Polar Opposites

Leaf litter and small boulders dotted the expansive patch of ground, their north sides covered in meandering plush green moss. Brush sprouted from the earth, occupying spaces where the tree canopy allowed sufficient light to peek through for moderate growth. Birds called and chattered. Somewhere ahead, the tinkling sound of water promised a cold drink from a natural running creek.

Donovan Mercer absorbed it all. The sights. The sounds. The scents. Mother Nature and the wilderness at their very best. Everything spoke to him, one way or another.

After spending his entire life in one big city after another, Donovan leaped at the opportunity to head to a rural setting and put some space between himself and the millions of humans inhabiting the last place he’d taken up residence. The huge cities served their purpose well—allowing him to grow into a man, sew his wild oats, and to experience so many different venues. But, after all these years, they’d fallen out of favor for something new and different. Leaving the endless chaos and commotion of people all wrapped up in the rat race, stress of daily living, and the worries of having to make the grade was an easy choice. Never would he miss the honking horns, the jammed interstates, and the rudeness of modern American civilization. Sure, some good existed with the bad, but he knew the scales wouldn’t balance. Not after seeing this pristine, gorgeous view.

This place pleased him. His new home. The temperate early summer day. The outing. Everything soothed him, offered him peace, and promised to be a getaway any time he needed to take a break from his everyday tasks.

Even the name spoke to him. Forgotten. Forgotten, Wyoming. Whomever bore responsibility for the christening of the town, pretty much hit the nail on the head. The rest of the world seemingly ran full speed ahead and then some. Here, people took a step back. Stress, worries, and headaches probably did as well. Mom and Pop stores were the rule of thumb and farmers made up the majority of the citizens. No one seemed to be in much of a hurry. Though Donovan hadn’t quite grasped that particular concept yet.

An eagle screeched overhead.

Donovan shaded his eyes with his hands in order to watch the beautiful bird in full flight.

“Yeah, I can get used to this place.”

Taking a few more steps, he came to a rise and started back down the slope. At the bottom lay a creek, which had cut a deep trench through limestone, only to flatten out into a pond, to his left. Trees gave way to meadow grass, reminding him of a secret valley. Way out in the middle of nowhere. Where only he and the wildlife existed.

A quiet splash drew his attention. He swung his head around to the far left, caught sight of what had made the noise, then gawked. Well, I’ll be damned.

Dark hair on top a man’s head appeared first out of the water, quickly followed by wide shoulders, a muscular back, and a tapering waist. The lapping creek played peekaboo with the man’s crack, giving a tantalizing glimpse now and again at a rounded ass, just made for viewing. If ever a man had been put together well, it was this one. Tall, dark, and handsome as sin. Even though Donovan hadn’t seen his face, he knew the guy would be drop dead gorgeous. Hell, he already was.

Donovan’s inner beast stirred. Yummy.

Uh, huh.

His polar stilled. Bear.

Donovan mentally shrugged. It’s grizzly country. No surprise there.He didn’t fear the other shifter in the least. Intrigued? Yes. Afraid? Not even close.

A dark tattoo on the man’s right shoulder blade intrigued Donovan enough that he crept stealthily forward. With no breeze to give his scent away, he knew he could approach several paces before he risked getting caught. His only concern with that was that the scrumptious man would stop what he was doing, drag on clothes, and walk away, never to be seen again.

Ain’t happening.His bear countered firmly.

Since when do you take interest in other bears?Donovan posed the question to his beast, not truly expecting an answer. Despite being a polar, his bear pretty much carried the same attitude as a cat—fickle. While the animal side always made his wishes known, he’d never looked twice at another ursine. Felines and canines tickled his fancy now and again, more as one-night stands or occasional flings. Nothing serious. Yet, the confidence and command behind those two words told Donovan that his bear had found a new fascination.

He moved closer, took a position next to a large, vine-wrapped tree, then leaned back against the trunk, content to stand with his arms crossed over his chest and check out the scenery. His gaze never left the man now rinsing off in the water, splashing his face, then shaking his head. Water droplets meandered down the man’s neck, shoulders, and back. Donovan watched them with a hint of envy. He wanted to follow each of them. With his fingers. His tongue. And dip even lower.