Greyriver Shifters

by Kristina Weaver

  My mind blanks, not understanding or rather not wanting to understand her words because that would mean… I can’t deal with what that would mean right now, I think, ignoring Mom’s gasp and my own snarl.

  “Are you saying—?”

  “That female is either extremely clumsy or someone enjoys taking his fists to her. My money is on the someone since Hannah isn’t a lumbering three-hundred-pound ox,” she mutters, biting her lip when every male present snarls. “She’s in recovery, as I said, but I don’t have much more to give you than that. She’s extremely shaky at the moment, and only time will tell where things go. For now, we’re keeping her sedated so that her wolf can’t shift and do her more harm. If you want to see her, you are more than welcome to, but after that I’m kicking you all out. She needs rest and time to fight this.”

  I feel as if a fucking house just fell on me and watch silently as Althea turns on her heel and walks away, leaving me to fall back onto the seat and stare blankly at the floor.

  Jesus. As if I can handle more, I think, rubbing at the blood still covering me.

  “We should go in, before she decides to kick us all out anyway,” Banner says after a long silence, his hand falling on my shoulder centering me.

  “Yeah okay,” I mutter, rising along with everyone else to walk back and into a tiny room where Hannah is on a bed, her small body looking shrunken beneath the white sheets.

  No one speaks, just stands silently with heavy hearts and tears in their eyes when I walk forward and gently take her hand in mine. She seems so small right now, nothing like the big presence I’m so used to.

  Gone is the mouthy female I love to goad and argue with. All I see is this tiny, helpless beauty who has needed me more than I could ever have guessed.

  I’ll be there now.

  I may have been reluctant to mate her, but now, standing here I know one thing.

  This is my mate.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hannah

  Oh God, I hope this isn’t what dying is, I think, feeling every part of my body scream as I hover in blackness. If this is Hinterland, then I am so not impressed.

  Where are the blue skies, rolling green hills, and free Gucci bags? God, my mom is such a liar, I snort, groaning when my throat pulls and pain lances through me.

  A sound intrudes, one I can’t fathom being here in the darkness with me, and I open my eyes slowly, praying like hell that I don’t see anyone I know here, ready to drive me crazy for eternity.

  What I see has my mouth falling open and staying that way, the shock and confusion morphing, melding to scatter my every thought.

  “About Goddamn time,” Logan rasps in a growly voice that makes me shiver and fight to draw a mantle of control around my shoulders.

  I don’t know what’s happening or how I am here, I know nothing but the emerald depths of his eyes and the look of pure desolation I see when I meet his eyes.

  “The humans were right, we do go to hell,” I whisper, going still when he barks a laugh and drops his head onto my hand where he’s clasping it.

  “You’re not dead. God, you’re not dead, and I have never been so happy to hear your snarky voice in my life.”

  I hear the words, see the way he trembles, and feel the kiss he plants on my hand, taking it all in with a bewilderment that leaves me blinking and swallowing.

  Oh God, that hurts. Hurts so much. My throat feels raw and savaged, as if a part of it has been cleaned out with a paint scraper and treated to an acid wash.

  “…happened…?” I manage, my inability to talk coherently making me panic before he lifts his blood shot eyes and blinks, breathing deeply as if searching for words.

  “You don’t remember?”

  I try to think, the foggy, strange feeling inside my head making thought difficult now that I know I haven’t somehow died and been treated to my worst best nightmare.

  When the memory returns in bits and pieces, so does the pain, fear, and absolute despair I felt when I knew I was finished. I feel a tear work its way free, slipping from my eye despite every attempt not to let it fall and prove my weakness.

  “Banes,” I whisper, gasping when the word grates against my throat, shooting arrows of pain everywhere above my collar bone.

  Logan growls, the sound a deep rumble of rage and male fury. That confuses me, and I knit my brow, frowning down at where he’s sitting, his hand still holding mine as if he can’t bear to let me go.

