psychic equivalent of sizing up someone's mood by looking for non-verbal cues.

He's a little off his game in a new place, nervous. Understandable. Worried. Maybe even scared.

Not shifter. Human.

Silent.

To Brandon's surprise, he couldn't read anything else. The man's mind was closed off. Telepathically immune? I've heard of that, but they're rare. Never thought I'd meet one.

Brandon felt a protective surge of emotion that surprised him. Whatever made the stranger fearful brought up a primal defensiveness that Brandon had never felt before. In moose form, he would have lowered his head, shaken his antlers, and bellowed.

With no visible threat, there wasn't much Brandon could do. No one in the aisle seemed to be paying the stranger any attention, and since Brandon knew all the people from town, he didn't think they were the source of the man's uneasiness.

Feel that? It's because he's our mate.

We haven't even met him. And human-shifter bonds aren't common.

They aren't unknown, either. And he's a catch. A guy that handsome—I can handle it if he doesn't grow antlers. For all we know, he might be hung like a moose. Ha.

Behave, Brandon chided his other half. He realized he had stopped moving in the middle of the aisle and tried to look like he was searching for something on the shelves before anyone noticed.

Get a grip. I'm too old to be twitterpated by a good-looking man.

Not when he's our mate, his inner moose singsonged.

Brandon started forward and, accidentally on purpose, bumped into the stranger's shoulder.

"Sorry." His nervous blush was genuine, even if the incident was intentional.

"No problem," the other man replied in a low rumble of a voice that made Brandon's dick twitch. "Do you happen to know where the microwave popcorn is?"

Brandon met the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen and almost forgot how to speak. "I think it's in the next aisle, next to the nuts." He felt as tongue-tied as he had at his first prom.

"Thanks," the stranger said with a smile that made Brandon's heart rate spike.

Brandon tried to keep walking and look nonchalant, only to step on his own bootlace and nearly trip.

Smooth. Real smooth. Now if he remembers me, he'll remember I'm a dork.

Where are we going? That's our mate! Can't you tell by the scent? his moose shouted.

What do you want me to do—throw him over my shoulder and carry him off?

If necessary. Don't let him wander away!

Brandon agreed with his other half's interest but couldn't figure out a way to keep the man in his sights, short of kidnapping.

He admitted to lingering longer than he needed to so he could watch for when the handsome stranger went to a checkout line. The other man's cart held a few dozen staples—peanut butter, bread, ramen, beer, sodas, instant hot chocolate, coffee, some sundries, and several packages of microwave pizza.

Brandon got in line behind the stranger, who had a couple of people ahead of him, so they had to wait.

"New in town or just passing through?" Brandon hoped he sounded off-handed. The other man looked surprised to be spoken to and blushed adorably.

"Does it show that much?"

Brandon smiled. "No, not really. Just an educated guess from your cart. Looks like basic provisioning."

"Busted. Got here last night. Not sure how long I'm staying. Seems like a nice town."

"It's a great place." Brandon tried not to feel overwhelmed by the man's intoxicating scent that already had him half hard. As far as he could tell, the stranger wasn't having any of the same difficulty.

Maybe he's not a shifter. He could be a psychic.

He's our mate. Do something! his inner moose prompted.

"Do you live here? How bad is the winter?"

Brandon chuckled. "Yes, I live here. As for how bad it gets—we've got storms coming in. Smart to load up on essentials, including firewood and batteries, and get a solar cell phone charger if you don't have one already. People actually do get snowed in here."

"Good to know." The man hesitated and put out his hand. "I'm Riley."

Brandon shook and felt a zing of connection. From the surprise on Riley's face, he thought something must have registered to him too. "Brandon."

"Nice to meet you." Riley's turn came up at the cashier, taking his attention for several minutes.

Do something. He's getting away, his moose nudged.

"Hey—I don't know how much you like the outdoors, but I'm a guide." Brandon fished a business card out of his inner jacket pocket. "At the least, I'm happy to answer questions to help you settle in."

"Thanks." Riley pocketed the card. Brandon tried to read the man's expression, but it seemed as closed to him as the other's thoughts. "I just might take you up on that." Their gazes locked, and Brandon thought he saw a hint of mischief, a flicker of interest, and wary caution.

"Hope you do." Brandon hoped he sounded sincere without coming on too strong. His people skills for business were just fine, but he was woefully out of practice when it came to flirting.

Riley turned back to the cashier as Brenda finished ringing him up. "See you around," he said with a grin and a tip of his head.

"See ya." Brandon couldn't help watching as Riley walked away.

"Notice something you like?" Brenda teased. She was around the same age as Brandon's mother.

He cleared his throat. "Just…being friendly."

