Bears Behaving Badly

by MaryJanice Davidson, Camille Anthony, Melissa Schroeder

  For reply, David reached out and flipped a switch to the left of the turn signal—

  “Wait! I’m not talking about red candy!”

  —and red lights began rotating from the grill.

  “Siren?”

  “No.” She had no intention of warning the soon-to-be-disemboweled that help was coming. Pat would know that and plan for it.

  David stomped the accelerator. “Trouble.”

  “I like how you didn’t say that with an upward inflection, as a question. Just a pronouncement.”

  “Yeah, well. Pat doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy to needlessly panic.”

  “That,” she replied, “is putting it mildly.”

  Chapter 19

  Small and stuck. Again. And keeping away keeping out of the way because here came whistlers their guns weren’t loud they were quieter they whistled they

  (silencers)

  whispered and now the guns were on the floor now they were wolves going for the baker they wanted their teeth in

  (Pat)

  the baker who smells like vanilla except when he smells like pine trees, the baker who ordered Dev to shift and then grabbed him by the scruff

  (ow!)

  and stuffed him in the wall into a secret part of the wall and he has to stay small and slight he has to

  (“Don’t come out unless it’s me or Annette!”)

  listen to the baker he has to listen so he can stay he has to be a good kit so he can sleep in a bed and not a box and he will he will he can be so good but the baker is losing and what if the wolves hurt him, what if they rip up his snout like those other bad wolves did? The baker is smart and swift

  (like me!)

  but there’s only one baker he’s alone and they’re hurting him and and and he was going to be a bad kit he was going to help the baker because now the stench of blood and predator is everywhere the smell of something with sharp sharp teeth and long long claws and and and

  Who is that?

  * * *

  While David tore the intruders to pieces (at least that’s what it sounded like) and Caro made sure Pat and Dev were all right, Annette jacked shells into her .12 gauge trench gun. Twenty-inch barrel, six-round mag, and a place to attach a bayonet, not that she’d ever felt the urge.

  She eschewed buckshot; slugs had the advantage of range, greater accuracy, would shred their target at 1,800 feet per second, and could knock a full-grown werewolf off all four paws. Slugs would also, to use the technical term, incapacitate like a bastard.

  Mama Mac gave the best presents.

  Annette stepped out of the room, socked the gun to her shoulder, fired at the leaping

  (sixty pounds, six-inch bite-wound radius, four feet at the shoulder, sees the gun but tries for my carotid anyway because he is a clear IDIOT)

  werewolf, and moved slightly to her left as werewolf’s momentum carried him another eighteen inches while the slug rearranged his coronary arteries.

  To her left came a choked snarl that was chopped short. David had pulverized the werewolf’s vocal cords as he went in for the final strike. While she’d run for the gun case, he had killed the other one before he’d gotten a dozen feet from the car, now parked haphazardly

  (Pat’s herb garden! He’ll want to fight them all over again.)

  at the far end of the yard.

  “Oh, hell,” she said, popping the safety and inhaling. Blood, cordite, fear, blood, triumph, scones. “We live to bite another day, hurrah for us, but we’ve killed all our fresh leads.”

  Welp, as Mama Mac would say, better them than us. Then she’d bake a Bundt cake.

  I would love a Bundt cake.

  “Pat!” she called. “Sound off!”

  “I’m good, we’re all good back here! Well, not ‘good,’ exactly, because Dev is bad, bordering on terrible, but… Oh, never mind!”

  “You okay, Annette?” David asked hoarsely. “You hurt?”

  She turned to see David, all six-foot-plus of him, bloodied head to heels. He wiped his face with the back of a bloody hand, which was an exercise in futility but she’d let him figure that out on his own. His dark hair was sticking up like he’d used gore for mousse, and he was all powerful arms and broad chest and long blood-spattered muscles and, um, long…long…

  Feet.

  Do not gape at the man like a slack-jawed yokel, you slack-jawed yokel! Shifter nudity taboos were, by necessity, far more relaxed than anything in the Stable world. But it still wasn’t polite to stare, no matter how fine the Shifter in question was. Quite the opposite: it could be construed as a challenge.

