by Adele Niles
A lightning bolt strikes.
Then soul-shaking thunder.
I scream. And scream.
Then—as I watch—the unconscious bear starts to change.
The rain is washing away his fur and I see the features of a human face begin to emerge from the bear’s gnarled head.
The man is in his mid-twenties. He has spiky hair, a strong jaw, and high cheekbones. He has the look of a Spartan warrior. His muscular bear’s chest morphs to an equally muscled human chest and when the fur sloughs from his arms, I see ripped biceps and forearms that look like they could curl forty pounds.
The fur continues to shed and I see a gorgeous six-pack of abs emerge on his belly. Gorgeous, but they could use a woman’s touch.
I realize the transformation is going to continue and soon he will be entirely naked. I start to turn away my eyes but then remember this can only be some crazy hallucination brought on by fear, stress, and panic. I open my eyes and look.
If I’m going crazy, why not enjoy it?
The remaining hair on his lower torso does a torturously slow fade and then I see thighs worthy of a thoroughbred. And between them is a cock big enough to credit the horse, too.
I wait. Is this still part of the bear? Will it disappear too?
It does not.
I let myself think of how it might look hard if it looks this good flaccid. I get a flutter in my stomach that travels down. I feel my pussy moisten. I long to play with that beastly cock.
I’m vaguely wondering if all crazy people get the compensation of great sexual fantasies…but then he starts to stir.
Lightning lights the sky, followed by an immediate clap of thunder.
He’s alive, but if he gets hit by lightning, he might not be for long.
I whirl around, my eyes flying around the room. I see the tarp I laid down for painting.
This hallucination is getting wackier by the minute. But what if it isn’t? I have to at least try to help him.
I grab the tarp and head outside. Each flash of lightning, each thunderbolt, makes me cringe. I spread out the tarp on the ground. I grab his hand, dig my heels in the mud, and pull him over on his side.
I get behind him and push. I manage to roll him on to the tarp.
The tarp has a rope running through holes along the edge, so I draw it up like a gunny sack around him and pull.
Nothing.
I dig in my heels and fall back, putting my entire body weight into the pull.
We slide forward in the mud. One foot. I dig in my heels again.
I keep on with this insane tug of war until I get to the door. I bless every aerobics and karate class I ever took—then I lift his lower body, fold his legs over his head, and heave him through the door.
We’re in.
Chapter 6
Griffin
It’s daylight and the pain in my shoulder rips me awake. I look around and try to sit up. I feel a small hand pushing me back. And I look up into the most beautiful hazel eyes I’ve ever seen.
It’s her—the girl I pulled out of the ravine. How can this be? I thought she’d be dead.
Did she die? Am I dead? Is this heaven?
I look around. Nope. Not unless heaven is a ramshackle house with dirty windows and no cushions on the couch.
But there is an angel.
I sniff the air. All I can smell is her. She must be my fated mate. The bear in me is going crazy.
I make myself lie still. The pain tells me not to make sudden moves, and I don’t want to scare this woman away. I put a hand on my shoulder and feel a compression bandage. I look up at her, frowning.
“You were bleeding pretty bad,” she says with a shrug.
She’s sitting on the floor by my side. I feel around and see where the couch cushions went. That’s what I’m lying on. I look at her again.
“I couldn’t get you up on the couch, so I brought the couch down to you,” she says. “It’s funny. You’d think the same hallucination that brought me Superman would turn me into Wonder Woman, but it didn’t.”
I could only look at her. I didn’t know what to say.
She winces. “I think I sprang my watcha-ma-call-it dragging you in here.”
I feel a smile split my face from ear to ear. I reach up the hand on my good arm and touch her cheek. “I’m not a hallucination. And I’m sure as hell hoping you aren’t.”
She blushes and looks away.
That’s pretty sweet.
When she looks back, she’s frowning. “Well, you may not be a hallucination now, but you sure were last night.” She looks down and then rolls her eyes up. “In the dark, in the storm, I thought you were a bear. And what’s worse, I thought there were two coyotes chasing you. On freaking motorcycles!”
“So—” I start to say.
She touches my arm. “But when your bike laid over, I saw you were human. Guess now you think I’m nuts.”
I struggle to sit up, but my bear’s not having it. He wants to lie back and heal. “No, no, you’re not nuts. I was a bear last night.”
She leans away like she’s having second thoughts about who she brought into her house. I roll toward her as much as I can.
“You ever hear of shifters?” I ask.
She cuts her eyes at me. “You mean like werewolves and vampires? Yeah, I guess I have.”
“Good. Well there’s other kinds of shifters too. Humans who can take animal form.”
She’s listening, but I can tell she’s thinking about the layout of the window and doors and planning an exit strategy, just in case.
I look her dead in the eyes. “I’m a shifter, and my animal is a black bear.”
Then I phase, just a little, to show her I’m telling the truth.
Unfortunately, the first part of my phase is always the fangs and the face.
She crabwalks away from me so fast I hear a thud when her back hits the wall.
I phase back.
“Sorry,” I say, “but I wanted to convince you.”
