Shiftr_Swipe Left for Love_Ryzard

by Ariana Hawkes

  By the time darkness fell, Braxton had worked out a plan for finding who was responsible for damaging the Broken Hill Bears’ reputation, which didn’t entail any human involvement at all.

  Satisfied with his work, he had just enough time to shower before Rocco and Ryker came over to help him load some beer kegs onto the back of his truck. He was holding a beer tasting night at Rudy’s, where he was pitting five of his beers against some medal winners from around the world, in a blind competition. As he got dressed, he was bursting with anticipation to see if the bears would be able to guess which beers were imported and which were his labors of love.

  Six days later, the Broken Hill Bears were back in Grant County, only two towns away from the last place where they’d wrestled. Several of the bears grumbled as they got onto the coach that was transporting them to the venue, as it was a six-hour round trip. But Braxton was happy. They were fighting the Brooks Bears, a local clan. There was no animosity between the two clans, and the Broken Hill Bears had never lost a fight to them before. For that reason, the younger bears would be in the ring tonight – Rocco, who was Xander’s younger brother, and several of his friends. It was a chance for them to get some practice in the adult wrestling world, without risking them being seriously harmed.

  The coach entered the usual police cordon, and an array of automatic weapons were leveled at them all the way to the venue. As they drew near to the parking lot, Braxton tried to look out for humans waiting to enter the venue. But it was hopeless. Their entrance was kept completely separate from the ‘public’ areas. Not a big surprise, he thought as his bear gave a low growl of frustration.

  The moment the coach came to a stop, he leapt off and strode into the building. It was a small venue, almost dwarfed by the security equipment that had been set up – the bulletproof glass and electric fencing that protected the audience from the bears, and the closed-circuit TV screen that displayed every punch, kick and hold of the fight in giant size. There was a strong smell of hay and a whiff of horses, indicating that it had been used most recently for a rodeo show. He smiled grimly as he looked for a good vantage point. Horses then bears. We’re just another kind of performing animal to the humans. The bears’ VIP box was tiny, and it didn’t take him much effort to swing himself over the edge and clamber down into the human area, easily bypassing the electric fencing. If humans only knew just how agile the bears were, he thought with a grim smile. It was an unspoken rule of shifters that they held back in front of humans. Yes, they fought in the ring with all their strength, but they restrained themselves when it came to leaping over the ropes and other acrobatics. The humans felt safe behind their bulletproof glass and electric currents, but the truth was that the bears could scale them in a second if they wanted to.

  He found a spot right at the back that would afford him a good view of the audience while allowing him to move quickly when he needed to. Then he sat down and waited.

  Audience members soon began to trickle in. They were mostly carrying banners in support of the opposing clan. That was to be expected – they were fighting a local clan after all. And the Broken Hill Bears had enough avid fans who followed them from one fight to the next that they were rarely outnumbered.

  But as more and more people came in, he could see that something was wrong. There were no banners supporting his clan, and a whole sea of banners, placards and t-shirts insulting them: “Xander the Great can kiss my ass!” “Broken Hill Bears are going down!” “Watch Braxton get beat by his momma” “Who’s Rocco?” His bear let off a roar of rage.

  “What the hell?” he said aloud. It was unbelievable. Where were their legions of adoring fans? And how come hundreds of humans suddenly hated their guts? And then the chanting started. All those humans were singing the same song at the same time, about how much the Broken Hill Bears sucked and how awesome the Brooks Bears were. Braxton fought to keep his bear in, as it tried to force its way out of him. There was a loud ripping sound as his claws burst out of the end of his hands, shredding the sides of his vinyl seat. His skin burned as his fur began to emerge, and his gums ached as his teeth became huge and razor sharp. No. Not now. If the humans saw him as a bear, that would be it. The Broken Hill Bears would never be allowed to fight in public again. He clamped down, with every inch of his strength, straining against the bulging of his muscles and cracking of his bones. And, at last, it went back in, leaving him gasping for breath. His muscles trembled and he ached all over. Jesus. Sometimes his bear felt like his evil twin. Don’t do that to me! he told it. It grunted and fretted inside him. He couldn’t blame it though, the sight of every single t-shirt and banner made his blood boil a little more. He scanned the crowd, ready to make his move, but he was waiting for the fighters to come out first, to give him the distraction he needed.