  “I’m all right. Are you?” She stepped closer, and there was no way, no way to stop herself from reaching out. So she didn’t. “Well, hell. At least one of them got his teeth into you.”

  “Worth it.” Now he stepped closer. Don’t read into it. Maybe he’s worried you can’t hear him from two feet away. He’s so considerate! “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She looked down at the spatter across her sweater. “None of this is my blood, David.”

  “That shouldn’t be as hot as it is,” he said, and cupped the nape of her neck and kissed her. Neither the time nor place, her inner Girl Scout primly pointed out, but damn, the man had a nice mouth. Mmmmm…Skittles…

  Just as suddenly, he drew back, leaving her gasping. “Sorry.”

  “That bad?”

  He shook his head. “Christ, no. But I should’ve asked.”

  “Is that an apology?”

  “No.”

  “Well then. This serves you right.” And she kissed him back. She was pressed up against him, more blood smearing all over her sweater, and he was right—it shouldn’t be so exciting. But it was. It didn’t matter that she’d never shifted so as to get to the guns (three cheers for opposable thumbs!). Some urges were difficult to deny. For example, the urge to slide her hands down from the small of his back to the springy muscles of his ass, because for some reason men often had the most wonderful asses and David was walking around with a top-notch booty. It wasn’t fair.

  He slept here last night. He’ll sleep here tonight. He doesn’t have to do it alone. Be bold, dammit!

  She broke the kiss. “Dammit.”

  “Yeah, our timing sucks. And I’m glad you’re okay, and you were right to go for the shotgun, but…” He trailed off, then added shyly, “I was kinda hoping to get a look at your beast.”

  “Next time.” She took advantage of their proximity to take a closer look at his wound, while resisting the urge to stretch up and taste the spot behind his ear. “Not deep, at least. But you’ve definitely got more holes in you than you did this morning.”

  “I’m fast, not infallible.”

  “Noted.” Fast was an understatement. It hadn’t been two minutes since they’d gotten out of the car. “Let’s go check on the—”

  “Okay, okay! I get it. Caro, you were supposed to drag me clear of the fight. Well, fight’s over, so it’s okay for me to leave the room, so you can just… Oh, goddammit!”

  Annette turned in time to see Pat limping into the kitchen while Caro gently clamped her teeth around his calf to hinder his momentum. Which was adorable and only slightly nerve-racking, given what she’d done to Lund’s leg the other night.

  “Annette, will you tell her to step off, for the love of all that’s annoying?”

  She went to one knee and stretched out a hand to Caro’s wolf, a beast the color of midnight with eyes like hurricane lamps. Such unusual coloring for a gray wolf Shifter. “Thank you so much. You did exactly right. You can let him fend for himself now.”

  Caro dropped the bite—not that it was much of one—and made a noise that sounded suspiciously like Hmph!

  “Pat, are you okay?” She went to her roommate, helped him up, started feeling him for injuries. “Does this hurt?
Does this? How many of me can you see? Does… Ow!”

  “I’ll slap your hand again if you keep that up. You know I’m hyperticklish. Why is there blood on your face? You didn’t shift. Were you so hungry you just started biting them as a biped? Because yuck and I’ll have to get to work on an intervention. There’s gotta be a line, Annette, and I’m the one to draw it!”

  “It’s just back spatter from the shotgun,” she replied in her most soothing voice.

  “On your face? In the shape of fingers? Like someone grabbed your face? With their fingers? And snogged you silly?”

  “Don’t say ‘snogged’ like you’re British, and can we please realign our priorities?”

  “You want to talk priorities? Bad enough I’m ruining my favorite apron to shield the eyes of the tender minors in our care—”

  “Pat,” she said, exasperated, “literally no one cares about your dick.”

  “My Instagram begs to differ.”

  “And your apron covers precisely zero percent of your ass,” she continued, “so what’s the point? And what is it with men having wonderful butts?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Pat glanced around the kitchen and living area. “And speaking of butts, where’s the other pain in our collective ass?”