“Oh, you convinced me, all right,” she says, her back still against the wall. “And I got to say, of all the wild things I’ve seen in the city, I don’t know if you’re the wildest—but damn. You’re a contender!”
I start to laugh but it hurts my shoulder so I do a sort of ha, ouch, ha, ouch, as she looks at me with disbelief and no sympathy at all.
“So, if you’re a bear,” she says, “why were the coyotes chasing you?”
“They don’t like me.”
“Obviously.” She eases back from the wall. “So, if I run into them again, who should I tell them I don’t know?”
“Griffin,” I say, extending my good hand.
“Perfect,” she says. “Griffin—a mythical beast.” Then she stops and inhales sharply. Her eyes go wide. “Wait a minute. I’ve heard that name before. In the doctor’s office.”
I wait for her to reach her own conclusion.
She says, “You’re the one that pulled me out of the ravine!”
I give a one shoulder shrug.
“You saved my life,” she says.
I put a hand on the bandage on my arm. “And you saved mine.” I give her a sideways grin. “Looks like we’re even.”
She’s still in shock. “What were you doing out there?”
“The URSA, the motorcycle club I belong to, are all bear shifters and we patrol the valley watching for Howlers—”
“I’m guessing that’s the coyotes,” she says.
“Yep. That’s right.”
“Why? Some ancient feud or something?”
“Nah. Nothin’ like that. These creeps are real bad guys. They want to take over and start pushing heroin, oxy, and meth—”
“And I suppose you guys are substance free?” She looks doubtful.
“No, I’m not going to say we don’t blow a blunt from time to time, or take a little trip on a magic shroom, but that stuff don’t kill you.”
“Ah. I see,” she says. “So, I’m supposed to believe yo
u’re a druggie, but not a bad druggie, and you’re really a big black bear, but you’re not going to eat me.”
I wink. “Not going to promise that…”
She squirms like her jeans suddenly bunched up.
“But,” I say, letting my face go serious. “I would never hurt you.”
My bear roars. He wants to tell her she’s my fated mate. He wants to throw her on the floor, make love to her, and mark her as my mate for life.
I inhale and wait for my bear to calm down.
“I’ll protect you and care for you always,” I start to say, but then I stop and frown. “What the heck is your name?”
She jerks up her head and starts laughing. Hard. She falls over on her side and rolls on the floor. Finally, she stops, panting.
“Sorry,” she says, wiping tears from her eyes. “But I really needed that.”
She gets up and crawls over to where I lie on her couch cushions on the floor. She puts her tiny hand in my big paw.
“My name’s Shawna,” she says. “And as long as you can make me feel that good, you’re welcome to stay.”
“I promise,” I say. “I’ll do my best.”
And I mean it.
Chapter 7
Shawna
I look over at my new friend and see that he’s fallen asleep. That’s good. He’s going to need his strength to heal that wound. I offered to take him to the doctor, but he said part of being a shifter is that you can heal yourself.
Sounds like some crazy wiccan crap to me, especially since the wound doesn’t seem to be healing as quickly as he thought it would. When I asked him about it, he said it might be because it was a silver bullet. And silver is toxic for shifters.
Should I be buying all this?
The thing he did with his face was pretty convincing, but now, trying to recall it in my mind, I’m having trouble. But what I’m not having trouble with is the amazing attraction I’m feeling for this man. Maybe he’s one of those Las Vegas hypnotists and he’s got me believing a bunch of illusions.
Sure hope that cock isn’t an illusion…
Stop it! I tell myself. Don’t you have enough man troubles already?
I recall the doctor’s words: That guy’s bad news… Stay away from him.
What is wrong with me? Am I some kind of sicko who only goes after the assholes?
No. Andre was the only one who ever treated me that way, and I went to the cops and then got away. Doesn’t sound like a complicit participant to me.
Okay, I tell myself. You’ve got this guy in your house, and when he gets better, you get him out. And that’s all there is to that.
I straighten my back.
I go out to his bike. There’s a set of clothes in his saddlebag. I bring them inside and dump them beside him.
Gentle hint.
I have a studio—and a life—to put together.
It’s time I got to it.
When I go into the kitchen, I discover the electricity is still off, but the daylight is enough to let me open a can of beans. I sit there and spoon tepid beans in my mouth until my stomach stops growling, and then call it good.
My easel with my images from last night stares at me.
They are dark, horrible images. But not bad.
Maybe this is the new me. Maybe this is my new art.
Maybe Andre did me a favor.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and about jump out of my skin.
It’s Griffin, but that doesn’t help my nerves. He’s dressed, and he looks almost as good in clothes as he does naked. A white t-shirt strains against his broad shoulders and pecs, and the tight jeans do little to hide the huge bulge to the left of his fly.
I get ahold of my resolve and pull it up by the curlies.
“Yes?” I say.
“I’m leaving,” he says. “But I want you to take my number, just in case you ever need me.”
I nod but I don’t offer to give him mine. He knows where to find me, though I’m not sure if I want him to or not.
