by Elle Thorne
Here was certainly something he did not expect. A woman, lying on the couch, fast asleep. He studied her, taking in the curve of her cheek, the dark hair that flowed and haloed around her. Yes, she was attractive, that was undeniable.
But who the hell is she?
He took a step toward the couch, his hand outstretched thinking he would wake her, and perhaps ask her what she was doing here. He was confident he had followed the directions correctly and the key worked, so he knew he was in the right place.
Maybe Sara had told one of her friends she could stay here?
That was when he noticed the rifle, but that didn’t alarm him, as he meant her no harm. He took a step closer.
“Don’t move.” Her voice was resolute.
Her eyes were wide open, they definitely held a warning. Her finger on the trigger quivered. She’d raised the weapon, and it was leveled right at his chest.
“I think—” He took another step closer, hoping she would see that he was not a threat. “Could you—”
“I said don’t move.” Light brown eyes in a mocha face glared at him.
One more step. “But look, I d—”
The shot interrupted him.
Chapter Five
Dakotah jumped up, staring at the cabin’s owner.
The man was lying on the floor, unmoving.
She didn’t mean it. Damn him. She hadn’t wanted to shoot him. She jerked and that little bit of pressure…
She wanted to be mad at him. She wanted it to be his fault.
She told him not to move. She told him not to. Look at him, now. Oh god. Blood blossomed on his chest creating a horrifying pattern. She was torn between running, getting a towel, or calling 9-1-1. Did she hit his shoulder? Or something vital? She approached him, hoping he wasn’t armed, hoping he didn’t shoot her.
She leaned down, kneeling next to him, not knowing what to do to help him. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“I wasn’t going to hurt you.” And then he closed his eyes.
That’s when panic hit.
“Now what?” She had to call 9-1-1. How? There was no phone in the stupid cabin, at least not that she saw when she scrounged around the place earlier. Should she check him to see if he had a phone on him? That was the only choice. Though she didn’t want to touch him, didn’t want to hurt him further, and certainly didn’t want to prod through his personal effects.
But there was no choice. She had to get him help, and if he had a cell phone on him, that was their only chance. Unless he drove here in a car. She could get him to…
Yeah, right, as if she could pick up this guy, who was as wide as the door, with broad shoulders and a thick chest.
No choice, she had to find out if he had a phone. She reached for his pocket. A loud crack filled the cabin.
Dakotah fell back.
“No!” The sound of her own voice cut through the echo in the cabin.
She now knew what it meant when your blood ran cold. Right before her very eyes, this man, muscular, large, okay—good looking if she had to admit. Too good looking.
But that’s not what she was noticing now, not at all!
Creaking started. The sounds of sinew as it began to stretch, and crunching, the noise made by bones as they began to shift and move, lengthening, broadening, thickening.
Yes, Dakotah knew the sounds too well. She had seen them exhibited at the compound by her captors and the children who were her fellow prisoners.
She fumbled to rise, tripping over her own feet in her haste and her fear. She couldn’t even get onto her feet. She scrambled away from him, crab crawling toward the couch.
But the whole time she was moving, she kept her eyes glued on him. The giant man who’d been at the door, the man she’d shot, was now a large bear covered with thick white fur. His fur gleamed, shiny, even in the dim lighting of the cabin.
A red pattern that looked like one of those ink splotches on paper grew on the bear’s chest, except it was not black ink, but crimson blood.
Using the couch’s armrest, she pulled herself to her feet. No sooner had she risen, then a cramp seized hold of her, doubling Dakotah with pain. Taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly she waited for the sharpness of the agony to subside. As soon as it had waned and become barely tolerable she wondered what she should do.
This guy probably worked for those guys. This guy is here to kill me.
He could be one of the good guys, right?
Unsure, she made the only decision she could.
She had to get out of here. Another cramp had her redoubling.
Chapter Six
Braden was confused. He was lying on the floor.
What the hell is going on?
He grabbed his chest and was surprised to see his hand come back full of blood.
She shot him; she really shot him.
She hovered near him, but he couldn’t concentrate on what she was doing or saying.
Reality swirled around him.
And then he felt something he had never felt before. His bear was pushing him out, taking control, trying to morph.
No, no, no. No way this is happening.
The bear never took control without Braden giving it to him. Braden pushed back his bear, but for the first time ever, his bear overpowered him. His roars completely filled Braden’s mind, drowning out the woman’s panicked panting.
No matter how hard Braden pushed, his bear pushed harder. Braden surrendered to the shift, knowing it had to be for the best. He hadn’t taken a hit like this, not even in the military where he wore protective covering.
He’d taken a round in his chest, and the bear needed to heal him as quickly as possible.
But Braden did not want to hibernate heal. Hibernating in order to heal would put him in a very vulnerable position.
The woman was stirring around the room. He could hear her though his bear had taken him into a semi-conscious state. Braden concentrated, trying to listen to what she was doing.
