by BA Tortuga
Connor blinked and Brock swore he could hear the click of the eyelids. “That’s awful. Maybe one of them needs help too. Maybe that’s why the call was so loud. Two for the price of one.”
“Yeah, you can tell me all about the call over coffee someday. Right now I need you to clear out. I have to keep an eye on Joe and his traps.”
“Go ahead. You do that. I’ll keep an eye on you, just in case.” Connor crossed his arms over his chest and stood there.
Brock gaped. “What? No. No, I need you to go. I don’t want to have to deal with a civilian.”
“Are you in the Army? Is that a thing now? Aren’t there blood tests? How does a wolf shifter pass? Did you cheat?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
A noise from the direction of the clearing made Brock turn back to his work. “Look, stay out of the way, okay? I’ll deal with anything that comes up.” He was out of playtime. Joe was probably about done for the night.
“Be careful, Fuzzy. I’ll have an eye out, if you need help.”
“Fuzzy?” No. No more engaging. He trotted back toward where he’d last seen Joe, putting his feet down gently.
“Brock? Brock, man? Where the fuck are you?” Joe had a flashlight out now, swinging it side to side. Looking for him. Fuck. That meant Joe knew he was out of his tent.
“Had to drain the lizard, man. Didn’t want to piss where we sleep and all.”
Fuck. How had the asshole known he was even gone? He’d left everything zipped up tight.
“You wandered too far. Come on back to camp,” Joe said.
Yeah, it wouldn’t do for one of the high-paying tourists to get caught in a bear trap, would it? Maybe it was good he hadn’t run off Fairy Ragbone. The guy could keep an eye on the traps now that he was caught.
“Sorry. It’s fucking dark out here. It’s hard to judge distance.”
“No shit. Next time take a flashlight.” Joe sounded pretty damned grumpy.
“Yeah. Well, the moon was great until I got into the trees. The air is so clear.” Brock tried not to babble. Guilty people babbled, and he’d just been taking a piss. Right?
The trees jostled above him, and he knew, no question, that Fairy Ragbone was up there, listening.
“You’ll need your sleep, dude.” Joe, now, he was definitely pissed off. Brock would have to tread carefully with the guy.
“Yeah. Thanks for looking for me.” He went for worried, a little unsure. “This is the real boonies….”
“No kidding.” Joe seemed to relax some. “There’s your tent, man.”
“Thanks. Tell me that there’s coffee in the morning?” Brock injected just enough whiny privilege in his tone.
“Yep. My assistant, Mel, is also the camp cook up here. Only the best for you guys.” Joe waved. “Night.”
“Night!” Brock crawled into his tent, cussing like a sailor under his breath.
“Okay, Kitty Dude, don’t let me down. No captured bears tonight.”
He thought he heard a soft laugh, and, weirdly, it felt comforting. Brock rolled his eyes, then pulled out some jerky for a snack before he caught some shut-eye. Might as well sleep.
Hopefully Fairy Ragbone was working some magic up there in the trees.
Chapter Four
CONNOR WATCHED the men head to bed, then went down to mangle some nasty bear traps. Not nice, these things. Not nice and not fair and not legal and totally not cool. He needed to destroy them.
He sang to himself as he wreaked havoc, making sure not even a little bunny would hurt themselves in these things.
Oh. Rabbit.
He was hungry. Maybe he should hunt a—nah, that would attract attention.
He grabbed a stick of jerky and munched between traps.
A black bear was rumbling through the woods about a hundred yards away, and Connor pondered. Chase it off or warn it about traps? Nah. Chase it.
He raised his arms and charged, making himself as big as possible. “Booga booga!”
The bear stared at him, blinking in the moonlight.
Poo.
Right. Jerky fingers. Bear who could smell everything from a mile away.
Dammit.
Okay, plan B. Connor turned away from the bear and ran in the opposite direction from the traps he hadn’t disabled. Run, run, bear. Follow me and I will give you salmon jerky, lalala. Except not. He didn’t feed wild animals.
Every time the bear slowed, he wagged and whistled, this young male just too domesticated for his liking. He didn’t approve of that. He might have to see about getting this little guy relocated.
