Killer Bear

by Dillon, Kym

  Allie felt a smile spread across her face. “All right, then,” she said. “The rest of our lives.”

  “The rest of our lives,” Mark repeated, his tone almost reverent.

  Allie thought about it, about what the rest of our lives might really mean. There were so few clues to shifter life, and she was still struggling to piece them all together. The conversation with Brian in the shop earlier that day had been a gold mine of information. But how much of what she’d learned about the Black Bear Clan applied to Mark? It was possible, wasn’t it, that the two organizations—or was it more accurate to call them families?—were structured entirely differently?

  But then again, they couldn’t be entirely different. Liam and Brian had both known about the mating bond. That strongly suggested that members of the Black Bear Clan had mating bonds too. And if the two clans had that in common, was it such a stretch to imagine they would be similar in other ways as well?

  “Mark?” she said, rolling over to face him.

  “Hmm?”

  “Will we live in a den?”

  He laughed. “What?”

  “Brian mentioned living in a den.”

  “He was talking about his house, Allie. He even said so. Remember? They just call it a den.”

  “But they must call it that for a reason,” she persisted.

  “Not any important reason,” he said. “Bears live in dens, that’s all.”

  “So this house is our den.”

  Mark grinned. “You’re not a bear.”

  “But you are!”

  “Okay, but there’s only one of me,” he said. “And I’m only a bear occasionally. I know Brian made a big deal of my being Alpha of the Brown Bear Clan, but...well, it isn’t really a clan anymore, is it? It’s just me. And even though I’m not alone in this house anymore—” he gave her a quick squeeze, “the line will still die out with me.”

  “Not necessarily,” Allie said.

  “How do you figure that?”

  “What if you and I were to have kids?” she asked. She had been thinking about it idly since the conversation with Brian, wondering about the intricacies of the question and how Mark’s nature as a shifter would impact what was already a life-altering choice for anyone to make. “Is that possible for us? I mean, since you’re a shifter and I’m not. Are we able to have children together?”

  Mark was looking at her as though he’d never seen her before. “Yes,” he said. “In theory, it should be the same for us as for any other couple. As long as there aren’t any unusual complications, we should be perfectly able to get pregnant. But is that...is that something you’d want, Allie?”

  “We said together forever,” she reminded him. “If I want to have kids, I want to have them with you.”

  “And...and do you want to?”

  “I’m only twenty-four,” she said. “And until recently, I wasn’t seeing anybody. So, I had no reason to think about it yet. But, now, with you, Mark…” she closed her eyes, picturing a baby with a blend of her features and his, a baby that would look up at them and smile, a baby that would grow and become a child for them to raise together, love together. They would be a family. “I would,” she said. “I would like to. With you, I’d want to. Yes.”

  “Allie,” he whispered.

  “Would it be a shifter?” she asked. “Our child?”

  “It’s a dominant trait.” His voice was husky, as if he was choked with emotion. She ran her fingers down his arm until she found his hand and slipped hers into it, and he gripped it hard. “The odds are strongly in favor of our producing bear shifter children.”

  “Which means you wouldn’t be the last of your line,” Allie said. “Our home would be a den. And if our children had children, they would probably be shifters too.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She breathed in the scent of him, and knew that he was doing the same. And although their last lovemaking session had gone on for hours and they’d both been utterly exhausted by the end of it, Allie could feel energy flowing back into her limbs at that intoxicating scent and at the thought of the child that would soon be theirs.

  Somehow, without Allie being aware of it, they had gotten to their feet. His lips met hers and she could feel his desperation and gratitude and love in every kiss. His hands curled like paws and slid down her sides to her waist, lifting her in the air, and she wrapped her legs around him and hung on, deepening the kiss, threading her fingers through his hair.

  He broke away. “Upstairs this time?” he asked.

  Allie pressed her forehead to his and smiled. “Why the hell not? We need to break in those new sheets.”

  And Mark turned away from the fire and carried her up the stairs to begin making baby bear shifters.

  THE END

  CLAWED (Sneak Peek)

  Were-Dragon Warriors Book 1

  1

  Jessica Delaney took a deep breath, and did her best not to lose her cool with the grinning, portly, older man in front of her dressed in safari khakis. He topped her by a full foot, and looked utterly unimpressed by her urgency, her World Health Organization credentials and authorizations, or anything else she brought to bear.

  "Look, love," he said. "I can't help it, can I, that some earl or duke or something from bloody Hungary decided that he wanted to go big game hunting and offered me treble what you did?"

  "We had an agreement," Jessica said heatedly. "Do you not understand that this is a matter of life and death? People are dying! An entire native tribe just wiped off the face of the earth. I cannot express the urgency with which I must get these supplies…"

  "Into the hot zone, yes, yes, you've told me that a time or two, as I recall."

  Jessica looked at him impatiently, her blue eyes blazing fire.

  "Might I remind you that my organization chose you because you claimed to be a professional. Now, I need you to honor our signed agreement get me where I need to go!"

  For a moment, it looked as though the pilot was going to give in, but then he just grinned a little wider, seemingly amused by Jessica’s tenacity.

