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.  

At one end of the hall, a gray-haired woman sits behind a high counter, flipping through a hunting magazine.

She looks up as I walk towards her.

"You got a reservation?" she asks. She has shining black eyes in a weathered face that still bears the remnants of beauty, and a keen, appraising gaze.

"No, no I don't," I say. "I'm actually—"

She cuts me off with a raised hand. "Sorry, we don't take bookings without reservations during hunting season."

"Uh, no—I'm not here to hunt. My name is Ian Foley, and I was told to come here by Inez Walker. Is she around?"

The badge on the woman's shirt says "Maria," So I'm fairly certain I'm not talking to Inez already.

A suspicious look crosses her face, and she glances behind me to where Sam and Carlos stand, admiring a chandelier made of deer antlers.

"Ian, huh? We thought you was coming alone."

"I was," I say, giving her an apologetic smile.

"Hm. Well, you better come along with me then."

She drops the magazine on the counter, sets out a little sign that says 'be right back'—obviously intended for all the swarms of customers I don't see—and leads the way towards a door that opens onto the back porch.

I follow her, and Sam and Carlos trail behind.

We descend a few steps to the ground and then head towards another building set back in the trees. This one looks more like a simple, mid-sized house. 'Maria' takes us around the back, to where two men are busy gutting a pair of waterfowl.

"Oy! Jack, Elliot—we have guests," she says.

The men look up from their bloody task and meet us with hostile stares. One has mid-toned skin and black hair, and looks like he might be American Indian. The other is paler, with straight, shoulder-length, dirty-blond hair. Both appear about my age or older, and have rough, strongly masculine features.

"Guests, eh?" the black-haired man asks, dark gaze darting between the three of us. "I thought we didn't have any bookings this week."

"We don't," the women replies. "This is Ian Foley...and his friends."

The two men share a glance, and then look at the woman as though awaiting instruction.

"He says Inez invited him," she adds.

As one, the men draw pistols from somewhere, faster than I can follow, and aim them at Carlos and Sam. Acting on instinct, I shove Sam behind me and raise my hands.

"Whoa-whoa-whoa! What the fuck?" I ask. "Inez is expecting me, I swear!"

"Expecting you," Maria corrects. "Not them." She nods between Sam and Carlos. "Now, if you are who you claim to be, you can prove it, right? So prove it."

"You want me to Shift? Now?"

"If you don't want my boys putting holes in your 'friends' then yes, I want you to show me what you are."

"Okay, okay! Just a minute!" Quickly, I strip out of my shirt, kick off my shoes, and remove my belt and jeans. I've already ruined one set of clothes by Shifting without undressing first, and I don't want to lose another. Not to mention it hurts like hell.

Once I'm naked, I take a breath and Shift.

Not all Shifters can Shift as easily as I can. Some have to meditate, or do special rituals; some have to be in the right frame of mind.

It's always been easy for me, something that feels natural and right, and I do it quick and seamless—man to bear.

Standing before the gray-haired woman on all fours, my head almost level with hers, I dig my claws into the soft dirt beneath my feet. Then I turn towards the men holding guns on my friends and let out an angry puff of breath.

They stare back at me, seemingly impressed, and after a moment I Shift back to a man and stand up.

"Well, I do apologize," Maria says, looking me up and down with an appreciative glance. "It seems you are one of us after all. As for your friends, if you vouch for them, we will accept them for now. Do you give me your word that they can be trusted?"

I look over and Carlos and Sam. I've known them for mere weeks. Sam basically tricked me into a demonic contract, and Carlos broke my collarbone with a wrench; and yet, I do trust them. Maybe I'm a fool, but I guess I'll let them prove it if I am.

"They're with me," I say. "I give my word."

Maria nods to Jack and Elliot, and they lower their guns.

"I apologize for the poor welcome," she says. "We've had a spate of bad luck lately, and it's put us on edge."

"Yeah, if you can call people gettin' murdered 'bad luck,'" the black-haired man says.

"Jack, we don't know they were murdered. Not yet, anyway," Maria says.

"It's a hunter, Maria—it's gotta be," the blond—Elliot, I assume—argues. "How many times we gotta say it?"

"We don't know that," Maria snaps. "Until we do, we be careful, but that's all. Understand?"

I look between the three of them, confused and on edge. This is not the welcome I was expecting.

"Where is Inez?" I ask. "I'd like to speak with her."

Maria casts me a glance. "We all would, darlin'. She's missing. Been missing 'bout a week now, give or take. The last four Bear-folk who went missing turned up dead, or never turned up at all. We're hoping it'll be different this time, but..." she shakes her head. "Well, maybe you can help us with that. You seem to have the talent, if nothing else."

I look over at Carlos and Sam. Carlos looks ready to bolt for the nearest hole, and Sam appears worried and confused. I don't blame them—I think we're all feeling something similar.

This was supposed to be a refuge, not a place we might be met with threats of violence and paranoia—justified or not.

Still, I can't give up now. Not after coming so far. This is where I feel I'm meant to be—where I hope I can find answers to all the questions that plague my heart. I have to at least try.

"Just tell me what to do," I say.

"That a' boy," Maria smiles, revealing even, if yellowed, teeth. "Welcome to Bear's Blood Lodge, Ian Foley. Welcome home."