by Adele Niles
Protected by the Bear
An MC Shifter Romance
Table of Contents
Protected by the Bear
Copyright
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Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Stalk me...
Also by Adele Niles
Copyright
First Edition, October 2019
Copyright © 2019 by Adele Niles
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and situations are the product of the author's imagination.
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author.
License
This book is available exclusively on Amazon.com. If you found this book for free or from a site other than an Amazon.com country specific website it means the author was not compensated for this book and you have likely obtained this book through an unapproved distribution channel.
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About This Book
Protected by the Bear
Running away has been a part of my life for too long.
I’ve finally found a safe place to hide, Maiden’s Fork. Far away from my ex and his fists.
Battered and abused, this seems like the best place to quiet the monsters in my head, and allow myself to focus on work and beginning a new life, until the monsters show up, for real.
This one needs rescuing, and without hesitation I make a choice to save it.
Little do I know my fate is sealed I’m now forever protected by the bear.
Protected by the Bear is an MC Shifter Romance with plenty of heat and over the top alpha love. This shifter book is safe, with no cheating and a HEA that will have you baying for more!
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Prologue
Shawna
I run.
My lungs burn. I can’t see.
My eyes are swollen from his fists.
He’ll find me. Out here in the woods.
And when he catches me? He told me what he would do.
There’s a ravine up ahead, blocking my escape. I hear noises behind.
I run to the right. Crashing footfalls sound behind me. I turn to the left. I dodge a tree. I lose my footing and teeter on the edge of the ravine.
The earth slides away under my feet.
I topple in.
Rather than filling me with terror, the fall provides relief. I’m no longer being chased. Instead, I slide into rocks and brush. The earth pulls me down relentlessly. Guiding me. Embracing me.
I give in to the fall.
I see the stream below me, cool and beckoning.
My head hits a rock. Hard. The cold water surrounds my body as I slide into the torrent. I see stars and then the stream is bathing my head. Filling my mouth. Filling my nose.
The world goes dark.
* * * * *
I wake when strong arms lift me from the water.
Through my bleary eyes, I see a man. A man like I’ve never seen before. His deep brown eyes, blond hair, and rugged chiseled jaw are beautiful. He cradles me in massive arms. He carries me out of the ravine and back to the light.
Is this heaven?
Chapter 1
Shawna
I lift a glass of wine and toast myself. This time next week, I’ll be opening my art studio. It sounds awesome, until I realize where I am.
I set the wine down.
Because I’m opening my art studio in Maiden’s Fork. In the Catskills.
This is not where I planned to be at the age of twenty-four.
By now, I wanted to have a studio near Greenwich Village. I dreamed of selling my art to tourists. But as far as I can tell, there is nothing to tour in Maiden’s Fork, and hence, no tourists,
Although there do seem to be a few other New York City refugees scattered in the hills. But I doubt they came to Maiden’s Fork for the art scene.
What happened? How could my life get so messed up over one bad choice?
I send a regretful gaze to my wineglass and pick up my bucket and mop. This space was a good find—a small shop with living quarters in the back—but I think the last person who rented it must have been selling dirt for all the muck I’m cleaning up.
I go outside to clear the windows on my storefront studio. It’s a good thing I’m tall and athletic. It’s going to be a long time before I’ll be able to employ any kind of help.
As I wipe away the layers of grime, I start to see my own image reflecting from the glass.
I’m looking pretty good, if I do say so myself. If anything, the stress has taken off a few pounds and I’m looking even more slender than I used to. I indulge myself in a little profiling, and I find I still like the way my curves fit my frame. Feeling good about my appearance, I toss back my long blond hair.
The bruises have yellowed but not disappeared. My ego deflates.
It’s not worth much to be bootie-licious if you’re stupid enough to let some clown mess you up.
And that’s exactly what I’ve done. The scene plays out in my head again. Andre staggers into my apartment at midnight.
I tell him to get out and leave the key.
He’s slapped me before. Begged my forgiveness. And then he did it again. But this time Andre’s hitting me with his fists.
When he picks up the bat, I run out the door. He’s right after me.
I get out of the garage with my car, but he manages to get in his and stay with me no matter what I do.
I careen through alleys. I go up one-way streets. I get on the freeway.
He’s still behind me.
I drive for hours, weaving in and out of cars. But he’s still on me. I get off on a dark exit and take a dirt turn-off. My four-wheel drive handles the road, but I can’t shake him. He drives like a maniac, tearing up his car.
I see a side road that looks like it goes straight, so I cut my lights and hope I can run down it without hitting a tree. At least long enough to lose him.
