Bearly Hanging On (Alpha Werebear Shifter Paranormal Romance) (The Jamesburg Shifters Book 6)

by Red, Lynn

  Her fangs extended, and when she opened her mouth, the cold air tickled the inside of her mouth. "Where do you want it this time, uh, Gertrude?"

  The name fit for some reason. Gertrude turned her huge, brown eyes toward Jamie, and Jamesburg's only bat girl thought for just a second that the cow actually shrugged. Then, she thought she was probably going insane.

  As her teeth, coated in antiseptic, anesthetic saliva sank into Gertrude's neck, the cow's mewling turned into something approaching a carnal moan.

  It was really hard not to laugh, but hungrily sucking the blood out of a groaning cow, and trying to drink as much of it as possible without wasting any made it a little easier. But, when Gertrude rolled her eyes back in her head and arched her back?

  Jamie gave the term "spit-take" a whole new meaning.

  -3-

  "Just when I think I'm out, they pull me—actually you know what? I'm just gonna not do that."

  -Ryan Drake

  The sticky, sweet smell of Douglas fir sap was so thick on Ryan's skin that even after scrubbing himself pink in a scalding hot tub, he still felt like the inside of a syrup bottle. A real one, not the kind in the shape of a woman with giant hips that you squeezed to get the weird, high fructose pancake topping product out the top of her bonnet-covered head.

  The sap dueled with the heavy, violently relaxing scent of the lavender and patchouli bubble bath into which Ryan had sunk almost an hour before. He slid down under the water and then came up, shaking his head, flinging water all over the bathroom that was tiled almost exactly like a YMCA built in 1972, and grabbed the almost-empty bottle off the floor.

  Squeezing the final contents into his tub, he stuck his foot out of the water, and turned the knob with his hairy-knuckled toes. As another pillow of bubbles rose around him, the big bear heaved a sigh of relief, and smiled, drawing a lung full of tantalizing fragrance.

  He curled his toes, and then flexed them outward, mirroring the gesture with his hands. A shrug of his massive shoulders followed, and seconds later, he slid back down under the water, enveloped in his bath.

  "Oh my God," came a voice from the hallway. It was an old, crotchety, rickety voice with a whole lot of years behind it, and a whole lot of stories to go along with those years. "He's back in that damn tub again. What is this, the eighth time today? Moo-maw, get in here, come look at this idjit in the tub."

  "Leave the boy be, Franklin," Ryan's Aunt Maude crowed. He'd never figured out why his uncle called her Moo-maw, but then again, he had no idea why she called him Franklin, since his name was actually Boston.

  Yep. Boston the bear.

  Every day - every single one of them - Ryan was glad he'd been born to the normal side of the Drake clan. Then again, he was also glad he'd been able to convince his ancient uncle and his almost-as-ancient aunt to move in with him when their house in the Jamesburg hills burned about six years ago. A whole community had grown up around him, or them, mostly made up of his aunt and uncle's friends.

  The midnight frost on the window he'd installed so he could look outside while he was in the tub reminded him that there wasn't a whole lot of time left. With a grunt, and a glorious popping of knees, he pushed himself to his feet. The cast iron tub he'd had to work very hard to get into place after the delivery drivers refused to take the thousand pound, sixty-seven inch monstrosity any further than the curb right outside the truck, creaked just a little as he stepped out.

  He took one last, deep breath, held in the scent of lavender, patchouli and whatever that strange not-quite-chamomile smell was that all bubble baths seem to have.

  It might be midnight, but if the old codgers that he'd somehow surrounded himself with were going to make it through the winter without losing a few toes, or going hungry, there was work that needed doing - and not the regular chopping wood sort of work.

  He opened the window, letting the frigid mountain air brace his skin. His naked flesh tingled and prickled to life all over. And then he closed his eyes, wishing there was something else he could do besides what had to be done.

  Who was she? And why did she keep looking at me like that?

  Only a couple of days had passed since his grand entry to the Jamesburg Courthouse, followed by the vague threat he made against the town alpha, although was it really a threat? All he'd done was tell him about the problem. "And then I growled at him to fix it, I guess."