  But that can’t be true, I think, trying to think and stretch my brain for a reason for his presence here. I remember Banes biting me, killing me, and the sound of—

  “You? Woods?” I ask, piecing together the little I can remember after I started fading.

  He nods, shuddering, and I try to smile when it becomes apparent that this male, this male who despises me, saved my life. Not only once by getting Banes off me, but twice because he must have somehow gotten me back to town and medical help.

  That seems impossible, and I think he must have read my mind because he shudders again and looks at my throat where I feel a thick bandage covering my skin.

  “Yeah. I, Jesus Han, he was going at you like a maniac. When I got him off you…I thought you were already dead! Dead! And for what female, huh? Because you wanted to thwart me? Why didn’t you stay where you were safe?” he yells, standing with an agitated snarl that makes my mouth twitch.

  I can’t laugh, not without causing myself a lot of pain, but I let my mouth curve to show him how amusing I find his ranting.

  “Never…safe. Come for…me,” I say, knowing that I always knew they would come for me.

  My father would have come for me eventually, demanding my release, and despite what Logan believes, I know nothing I could have done would have made a difference. I’d have gone with him, if only to spare the Alpha the trouble of yet another issue from my father.

  Loyalty is a bitch, and so is my stubborn refusal to admit to anyone just how afraid I am of the man. I would die before letting anyone know how he hurts me, how I have taken it for years, what a doormat I am.

  I would rather die than have anyone look at me in any other way than the bitch persona I have cultivated for so long, and the truth is, I almost did. I almost did die to escape not only Daddy and myself—and what the hell for?

  I can’t even answer that pathetic question, scowling because I sound like one of those pathetic losers who believe that life is a fairy tale with unicorns prancing around spreading joy and little green elves shitting dreams and love all over the place.

  “Stop thinking about it! You’re upsetting yourself!” he says and growls when a machine beside me beeps loudly, setting off an alarm that makes me jerk and groan when my throat pulls.

  “Banes.”

  “That animal is not a problem anymore Han, trust me on that. In fact, from this moment on, you don’t understand the meaning of the word problem. You don’t think or worry about a Goddamned thing,” he mutters, taking my hand again.

  I try to pull away, not having the strength to handle his touch and hear such soul shaking words, but Logan growls, refusing to let go, and shakes his head when I scowl.

  “Leave me.”

  “Not on your life,” he vows in a strangely muted voice, his eyes going all over me as if he can’t believe I’m here with him.

  “Lo—”

  “I am not talking to you about this, so don’t even waste your breath. As soon as the blood I gave you again this morning starts healing you properly, I’m taking you home where you don’t have to worry about a thing. You need rest—”

  “…..sense…,” I say, losing the “not” and “making” when my voice breaks, causing me to go into a coughing fit.

  Oh Jesus, I changed my mind! Let me die, I wail silently, trying to stop my breath when all it does is worsen the coughing to the point I pray I pass out just to escape the pain.

  I don’t like pain. It’s my nemesis, something that I haven’t ever gotten used to no matter how many times I try to say I ha
ve. I’m no superhero, super girl, who doesn’t feel the pain or just becomes inured to it.

  That will never happen because I resent anything that causes me discomfort, and right now, that is my own body. Stupid chunk of flesh!

  “Here, drink this. Slowly. That’s good,” Logan croons, helping me sit up to sip at a plastic cup filled with cool, beautiful water.

  The liquid slides down my throat, bathing it in relief, and by the time he takes the cup away, I feel good enough to only flop back semi-dramatically and throw my arm over my face.

  Sonofabitch!

  I yell that silently when I slam something heavy into my head, the sharp sting making me catch my breath and look down. I have a cast on my arm, one of those bulky things shifters hardly wear because we usually heal fast enough to make them redundant. God, it feels like I have a three-pound weight attached to my arm.

  “Careful. Dammit Hannah, you’re going to kill yourself after they just patched you up, you ditzy female.”

