by M. D. Grimm
“Growl all you want,” the man said in a deep voice that was in contrast with his short stature. “I’m just helping.”
The man smiled and appeared amused by the fox’s attempt to be fierce. The man proceeded to bandage the torn foot and picked up the fox, depositing her a few feet away in the hollow of a tree. Hidden and out of the reach of predators.
“Chill out,” the man said softly as the fox continued to growl. “You’re about as dangerous as a chipmunk right now.”
The man turned away and walked back to the bear trap. He stood staring at it, and Nordik knew that look. It was fury. The man trembled and his hands clenched into fists. Then the man picked up the trap, and with an impressive tug that Nordik didn’t think he was capable of, tore the chain right out of the ground. The man grabbed his pack and walked away. Nordik followed, curious, his desire for this man growing.
Then the man halted and looked over his shoulder―right where Nordik hid. He froze, knowing he was sufficiently hidden, though still stunned that the man could sense him. Nordik knew this forest; he knew every blade of grass, every twig and animal. He also knew how to silence his own presence, something he’d learned after his many years of life. So how could this man sense him?
The man didn’t investigate. A slight frown was on his face, and Nordik was momentarily distracted by the stranger’s intense eyes. They were blue, yet they were so much more than that. Some might call that pale blue cold, but those people would be ignorant. Those eyes―that man―weren’t cold. There was passion and heat in those eyes, and Nordik knew as well as he knew his own mind that this man could be ferocious when those he cared for were in danger.
Through those eyes, that fierce gaze, Nordik recognized a kindred spirit. A feeling he had never felt before. Never.
Then it was gone and the man was walking away again. Nordik’s heart drummed against his ribs, and he needed to take a moment to steady himself before he followed.
Chapter Four
Was he being followed? Poe suspected he was. He didn’t think it was the knights. He would sense their presence. Every time he looked around, he couldn’t see anything that would indicate that he was being stalked. It was unnerving.
Maybe it was Nordik. Huh. That would be interesting. The master shifter could be following him, determining if he was the enemy. Poe was certain he’d proven he was a friend. He’d used a piece of rope to tie the bear trap closed before burying it deep into the earth. They were repulsive things, and he hoped that little fox didn’t try to gnaw at the bandage and end up bleeding to death.
He started a fire and pulled out his sleeping bag. The sun was setting, and the wind blew gently, causing Poe to shiver. The scent of sunset was on the air, and the silence in the forest indicated the day animals were going to sleep. But that would mean the nocturnal creatures would be awakening soon. The bugs were certainly out, and Poe made sure he had enough bug repellant on. He ate dinner, which basically consisted of beans and veggies, and wondered if he would ever see civilization again.
He was drifting off to sleep when a noise from behind startled him awake. Poe turned around and grabbed his flashlight, climbing out of his sleeping bag. He knew it wasn’t an animal. His nerves jangled and his skin crawled. He was being hunted, and Poe had a good idea who was doing it. It was a different presence than his ghost stalker from earlier. He slowly crouched for his handgun when out from behind a tree came a tall man with long tan hair, a narrow dark face, and a rangy body. He was also holding a gun―right at Poe’s face.
Poe straightened and faced the man down.
“Knight.”
“Agent,” the man said with a smirk. “Looks like Louis was right, you are stupid enough to travel alone.”
Why are there knights in Sanctuary? They contaminated the place with their filthy souls. His anger rushed into his veins, pumped in his heart, and his grip on the flashlight tightened to the point where he crushed the handle. The light flickered out as he destroyed the batteries.
Another flashlight flashed in his face as another knight stepped out from behind a tree. He squinted against the light. He must have really been sleepy if these knights managed to sneak up on him.
“I assume Louis is the man I broke,” Poe said, keeping his voice calm and low. But his stomach was churning, his muscles were clenching, and the urge to attack was rising.
“Yes, and you’ll pay for that,” said the newcomer, a woman. Poe peered closer and realized she was a tall, muscled woman with pale skin and black hair cut close to her scalp. Her eyes were fierce and rather manic. Poe raised an eyebrow.