But it’s not the trees that get me. It’s a board across the road. It has enough nails in it to stop a tank. All four of my tires go flat and I can’t force the four-wheel any farther.
I get out and run. The sun’s coming up and he’ll be able to see me. I stumble and go down and then get up again. A ravine crosses my path.
I remember falling. I remember a big, beautiful man picking me up. I remember him talking sharply to an old man who calls h
im “Griffin.” Then I remember nothing—till I wake up on an examination table in the doctor’s office.
I sit up. “Am I safe?”
The old doctor smells of cheap gin, but he pats my hand reassuringly. “You’re safe.”
I look around. “Where’s the guy who saved me? I need to thank him.”
“He’s gone.” The old man shakes his head. “That guy’s bad news. He’s with a motorcycle gang. Stay away from him.”
He gets out a syringe and starts loading it with something.
“You don’t need that kind of trouble.” He looks at me knowingly. “Anymore.”
* * * * *
A bolt of lightning rips me out of my thoughts. Followed by a head-jarring clap of thunder. I look up.
The sky has gone from gray to black.
I gather up my cleaning gear and duck back inside the store—just as the heavens open up and spew rain everywhere.
Inside, I find the lights have gone out and everything electrical is dead. So much for a relaxing night with a cold beer in front of the TV.
I scrounge around in the supplies left by the last tenant and find some candles. Hmm, I think, maybe this will do it.
I haven’t been able to paint since my exodus from the city. But tonight, in the rain, in the dark, maybe it will be okay.
But it’s not. Only black streaks and monsters come out of my brush. This is art that only a traumatized mind could comprehend.
Or conceive.
Chapter 2
Griffin
“Hey, bro! How ’bout giving me a hand?” Drake strolls over and looks down to where I squat by his bike. It’s a chopped Harley with classic extended forks and ape hanger handlebars. He doesn’t let anyone touch it. Except me. And I have to say, that’s good—and it’s bad.
I put a lot of hours in on his bike. But it’s my duty. I’m Vice President at the club, but mainly I run the club’s garage and help the brothers modify and repair their bikes.
I gave up top tier to Drake without a fight so I could do what I do best—maintain the bikes—and let him fuck with the rest.
He’s the President of URSA, the United Righteous Shifters of America, so he’s got a lot to take care of. The URSA patch is a prize and there’s always kids wanting to prospect. And Drake’s got the members to keep track of and maintenance on the clubhouse to keep up with. On top of that, it’s his job to keep a lid on the Howlers.
I feel my teeth grind at the thought of those assholes. They call themselves a motorcycle club, but they’re not a club. They’re a gang. A gang with no code. No purpose—except to get off at the expense of their victims. I feel the bear within me stir with the urge to sink fangs into a Howler werecoyote.
Down boy, I tell my bear. Save it for when you need it.
“So what do you want?” asks Drake.
“It’s this damned sidecar,” I say. “I’ve got to hold it up off the ground and bolt the bracket at the same time. I have the strength to do it, but I don’t have the four hands to go with it.”
Drake gets it. He squats down and situates his beefy hands under the sidecar. He’s got muscles like a gorilla and the strength to pick up this sidecar and probably another gorilla with it. I’m no slouch in that department, either, so I know he can do it.
Drake rests his elbows on his thighs for leverage, gives a grunt, and picks up the sidecar. He holds it in place while I start bolting on the bracket.
“You know,” I say, “you wouldn’t have to be messing with this sidecar if you didn’t take up with that city girl.”
“Why don’t you shut up and put those bolts in and let me worry about who I take up with.” He’s smiling and not even breaking a sweat. “And let me tell you. If you knew what that little lady can do, you’d wonder why I don’t get some kind of palace to put her in, not just this ol’ sidecar.”
I laugh and tighten the last bolt. “I’m happy for you. You found your mate.”
He eases the sidecar down and it rests nicely on the side of the bike. I watch as he carefully tests the strength of the brackets. It’s no insult to me that he’s checking my work. I’d feel the same way if it were my mate going in this sidecar.
I wonder if it will ever be my mate. It seems like I’ve been waiting a long time, looking for a mate of my own.
Glancing outside, I see the sky is black and the wind is blowing. So it looks like right now I have other things to worry about.
“Hey, Drake,” I say. “Get a load of this. The last couple times we had a storm like this we lost power.”
Drake nods and strides for the door. “And this one looks like a blow. Guess we better get ready for the storm.”
Then a lightning bolt slams into the ground. Thunder roars.