  He shook his head and laughed softly at himself. But that woman. Who was she? I've never seen anyone like that in my entire life. I can't think about this right now. Not until...

  "I hate this show!" his aunt shouted, as the theme music for Sanford and Son started blaring through the speakers on the enormous television that Ryan bought, and then basically never used again after his aunt and uncle had moved in.

  "Yeah, well, I spent all day yesterday watching those damn Sandra Bullock cute movies," his uncle groaned. Ryan imagined him dramatically raising one of his arms in the air, and then resting it on top of his head like he was so exhausted he couldn't hold it aloft. Cute movies, by which he meant romantic comedies, were Uncle Boston's kryptonite.

  After a moment of silence, the television started to blare the Dragnet theme, followed by Jack Webb's gravelly monologue. "This is the city. Los Angeles, California." Ryan recited the opening along with Detective Friday. He'd memorized most of those wonderful moral lectures that Friday gave to the criminals, too. A lot can be absorbed through the walls of a house, especially when one's uncle is mostly deaf, and one's aunt doesn't want to listen to him complain about not hearing the television.

  With a softly grunted laugh, Ryan reckoned it was nearly a miracle that the speakers hadn't blown yet. "I carry a badge," he recited in unison with the show, and pulled a tight-fitting, knit black shirt over his torso. Through the fabric, the lines of his muscles, and the tips of his cold-stiffened nipples were visible.

  He didn't like the way the fabric clung to him, but Ryan appreciated the fact that he could shift without worrying about it ripping. Same reason he was pulling on Lycra leggings that would be far more at home on a college girl and paired up with Ugg boots.

  But these leggings were just going to have to deal with being on a bear.

  Silently, Ryan climbed out of the window on the second story of the house he'd built with his own two hands, and the eight to ten hands of workers he hired to do all the things he wasn't sure how to do. Fully extended, his feet were only halfway to the ground, but he'd made this drop so many times that he landed without a sound - quite a feat for someone that pushed three-fifty when he hadn't eaten for a few hours.

  Just thinking about food made his stomach growl, which is a really big problem when you're about to go cattle rustling. He fished a couple of his aunt's famous tamales out of his pack, and squeezed them into his mouth, chewing only a couple of times before swallowing the cornmeal and beef delights. They were so good that he felt a little pang of guilt at inhaling them the way he did, but there were things to do.

  Why did she keep looking at me? And why didn't she ever say anything? Searching his memory for the devilishly attractive woman in the hip-hugging black dress, Ryan came up empty. I'd remember someone with bat wings. That much I know. I might not remember a whole lot of my past, but bat wings? On a woman like that? I'd remember her anywhere.

  A grim smile crossed his lips as he crouched. It doesn't matter, he thought. I don't have time for mates or dates or wishing I had one of them. I figure I need twelve cows, if I'm going to feed everyone for the winter, and I'm pretty sure Danniken ain't gonna do a damn thing to help. I better get busy.

  His plan was fairly simple: steal a cow at a time until he either had enough meat to feed a bunch of aged shifters for a whole winter, or far less likely, the Jamesburg town council pulled its head out of its collective ass, and actually did something for once instead of infighting or avoiding meetings. He'd lived in Jamesburg for almost six years, and two days ago was the first time he'd ever set foot in that courthouse.

&nb
sp; For a town where everyone seemed to know everyone, there were a whole lot of unknowns, a whole hell of a lot of people who lived on the fringe. And it just so happened, those people? Those were the ones who were the most vulnerable and helpless. And they were also the ones that Ryan Drake had promised his dying father that he'd protect.

  So stealing a few cows? Shit. If the people of this town start dropping like flies from starvation, Danniken's gonna have a whole lot more to worry about than some missing cows and people yelling at him during complainer's court. As hidden as this place is, someone's bound to notice, he thought with a glimmer of mischief in his eye. Or worse comes to worst, someone's gonna ask for help from somewhere else. Somehow, I doubted that's the sort of attention Danniken wants for strange little Jamesburg.