  “Fuck…you,” I sneer, the words coming out on a breath holding gasp when he laughs.

  Laughs! Logan!

  He laughs at my words, as if he finds them amusing when before all it would take for him to bite my head off is a look that I don’t hardly ever direct his way.

  “Sick?” I ask, wanting to know if he’s sick, drunk, or something in that vicinity to explain his strange behavior.

  He frowns, tilting his head before comprehension dawns and the scowl I know makes an appearance.

  “No, I’m not sick, you infuriating female. I don’t have to be sick not to yell at a female in your condition.”

  I fully disagree but refrain from pointing that out when he sighs and looks down at the floor, his shoulders slumping. He isn’t looking at me, yelling, or saying anything half as insulting as he usually does, so I’m guessing either I’m terminal and he doesn’t know how to tell me or, well, I don’t have an “or” yet, but I bet I’ll figure it out soon.

  Truly, being terminal right now is no heart break. I feel that shitty.

  “Why…here?” I ask, swallowing again because something feels thick and scratchy in my throat, and it’s making me feel sick to my stomach.

  “Why am I here?” he asks, scowling darkly when I nod. “Well, where the hell else would I be when my Fated just had her throat ripped out?”

  He sounds exasperated, and the boyish way he pouts makes me wants to laugh and stroke the pout off his mouth, with mine. I really must be terminal to have that thought, but the longer he holds the look, the more I stare at his mouth, wanting to lick it just to know if he still tastes as good as I remember.

  “Stop that. You’re in no condition to have me respond to that look,” Logan mutters, making me blush like a little wolfling with her first crush.

  Stupid, sexy wolf.

  “Ge ‘way.”

  “No.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Now I definitely know you’re gonna live!” he says and chuckles, making me bite my lip to stop a giggle from bursting forth.

  He laughs when he sees that, resalting my wounds, and shakes his head when I glare daggers at him.

  “Aw come on now, Han, don’t tell me you’re already hating me before the honeymoon.”

  I sniff my disdain of his joking, not amused at all that he’s still making fun of me for basically proposing to him. I’ll skin him like a deer if he ever tells a soul about that. I swear I will.

  “Leave.”

  “Nope. I’m on you like glue until I mate you and put my mark on that sexy little shoulder of yours. Of course, we could speed that along if you take more blood,” he suggests.

  My mouth drops open, shock coursing through me, because he just offered—no wait, he already gave me blood, I think, recalling his previous words with a dawning realization filled with both horror and—well—a lot of arousal, okay?

  I have a vagina, not a black hole of dead flesh.

  The ramifications come at me altogether, and I feel my eyes going wider and wider with every single thought that occurs to me. He blooded me? Logan Kilter, blooded me. Me? Me? The female he told he’d never blood, even if he needed to do it to live?

  Oh my God, I think, blinking when he snorts and leans in to gently tap my chin, closing my mouth.

  “Don’t look so surprised, mate. I wasn’t about to let my Fated bleed to death when she’d proposed so romantically,” he drawls.

  I flip him the bird and sniff, compressing my lips to stop another, completely uncharacteristic giggle from slipping free. Why is he so funny when all I want to do is slap his face?

  “You’re not being very nice, Han, and here I am, basically giving you exactly what you wanted.”

  “Rather…get…crotch…fleas,” I mumble, smirking when his smile drops, and he narrows his eyes.

  “Stop being a bitch, and let’s talk about what happened instead of arguing about something that is definitely happening. Why did you leave, and don’t start thinking of snarky lies. I want the truth,” he says, watching me with such a serious expression that I gulp and look away.

  I should so totally tell him Denise’s was having a sale on vibrators and get him off my back, but I find myself reluctant to lie, not when he saved my life. Great, now I owe him. Thanks, God. Thanks.

  “Freedom.”

  “With no clothes, no money, and nowhere to go?” he scoffs. “Come on Hannah, you’re smarter than that.”

