Run Fur Love (BBW Tiger Shifter Romance)

by Catherine Vale

  “Can you hear anything? Smell anything?”

  “There’s someone down there who’s a shifter. Inside, I think, or close to the cabin. Might be more than one, the scent’s old, all mixed up, though. If I knew Duke’s scent, I’d be more sure. And gasoline, you know, engine smells. Someone’s bike needs a tune up. They’re burning oil.”

  “That would be Duke. Loves his machine, but it seems there’s never enough money in his life.”

  She walked around the side of the cabin, wanting to hug the building, but afraid if she did, she’d scare him, or whoever else might be there, if they saw her shadow. So she walked out and around, coming at the front at an angle. Sweat was running down her back, and she shrugged out of Jericho’s jacket, tossing it into the shadow of the cabin.

  “Duke. It’s me, Harley. You here?”

  His bike was parked along the side of the porch, close enough to the door that if Duke needed to, he could just roll out of bed, and jump onto the bike, like they did in the old Westerns, flying over the horse’s ass, and riding away. She waited, holding her breath, as if doing that would make him answer.

  “Harley?”

  Maybe holding her breath did work. The screen door of the cabin opened a crack, and her brother’s thin face, minus the feed store cap that he always wore, looked out at her. Even just that little slice of him, half-hidden in the shadows of the cabin, showed his fear. She could see the whites of his eyes, the tension in his mouth, the white-knuckle death grip he had on the edge of the door. He was scared, more scared than she’d ever seen him. And it broke her heart.

  “It’s me. I’ve got a friend with me, so don’t panic. His name is Jericho, and he’s here to help us figure this...”

  Jericho had been behind her on her left, still in the shadow of the building, or so she thought. But as she watched Duke's eyes, she saw him look away from her, then widen. She risked a glance over her shoulder, but it wasn’t Jericho they were looking at.

  A tiger, a damned big one, and one that was definitely not Jericho, was stalking toward her from the path that led up from the lake.

  “Harley...”

  She turned back to Duke, half-expecting, one-hundred percent hoping, he’d have the door open, and she could run inside. The screen door was flimsy protection, but maybe there was a gun, or a knife…

  Something hit her, hard, knocking her to the ground. The heavy weight was there on her for an instant, the feel of fur in her hands, a soft brush against her face, the unmistakable feeling of a big paw between her shoulder blades, complete with the sharp pain of claws poking through her thin t-shirt. Then all of that was gone, and she struggled to get herself up off the ground. But her lungs wouldn’t pull a breath, and she could only push up on her hands, swing her head around, and try to figure out what the hell had happened.

  “Harley? Oh, God...”

  She raised her head, and looked up from the ground at Duke, now framed in the thin slice of the open door, his face ashen. Every part of her body hurt, but she managed to get a good lungful of air, and then another, but she could only struggle to her knees.

  Jericho was a few feet away, and the low growl that rippled from his throat, sent tendrils of fear and excitement through her. She half-turned to him, but every instinct told her not to turn her back on Duke. And her instinct was right.

  The tiger that had attacked her now stood on the porch between her and Duke, big and thick, teeth bared at her, cold yellow eyes, locked with hers. It could only be one of Morgan’s men. For a second, she wondered how the hell it had found Duke. Then its interest – and the terrible intensity of that gaze - shifted away from her to Jericho, and it was like the high beams of an on-coming semi, suddenly turning away. The tiger didn't waste time with a growl; it raised its head and roared, a sound that seemed to shake the leaves on the trees, a sound that seemed to make the ground vibrate. For all the world, she wished she were somewhere else, that if she could turn and run, bad leg and all, and get on that big bike of Jericho's, she'd ride to the horizon, and just keep going.

  But Duke was there, and he was her brother, and he was in serious trouble. And Jericho was there, charging across the dusty clearing, stripes of shade and sunlight playing over his body. He was fighting her fight now, fighting to clear her name, and Duke's. And that was more than she'd ever expected from the drifter that had walked into her bar.