  "Your agency chose me because there are precious few pilots foolhardy enough to attempt to fly the route between Kilimanjaro and Lake Victoria," he said. "Cool your heels. Head into Dar es Salaam. It'll take a little longer, and you'll pay a little more but it'll get you to whatever little backwater you've been babbling about."

  She gritted her teeth, glaring at him.

  "Too much time. Too much money," she said. "I have lives to save. The WHO needs this information. The Tanzanian government needs this information. You would be doing an enormous service..."

  The pilot laughed outright at that.

  "Love, when the WHO or the Tanzanian government does a damn thing for me, that’ll be the day when I bend over and take it up the arse for one of them. Until then, I suggest you and your little medical satchel high-tail it down to Dar es Salaam and..."

  He trailed off, which was a good thing because Jessica was distressingly close to pummeling him with her little medical satchel. She followed his gaze off to the right.

  The small, dusty, private airfield off the coast of Tanzania was desolate to say the least, but it was not deserted. There was another white man, tall and broad shouldered, standing in the cool shadows of the hanger. He was under the wings of a small plane that most certainly looked as though it had seen better days. As Jessica watched, she saw the tall man hand a wad of cash off to a black man, who walked away shaking his head.

  What the hell am I seeing? she wondered, and then the pilot next to her grinned.

  "All right, you want a ride, love? You for-sure want to get out to the middle of nowhere in Tanzania?"

  Jessica scowled at him.

  "Stop calling me love," she said automatically. "And, yes, that’s the gist of what I’ve been saying. So glad we’re finally on the same page." She had a bad habit of being completely unable to curb her sarcasm at times.

  "All right, then. Let's see what
I can scare up. Just remember, I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart, right?"

  She sighed and nodded, watching with some apprehension as he sauntered over to talk to the man who had apparently just bought himself a plane.

  There was something about the tall, broad shouldered man in the shadows that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. As he turned, she could almost see what appeared to be a strikingly handsome face, his tanned skin dark against the light tactical gear he was wearing. Jessica was reminded of her training. She’d been warned about the European soldiers of fortune that haunted eastern Africa looking for bodyguard work or less legal, more lucrative opportunities. These men were to be considered highly dangerous, especially to a short, slight woman wandering the earth doing good work for global health organizations, but there was something else about this man that made it impossible for her to tear her eyes away.

  She saw her portly pilot pull the taller man into conversation, and at first, it didn’t seem as if the conversation was going in a favorable direction. The man was resistant to whatever her pilot was proposing, putting up his hands in an attempt to stop the man, but then something the older pilot said made the taller man look up at her.

  Jessica shivered. Even from where she stood, she could see that the man's eyes were a bold pale green, glittering like glass. If she were back in New York, she would have guessed expensive tinted contact lenses, but who the hell would wear something like that out here?

  She gripped her knapsack and medical bag tighter. So many things had gone wrong since she took off from New York. Please, please, couldn't something finally go right?

  * * *

  "Whatever you want, the answer is no, Bernie," Marcus said shortly. "I don't have time for your bullshit scams right now."

  "Hey now, is that any way to speak to an old comrade in arms?" grinned Bennie. "Don't you forget, I was there when all that malarkey went down in Johannesburg..."

  "You ran away from Johannesburg like someone set your ass on fire," Marcus retorted. "Don't make me laugh."

  It was probably better that Bernie had been a coward, though, Marcus had to admit. There had been a few humans mixed up in that cluster fuck, and when the dust had settled and everything was sorted out, the Shifter Council had stepped in and dealt out a generous round of memory cleansing and recriminations for all. Bernie had never gotten close enough to the truth, and for that he was lucky.

  "Yeah, well, have I got an offer for you today, mate..."

  Marcus shook his head with a short laugh.

  "Don't need you to sell me a girlfriend, either," he said, and Bernie made an offended sound.

  "Hey, this one's all right. She's a doctor or something, a do-gooder, on her way to save lives out in the bush. You'd be getting yourself some good karma along with picking up a paycheck. Chance like that doesn’t come along every day."

  Marcus started to turn the man down again, but then, almost as if his head was on a marionette’s string that had been pulled up, he glanced over at the girl that Bernie was referring to.

  Marcus felt as if he’d taken a blow to the chest, knocking the breath right out of him. He had to consciously make his lungs force air into themselves. After he realized he was staring, he looked away.

  Bernie was still going on and on about how she was going to save indigenous tribes from some strange affliction or deadly disease or something, but Marcus wasn't really listening.

  Some of his kind did their best to hide their primitive instincts, to live amongst humans with their senses dulled down as much as they could be. Marcus, on the other hand, had sharply honed his instinctual senses, which were much needed in his profession. Right now, his instincts were firing off like mad.

  The girl wasn't much to look at. She was short and slender, not the type to catch the attention of a man who liked his women tall and lush, but once he saw her, he couldn't take his eyes off her. Even as he tried to focus on what Bernie was saying, he found his glance drifting back to her.

