She slumped in his arms, the textured silk of her hair spilling to the ground, pristine white cloak soaked scarlet with blood, a stream of droplets staining the snow.

Shocked, he almost dropped her. “Elsaday!”

“Why,” she breathed, the words a gurgle in her ruined throat.

He laid her in the snow, hands wrapping frantically around the pumping wound on her neck, claws shifting back to human fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t have a choice.” He’d disarmed her with a kiss, used that flash of sweet vulnerability in her eyes to tell him the right moment, and in the split second her guard was down, he’d struck.

Betrayed her. Murdered her. A female who’d surrendered into his embrace, trusting his intentions. For a moment they’d been just Theon and Elsaday, not the leaders of two warring peoples.

He lifted his head, a tear trailing down his cheek. Some of the black madness consuming him lifted, and he began for the first time in days, to think clearly. Horror rose along with rationality, and a kind of frantic denial. He knew he couldn’t save her. Not with bane coating his claws. A simple combination of herbs that when reduced to a colorless paste, was deadly to her kind.

Her forehead shimmered, and the pearly-black horn appeared, proclaiming her heritage. Unicorn. Rare, exulted, powerful.

Beloved. She had never known it. He hadn’t known it, not until it was too late.

She surged, and the horn buried itself in his gut. Eyes flashing open, her lips drew back in a snarl as she impaled him. Her blood mingled with his own, a shock of fiery agony racing through his veins, and suddenly it was him on his back, a vengeful four-legged goddess above him.

She neighed in fury, reared up on her hind legs, and came crashing down.

* * *

The first part of the nightmare haunted him because it was true, the second because it was what he wished was true. Because it was no less than what he deserved.

But, evil rarely received its just due, and the good just continued to die.

“It’s going to be a bad winter,” Tempeste said.

Theon glanced up at his twin, using a nailbrush to scrub the grease from under his fingernails. The garage smelled strongly of motor oil, wet fur, and sweat. Tempeste always wrinkled her nose when she walked in, but to him, the scents were the comfort of home. “It’s been a bad winter for twenty years.”

Especially the last ten. He faced the thought, savored the pain it caused. He would never run from his shame, the dark mark on his soul for the murder of a female in order to provide for his people. Elsaday hadn’t deserved death, no matter how long their peoples had been fighting over land. She’d just been trying to do what any clan leader would do. She certainly hadn’t earned the kind of death he’d given her. For a few seconds he couldn’t breathe thinking of it. If it wasn’t for Nora, he might have chosen to walk into the snows years ago.

“It’s going to be worse,” she said.

He set his tools aside and focused his full attention on his twin. She was one of the few people who could handle it without flinching. No one liked to look in his eyes these years and see the hell that reigned there. But Tempeste could look without flinching. She was strong.

“You Saw this?” he asked.

“You don’t have to See to know we’ve been overhunting for many seasons now.” She pulled her sweater cardigan tighter around her body, unease in her dark eyes. Her normally sleek, chocolate-brown hair was in a messy braid, testament to her distraction. That she didn’t notice the marks under his eyes was also a sign. Usually, his twin was the first to spot when the nightmares had returned.

“This land never had much to hunt anyway,” he said.

“No, but it’s home now. What do we do?”

That was always the question, wasn’t it? Ever since the death of his parents, he’d been responsible for the ‘what do we do’. “We could leave.”

She shook her head. “There’s too much of our blood in these snows to leave.”

Too much blood on his hands to leave, she meant. But Tempeste was kinder than he was; she wouldn’t say what they were both thinking.

Theon sighed, rubbed a hand over his face. “Have every head of den take an inventory of supplies, so we can figure out what we’ll be missing. Food, clothing, oil, everything. We’ll have to go back to rations.”

Her grim silence said it all. The last time he’d forced the clan to go on rations, it had ended up with the duel between him and the dark sorceress, prodded by his people to do something, to finally end the stalemate. They’d thought once Elsaday was gone, they could press deeper into her territories, where they would find game, fish, and even rumors of wild greens.

They hadn’t found anything. In fact, her death had been a waste in every way except the cessation of hostilities. They barely eked out an existence. Still depending on supplies of staples and medicines from the human capital city to get them through the dark seasons. They needed a trade, a resource the settlement could exploit for money. Theon wasn’t one to waste time on daydreams. Not when nightmares accompanied him everywhere he went.

“Maybe it’s time to open up to tourism,” he said finally. He’d had a few inquiries in the past from agencies catering to humans who were shifter lovers. The adventurous wilderness type, evidently.

“What would they come here for?” She sounded genuinely baffled, but their clan artist, Celine, had supported the idea in council.

“The experience, evidently. Hell, how should I know?”

“We’d need to hire a graphic designer, a marketer,” she said. “We’d need to redo the lodging in town. We already talked about this. We don’t have the money to invest.”

Who could they borrow from without collateral or credit? They were bear shifters, they lived in the middle of nowhere by every so-called civilized standard. They traded mostly in labor and many of their young fled to the cities and warmer climates when there were openings in other clans. They just didn’t have cold, hard currency to fund a venture.

“Let me think about it,” he said. “We can’t have explored every option.”

Tempeste sighed. “I’ll talk to Celine again. Maybe she has more ideas. What about the Solstice festival?”

He grimaced. He wasn’t in the mood for celebrating, and the treasury didn’t have the money for it.

“We need the holiday celebration, Theon,” Tempeste said, reading his expression. “Lives are grim enough these days.”

He sighed. She was right. Life was hard everywhere, and they weren’t the only shifter community living in poverty, but the main difference between those who survived and thrived, and those who didn’t, was attitude. His people could use some cheer.

“A potluck,” he said finally. “Everyone donates a bit of what they have and maybe we’ll see if we can splurge on some extra sugar and meat from the capital. The bonfire, dancing, and music.”