  Ryan hated the thought. He loathed himself for it, really, but if he had to do it, he'd go wherever he could to feed the people who couldn't do it for themselves. He'd get help from somewhere, if he couldn't get it from Danniken.

  He crouched, letting his knees crunch into the frosty leaves and fallen pine needles covering the ground. The earth was cold and solid underneath him, and he felt grounded, he felt purpose.

  But as the fur started sliding out of his pores and his muscles grew thicker, harder and larger, the image of that strange, intoxicatingly beautiful bat woman flickered back into his mind. He started thinking that maybe, just maybe, he should spend some more time in town.

  Ryan's heart was heavy as he shook out his fur and grunted a stifled roar into the chill of night. His golden yellow fur poofed out of the extremely tight clothes, making him look a little bit like a giant corgi wearing a turtleneck. His paws dug into the undergrowth, and he pushed himself forward, steps growing less painful with each one he took. Finally, he broke into a run, heading straight toward the place he knew he'd find the cows.

  *

  Thomas Westing's ranch was about fifteen minutes as the bear runs, from Ryan's little compound. He didn't like victimizing his neighbor - or the closest thing he had to one who wasn't in some way his relative, or under his care - but if he was going to get attention, there wasn't much of a choice. The guy called himself West, and was mated to a private dick in town named St. Claire.

  Ryan liked him well enough, but just like he had no time for the intricacies of finding a mate - even if she was that gorgeous bat-winged woman, he thought with a gulp - he didn't have time for a bunch of friends, either.

  Leaning on one of the fence posts on the part of West's land furthest from his house, Ryan pushed until the woven wire fence sagged just enough to climb over before he stood on his back legs and shifted back into a black-clad human. When it was over, he shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and doing his damndest to get that woman out of his head.

  He found a tree to leave his booty-hauling sled underneath. It probably provided shade for a whole bunch of cows in the middle of Jamesburg's hotter days.

  Overhead, something flapped. He looked up, but his human eyes couldn't distinguish anything aside from the night. Probably a bird, or... something. A bat? He laughed at himself for the knot that formed in his stomach, and he got back to business.

  Again, the flapping.

  He shot another glance upward before dismissing whatever it was with a shake of his huge head. Ahead of him, something he did not, in any way, expect, was wandering the pasture.

  A single cow? Wandering around after midnight? That can't be normal. But still...

  For his first felony in the Jamesburg jurisdiction, this one was going to be a lot easier than he thought. Slowly, Ryan plodded toward the confused looking heifer, a big girl with black spots and dark brown eyes. He stuck his hand out, and she looked back at him - or past him - as he did.

  "Easy does it, girl," Ryan said softly. He reached back for the rope he'd brought along. "That's it, easy, easy..."

  The flapping overhead was getting closer, but his attention was laser focused.

  "Easy does it, easy—"

  "Ah!" he shouted. Something hit him in the back. Something sharp. He swatted his hand and whirled in a circle. "What the hell is—ah!"

  Iron bands wrapped around his waist, and something - hands? Grabbed his head, holding him immobile. A split second later, desire coursed through Ryan's body, followed by heat so intense that he thought he was going to combust. And then, just as he looked down, catching a glimpse of what he thought was a black stiletto, something cracked against his head.

  He hit the ground, limp, like a sack of furry potatoes. He blinked his eyes, trying his best to stay awake, even though a sensation very much like he last felt when he was on doctor-ordered pain killers for breaking his shoulder, was trying to push him into unconsciousness.

  "You?" he asked, spying a pale face with high cheekbones and slate-gray eyes. "What in the fu—"

  And that was it. He blinked again, Jamie lowered her head, and drained just enough out of him that he wasn't going to be awake for at least a couple of hours.

  When she lifted her head, she couldn't stop shaking.