He continues, “You don’t need to tell anyone about anything you saw.”
“Good thinking. They’d pack me away to the funny farm.”
His face tightens. I’ve gone too far. And there’s no reason.
His eyes are hard. “Maybe. And maybe the Howlers will decide you know too much and come sniffing around.” He turns away. “And you wouldn’t like their manners.”
I put my hand on his back and feel the cords of muscles. If I have to pick sides, I want this guy on mine.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s just a lot to absorb and sarcasm has always been my best defense.” I get out my phone. “You could have left me in that ravine. It would’ve been no skin off your nose.”
I punch out a quick text and push send. “Let me check to see I’ve got your number right.”
His phone pings and he looks at it. I can see from his face he got my message.
It says, I’ve got your number. Now you’ve got mine. I’ll keep your secret if you use it sometime.
He pockets his phone. “Sounds like a deal to me.”
Chapter 8
Griffin
It costs me some pain to right my bike in her yard. The bullet only grazed me, so my shoulder should have been healed by now, given normal shifter healing time.
I’ll have the old ladies look at it when I get back.
As soon as I blow into the clubhouse lot, Drake comes barreling out the door.
“Where the hell have you been?” he asks.
Shaking my head, I say, “I ran across some Howlers during my patrol and things got out of hand. I took down two, but they winged me with a gun.”
I ease my bike on its kick stand and Drake takes a step back.
His nose wrinkles. “What the hell is that smell?”
“The bad one or the good one?”
“Let’s start with the bad one.”
I open my jacket so Drake can see the bandage wrapped around my arm.
“This is where I got winged by the Howlers. It doesn’t seem to be healing the way it should.”
Zane comes up behind Drake. He sniffs the air, too.
“Silver,” he says.
That confirmed it. They used a silver bullet and until all the silver’s gone, the shoulder’s not going to heal.
Zane knows his stuff when it comes to Howlers. That’s probably why Drake made him Sergeant at Arms for the club.
“Why don’t you have some of the ladies look at it.” Zane says. “They’ll fix it right.”
I nod at the wisdom of the statement and head to the clubhouse. But Drake lays a hand on my arm.
“Hold up. What about the good smell?”
“Human,” I say. “Female.”
Drake’s eyebrows go up. “The arm can wait. Tell me about this woman.”
I shrug. “Not that much to tell. She found me in her back yard and dragged me into her house. Cleaned me up, bandaged the arm, fed me, and cut me loose.”
Zane and Drake look at each other and shrug. I start toward the clubhouse.
“And, oh yeah,” I say. “She is my fated mate.”
* * * * *
The ladies have me fixed up in no time and the wound starts to heal. Drake comes over to see how I’m doing.
“About this female,” he says.
“Shawna,” I tell him.
“Okay, Shawna,” he says. “If she is your fated mate, then one thing I learned from Belinda is that it’s better to tell her about the shifter thing sooner than later.”
“It’s cool. She already knows. She saw me phase in her backyard when I was out cold from the silver bullet.”
“I assume you told her this is sensitive intel.”
“Oh, yeah, and she’s good with that.”
Drake contemplates a far wall. “She good with anything else?”
I laugh. “If you’re asking if I’ve mated her yet, the answer is no, but I can tell it’s not going to be long.” I shift a little in my chair. “As a matter of fact
, I was going to ask you something.”
Drake looks over at me and waits.
“Since we all have to be out on patrol anyway, how about assigning me the northeast sector?” I ask.
“That’s where she lives?”
“That’s where she lives.”
Drake tips back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know, bro. No one needs distractions like that.”
I stand up, my hands in fists at my thighs. “I can handle myself. And you know that.”
Drake nods his head. “Yeah, I know that,” he says. “But it’s just something to keep in mind.”
“Noted.”
Drake rocks forward and stands. “Okay, bro, northeast sector is yours.”
We both nod.
“Keep away from coyotes,” Drake says. “And your mind on your business.”
Chapter 9
Shawna
I inhale sharply as I remember watching Griffin fire the bike to life. He was magnificent. I’d never seen a guy this well-built except in magazines. I’ve been cleaning and setting up all day, but his image keeps coming back into my mind.
By now I thought I’d have worn myself down from all the work and would fall to sleep right away, but instead I toss and turn. His darned face keeps haunting me.
I look at the easel. I learned long ago that lying in bed without sleeping is a waste of time. As long as I’m awake, I may as well get some work done.
I automatically flip on the switch and then remember the power is still out. I smile. In New York City, there would have been a riot by now, but here people just stick it out.
I would enjoy that attitude more if I wasn’t worried about money. But I am.
So shut up and paint, is my advice to myself.
I get out my candles and set them up. I’m finding I enjoy the delicate flickering light. I play around with some shapes and colors and I’m surprised to see I’m painting a picture of a man.
A large man. A nude man. A profile of a man equipped with a really well-hung cock.
Embarrassed, I start to paint over the image, but then I think Why? Why not paint what I want? I’m alone now. There’s no one to shake their head at me. Why can’t I do what I want?