Maybe he should talk to Brock about that.
Were the bad guys taming bears to shoot? Feeding them so they would get caught more easily?
Oh. Oh, that pissed him off.
“Come on, Mister Fuzzy Wuzzy Bear. Come away from the bad poachers.”
The bear finally got tired of chasing him, veering off to investigate an anthill. That nose worked hard, the bear licking at ants.
Huh. Whatever floated his little beary boat.
Connor went to the trees, letting the cat lead him, hoping the vertical lift would let Mr. Bear forget about him.
He had an old dog to watch. Well, a wolf.
A hot one. Brock would probably look amazing in the daylight. Broad shoulders, dark hair, eyes that had an animal shine….
Hello. Wolf. Clearly wolf and not bobcat. Probably not gay. Sam and Gus must be giving him ideas.
Still, he hadn’t had a good, hard snuggle since that panther with the amazing cock that he’d met in Vancouver, oh, thirty years ago?
Maybe he was the one getting old. He almost hooted out loud, but he was being stealthy. The traps were all empty. Yay.
Empty and, in a matter of minutes, broken.
The best types of traps. Maybe he could go crawl into the tent with the pretty wolfman. It was a long way back to his car….
Oh, this was a grand idea. If he was close, the wolfy wonder couldn’t slip him.
That thought made him snort. Right. He found things. It was impossible for him to let them go until they got where they belonged.
He had no idea why he’d been called to Brock the wolf. But he had been, and he was safer in that tent, surely. He crept into camp, Brock’s tent farther away from the others, which was strategic. He slipped in, quiet as a mouse, although he wasn’t sure why they said that. Mice were sort of loud. Rustly. They got into things and gnawed. They had no care for stealth.
Cats were so much quieter.
Brock didn’t even stir when Connor slid under the bedroll cover with him. That proved he was meant to be there, because Connor got the feeling Brock didn’t miss much.
He was tempted to look at Brock and say, “See?” but he was tired, and Brock was warm.
Connor slipped under Brock’s arm and closed his eyes. Mmm. Spicy musk. Pine. Good smells.
Night, Brock. I found you. I’m sure I’ll know why soon.
Chapter Five
BROCK WOKE up warm and comfortable and really, really hard.
Now, a morning hard-on was nothing unusual for him. He was a healthy male animal. Not the least bit old, like the kitty had intimated.
He wiggled a little, settling his cock more firmly against the tight ass in front of him.
Wait.
Last time he checked, he had been sleeping alone.
Brock opened his eyes and blinked the sleep out of them. The head on his pillow that was not his was covered in golden dreadlocks, the ends of some of them threaded with beads. Holy shit.
“Kitty?”
“Meow. Hey. It’s a long walk back to the car.”
“You’re supposed to be watching bears.” How in hell had the kit gotten in here with him? “Did you drug me?”
“I led Mister Bear away and dismantled the traps. They’re not fair. I think they’re taming them, by the way, the bears.”
“Any evidence you can share?” Good thing he’d taken pictures the night before. Now Joe would think
he was the one who’d wrecked the traps, so he needed to send the documentation to his employer and hit the road before the arrests started.
“I took pictures with my phone, and I didn’t feed the bear my jerky. Also, I have pictures of them up here setting up the camps for the last couple of days.”
“Yeah?” Huh. This guy was turning out to be… strangely useful. “They leaving out food?”
“They were catching fish and tossing them in the woods. I guess they were baiting bears. Huh. I ate a few trout. Yum.”
“Good for you. I have to get out of here, Kitty. They’re going to hunt my ass down.”
“My Mustang is about eight miles away.”
He tilted his head. “I can shift, and you can tie a pack on me with my essential gear. The rifle can stay behind. I’ll get it back. Can you shift and come with me, or do you have to have the moon?”
“I’m shifty, sure. I travel light because you never know what you’re fixin’ to find.”
“Good deal.” Brock pulled a small doggie backpack out of his bigger, brand-new bag, which Fish and Wildlife would also recover for him and donate to some hiking club. The sidearm, the camera, and his fake ID went in the backpack, along with the knife.