  "I get my legs around you, and then knock you out," she said, her voice soft and disbelieving. His blood was strong, sweeter on her tongue than the cow's, and even though she long since swore off same-species feeding victims, she was pretty sure that the gorgeous hunk of bear who she was presently straddling, had been trying to steal Gertrude.

  "Life sure as shit is funny sometimes." She pressed her saliva-wet fingers to the pinprick holes in Ryan's neck, sealing them up. "Why couldn't I just ask you on a date?"

  Even with bear blood in her veins, she couldn't lift his massive bulk. Jamie managed to drag him all the way back to Gertrude's shade tree, while the cow followed her intently. She slung his limp form onto the enormous sled he'd no doubt brought along to help with the theft, but then another thought hit her - where the hell am I going to take a giant, unconscious, bear?

  The light in West's kitchen flicked on. It was a half-mile or so from where she was, the pasture was so wide open, that even Jamie could see it flick on. Her muscles were tightened, thicker than they usually were, because of her snack. If I get going now, I'll probably be able to drag his ass to the house, but... what then?

  She shook her head. Jamie had never been particularly good at figuring out "what then" before it became "what now?"

  I'll figure it out, she thought as she shouldered the rope and grunted with effort. Once it was rolling, keeping the sled in motion was easier than she thought it'd be, but the rocks and sticks she had to drag it over didn't make things simple.

  I'll figure it out. I always do.

  She shot a glance back at the unconscious bear, and realized that even with this unlikely, and really, really unfortunate method of meeting, she got what she wanted a couple of days before.

  He had shaved, somewhat recently, his face marked only with a dusting of whiskers. And holy hell was he gorgeous.

  The rise and fall of his chest, the flexing of his muscles underneath the giant's body glove of a shirt, she had to stop for a second and just admire him. She shook her head.

  I'm in really, really, big trouble.

  She couldn't help but smirk as she dragged her quarry the rest of the way, wondering exactly what West was going to think of all this.

  -4-

  "That really didn't go the way I expected it to go."

  -Ryan

  The world seemed like a raisin that got pulled through the singularity of a black hole as Ryan opened his eyes. All at once, his stomach growled, his head thumped, and the side of his neck was... prickling with excitement? He lifted a hand, groaned, and touched his neck where the tingling was the most intense. When he touched it, he got the same sensation in the back of his throat like he'd just eaten a really sweet snow cone slightly too fast.

  Satisfied he wasn't dead, but not sure of much past that, the big bear rolled to his side and tried to prop himself up on his elbow.

  Instead, he found himself briefly burrito-rolled between the edge of the mattress and
a tightly tucked sheet. "Hotel?" he grunted, and then he hit the floor as his weight untucked the sheets. He landed face down, but luckily his chest was big enough, and he was aware enough, to keep himself from totally face-planting. A broken nose to go with...

  I got caught, he remembered. That bat girl, she... bit me? I think? Or hit me with something? Ryan touched his neck again, but there were no marks that he could find. Then again, he couldn't quite remember if all that had actually happened, or if it were all a dream.

  But dreams don't usually end with a weird, throbbing skull and falling out of a bed you've never seen, onto an admittedly nice hardwood floor.

  "No hotel," he groaned, rubbing the back of his head. If it were, he figured, he would have been face-down on that awful gray industrial Berber stuff that was basically the calling card of the sorts of hotels Jamesburg had to offer. That is: cheap and sorta gross.

  There were footsteps coming.

  Ryan rolled over, looked down at his bare chest and then at the rest of himself, completely naked, and wondered for a second if he'd been taken to some crazy experimentation facility like Stu from The Stand. He loved that book, but somehow, warm beds with carefully tucked sheets and beautifully maintained hardwood - pine, he assessed – floors, did not go along with industrial prison complex motifs.

  Naked as the day he was born, and head still throbbing enough to make him a little sick, Ryan rolled to his knees and quickly surveyed the room. The footsteps had halted some way away, and a conversation he couldn't quite make out occurred between two people, one with a very deep voice and one slightly higher-pitched, but still a bit gruff. The higher pitched one definitely sounded tighter, more strained, more irritated.