“I told him not to.” Her voice was low, her breathing shallow. He heard her grunt with pain.
What was that about?
He put his superior shifter hearing to work, even though his bear would not allow him to use or take over the rest of his body.
He listened for her pulse. It was racing. And then he heard something else.
Holy shit!
Another pulse.
She’s pregnant.
He listened more intently.
There it was, a second heartbeat, definitely that of a baby. Braden breathed deeply, and held his breath so he could analyze the air, receiving confirmation.
Definitely pregnant.
Maybe that was why she was so afraid. Maybe she thought he would hurt her baby.
And then the next fact hit him, fell on him like a ton of bricks.
That was not a human baby. She was pregnant with a shifter’s baby.
Something else hit him. She was in a state of panic. Her scent gave it away. The kind of panic that would make a person’s judgment and memory faulty.
Hope she doesn’t do anything crazy.
As if shooting him wasn’t crazy.
She said it was an accident.
“I need to call someone to help him,” she muttered.
He wished he could speak. He wished he could tell her not to call anyone. He could not afford to be found as a shifter. If the authorities found a polar bear, it would be one thing, and granted it would be newsworthy. But if they found out that the polar bear was a shifter, he would end up in a cage in a laboratory somewhere.
She continued talking. “No, I don’t. What if he’s one of them?”
Them? he wondered. Who is them?
“They can’t find me. They just can’t.” She was pacing at a rapid rate, but there was something wrong with her gait. It was as if she was shuffling with every other step.
Was it the baby?
And then her words became more faint. And even more faint, and more so.
&nbs
p; He was fading.
And though he was fading, at the same time he could sense his bear was relinquishing control of his body, and beginning to shift Braden back into his human form.
Surely he had not healed enough for the bear to leave him in his human body.
Chapter Seven
Dakotah paced the cabin’s wooden floors. She could barely walk at times because every third step it seemed the stitching of her stomach would jerk her abdomen into a frenzy of pain. She kept her eyes on the bear, fearful he would wake at any moment and kill her with one swipe of that mighty paw.
What am I supposed to do? Half of her wanted to help the person she might’ve killed, the other half wanted to take the weapon and put the end of it against the bear’s head and pull the trigger, thus guaranteeing her baby’s safety.
Yeah, right, like I could kill anybody.
She wrung her hands together nervously, clenching them into sweaty fists, and then rubbing them on her thighs. There really was no option; she would have to leave. But how was she supposed to do that? That bear was blocking the door. When he had shifted into his bear form, he had become so huge that she would not be able to get by him and outside without touching him.
She studied the monstrous being before her.
It moved!
Suddenly, she gasped and reached for the weapon.
Those sounds, so familiar and yet still so foreign, heralded the beginning of his change. His body became less ursine, compacting again into a man. His face shortened, his jaw reset.
And now he was a man again. A very attractive man who looked quite a bit paler than he did when he first walked in.
She waited a brief moment, to make sure he didn’t jump up and attack her.
No movement at all.
A chiseled jaw, full lips, cheekbones angled perfectly, and a thick neck.
And how could that face look so innocent, and yet look like such a predator?
Really? Is this what I’m going to be doing while this guy is getting ready to wake and kill me?
Could he wake up?
She approached him cautiously, knelt next to him, as far away as she could, but still able to touch him. She unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it away from his flesh.
A sensation traveled through her. A sense of safety. Her baby moved in her stomach, not a violent kick, just soft movement.
That’s odd.
She pushed her thoughts away, so she could deal with the situation at hand. Wanting to check on the wound, she leaned in a fraction. The spot where the round had entered was sealing, though it was still a very angry puckered wound.
His body was sheer perfection, even though bloody in some areas.
I should help him. I should clean this wound. Reaching for his shirttail, she tried to wipe some of the now congealing blood away.
She stared at his flesh. He had scars, white raised scars, several inches long, that ran along the side of his rib cage and abdomen. She looked at his chest, and found the same scars.
The scars were not random. They were placed on his flesh, running parallel to each other, evenly spaced.
Horrified, she bit back her gasp at the thought that anyone had done this to someone on purpose.
Whoever did this was no different than the bastards that did what they did to me.
The man made a small sound, a groan.
Dakotah shuffled backward.
In his unconscious state, the man gritted his teeth, making a horrible grinding sound. Then he clenched his fists and unclenched them, the tendons in his arms popping.
It was as if he was in horrible pain. Or maybe remembering something horrible.
When she noticed the changes happening to his scars, Dakotah shoved the heel of her palm against her mouth to keep from crying out.
She flinched and fell back. The long white scars, though previously barely noticeable, had begun to change colors, going from an angry purple to a deeper red then back to white, then purple again.
“What the hell is going on here?” she whispered.
Those look like burn marks.
Burn marks that had healed over but were coming back? How did that work?