Fairy Ragbone stripped down, then rolled jeans into one tube, flannel shirt in another, both stuffed into his boots, shoestrings tied together. Impressive.
Brock went ahead and packed a change of clothes and his phone. “Okay, you might want to give me a tiny bit of room.”
“You got it.” Ragbone didn’t look worried at all.
He just backed off a bit, watching curiously. Luckily the change didn’t take Brock hard, no howling or cracking noises. He hated the feeling of his fur popping out, but his wolf was eager to be free.
“Hey, Mr. Wolf. Pleased to meet you.”
He shook, then nuzzled Connor’s cheek. Oh, this one smelled good.
“Let’s get you suited up, huh? I smell people waking up.”
Exceptional point. He ducked his head so Kitty could put the pack on him, and the kit was smart enough to unzip the tent.
Ragbone shifted like a dream into a sleek bobcat, snatched up his boots, and looked out the door, tension on the air.
Brock glanced over his shoulder. Joe stood in front of the dining fly, yelling at the Mel guy, his back to them. Time to go.
Ragbone moved like smoke—silent and fast, trusting him to follow, to keep up. Those big paws ate up distance, but Brock held his own, his legs longer, his body a little more built for distance.
Bobbed tail, tufted ears with huge black spots—Ragbone looked like a toy, almost, barring those ginormous paws. Brock had this almost irresistible urge to play with that stubby tail. He also wanted to hold Kitty down and lick him.
They moved deeper into the trees, Ragbone leading him toward a creek bed that they followed easily. The water widened, and the bobcat showed him the remains of the fish, the evidence of food left there.
Yes. He could find this again, and Joe wouldn’t be able to cover every track. Smart. He barked, and they moved on, Ragbone putting on speed.
They slowed near the road, a powder blue Mustang sitting there in a rest area, waiting. Exceptional.
He trotted over to sit next to the passenger door. It wasn’t his truck, but it would do. Ragbone shifted quickly—as easily human as he was feline—threw on clothes, and opened the car door.
“Hop in, Wolfman. Let’s hit the road.”
He turned to gnaw on the strap of his pack. He needed it off in case he needed to shift. It held a lot, but not being able to carry it in his mouth sucked.
“I got you. Don’t bite through, huh?”
He barked. No, he might need this pack again. Connor took off the pack with gentle hands, and Brock leaped into the car. Before Connor could close the door, he hopped back out. He needed to make calls, start sending photos.
Shedding his wolf was surprisingly tough. Something about Connor called to his inner pup.
“What are you doing, man? Are you confused?”
He shook off the wolf, unbending to go up on two legs. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. I need to get the pictures and all to my contact before Joe moves out. He’ll panic, but he has the paying guests to explain shit to, and to move to a new camp, so they should get him.”
“Okay. How can I help?”
“You drive. If I can’t get a decent signal soon, I’ll need Wi-Fi, so we’ll have to find a truck stop or a McDonald’s, and we’re in the back of beyond.”
“I can do that. Hop in. No one’s looking for me.” That seemed to tickle Connor for some reason.
Huh. Brock pulled on clothes, then slid into the car. “Are you kidding? I didn’t stow my boots in the pack.” He wiggled his bare toes.
“I have a pair of boots in the back. See if they work.”
“You do have big feet for your size.” He winked over when Ragbone laughed. “What kind of name is Ragbone, anyway?”
“Mine. I think my father made it up. He was unique.”
Sure as shit, the boots were his size, brand-new. This guy was a puzzle.
“Yeah? I mean, I guess it’s better than Herman. That sounds vaguely nerdy. Yours sounds voodoo-y.”
“Is your name Herman?”
“Brock. Brock Herman.” Had he told Connor that? Maybe not. Then again, their meeting had been stressful. He tugged out his phone. “Let me call.”
“I’ll put some miles between us and scary McBear Poacher.”
“Good idea. He has some long-range weapons.” He clicked open his screen and hit Tom’s number.
“Carruthers.”
“Hey, bud. Brock. I got a shit-ton of evidence to send you. He’s breaking camp. Ecoterrorist broke up his traps. He’s baiting the bears. Here are the coordinates where he’s using fish and meat to feed to make them used to humans.”
