The Apex Shifter Complete Set: Books 1 - 3

by Emilia Hartley

  Her eyes went a little brighter, a little wet. Thorn got ready to run away, as it looked, she might cry. How the hell was he screwing this up already? Finally, she laughed, and his shoulders and back unknotted. “You’re doing great. Really. I can’t remember the last time a man brought me flowers.”

  “So, we go up to your room now?”

  She cocked her head at him. “We’re going on a date.”

  “Football game at the bar?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Thorn shrugged. “What, then?”

  ***

  She watched Thorn fish the truck keys from his stiff new jeans as she stood by the passenger door. Felicity had to clear her throat a few times and give him the stink-eye. Understanding finally dawned on his features and he loped around to open the door for her.

  “Where to?” Thorn started the truck.

  “West.”

  He backed onto the highway. “How far west?”

  “Portland.”

  His shoulders sank, but he didn’t say anything.

  They drove along the curving mountain roads. Leaves were touched by the first brush of autumn, the sky glowering above. Moving west, the towns got bigger. Someday, Ripple would be just as big if Felicity had anything to say about it. Soon, the blocks ran together, structures one on top of the other, until the landscape turned urban.

  Felicity directed him across a couple of bridges. “It’s on Northeast Fremont. Don’t you know Portland?”

  “I only come to the city when I have to.” Thorn shuddered. “Crowded here.”

  Finally, they parked a block away from Le Cheval Blanc. “Best French brunch in town,” she said as he opened her door. “Do you like French cuisine?”

  “I like the toast, the fries. Ate a snail once on a dare. Not going back for seconds.” Thorn shrugged. “I like being with you. If this is where you want to be, well okay.”

  The restaurant was long and narrow with a center aisle between the tables. Paintings of horses adorned the walls. Customers packed the place, but Felicity had made reservations. They liked her here, as she frequently brought clients.

  “Nous saluons votre retour, Mademoiselle Malkin,” the maître d’ greeted her.

  He kissed her hand, and Thorn scowled. “Je vous remercie, Pierre.”

  “Votre table vous attend,” Pierre said, grabbing menus and leading them.

  They sat down, Thorn squinting at the menu. “This isn’t in English.”

  “It’s a French restaurant.”

  “Might be a little too elegant for me. Most of the restaurants I’ve been to have pictures on the menu, so even if they were written in cuneiform, you can at least take a guess.” He shrugged. “Still, it smells good in here. We can start out with some French roast. After that, I’ll have the waiter recommend the biggest plate.”

  Even out of his element, Thorn managed to bear everything up. “How cultured of you.”

  “Sometimes you gotta adapt.”

  Felicity ordered for them, a double order of eggs Benedict and three sides of bacon sounding better in French.

  “Where’d you learn to speak French?” Thorn asked.

  “High school. Did you go to school around here?”

  “School didn’t agree with me. I was home schooled by my Aunt Lily. She was a retired teacher. French wasn’t part of the curriculum.”

  “You got a GED?”

  “Yeah, just barely. Lily liked to drink wine about halfway through our lessons. But I read a lot.”

  “The classics?”

  “Well, yeah, Classics Illustrated, X-Men, Spider-Man. Lily’s son was a collector.”

  “So you’re admitting to me that you’re a moron?”

  “A moron with a BS in botany and a six-figure comics collection.”

  Felicity remembered Mrs. Shoat saying something about Thorn being an orphan. “What about the rest of your family?”

  “Don’t have any. My mom died when I was small. We were attacked by a bear. She saved me, but I was turned. Never knew my father. I was in the system in Alaska for a few years until they dug up Lily. When I was sixteen, I got an apprenticeship in knocking down trees. Been at it ever since.”

  She took his hand. “That’s kind of sad.”

  Thorn stuck out his lower lip, head canted. “I guess I could be sad about it. But life is good. I work outside in nature, I inherited some land, and I got everything I need. Hunting, fishing, fighting on weekends, what more could I want?”

  Land. Felicity’s ears pricked up. “Who did you inherit land from?”