And the lights go out.
Chapter 3
Shawna
I stare at my phone. It displays a number. No name. I know better than to answer it.
I keep blocking numbers, but Andre just keeps buying more burner phones. I have a restraining order against him, but I can’t claim he’s violated it if I don’t answer the phone. My phone peeps that a voicemail has been left. The cops told me to save all these messages, but he never leaves his name.
So I’m on my own. Again.
It’s funny. You watch all those cop shows where they match voice prints and track cell towers to see where a call comes from. But those shows are make-believe. In reality, it would take a high-profile case for them to dedicate all those resources.
Or murder.
I take a deep breath and get ready to listen to the message. Maybe this time he’ll slip up and leave his name or something I could use to identify him…
But as I listen to his sick psychopathic rant, all I hear is how I caused all the trouble, how the breakup was my fault. He tells me I’m going to be sorry—like I’m already not?
He tells me that if I don’t behave, he’s going to find out where I am and then he’ll no longer be nice.
If what he’s been up till now has been nice, I don’t want to know what could be worse.
After he’s done, I save the message as I was told to do.
But I am afraid. Very afraid.
I’m afraid they’ll only listen to it after I’m gone.
Chapter 4
Griffin
I take my bike off the main road to do a thorough patrol for Howlers. If there’s an extended blackout like last time, things could get bad. They tried to sleaze in under the cover of the storm. The club will have enough trouble helping the locals and won’t need to waste time beating back a bunch of werecoyotes.
My bear sense of smell picks up the scent of ozone: the storm is coming, and coming soon. Still things seem to be pretty calm until I turn onto a dirt road running around Bear Mountain. About halfway around the mountain the ozone smell mixes with another, nasty, rotten smell.
Howlers. And the scent is strong.
I pull out my cell. No signal.
I initiate a three-point turn on the narrow, rutted road. But before I can straighten and head back to town, a bike materializes out of the woods and blocks my way. I hear bikes rev behind me.
Howlers.
Guess the guy that blocked me thought I’d be on a chopper. But he thought wrong. My bike is a fully restored Army issue blaster.
I run him over like a log in the road.
His buddies catch my tail wind but they can’t catch me. We slip and spin down the dirt road till we hit pavement and then I’m off like a shot.
I’m going for the clubhouse, and it’s looking good. Then a truck pulls out from an alley. I have to lay the bike over hard to avoid it.
The sound of crunching metal behind me tells me not all Howlers have the same skill, but there’s still a couple on my tail.
That’s okay, I got a plan. I’m going down the back alleys until I come to the clubhouse from behind. They’ll be trying so hard to keep up with me they won’t see where they are.
But the URSA members will sure enough see them.
I make it through the first back alley, and they’re keeping up. I cut across a vacant lot and they’re right behind me.
I’m heading into a yard when my bear catches another scent. And this scent isn’t Howlers. This scent is sweet. And spicy.
My nose is trying to trace the scent when the Howlers catch up. Didn’t mean for that to happen—damn bear in me had me distracted.
I fight back the urge to phase, the adrenaline pouring through my veins.
I spin around, blast through their line, and feel one of their bikes go over. I’m about to gain the alleyway when I hear a gun pop and a red-hot sting in my shoulder. I jerk the bike into the next yard and I go down, but not before phasing in my bear. I need his strength and fierceness.
There is a sky-splitting lightning bolt and a rolling crush of thunder.
Then everything goes dark.
Chapter 5
Shawna
I’m sitting in my little studio with my phone in my hand, Andre’s threats still burning in my ears, when I hear a new sound: a low rumble of powerful engines.
I listen hard as the sound builds, hoping it will fade just as fast, but it doesn’t. The sound crescendos until it’s in my back yard. I flatten against the wall and creep to the window to look out.
In the light of a full moon, I see three huge motorcycles circling each other in the yard across the alley. They’re driven by animals.
I rub my eyes. The night, the stress, the craziness has taken its toll. I see a monstrous black bear riding one of the motorcycles and snarling, snapping coyotes on the others.
As I’m watching, the bear’s bike rams through the other two and knocks one coyote’s bike over.
Then I hear a loud sound like a giant firecracker and I see one of his pursuers has a gun.
A coyote shooting a gun. I rub my eyes again, disbelieving the sight in front of me.
The bear’s bike comes skidding into my yard and goes down with a sickening whine of metal. The bear is thrown clear of the bike and lies still. The coyote with the gun turns back and hauls the carcass of his comrade onto his bike. They take off down the alley.