  The big tiger charged at Jericho, no grace or finesse in his moves, just full-on power and determination, and all of it focused on her drifter. Jericho held his ground, every muscle taut, hind quarters quivering in readiness to do whatever he was going to do.

  What he did, was wait until the tiger was so close he couldn’t change its course. She expected Jericho to move, at least get out of the way, but he held his ground, until the big cat was a whisker away. Then Jericho spun on his back legs, and the tiger rammed through empty space. The tiger tried to stop, but its bigger weight, and momentum, carried him past Jericho.

  But Jericho was on top of the tiger now, only a step or two behind, and he jumped, front legs outstretched, ripping a deep gash in the enemy’s left flank, just in front of the animal’s back leg. Jericho drew blood, and the tiger skidded to an awkward stop, flinging his head back, huge fangs snapping at Jericho.

  Being on the ground made the tigers look massive, proportions distorted, and she couldn’t hold back the shriek that climbed her throat, as those huge fangs sank into Jericho’s shoulder. A shudder went through Jericho, and his grip. He jerked away from the tiger, his body turning, with the grace of a dancer, arching away from the other cat’s teeth. But the damage was already done; she saw a gash in Jericho’s fur, blood seeping out, drops spattering onto the dust, and leaves, of the clearing.

  But if Jericho was in pain, he gave no sign. With a vicious roar, he turned around, immediately diving back at the enemy, teeth snapping at the tiger’s shoulders. The animal wheeled, held his ground, and Jericho spun away again.

  It was clear Jericho had the advantage in agility and speed, but now she could see the tiger’s strategy, of waiting for Jericho to make his move, coming in hard and fast, using up his energy on attacks. It seemed like all the tiger needed to do was wait for Jericho to run down, and then he’d move in for the kill.

  She looked away, looked for Duke. In all the confusion of shifting, and tigers roaring, of pain, and the fight to draw a breath, she’d lost track of the whole reason they’d come here, that her brother was in danger, that he needed her and Jericho’s help.

  But he wasn’t on the ground anymore. If he was, he’d have been under all those big paws, and heavy bodies. She pushed up, but the cabin porch was empty. Duke was gone.

  Another vicious snarl brought her back to the fighting tigers. Jericho had a mouthful of the animal’s scruff, his mouth clamped over the back of its neck. But there was too much loose skin, and she knew all he had was a mouthful of tiger fur. Jericho held on, shaking his head. Blood matted his fur, still ran down his leg. Shifters were incredibly strong, but she wasn’t sure how much blood loss he could stand. It must be weakening him, just as all the running around he was doing, must be sapping his energy.

  There was a blur of movement to her left, and another tiger flew across the clearing. For a split second, every possible image of Jericho being bit, or clawed to pieces by two tigers, raced through her head. With an effort, she struggled to her feet, looking for something, anything to use as a weapon.

  Then she realized it was Duke running across the clearing to join Jericho in battle. With shifters, some of their physical characteristics came through, or something of their personality. This cat was wiry, almost rangy, but faster than she'd ever seen a big cat move. And he had the determined expression of her brother, with his head down, digging in to do what needed to be done. It wasn’t the first time she had seen her brother in shifter form, but today, he was far more glorious than ever before. He was fighting to protect them, and to end this threat, once and for all.

  Duke hit the big
tiger in the ribs, knocking it down. It landed on the ground with a heavy grunt, snarling with rage. Jericho released his grip on the beast, as the big tiger, and Duke, rolled on the ground, throwing up leaves and dirt, as they clawed for footing, and for control.

  Jericho jumped into the fray, when the big tiger was on its back. Duke scrambled to his feet, teeth bared. It was amazing to see her brother in tiger form; he rarely ever shifted, not even when the club went for runs through the woods on moonlit summer nights, running with freedom and joy, letting their animals play. He’d often stay back, having a beer with her instead. Or more often than not, sat apart.

  But now he was on his feet, coming right back at the big cat. The larger animal struggled to its feet, and then Jericho and Duke were right there, claws slashing the air, tearing through fur, and hide. Blood spilled out, staining the ground crimson, the mark of battle saturating everything in sight.