  “No idea.” Thorn sat back in his chair, stretching his legs on both sides of her. “One day, a lawyer showed up at Lily’s place. Said he’d been looking for me a long time, and I had two thousand acres in a family trust. Which was weird, since I had no family I knew of. I don’t think Lily was actually related to me, but we never talked about it. She told me stories about my mom, and that was good enough for me.”

  Felicity felt her nipples go hard. “What do you do with two thousand acres?”

  “Enjoy it, enjoy the privacy, the wildness of it. My trailer is up by the road, so I have neighbors—not my idea, the thing was parked there when I inherited. Otherwise, it’s quiet and beautiful, streams, mountainside, and virgin forest. It’s so quiet, sometimes all you hear are your own thoughts.”

  She listened to him talk about his land as they ate. Thorn described the stream where salmon ran, the verdant hilly terrain, the silence among the massive trunks of untouched trees. Her feline side relaxed at the words, almost hypnotizing her. The real estate developer, however, thought about what could be done with two thousand acres of woods and mountains.

  “I’d like to see it sometime,” she said.

  Thorn leaned forward. “Really? Yeah, anytime you want. I’d love to show you.”

  “Yeah, really. I like being with you, too, you dumb Lumberjack.”

  Thorn smiled. “I guess you must, if you take me to a fancy joint like this.”

  He was a simple man, straightforward, almost primitive. Felicity was happy to see that he knew how to use silverware. There was not a sophisticated bone in his body. After brunch, and six cups of coffee, he rose to use the restroom. Pierre followed him handing over the key.

  He was beautiful, planed with hard muscle, sexy as hell, good in bed. Still, Thorn didn’t know what he had. Felicity could do so much with all that undeveloped land. How difficult would it be to wrest it from him?

  Thorn returned, glancing around the restaurant furtively. He sat down, lips pursed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He lifted his eyes to hers. “How good is your French?”

  “I can hold a conversation.”

  “How would you say ‘I flushed the bathroom key down the toilet?’”

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  Chapter Ten

  Thorn drove home alone, Felicity begging off, saying she had things to attend to in Portland. Was it the key thing? He wondered. Nah. That must happen all the time. For the most part, he felt he navigated his first-ever date much better than he did his way back to Ripple. Despite being way out of his element all day, he thought he was doing okay. Except he had no idea where he was going.

  He’d left his cell phone at home, and, as he never went anywhere, he didn’t have a GPS device in the truck. Natural sense of direction thwarted by the urban landscape, he tried to recall which bridges he’d driven over. On the way in, Felicity’s presence on the seat next to him had discombobulated his brain. The imperfect grid of streets tamped down natural features, and the fog obscured the horizon. Thorn didn’t realize how lost he was until he pulled into a gas station. When no one came out to pump his gas, he realized he had crossed the river into Vancouver, Washington.

  In Ripple, he had to navigate around more garbage bags in the road. What the hell was up with that? The sun was low in the sky by the time he got back to his trailer. His internal bear had been stirred up by his time with Fel
icity. While he didn’t want to believe the Vet, it made sense that the bear had to be let loose.

  Tossing his new shirt on the floor, he walked out the back door. His back yard was nothing but forest for hundreds of miles. A gentle rain fell. Shivering, he stripped off his jeans and hung them on a branch. Maybe the rain would wash some of the stiffness out of them.

  Naked, he walked into the growing darkness between the trees. With each step, he became more ursine. Fur sprouted from his skin. Fangs burst from his gums. Nose and jaw stretched forward, pulling out his chin. Spine ratcheted from beneath his skull to behind. Muscle and flesh grew, stretched, tendons singing, bones grinding, thickening.

  On all fours, Thorn picked up speed. Despite his massive size, he was fast. Nearly five feet high at the shoulders and nine feet tall when on his hind legs, he was an unstoppable monster. Loping through the dense woods, he caught the scent of a moose.

  It was rare for a moose to be this far west, and Thorn sensed that this one was sick. A good apex should take out a sick moose. Cycle of life and all that. Thorn began to sprint. Moose were delicious, and he hadn’t eaten since brunch.