“Will I?” he said, forcing himself to smile. “Did I break your boyfriend?”
She bared her teeth and took a step forward, and the man with the gun barked at her.
“No! Stay where you are. He’s provoking you.”
“Indeed I am,” Poe said as he focused on the gunman. “I must say that I’m curious as to why you’re here. What business do knights have in Sanctuary?”
“We don’t explain ourselves to agents,” the woman spat, saying his title with intense disgust.
“Of course not,” he said conversationally, judging the distance between his captors and planning his attack. “I was just curious. Since, last I heard, your boss was in the wind, hiding like a coward.”
“Lord Arcas is no coward!” the woman shrieked, and before her companion could stop her, she lunged for Poe and smacked his head with her flashlight. “He is a visionary! A genius!”
She continued to hit Poe with the flashlight, and he managed to cover his face with his arm. Despite the abuse and his sore head, he contemplated how to get the gun away from the man. After that, it wouldn’t be hard to take both of them down.
“Delia, stop!” The man tried to pull her off, but she was a woman possessed.
“He sent us here! We are his loyal followers! His most precious―”
But what she said next was drowned out by a roar issued from the depths of hell. The gunman grabbed Delia, and they both stumbled back. Poe rolled over at the same time a large, ferocious, white bear charged out of the darkness. His jaw dropped as the bear rose on his hind legs, showing off his impressive height. Dark eyes glinted in the light of the flashlight as the woman flashed it at the bear. The bear’s fur seemed to glow in the night, and the shagginess of the pelt only heightened the wildness of the bear’s appearance. Poe’s mind irrationally went to the tales his father had told him, the ones about demons and forest spirits.
The gunman lifted his gun and aimed it right at the bear’s chest. Poe didn’t think. He reacted. He surged to his feet and ran forward, covering the barrel with his hand at the same time the knight pulled the trigger. White hot agony flooded from Poe’s hand to his neck and shoulder, and his entire body crumbled.
He screamed and fell, but not before he managed to wrench the gun out of the knight’s hand. Through tears of screaming, gut-wrenching agony, he watched the bear charge the knights. The woman dropped the flashlight, and Poe was momentarily blinded. He could still hear, however, even with the disabling pain pulsing through him: the shrieks of the attacked, the full-bodied roars of the bear, the crunching of bone, ripping of flesh. The gurgles of the dying.
Poe curled into himself, letting go of the gun and cradling his mangled hand. He pressed his shirt against the wound, trying desperately to staunch the bleeding and to remain conscious. He suspected he knew who that bear was, but he needed confirmation. Pain made it hard to think, and Poe struggled to keep from puking. His entire body felt ill. It felt wrong. The pain wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t fade, and he shook violently.
Then heavy footsteps came toward him. He resisted cowering and opened his eyes, his vision blurry with tears, and stared at a large, white bear face.
“N-Nordik?” Poe said through gritted teeth.
The bear licked his cheek.
Poe let out a small, startled laugh. His eyes had adjusted to the dark, and he could see and smell the blood on the master shifter and
vaguely wondered how long Nordik had been following him. Then his vision began to darken, and no amount of fighting would help.
“I’m gonna pass out,” he whispered. “Just―stop the―bleeding.”
Then the black pulled him under.
Nordik worked fast. He shifted into human form as easily as someone else would change their clothes, his bear form shedding away, his body shrinking. The air shimmered and pulsed, and it was only a few seconds before he knelt beside the man on the ground, naked and unashamed. Nordik dumped bag’s contents on the ground. He rummaged through the various items, found a shirt, and tore it into strips. He grabbed the man’s mangled hand, and the rage that he’d so recently sated with death rose up inside him once again. Blood still gushed from the hole that had permanently crippled the man’s hand. Nordik wrapped the strips of cloth quickly but efficiently around the wound and tied them tightly around the man’s palm.