  She looked vulnerable but proud standing straight as an arrow in the middle of the field, her black hair cut short as if hacked with a machete. She was dressed for the country at least, wearing a long green linen skirt and a pale green shirt that covered her arms. She had the look of a lost traveler, but then he glimpsed her eyes. They were a blue so bright that for a moment Marcus wondered if he had run into a woman of his own kind somehow, all unawares. Then, reason and his senses reasserted themselves. This woman was human, but in those eyes, he had glimpsed something determined almost to the point of madness. She was going to get what she wanted, and damn whoever stood in her way.

  "I wouldn't try it, mate," Bernie advised. "Someone invited her for a drink just a bit ago, and she nearly chewed his head off and spit it down his neck hole. Not really the huggy type, you know?"

  "I think I do know." It was in that moment Marcus came to a decision. There were a few legitimate reasons that could back up his decision-making, but in the back of his mind, he knew that those reasons were just retroactive excuse-making. The truth was, something inside him wanted to be close to the small, dark-haired woman. Something that refused to be denied.

  "All right, we'll see how this goes."

  2

  Jessica felt a wave of apprehension snake up her spine when the older pilot headed back to his own plane and the tall stranger made long, purposeful strides her way. As annoyingly slimy as the older pilot was, she almost wanted to turn and catch him. At least he was a known quantity. She stood up straight and met the stranger squarely in the eyes. It meant that she had to tilt her head back to do it.

  God, he was tall. And broad. He had to be at least four or five inches over six feet, and the military gear, banned in this country if she wasn't mistaken, made him appear even larger. He had thick, sandy hair brushed back from a face that was surprisingly stern and angular, but his lips were full and curved in an appraising smile as he approached her. Something about just looking at this man sent sensuous tingles through her. He was so masculine, so raw male, so animalistic. She quickly repressed the thoughts, because being distracted in an environment such as this one sure as hell wasn't safe.

  "So, what's your story?" he asked, gazing down at her from his superior height. "A woman alone on an airstrip in Tanzania, asking to be flown into the butthole of the African continent, what gives?"

  "My name is Jessica, and I’d like to know to whom I’m talking before I delve into my life story," she said stubbornly. Jessica had learned not to give a single inch while she was traveling, especially when it came to men, but her curtness didn't seem to deter this one at all.

  He just grunted and raked his eyes up and down her build, as though trying to evaluate her out. "Marcus Van der Berg," he said after a few moments. "Does that satisfy you?"

  This time, she could detect a slight hint of an accent in his voice. There was something bright and sharp to it that made her think of the patois spoken in South Africa, but that wasn't all, was it? There was something else she couldn’t put her finger on.

  "I'll be honest, not really," she said. "Can’t you do any better?"

  He paused for a moment, and she could see him sorting through any number of things. Jessica knew that whatever came out of his mouth next was going to be a lie, and at this point, that bothered her less than it probably should have.

  "Let's say that my specialty is anthropology," he said with a shrug.

  “You’re an anthropologist?” It wasn’t a very good lie, she thought. Not for a man alone dressed in military gear flying into a volatile region in the butthole, as he put it, of the continent.

  He hesitated. "I'm not in the field officially, but I've worked with plenty who are."

  "I see," she said slowly. "Just tell me one thing."

  He looked more amused than she would have preferred, but he nodded. It struck her that it had been a while since she had seen a man this attractive, and she had spent time in New York during Fashion Week. God, how long had it been since
she’d had a boyfriend?

  "All right."

  "Just please promise me that neither the Tanzanian police nor Interpol are after you."

  That surprised a laugh out of him at least, but he shook his head.

  "No, they're not after me at all. I promise."

  She noticed that there was a slight emphasis on the word they’re, but at this point, she was a beggar who couldn't be choosey.

  "Okay then, did what’s-his-name tell you where I was going?"

  "He did, and said that you would provide the exact coordinates," the man, Marcus, nodded. "Now I have a few stipulations."

  "Go on," she said warily.

  "This shouldn't be necessary. Ideally, I load you up like a piece of baggage, you step out to stretch your legs at a couple refueling stops, I put you down exactly at said coordinates, we kiss goodbye, and that's that.

  "However, Tanzania's a wild, untamed place, especially as we venture from Dar es Salaam and Mwanza. If things go wrong, which I stress, is somewhat unlikely, I’m going to need you to do exactly as I say, no matter how strange or upsetting it may sound. You got that?"

  Jessica chewed her lower lip.

  "And if I say no?"

  "Then we kiss goodbye right here and you find your own lift."

  "I don't have much of a choice then, do I? Okay, you win. If things go wrong, I'll listen to whatever you say without question."

  Marcus smiled at her, and again she felt tingles. Something about this man's mere glance felt as if he had slid warm fingers seductively down her bare spine.

  "Good girl," he said, and before she could protest being called a girl, he was leading her to his plane.

  * * *

  There was something about her, and for the life of him, Marcus couldn't figure out what the hell it was. It would be one thing if he were just attracted to her, but it wasn't just that. There was something about her that was drawing him like iron filings to a magnet, and the fact that he wasn't able to explain it pissed him off.