“Who will officiate the prayers?” she asked. “It’s been difficult without an elder to see to spiritual needs.”

The faint censure in her tone rebuked him. It was the clan alpha’s job to appoint the history-keeper. Theirs had died months ago, in her sleep at an old age, and Theon had yet to choose a replacement. Mostly because no one seemed to have the same contemplative, inward temperament required for memorizing clan history and officiating the matings and births. They’d been bootlegging it for months.

Another failure on his part. He should have realized his people needed any straw to grasp. Needed normal to carry on, and that meant having a clan history-keeper. Just because he was depressed didn’t mean they all were.

“We’ll ask the clan elders to appoint one,” he said. “It should be a group decision this time.”

* * *

Theon met with the elders after speaking to his sister. The meeting was one he’d been putting off for weeks now, but his brethren weren’t going to tolerate delays any longer.

The converted warehouse in town was used for clan meetings, gatherings, and weddings, or sometimes even births. Already, signs of assemblage were evident as a noticeable tendril of smoke rose from the rigged chimney, and the red flannel drapes were pulled. Someone’s teenager had sewn them years ago, and they could use replacing, but they had other things to spend their limited treasury on.

Entering the building, Theon dropped his boots into a large box along with the others and hung up his coat. No one wanted to mop messy floors, so they’d long ago agreed the clan building would be socks only. He considered how he would handle this meeting. The faces that turned towards him were young for elders, but most of their old, grizzled warriors had died in the fighting and then of injuries and poor health in the years after. The remaining males and females sitting in a loose circle in front of the fire were mostly Theon’s age-mates. A few older, though not many, and even a few younger.

“Glad you could make it,” a male said, voice dry.

“Tempeste needed to tell me something.” Theon let the weight of his tone convey his meaning. They knew that when Tempeste needed to tell him something, it was important.

“Is everything all right?” Ancil asked.

Theon turned and met the male’s eyes. He was one of the pale members of their clan, descended from the Viking werebears who’d mixed with the indigenous shifters hundreds of years ago. They were all that was remaining of that small band of seafaring explorers and ancient tribe. A small, ragged clan of dusky brunettes with the occasional white-haired, blue-eyed, genetic anomaly like Ancil, and Theon himself.  Except for the shape of their bones, no one would ever guess he and Tempeste were twins.

“She’s concerned about the winter,” he said.

“Winter is coming,” some smart ass murmured.

“We all are,” Claude said.

Theon met his eyes. Claude was tired, a contemporary of Theon’s father, and it showed. “I know. Which is why we can’t in good conscience even consider what you all are asking me to do.”

“We need brides,” Ancil said. “Winter or not, life has to go on.”

“There are enough of our own females—”

“There aren’t, and you know it.”

Theon was silent a moment. “You saw how it worked out with Nora’s mother.”

“That doesn’t mean that’s how it will work out with every wife. You’re letting your disappointment color your judgment.”

Theon swept an arm to indicate the room. “What will we offer these women? Cold cabins, canned food during the winter months, basic medical care, and no pain medication during birth if a plane isn’t available?”

“Eh, you think those things aren’t important,” Clara interjected, “you’re a fool. You want to keep the home you claim don’t you?”

Ancil gave her an irritated look. She lounged against a wall, unfazed. “Our clan leader should encourage us, be a source of strength.” Ancil stood, faced Theon squarely. “You’re all doom and gloom, Theon. If you have no hope, then how can we?”

“He’s being practical,” one of the other females muttered. “You males are so gung-ho to get mates that you don’t care their lives will be miserable once they get here.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re unmated and don’t want competition,” Ancil snapped.

Theon’s jaw flexed. “We need to build the settlement up before we bring in more women. Tempeste is going to talk to Celine about some idea she had to bring money in. Once we have money, and supplies, then we can offer the women something to move here. Lodgings, so they don’t feel coerced into choosing a male for survival.”

“It’s hard to wait,” Ancil said.

“Then find a female here.”

His friend grimaced. “My age mates are all like sisters to me.”

Theon rubbed a hand over his face. “I know we want wives, cubs. I know we want this place to feel like home, we’ve shed enough blood for it. We have to wait for the right time, or we’ll bring an even bigger disaster on ourselves. We’re living in virtual poverty. If you truly care for the female you will mate, and the cubs you will produce, then you’ll wait until we’re secure here.”

“It’s been ten years since we got rid of that hag, Theon,” Claude said. “Why haven’t we made better progress?”

“Because we’ve been afraid. Afraid to truly live, thinking the fighting wasn’t over.” Theon stood a little straighter, met the eyes of every male in the room. “It’s time to stop fearing, and start living. My sister and Celine think they have ideas to bring industry into the settlement. We give them the support they need. And then, we bring in women.”

Silence, and then Clara said, “Makes sense. Ancil, stop being an ass.”

The male turned his back on Clara but said nothing else.

“There’s one other matter,” Theon said, glad for once to be able to be the bringer of good news. “We’re going to have a Solstice celebration this year.”

Several of his age-mates perked up. “Really?”

“What about the treasury?”

“Who’s going to officiate? Is anyone getting married under the moon?”

Theon rubbed a hand over his face but smiled. They were like excited school cubs. It lightened his heart a little. “We’ll need to appoint a history-keeper, and Tempeste is handling arrangements.” His sister should be here in a meeting of elders, but she’d always claimed it was best to stay apart from the daily operations of the clan lest her Sight become diluted. It didn’t stop her from acting, in all practicality, as the clan’s female alpha.

Clara and a few of the other females stood. “I’ll talk to Tempeste, see what help she needs. A Solstice, eh? Some of the cubs haven’t seen one. Good thinking, that.”