  The moon rose, the undulating terrain pooled with shadows. Ferns and moss covered everything, their brilliant green a shining black in the gloaming. This was Thorn’s range. He let loose a growl that startled deer from their resting places and birds into the air.

  The moose was nearly ten miles away, in the national forest. Thorn reached its trail in twenty minutes. Then, nose in the air, he stalked the great ungulate. Blood scent told him the animal was not ill, but injured, and far away from its natural range. That didn’t make the beast any less tasty. Thorn generally preferred salmon, but once in a while, he had a hankering for moose. Like now.

  Near a swift-flowing stream, Thorn caught the moose in silhouette. Its rack of antlers spanned nearly five feet. The animal stood six feet high at the shoulders, and weighed at least as much as Thorn. Paws silent in the loam, he moved closer to the beast from downwind.

  Still, a nervous snuff of the air, and the moose vanished into the trees. Thorn knew the two of them were equally matched in size and speed. The moose’s antlers could be deadly weapons, and the creature would be aggressive because it was injured.

  Considering his human side had engaged in hot sex, a wild brawl, and a French brunch, the animal side was up for a fight—although a fight of a different kind. Thorn hurried across the stream to where his prey had vanished.

  In the thick of the trees, he stopped in the underbrush and raised his head. Huge nostrils sucked in air, passing it through sensitive sinuses. Instinct had moved the moose downwind. Still, Thorn did pick up a scent. It was not what he was hunting for.

  It was the fragrance of a cougar, clean and lean and fully carnivorous. With the wind shifting, he found it difficult to pin down the direction. Wary, Thorn circled, senses stretched for any sign of the moose.

  Ten minutes later, he caught the scent. The moose moved along a game trail paralleling the stream, a high bank rising on the other side. Deer and skunks and rabbits and wild pigs all used the pathway, their odor and scat a novel written in an olfactory language. Thorn read on, most interested in the chapter involving the injured moose. His ears caught the animal’s steps, with one out of synch—the injured leg.

  When the wind shifted again, Thorn knew the moose was only a few feet ahead, hidden in the underbrush. Sprinting all out, he smashed through the foliage. With a swipe of his paw, he staggered the massive ungulate.

  Snorting and lowing, the moose swept back with its antlers. Thorn was caught on the side of the head—a solid blow. Stunned, Thorn rolled to the ground. In the time it took to get to his four feet, the moose raced away.

  Thorn set off in pursuit, heart on fire. Had the moose not been lamed, the bear would not have caught up with it. But with a great surge of speed, Thorn leapt, claws sinking into the moose’s shoulder, jaw closing around the big animal’s neck.

  Still, the moose fought back. Catching Thorn under the belly, the ungulate tried to lever the bear off. But Thorn was driven into a killing frenzy by the taste of blood. Claws and fangs hooked fast, he dragged the moose off its hooves. Their two colossal bodies threw moss and mud and dirt into the air as they crashed. Both animals knew it was only a matter of moments before the ways of nature concluded in the usual fashion.

  It was then that the bear heard the rasping scream. Looking up from his kill, he saw moonlight reflected in golden-green eyes. On the ledge twenty feet above him, an adult mountain lion tensed. With a twitch of the tail, the big cat launched itself straight down at Thorn.

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  Chapter Eleven

  With a grunt, the moose freed itself and scrambled to its feet. Thorn managed to get a paw up as the cat’s front claws collided against his shoulder, ripping through fur and muscle. His bellow shook the trees.

  Instinctively and intellectually, he understood that a cougar would not attack a bear unless there were kits involved. This was no ordinary cat—this was a shifter.

  Lightning fast, the cat sank fangs into Thorn’s neck. Hind feet raked his belly—the cougar’s killing move. Off balance, Thorn managed to swipe the cat with a broad paw. The force sent the cat sprawling, rolling across the forest floor.

  Taking no chances, Thorn got on all fours—then rose on his hind legs to his full height. Charging forward, he swung at the cat with both front paws, each more than a foot wide and tipped with four-inch claws.