  A small red-and-white bundle of fur raced toward them, which was either fortuitously timely or proof that Dev knew when to make an entrance. The werefox hit Caro square in the ribs, and she let him bowl her over. The adolescent Shifters tumbled all over the floor, mock-growling while they tussled.

  “Huh.” From Pat, retying his “I put out (cookies for Santa)” apron. “Is it possible they know each other?”

  David snorted. “Ya think?”

  Dev said they were siblings. Impossible, but they’re almost certainly friends. Or at least friendly. Maybe Dev wasn’t kidding when he said Caro needed him.

  Annette tore herself away from one of the most adorable things she’d ever seen to address one of the hottest things she’d ever seen. “Let’s get those wounds cleaned up—yours, too, Pat—and figure out another terrible plan. As for you”—she stepped forward and gave Pat a hug—“thank you. Above and beyond, as always. And I’m so sorry you landed in the middle of this.”

  “Stop that.” But he returned the hug and even blushed a little, which she would never, ever tell him, not even if she was buried alive or starved. “You knew I had it covered.”

  “So you did.” I knew you’d die with your enemies’ blood in your mouth. I knew you’d never quit. I just didn’t know if you were in a fight you could win. “Hey! You two! Enough!”

  Werefox and werewolf froze in mid-melee. One of Dev’s comically large ears was in Caro’s mouth. Dev twitched the other ear, then jabbed Caro with a black paw.

  “Are you kidding, Dev? I’m standing right here, and I can literally see you ignoring me! ‘Enough’ means shift back, we have to talk. Well. Most of us have to talk. Caro can take notes. And Pat—”

  “Don’t worry, we can all cover up. I have eight other aprons.”

  “Such a relief.”

  Chapter 20

  Twenty minutes later

  No cops. No backup. No choice. Well, two choices.

  “Run or dig in?”

  “Run and dig in,” Annette replied.

  “I didn’t know that was an option.” David had no idea why Annette sounded so confident, but what the hell, he’d stick. He’d been along for the ride since the second she found his Jolly Ranchers and laughed her ass off, which got him going, and that’s when he knew: the sound of their mingled laughter was the nicest sound he’d ever heard.

  And her mouth. Her ripe, sweet mouth. Jesus.

  Bad idea, his mother said dolefully. Think of the cubs you’ll force her to ruin.

  (PLEASE shut up, Mom. Go find Dad. Or something.)

  “Are you all right?”

  He blinked. “Why?”

  Annette was studying him. “You’ve got an odd look on your face, did you know?”

  “How would I know that?”

  “Oh. Touché.”

  The warwolves had no ID in their clothes, no distinguishing marks (except for the wounds showing the horrific and richly deserved manner in which they died), no visible pack affiliation, no jewelry—not a wedding ring or piercing among them—and absolutely nothing anyone could use to ID them.

  “Pros. Likely sent by pros.”

  “How do you know that?” Dev asked, skeptical but attentive.

  “Go hire a professional assassin,” David ordered.

  “Huh?”

  “Right now. How hard can it be? There’s probably an app for that. So. Go get yourself a professional killer, one you know is experienced and won’t burn you if he’s caught. Oh, and money. You’ll need loads of it. But you can get your hands on six figures in untraceable funds anytime you want, right?”

  “Well, not six figures…” Dev nodded. “Okay, I get you.”

  “You know a disturbing amount about gainfully employing random hit men, David,” Pat commented. “I should be more alarmed. And I hate this thing. It itches like crazy.”

  “Quit it!” Dev smacked Pat’s hand away from the fresh bandage on his upper arm. “It won’t get better if you pick at it.”

  “Oh, that did not just happen,” Pat growled, hazel eyes taking on a yellowish gleam for a few seconds.

  “If this was a regular case”—David paused while they all snorted—“we could run their DNA. But even then, I’m not sure these guys would show up in the system.”

  “Well, t’ain’t a regular case, is it?” Pat declared. “So what do we do?”

