A Taste of Honeybear Wine (BBW Bear Shifter Standalone Romance Novel) (Bearfield Book 2) by Jacqueline Sweet, Eva Wilder Page A

was going to melt into a puddle of embarrassment right there. They’d have a funeral for her and her sisters would talk about her passing in hushed tones. Oh, Ali? You didn’t hear? She died because Mom told the hottest man in the world to keep his hands to himself and his pants on.  
    “Yes, well, daylight is burning!” Matt said brightly. He opened the doors to his Jeep and ushered Alison into the passenger seat. Michael climbed into the rear and Matt swung himself up behind the wheel. “Bye,” he waved to Mrs. Meadows. “Oh and don’t bother calling, all of the far valley is a cell phone blindspot. See you later!” His fiancée , Mina, ran over and gave him a steamy kiss and whispered something in his ear. Matt blushed a deep red and smiled sheepishly. “Okay, love, well I I will definitely hurry back for that.” And then they drove out of the parking lot and into the sunny, cold Bearfield morning.
    “When was the last time you were in the Roost?” Matt asked his brother.
    “It’s been awhile,” Michael said from the back seat. “I don’t know how long. Years? Probably years.”
    “Just remember, don’t make any deals. Don’t agree to anything, and whatever you do, don’t swear any oaths or shake hands on anything. The ravens take that stuff super seriously.”
    “Ravens?” Alison asked.
    “The people in Rook’s Roost, some of them are raven-blooded shifters.”
    “Matt!” Michael said in the same tone he would have used if his brother had shown her embarrassing baby pictures.
    “I’m sorry, what?” Alison found herself hypnotized by the view. The expanse of the woods was breathtaking. It was too easy to think of a forest as one thing, like a giant blob of green on a map. She knew better. As a botanist it was like a never-ending treasure chest, like a dragon’s hoard of riches. “Shifters?”
    “Oh yeah,” Matt said amiably, “Rook’s Roost is the next town over, basically. Though legally it’s in Bearfield proper, we generally leave them alone. They’re on the slightly skinnier, slightly pointier mountain behind ours.”
    “No, I get that,” Alison said. “But shifters ?”
    “You saw it,” Michael said, leaning forward between the seats to speak to her. “That man who stole your lockbox. He changed into a raven.”
    “That’s impossible,” she said. But was it? Her memories were vague, like they had been smudged on the canvas of her mind before they had a chance to dry. “I remember that skinny man with the black hair and the nose. He had the box. He was in the window. And then all I recall is a raven flying off with the box.”
    “The magic can be hard on your mind,” Michael said, his voice hushed with concern. “You’ll get used to it.”
    “I will?” She should have found the idea alarming, but instead it thrilled her. Magic was real. She’d seen it and it’d left a hole in her brain. It didn’t scare her, it fascinated her . She probed the hole in her recollection like a tongue feeling a loose tooth. In her heart, she was a scientist. An experimenter. It’s what attracted her to brewing in the first place. She was a terrible cook, a horrible cook. She made the kind of food that chefs spoke to each other about in hushed tones over campfires. But brewing? Brewing was science. Science you could drink . She was all about that.
    But wait. “Why will I get used to it?”
    Matt and Michael exchanged a look—a heavy portentous look—in the rearview mirror.
    “Bearfield’s a magical place, is why,” Matt said.
    “Stuff happens here,” Michael agreed.
    “So are there more shifters?” Alison asked.
    “We really can’t say,” Matt said, biting his lip.
    “But yes. Totally.” Michael said, an excitement bubbling in his voice. “What do you think of that?”
    “It doesn’t feel real. I mean, I know I saw something, but even telling me that the thief guy changed into a raven doesn’t process right. It’s as if you just said the moon’s real first name