Next, Nordik searched through the bag’s contents again and found a fully stocked first aid kit. This one was different from standard kits, for there were vials of different liquids and a couple of syringes. Nordik read the labels and knew they were antibiotics, remedies for snake bites, spider bites, and even topical cream for poison ivy and other toxic plants. After reading one label he knew to be a general antibiotic against infection, he grabbed a syringe but paused. He didn’t know how much to give the man. Nordik glanced back at the man, who lay still, and panic made Nordik angry. He was a bear shifter, a master shifter―he didn’t panic nor did he scare.
But he was, and he couldn’t deny that. The man hadn’t died from shock, which was a miracle, but now he could die from infection.
No.
Nordik looked inside the kit again, and a small booklet caught his attention. He grabbed it and noticed a handwritten note on the first page.
It read: Poe, since you’re awful at stuff like this, I’ve written a detailed list of which vial to use for what injury, how much to give yourself given the severity, and where to inject it. Please call me if you need to, I don’t care what the chief said. You shouldn’t be out there alone.
Got your back,
Genii
Poe. Odd name. Nordik scanned Genii’s list, delighted that he’d made the right choice of antibiotic. He filled the syringe according to the instructions, hoping this Genii knew what he or she was talking about. He knelt over Poe and used an alcohol swab to sterilize the injection area before finally giving Poe what he needed.
Sighing in relief, Nordik put everything back in the kit and managed to shove most everything into the bag. Apparently, Poe packed with skill Nordik didn’t possess because not everything would fit inside the bag. Giving up, Nordik grabbed Poe’s sleeping bag and carefully slipped Poe inside it. He fed the fire before holding Poe in his lap, wrapping his arms around the man. The chill of the night touched his bare skin, and Nordik shivered, but he didn’t shift. He couldn’t hold Poe the way the wanted to if he was a bear. And he did want to hold Poe.
Nordik regarded Poe’s sleeping face and allowed himself to relive the event which had led up to this moment. A simple bullet wouldn’t have killed him, unless it dug itself straight into his heart or lungs or any other vital organ. But Poe didn’t know that. Poe had risked his hand to save his life. It had been instinct, Nordik knew that. Poe had given him enough time to dodge away from the bullet, and since Poe also managed to grab the gun, the two attackers had been easy prey.
Nordik slid his tongue over his teeth, still tasting his kill. He’d already moved the bodies away from the camp, which would keep the predators away from him and Poe. The two attackers had had the same flavor as the three he’d killed days ago, and he didn’t feel remorse. He felt a very deep satisfaction.
Leaning his head down, Nordik pressed his nose to Poe’s hair and took a deep breath. A shiver went through him, and his arousal woke with interest. Denim, musk, and sweat, but there was something else as well. Something… more. Something Nordik was familiar with.
It would seem he’d found his next mate.
Poe woke up when sunlight hit his eyes. He was warm and wanted to curl deeper into it but pain seared through his hand and memory came with it. He gasped and gritted his teeth. He gripped the wrist of his damaged left hand and glanced at it, expecting to still see a hole gushing blood. But he only saw one of his shirts, torn into strips, wrapped securely around his hand. Poe stared at it stupidly for several seconds before the answer came.
Nordik.
Poe held the hand to his chest as he sat up, realizing he was in his sleeping bag. The contents of his bag were half strewn on the grass and the fire had died. The area around him was quiet, no birds or scurrying animals could be heard. No insects either, which was strange. He stared at the fire pit and struggled to orient himself. He slowly assessed his situation and then let out a muttered curse. Poe considered his hand again and fought the battle of despair. What would become of him now? He forced himself to look away and knew he was alone. He wouldn’t despair. He couldn’t. He needed to focus.
Lila could fix him up of course, her ability was healing recent injuries, but who knew when he could return to civilization? Yes, he should immediately head back to Haven and go to the hospital but he’d almost completed his mission!