  I highly doubt he really thinks that, but I choose to believe it and preen, taking what I can get while I can get it. I’m an opportunist, what can I say.

  He’s still staring at me though, his eyes sparking with his wolf and something else I don’t want to look deeper into. Lord, is this what it’s like when someone pretends to care? Because it’s annoying, I tell myself, sniffing and flicking at a non-existent piece of fluff on the sheets over my legs.

  My throat feels marginally better since I woke, and I clear it very gently, wanting to show him more strength than I feel when I say these stupid words.

  “I, ahem, I just wanted…to shift one last time if I was…I haven’t in a while. Well not fully,” I admit, looking away when he rears back, clearly shocked.

  “You don’t like it?”

  Now it’s my turn to look at him like he’s grown four dicks, my shock not stopping me from curling my lip when he keeps looking at me for an answer.

  “Of course, I like it…I’m a wolf for God’s…sakes.”

  “Then why…?”

  “Look, let’s not—”

  “Talk. And if you lie, I will get Nick in here to ask you,” he warns, knowing I won’t lie to my Alpha.

  Darn, why do I still have this one inconvenient kernel of loyalty? It’s killing me.

  “My father used it as a…punishment,” I say, meeting his eyes and hoping he sees how little I care.

  I don’t. I don’t care—

  “Sonofabitch. It’s unlawful to refuse a shift. You know that, right? For God’s sake, you can seriously damage yourself if you don’t shift and deny your wolf freedom.”

  Like I don’t know. There have been times when he denied me for so long I’d crawl under my bed in the dead of night and do it there, just to let my wolf free.

  Staying there, not running as she wanted to was worse though, a worse punishment than even he could guess at because it was mentally agonizing to deny my instinct.

  “I despise your father,” he says when I don’t say anything, my inability to understand why he cares hindering my snark.

  “We’ve got one thing in common then.”

  That makes him grin, his mouth pulling into a smirk while his eyes travel over my body in a seductive glide so filled with heat that I feel my nipples pebble as my sex pulses her awakening.

  Not now.

  “We have so much more in common than that Hannah Seers, trust me, if you were up to it I would show you. Over and over. For hours.”

  The thought of Logan, on me, inside me is not one I am capable of ignoring, not whe
n I remember the way he felt, his cock sliding into my drenched sex, pushing me to an orgasm I have never experienced before or since.

  I love Bear, and no doubt he’s a good lover, but sex with Logan was raw, elemental, incomparable, and to say my wolf was happy is an understatement.

  I don’t think I stopped coming the whole time he was in me, and even after, drowsy and too tired to keep my eyes open, I felt aftershocks well after he fell asleep beside me.

  “Talk.” I dismiss brassily, tamping down my arousal only because I hear someone approaching, and I do not want it spreading like wild fire that I am blushing and making sex vagina at Logan Kilter.

  Althea, the town’s doctor and mystical healer walks in, holding a chart and smiling as if she didn’t tell me last month I need a venereal test because though shifters don’t get human disease she was sure I was the exception.

  It’s so strange all I can do is blink when she trills hello and leans over to gently, ever so gently take a peek under my bandages. Is this…am I in a coma or something? An alternate dimension? What the hell is going on here?

  “Oh good, the essence and blood have killed the infection you were developing. I was worried about that since I don’t think I have an antibiotic to combat that. We don’t have much in that range since we don’t get infections. How are you feeling?” she asks, smiling again.

  I can’t help feeling bewildered by all of it, and I think she must see that because she shakes her head and smiles softly.

  “You were touch and go for a long time, Hannah. How you made it is a miracle that I am thankful for. Just be happy it’s only me in here and not all those idiots who won’t leave the waiting room. If you’re shocked by this, you’ll keel over when they finally storm in here later.”

  “Wha—?

  She chuckles, walking away before I can say a word, and leaves me blinking back at Logan, who once again is smiling. Definitely, definitely something wrong here.