  Duke snarled, raised one big paw, and slashed at the tiger’s neck. Jericho lunged, putting all his weight behind his movement. The big cat went sprawling on its back, and Jericho went in for the kill.

  She had to turn away, close her eyes, but she still heard the crunch of Jericho’s teeth, clamping down in a death grip on some vital piece of the other animal’s body. There was a huff of breath, a gargling sound, and then a roar from Duke. There was a sound she knew was the tearing of flesh, and then the clearing went very still. Even the birds had left, and the only sound was Jericho’s heavy breathing, and the lighter sounds coming from Duke, panting, a soft growl. She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see.

  A big body pressed against her, and she looked up at Jericho. He made a sound, low, almost like a purr. His warm breath stirred the hair at the nape of her neck, and she opened her eyes, meeting his green gaze. She nodded, knew it was over, knew there was a dead tiger on the ground that could no longer hurt them. But she still couldn’t look. So she watched Jericho pad behind the cabin, Duke following a pace or two behind.

  “Harley, we’re going to move...”

  Pushing up from the ground, she kept her head turned away. “Okay. I’ll just...”

  She didn’t know what they were planning to do, until Jericho took her by the shoulders.

  “Go get a blanket. We can cover him up until we decide what to do with the body.”

  That seemed like a logical plan in a world that seemed to have no logic, and she turned away, as Duke and Jericho did what they needed to do.

  * * *

  She’d gone into the cabin while Jericho and Duke dragged the body around the corner of the building. There was a blanket on the top bunk, and she pulled it down. By the time she got back outside, the shifter had changed back into human form, like she’d anticipated. She did everything possible to avoid looking at him. Despite knowing that they had no other choice but to kill him, it still filled her soul with incredible sadness, her eyes threatening to spill oceans of tears, if she didn’t block it out. At least for now. There would be enough time for mourning the loss of everything later.

  Jericho and Duke stood for a moment, neither of them looking at her, heads down, breathing hard. There was always that slightly awkward moment after shifters went back into human form, before they got dressed. Being a leader of a motorcycle club, that had many shifter members, she was used to catching glimpses of naked bodies, as the guys shifted back, before they pulled on jeans, and shirts. It seemed like a natural part of the process, and she’d never really thought about it.

  But with Duke, she could tell he had been embarrassed, and so was she. She looked down as Duke moved away, disappearing into the cabin to get dressed.

  She thought about everything that had gone on between them, and how distant things had been over the years. They’d grown up together, and she’d thought they were close, as close as two kids could be who had different last names, and only had a mother to share, but not a father. For the first time, it hit her that Duke grew up with her father, not his own, and she thought how that might have made him feel apart, separate from the rest. He’d always been a loner, got to be more that way the older he got, and she wondered if that was the reason why, if he’d felt alone in his own family, forever feeling like the black sheep, the outsider. It made her sad in a way she couldn’t quite understand, like she’d forgotten to do something really important, or that something she was supposed to care for had died because of neglect. She loved her brother more than life itself, and the sorrow in her heart, mixed with relief, nearly toppled her over, and she struggled for a moment to find her footing, trying her best to keep focused, and not let the darkness shut down her mind for a much needed break from reality.

  Then she looked at Jericho, and found herself wanting to laugh. With Jericho, well, she didn’t think he really noticed he was still buck naked, torn clothes in a pile at his feet. He radiated a confidence that she felt moving through the air, touching her like sunlight on her skin. Even covered with dust, and dirt, and leaves—and with horror, she saw blood flecked here, and there—the sheer presence of him calmed her down a little. And even though the situation didn’t call for it, she wasn’t immune to the sheer force of his masculinity, to the beauty of him naked. But the rush of memories of her hands on him, the touch of his hands on her, the feel and smell of his skin, she pushed all that down, and focused on what was important.

  “Now what do we do?”