For a moment he was very irritated and angry that he would have to track the bastard down again when a noise from behind made him turn. The large white bear from last night―which seemed larger in the daylight, about the size of a polar bear but with the body structure of a grizzly―ambled slowly toward Poe. His head was down, his brown eyes focused on him. The eyes threatened to mesmerize him. They held knowledge and wisdom mixed in the deep brown. A regal snout, four large paws with black, wicked-looking claws completed the package.
Poe swallowed hard and didn’t move, trying to hide his fear.
“Nordik?” he asked.
The bear lifted his head, the air shimmered, and before Poe’s eyes, where once was a bear, was now a kneeling, rangy, muscled man. Poe was struck speechless. Nordik was of average height, and his skin was a dark copper, perhaps darkened by time spent in the sun. His features were sharp, and Poe found his confirmation for the master shifter’s heritage. Nordik definitely appeared to be descended from indigenous peoples, and yet the most striking thing about him was his hair. It was, indeed, white, just like the bear’s fur. It hung straight, bordering his broad face and falling partially before his eyes.
The hair was also white around his groin, to which Poe’s eyes couldn’t help but wander. The hair was curly and as white as undisturbed snow. His penis was long and thin, and Poe felt his own groin stir. But the pain still pulsed through his hand, and his arousal didn’t do more than that.
The rest of Nordik’s body was toned and sinewy, made of corded steel. His muscles were sleek and natural. They weren’t at the gym like Poe’s were. That made them somehow way sexier.
“I am Nordik,” he said. Poe swallowed hard. The voice cut through Poe’s body like a knife. It was an old voice. It was rough and deep and way too intense to come out of any human mouth. It wasn’t over exaggerating to say Nordik’s voice seemed as old as the mountains.
“Good,” Poe said, his mouth dry. “I am Agent Poe. I’ve been looking for you.”
Nordik raised an eyebrow. “Have you?”
“Yes. But, um.” Poe gestured to his bag. “Could you help me find the painkillers? Then we can talk?”
Nordik’s eyes flashed with fierce emotions, and then a second later his gaze was blank and held mild interest. Wow.
While there were heavy painkillers in the kit, such as morphine, Poe only took a couple of Advil. He wanted to take the edge off the pain without making himself loopy. He still had a mission to accomplish, and he couldn’t do that tripping balls. He took a deep drink from his canteen after swallowing the pills. They would take a short while to work, but he knew how to work through the pain, although his training never covered being shot through the hand.
“Why were you
looking for me?” Nordik asked. Poe forced himself to meet Nordik’s gaze and not let his attention wander. It was hard considering the sheer beauty of the shifter before him, but he knew he could do it. Nordik’s presence was certainly more aggressive and alpha than any shifter Poe had ever met. It was a struggle not to respond to the master shifter’s magnetism.
“I’m an agent of the Agency.” Poe paused, wondering if he needed to explain what that was.
Nordik nodded, seeming to know about the Agency. But was that disappointment Poe saw in his eyes?
“My mission was to find you and to make an alliance with you,” Poe said.
“Make an alliance with me?” Nordik cocked his head to one side.
“Yes, the Agency is extending a hand of friendship to you―”
“We should move this elsewhere,” Nordik said, turning his head and sniffing the wind.
Poe jerked. “What? Why?”
“Safety. There have been too many intruders into my territory. And you are injured.” Nordik met Poe’s gaze again, and Poe wanted to fall into them.
Mortified, he looked away, pretending to survey their surroundings. Nordik’s presence was overwhelming and surrounded Poe, enfolding him, trapping him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this guy was the big-ass flame and Poe was the stupid moth. Nordik was gravity and Poe wanted to fall.
Nordik was just too much. Too everything.
Get it together, agent! Poe shouted at himself.
“Where should we move to?” he asked, keeping his voice distant and unconcerned.
“My home.”
“Your―”
But the air shimmered once more, and Nordik was now the bear. His shifting was so flawless and natural. He morphed without any evidence of pain or seemingly any effort. Poe sometimes envied shifters. They could choose to live the simpler life of an animal and escape, never to be found if they so wished it. The freedom was unimaginable for him.