Her stomach seized. It felt like someone had attached her stomach muscles to a car and hit the gas. She fell forward on her hands and knees, breathing fast shallow breaths.
Panic set in. Panic and irrationality fueled by a desperate need to protect her unborn baby.
She had to get out of here. This guy was a shapeshifter. He was just like the guys who had been hurting her. The guys who…
Panic set in making her stomach feel like it was in the pledges of a vice. She couldn’t afford to be found. She thought about the other woman who’d been at the compound with her months and months ago. She did not want them to do to her what they did to that woman. The captors took her baby away and the woman’s body out. Dakotah never saw her again.
No. That cannot happen to me.
She noticed the keys next to where he had fallen. Did a double take.
“I’m sorry.” She could not afford to be taken. And why was she apologizing to him anyway? He was probably one of those bastards.
What if he isn’t?
He’ll be fine.
Still wondering where he got the scars, she slipped out of the cabin, and jumped into the truck, started it, popped it into reverse, and threw gravel in her haste to pull out. Within seconds she was out of the driveway and onto a dirt road that would lead to—
The hell out of here, that’s all she knew.
Dakotah was going to go as far as she could with whatever gas this truck had in it. She glanced at the gauge. Quarter tank.
That’s a start.
She tried to tell herself to slow down, not take the curves so quickly. She also wanted to be as far away as possible from this place and all shifters.
Before she could slow down, a severe cramp struck her.
She jerked the wheel hard.
Too hard.
She tried to overcompensate, jerking again.
Dakotah lost control of the car. It spun, rolled, flipped, down the mountain.
No seatbelt, she was trying to protect the baby by holding on to anything she could and making herself as much a protective ball as she could.
The final flip was horrible. Every part of her body felt on fire.
It hurt to breathe, and it was pitch black.
The truck’s engine quit and the silence of the dark, forested mountain was the only reality she had in the hell which had claimed her body.
Realizing she was trapped and hurt, she knew she had to get out of the vehicle, but couldn’t see a thing.
What if there were wolves or mountain lions or anything like that.
She should stay where she was.
She really had no choice, within seconds, she blacked out.
Chapter Eight
Braden had felt himself being picked up, jostled, and moved. And he knew he’d been taken to a medical facility because he could smell the odors that only came from hospitals and clinics. He wanted to rollover, but as soon as he moved, all he could do was flinch because of the pain in his chest.
It slowly occurred to him as grogginess faded that he had not been asleep. He’d been out, like a light. He opened his eyes, squinting against the brightness in the room. The first face he saw was his nephew’s.
“Bain,” he croaked the word out.
Bain was looking at him intently, his light blue gaze concerned. “Who shot you?”
“Where am I?” Braden winced from the effort it took to breathe deeply.
“You’re at Doc’s clinic.”
Memories of—the night before? Or was it two days ago? Or maybe it was a few hours?
He had no idea how long it had been, but memories of a woman: beautiful, olive skinned, fiery.
And pregnant!
“Where is she?” He shoved his elbows down and use them to prop himself up. “What happened to her?”
“She?” Doc stepped into
view.
He couldn’t tell them. He didn’t want her to get in trouble. Even though she shot him.
“How do you feel?” Doc asked.
“Not too bad.”
Bain laughed. “Sure. For someone who took a shot to the chest.”
Braden tried to put on a smile. He had to get the hell out of here and find that woman. There was something about her that haunted him. The image of her was engraved into his mind as surely as if it had been tattooed there. Or burned into him.
“What about the scars?” Doc asked.
Bain crossed his arms over his chest, plastered a very unforgiving look on his face. “Yeah. What about the scars?”
So maybe Braden never told Bain about the scars, about that whole incident. He didn’t feel bad about it. The kid—okay, maybe not a kid—but still, more like a kid brother to Braden, Bain had enough problems in his life. He didn’t need it complicated by his uncle’s misadventures in the Middle East.
Braden looked away from Bain’s piercing gaze and glanced out the window. He studied the mountain range he could call home in a heartbeat. “It wasn’t something I wanted to share.” He turned toward his nephew, unsure if he should or even could ask for forgiveness.
Bain nodded, a hurt look on his face. “I guess that not sharing thing runs in the family.”
Braden nodded. This was his sister’s son, and yet, he loved him more than he would have loved any brother, if he’d had any alive.
I’m sure as hell not doing a very good job of taking care of him. First, I let him get involved with that blood debt business. Then, I can’t even save his ass, getting ambushed by that damned Italian.
Braden scratched the scruffiness of his unshaved face, the sound was loud in the almost empty clinic. It was time he told Bain something. At least a little bit. “The Middle East.”
Doc winced visibly.
“Fuck.” Bain turned away and grabbed the rail of the bed. “I had no idea.”
Of course not, Braden hadn’t been about to share that with anyone. That had been the stuff nightmares were made of.
“Those scars are symmetrical, man-made.” Doc’s voice was a low growl, as if his grizzly was surfacing.