  He looked at her with those deep gray eyes, and she saw he had questions, maybe more than she did. Or at least questions that might lead down a different path.

  “We find out what happened up until this point, what Duke knows, and then we find out what Morgan Ramsey has to say. This isn’t over. Not yet.”

  Then Jericho disappeared around the corner of the cabin, and she was left alone with her own thoughts, waiting. Waiting for the guys to come back, so they could figure this out. She hugged herself, listening to the sounds of the clearing, as they slowly returned to normal, birds singing, the squirrel scolding again.

  Chapter Seven

  The screen door squeaked, then closed with a flat sound, softer than the bangs, and crashes from before. Duke stepped out, uncertain, then took one of the rockers, sitting slowly, looking as tired as she felt. But when she looked at him, that rush of anger she could only feel for family, rose up like a flash fire.

  “What the hell happened? What did you get yourself mixed up in now?” Fear, more than anger, made her voice ragged and shrill. Duke looked at her with such a mixture of relief and indignation that she wanted to either hug him, or slap him, alongside the head. He’d found a change of clothes in the cabin, but it could have been a twin to the faded checked shirt, the worn work jeans. But he was still missing the feed store cap, and somehow it made him look vulnerable.

  “Why do you think I’m the reason all this happened?” Duke looked away from her, suddenly pushed up out of the chair, setting it rocking violently. He ignored the three steps, and jumped off the porch, boots kicking up dirt. The ground was torn up, leaves shredded, the dust still settling. Pools of blood were drawing flies, and he idly kicked dust over the spots.

  “Because everywhere we turned today, the name on everyone's lips was yours, Duke.” Forcing herself to take a breath, and to unclench her fists, she took the other chair, easing into it slowly, because suddenly everything hurt, and exhaustion threatened to take away the last bit of energy she had. And the anger. And she wanted to hold onto that anger for now, because if she was honest, it was the only thing keeping her going.

  “I don’t want to believe that you had anything to do with this. You’re my brother, Duke. And you’re one of my guys, too, you know? I…we…” She nodded to the end of the porch where she could hear Jericho moving around. “We just want to know what happened. You need to tell us.”

  Jericho had come back around the end of the porch, barefoot and bare-chested. He had on clean jeans, must have gotten them from his pack, carrying his boots in one hand. For a minute, she was irrationally, overwhelmingly jealous. Her je
ans were caked with dirt, and matted with briars, and stick-tight seeds, and there had been those hell-bent-for-leather rides, and she hadn't had a shower since last night. It all seemed cosmically unfair, until she saw him wince when he sat down on the steps in front of her. All that senseless fretting over clean clothes vanished. He'd fought for her life, and for Duke’s, and he'd gotten himself hurt. And a couple yards of clean denim wasn’t worth getting upset over.

  Duke’s eyes strayed from hers to Jericho, and then back. She wasn’t sure if he looked reassured that Jericho was there, or not. Or if he trusted him.

  “Start from the beginning, okay? When Jake was still alive.”

  Duke turned away for a minute, looking over the clearing. He ran his hands up and down the thighs of his jeans, like he was trying to wipe away grease, or guilt, or something else. The shifter version of him rose up, and she saw the wiry strength of that tiger in the man standing in front of her. Jericho sat between them, and she was pretty sure that wasn’t by accident. Finally, Duke turned back, and looked up at her.

  “Jake is dead. We all know that. I was there when he died.”

  “And Morgan thinks you sold him bad drugs. And that’s what killed him. Did you?”

  Duke pulled himself up, his hands finally shoved in his back pockets. “You know I had problems with that, with the drugs, but it’s all in the past. You know that. Then Jake showed up, sometime last week. I don’t remember the day.” He kicked at a pile of leaves, as if the date would be written on the back of one of them.

  “He said he had a job for me, something quick and easy, and I’d make some good cash. Well...” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, and suddenly he looked as tired as she felt.

  “He showed up, gave me a couple hundred dollars, said it was an advance. I think it was more to tie me to him, made me part of this whole mess before it got to be a mess.”