"Sure you are." Brenda started to ring up Brandon's purchases, and Brandon wondered if Riley had noticed—or questioned—the bale of hay on the bottom of his cart. It wasn't Brandon's first choice for dinner in his other form, but it would do if the storm got too bad for him to venture out.

Brandon wasn't vain, but he knew he cut a handsome figure in his moose. He stood six-foot-five inches at the shoulder, and his antlers spread six feet across and nearly three feet high. Brandon was a trim two-hundred twenty pounds as a human but closer to thirteen hundred as a moose.

"If you want to be ‘friendly' some more, check out the poster on the bulletin board at the front doors." She bagged the items as Brandon swiped his credit card. "He's playing in the lounge over at the hotel."

"Really?" Brandon grinned, happy to have a way to follow up on his insta-crush.

"That's what it says on the sheet," Brenda replied. "Guess you'll have to show up and see for yourself."

"Thanks," he said in a sudden hurry. He pushed the cart toward the parking lot and paused in the space between the inside and outside doors to look at the community bulletin board. Posters about upcoming library events vied for space with announcements for craft circles, book clubs, movie nights, and other events. Fox Hollow residents were experts at creating ways to while away the long dark.

There he is. A photocopied poster tacked to the board showed a professional headshot of Riley with his guitar, grinning into the camera. Riley Henderson, musician in residence at the Fox Hollow Hotel. Brandon memorized the days and times that Riley played.

Well, that explains why he's here—sort of. This isn't our big tourist season, so he's not going to make bank on tips. Maybe he wanted to get away from the rat race to write songs?

At least I can see him again without being a stalker.

He's our mate. Of course you want to see him again, his moose argued.

Yes, I think he's hot. I'm attracted. But I can't just walk up to him and announce that we're mates.

His moose snorted. Humans make things complicated.

How do we even know he'll believe shifters are real? Maybe not everyone thinks "mated to the moose" sounds sexy. They don't write moose shifter romances. Wolves, yeah. Moose? Not so much.

Show off our rack, the moose advised. We are well-hung.

Um…that doesn't mean what you think it means. Brandon resisted the urge to face-palm, even if his other side wasn't wrong.

Brandon glanced at the time. Poker night meant he wouldn't have been able to check out Riley's set tonight if he'd already started, but tomorrow night's debut was a definite.

He drove home and put groceries away. The storm wasn't due for a few more days, but Brandon had learned not to take chances with low supplies. While he could forage in his other form if needed, even a full-grown moose could get in trouble in foul weather.

Does Riley know what it's like here in a storm? I wonder where he's living. Somewhere warm, I hope. It can get brutal if you're not prepared. I couldn't read anything from him—not even whether he's a shifter. The weather is worse for humans.

Brandon folded up the reusable grocery bags and made a pot of coffee. He couldn't get Riley out of his mind.

His last relationship with a human park ranger hadn't ended well. They had gotten along famously until Carl found out about Brandon's telepathy. He had been angry and edgy as if he had caught Brandon going through his things. Brandon had tried to explain about shielding and control, that he wouldn't violate boundaries, but Carl's constant suspicion radiated far more than his thoughts.

Brandon hadn't even tried to explain the shifter part.

Brandon, much like his moose, was fairly solitary. He appreciated his poker friends and the other people he had gotten to know in Fox Hollow, but he was just as happy spending an evening reading as he was at a party. Fox Hollow had provided a sanctuary for him to build a life where he could be himself, but it didn't offer a lot of dating choices.

A couple of his guide clients had been tempting, but nothing ever led anywhere. Brandon didn't like hook-ups, in part because tuning out his telepathy was especially difficult during sex, and there was a lot he didn't want to find out about a partner when they were already in bed.

What if I didn't have to worry about the telepathy part? I wouldn't have to spend so much effort locking down my gift, and we could just be together.

There hasn't been much of an upside to being a telepath. People are wary around me and get paranoid about what they're thinking. They pull back. Or I get bombarded with noise if I'm not careful, and I find out things I don't want to know.

Would that be too quiet? I'm used to the background noise of other people's thoughts, even if I'm not trying to listen. I think I could get used to the silence. It might be calming.

All day, Brandon's thoughts strayed back to Riley while he did laundry and went through the mail. Is he a good kisser? Would he be responsive in bed? What would it feel like to pull him into a hug? Despite being shorter, Riley still looked solid, although the parka kept Brandon from getting a glimpse of muscles. I think we could be a good match. But I don't even know if he bats for my team.

Brandon thought Riley might have flirted back a little, but not enough for Brandon to feel confident making the first move. Being gay wasn't an issue for Fox Hollow regulars, but Riley was new, and Brandon had learned to be cautious.

Maybe I'll get lucky, and I can…get lucky.