“Fuckers.”
“Yes, well. I expect you guys to disband them and fuck their worlds.”
“Shit, yeah. I’m ready to receive. I have a team down in Crested Butte ready to go as soon as we get your pictures for probable cause.”
“I’m on it. Let’s do this thing.”
“Good deal. Call you later with the results.”
“Later.” He hung up. “I’m in the red on this. Dammit. Do you have a plug I can use?”
“I do. Here. There’s a car charger thing too.”
“You’re prepared.” He liked that. “Okay, here we go.” For the next twenty, he sent pictures and other documentation, like Joe’s fake license, and Connor drove.
When he finally glanced up, they were nearing civilization, guardrails giving way to fences on the side of the road. “Which way are we headed?”
“Down.”
“Ha.” Brock brought up his compass on his phone. Okay, they were headed down into… Ouray? What did they have to eat? “I need coffee.”
“You like coffee too? Cool. I want a hazelnut latte and a bagel.”
“Can we get that in Ouray?” Brock asked.
“I’m sure we can get something. It’s not completely closed down yet. They shut down a lot for winter.”
“Good thing it’s not too late, then.”
“Yeah, the Mustang isn’t a snow car.” Connor grinned wide.
“No. We’ll have to switch to my truck.” Wait. We? What?
“Oh yeah? Where is it? We’ll pick it up. Sam and Gus can store my car.”
“At the ranger station up by Crested Butte.” They could pick it up tomorrow. Tonight he would spring for a hotel. First, though, he wanted breakfast. Then lunch. Maybe dinner.
“Okay. I have maps.”
Wait. He wasn’t sure… wait. “You do?”
“Totally. First we need coffee. Then we can regroup.”
“Right.” He would take McCafé coffee. A MooLatte from DQ. Something. Anything. His head spun a little.
“You okay, Fuzzy? You need a cookie.”
“You have cookies too?”
“Mmm-hmm. An
d jerky and peanuts.” Connor grinned. “I didn’t get chocolate because it’s bad for dogs. The coyote said it was okay, but really, they eat anything.”
“You knew you were looking for me?”
“Sort of? It’s complicated. You just have to go with it.” Connor beat a little drum tattoo on the steering wheel, grooving.
“Huh.” He’d said that more in the last twelve hours than he’d said it in his whole life. Brock rummaged in the bag Connor indicated. “Salmon jerky?”
“There’s bison too. I knew this one Iriomote cat who would only eat tofu jerky.”
“Tofu…. That’s obscene, Ragbone.”
“I know.” Connor glanced sideways at him, eyebrows waggling. “Teriyaki.”
“You’re a sick, sick man.”
“You have no idea, Fuzzy. None.”
“What the heck is an Iriomote cat anyway?” Brock asked.
“They’re only on this little island off Japan. Iriomote. Tiny things. Which was hilarious. As a human, he was, like, six foot tall.”
“You went to Japan?” Brock felt stoned.
“He came to California. So did I.”
“But you’re from Texas.” He knew that accent deep down.
“I totally am. I wander a lot. I put in my mileage.”
“You sure seem to.”
They coasted into Ouray, and Brock looked around. The sign said The Switzerland of the United States. Cute. “There’s a place called Roast and Toast. Says they have good breakfast.”
“Put your boots on, and I’ll feed you.”
No. No, he would feed them for the ride, because that was fair. He did tug on the boots, though, surprised at how comfy they were. Nice.
Now all they needed to do was eat and find a place to stay for the night. He eyed Connor. Maybe with one king bed. Waking up pressed against that tight little ass was definitely a do-again.
Connor parked easily, then offered him a quick, warm grin. “Coffee ahoy!”
“Thank God.” Coffee, nectar of the gods. He loved the stuff so much. And this place smelled great.
Ragbone bebopped in, just as easy as you please, and ordered Brock a steamed milk Americano with peanut butter. He opened his mouth to argue, but it sounded like heaven. The kit got a hazelnut latte with skim, double whip. They both ordered the amazing-looking breakfast burrito.