  The cat was quicker, and landed a swipe that tore into Thorn’s flank. Roaring, he batted back, missing the cat’s face and landing back on all fours.

  Dancing away a few yards, the feline turned back toward Thorn. A female, and beautiful in the dappled moonlight, she laid her ears back, revealed her fangs, and screamed at him.

  Thorn bellowed back and charged. Instead of racing away, the cat charged him as well. His huge paws swept her front legs from under her. The cat rolled head over heels. Once finding her feet, she bounded nearly straight up. She landed on Thorn’s back, fangs sinking into his ear.

  His ear? Animal instinct became flooded with irrational human thought. Thorn’s human half became aroused at the cat on his back, teeth in his ear. It nearly spelled Thorn the bear’s end. The she-cat’s fangs sank into his neck, far too close to his spine.

  Nearly in a panic, Thorn rolled, almost crushing the cat beneath him. She managed to just squirm away. Thorn reached out, sinking his claws into her. The cat’s feet clawed at the ground, throwing dirt as she tried to run.

  He had a firm grip. Thorn pulled her close, gripping her in a fierce hug. Her ribs creaked under the pressure. She hissed and spat, her claws useless.

  With his weight and leverage, Thorn crushed and heaved the cat down, flattening her to the ground. She thrashed and twisted, but he would not relent. Jaws wide, he lowered his head toward her neck.

  But the feline surprised him. She lowered her tail and ears, her head angled downward in submission. Thorn became confused. Submissive behavior was not part of the bear vernacular. Nor, as far as he knew, was it a part of the mountain lion’s.

  Wary, Thorn eased up. He rose above her, expecting a sudden attack. Instead, she rolled on her back, exposing her belly. This fascinated Thorn as much as it confused him. This was domestic animal behavior. What happened next went far beyond fascination or confusion.

  With a twisting, rolling motion, the mountain lion stretched in some parts, contracted in others. Shifting, Thorn realized. Within a few heartbeats, a woman lay where the cat had. And not just any woman.

  Felicity.

  “Thorn?” she whispered.

  At the sight of her, naked and exposed beneath him, the human psyche thrust forward, dragging its man-shape with it. Thorn crushed and truncated back to human form. He was on his hands and knees over her. Panting, staring, he didn’t know what else to do.

  Felicity did. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.


  Holy shit, round three? Even winded from stalking and fighting, his cock responded to her. She grabbed him and pumped him up and down as her tongue explored his mouth.

  She pulled back. “Usually it’s three dates before I fuck, not the other way around. Call this date two. You still owe me one.”

  Not knowing what to say, Thorn buried his head in her breasts. His tongue flicked over her erect nipples, and she gave a whispery moan.

  “I can’t get you out of my mind,” she gasped.

  Thorn had never done it with a shifter. Maybe that was the difference. Maybe Felicity felt the same. He figured her for a cat shifter, but hadn’t expected anything like this. Fighting as animals before and fucking as humans—his mind was blown.

  And speaking of blown, Felicity wormed herself under him, turning around. As Thorn nuzzled the down of her pubic hair, he felt her soft lips on the head of his dick. He opened her and examined her wet sex with his tongue as her mouth fiercely took him in. He groaned into her pussy as she swallowed him.

  He felt every gulp of her throat, every bob of her head. Beneath him, she squirmed, muscles twitching. She was close. Just as close as he was. As if reading him, she sucked him firmly, mashing her face against his pelvic bone. Thorn slid his fingers into her, and her hips bucked on the ground in response.

  As one, their muscles clenched tight as if to keep their mutual interior explosions from tearing them apart. Panting and shivering, Thorn felt his climax go off like a bomb behind his eyes. As Felicity’s fingernails clawed rows across his ribs, he knew she was coming as well.

  For a time, they lay in each other’s arms, the depth of forest surrounding them.

  “I’m not even sure why I came out here,” Felicity said.

  Thorn shrugged. “Shifters gotta shift.”

  “No, I’ve never prowled another shifter’s range.” She ran a hand through his messy hair, playing.