  “We?”

  “Don’t say ‘we, derp,’ like you’re flabbergasted at the notion of me getting involved. I’ve been involved. You want to see my fucking bite marks again? Worse, they shot up my kitchen. My kitchen, David!”

  “Hey! They also tried to kill me. Well, maybe. All right, I was probably gonna be collateral damage, but they came to kill Caro for sure!” Dev insisted, poking his friend for emphasis.

  “My fruit bowl was decimated! Shards of ceramic and kiwi and grapefruit fucking everywhere, and you know that shit will dry all sticky and gross and cleanup will be a bitch!”

  David held his hands up. Please let me be several miles away before Pat finds out what they did to his herb garden. “Okay, Pat. Got it. I just… I know Annette wants to keep you safe is all. I don’t doubt you’ve got balls to spare.”

  “And I’d also like us to go one entire day without a discussion about my balls.”

  Annette covered Dev’s ears so quickly the kit let out a surprised yelp. “Inappropriate!”

  “But,” David continued doggedly, “a sensible person would be halfway to the Manitoba woodlands by now, and maybe you should think abou—”

  “Don’t you ever imply I’m sensible again,” Pat replied shortly, flicking his hair back and (inadvertently?) showing his scar for a second. David took that to mean the discussion was closed. “Besides, Annette wants to keep everybody safe all the time.”

  “Then she’s in the wrong line of work,” David replied.

  “You two recall that I’m in the room, yes?”

  Room was an exaggeration. They were in Pat’s studio, a small structure about half a mile from the main house, one you couldn’t see from ground level until you were right on top of it. After everyone had cleaned up, they’d followed Pat down the back hill, hooked a left by the river, and found the small gray dwelling shaped like a grain silo. No, wait…it was a grain silo.

  They’d abandoned the corpses.

  “Look, we’re not going to be rogues forever. It’s probably just through the weekend. We’re pro-tem rogues. We’ve done nothing wrong, it was clearly self-defense. But it’ll look worse for us if we try to hide the bodies or undertake any cleanup.”
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br />   “I’m not getting you. At all.”

  “Pat, we’ll eventually be able to tell the authorities everything.”

  David saw Caro flinch a bit at “authorities.”

  “Killing warwolves to keep Caro and Dev safe will fly,” Annette continued, “and not calling the cops tonight will fly—the higher-ups won’t like it, but they’ll get it. But not if we try to cover it up.”

  “Good point. I can hear it now: ‘If you were so sure you did nothing wrong, then why did you try to cover up your heinous gross crime, you disgusting reprobates?’ ‘But it wasn’t a crime, it was self-defense.’ ‘Objection!’ ‘Sustained. I find the scumbag defendants guilty and sentence them to a hot date with a chamber full of nitrogen gas.’”

  “Thanks for the trial recap,” she replied dryly. “All right, so…we need a new plan. Once we found Caro—”

  “That’s some beaucoup bullshit right there.” Pat waved a piece of paper in her face. “Caro said she sat on David’s car and waited for you, and after an eternity—”

  “Less than an hour, actually.”

  “—you stumbled over her. In broad daylight. Because she was waiting for you. In broad daylight.”

  “Oh, so Pat gets notes, too?” Annette threw up her hands. “I’m feeling somewhat excluded here, Caro.”

  Caro gave her a sucks-to-be-you shrug in response. David had to admit, the kid had the most expressive shrugs he’d ever seen. She could probably write a thesis with those shoulders.

  To get into the repurposed grain silo, Pat had to key in a code and a thumbprint, and that only gave them access to part of the building. There were more security measures to go underground. David had been on air force bases that weren’t as stringent about security. “Whoa.”

  Annette smirked. “Soft. Not stupid. Remember?”

  “Christ, the smirk.”

  “I’ve earned this smirk.”

  “So you have.” You’re even pretty when you’re being smug, dammit.

  “Holy crap, you’re Batman!” Dev murmured, goggling at the studio setup. “How much money-dinero-argent do you make?”

  Family money, she’d said.