  The noise from the audience became deafening, and one of the Brooks Bears swaggered through the tunnel leading to the ring. Braxton didn’t recognize him. He looked young and no match for Rocco, who was becoming stronger and more muscular every day. Once the guy had finished strutting around the stage and making the usual violent threats, the death metal track that always announced Rocco’s arrival began to play. Immediately, the sound from the audience changed from cheers to boos and hisses – an ugly, disquieting sound. The hairs on Braxton’s arms stood up and his jaw clenched tight as he watched Rocco emerging into the ring. He looked as confident as ever, and his voice didn’t falter as he announced what he was going to do to his opponent, but Braxton knew him well enough to identify a certain defensiveness in his posture, which was unusual for him. He was unnerved by the hostility. Rocco was a very successful fighter, and a good looking guy, and the audience usually loved him. He wasn’t used to hearing insults and put downs.

  The two fighters took their corners and the starting bell rang. The crowd started yelling even louder, and Braxton made his move. He’d identified his target already: a beefy male – the biggest human he could see – who was wearing a cocky expression as he chanted and waved a banner reading “My momma could take Rocco down.” He’d chosen an a-hole like that , so he wouldn’t feel so bad about what he was about to do, but it took a lot to restrain his bear, which was itching to chew the kid’s stupid, arrogant face off. Walking a quarter way around the stadium, Braxton crept up behind him, clamped one hand around his mouth, the other around his broad chest, and lifted him right out of his seat. As he pulled him into the shadows, the human’s arms and legs flailed violently, and he tried to tear Braxton’s hand away from his mouth, but he was no match for pure bear strength. He moaned and thrashed and Braxton felt the suction against his hand as he tried his best to draw in some panicked breaths. And then he became weak and floppy, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

  There was an emergency exit 30 feet away. Braxton carried him over to it and down a narrow passageway, before passing through a door that led outside the venue.

  “I’m going to let you breathe now, but don’t even think about yelling!” he snarled in the guy’s ear. Pushing him into a small space between two dumpsters, he released him. The meaty guy collapsed, dragging in one deep breath after another until the color returned to his cheeks. Then he looked up at Braxton with terrified eyes, all traces of cockiness gone. This is probably the first time this miserable excuse for a man has felt any fear in his entitled, self-satisfied life, Braxton thought, curling his lip as he looked him up and down. He was wearing a t-shirt saying “Broken Hill Bears suck ass”, and the armpits were dark with sweat. The rank stench of his fear rose up to Braxton’s nostrils, and his bear bristled, a second away from ripping his throat out.

  “Not as brave as your t-shirt implies, are you?” Braxton said, kicking at the human’s sneaker with the toe of his boot. The man gave a whimper.

  “Who the hell are you?” he screeched. “How are you so strong?” Braxton closed his eyes as an array of dark memories crowded into his mind. Of bears being beaten by much weaker humans, armed with vicious weapons. And his bear growled and
snarled, pacing beneath his skin.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he boomed, making the man shrink back further into the space between the two dumpsters. “All you need to know is that you’ve got ten seconds to tell me where you got that t-shirt from and why you’re wearing it.”

  “Wh-what?” Trembling violently, the man looked down at his t-shirt in confusion.

  “Your t-shirt. Where is it from?” Braxton’s voice was like ice.

  “The internet,” the man mumbled.

  “That doesn’t tell me anything. Come on, stop wasting my time.” He took a step closer and a second later an acrid stench reached his nostrils, and the front of the man’s jeans darkened. Braxton grimaced in disgust. “Don’t make me force it out of you!”

  “It’s all over the internet. Someone was offering money for people to attend this match and wear a t-shirt. It was $200. I’m not even into bear wrestling, but it was only two hour’s work, so I thought, what the hell.”

  “Who is this someone?” Braxton spat.

  “I-I don’t know,” he stuttered. He reached behind himself and pulled out his phone. “It was just a native ad. Look.” Braxton grabbed the phone.

  “What are you showing me?” he said in exasperation. He had little interest in technology. The man raised a trembling finger and pointed at the screen.

  “It’s an ad that follows you around the internet, popping up on different websites you visit. It must be targeted at people who live nearby or something. Anyway, it offers $200 for ‘the easiest two hours’ work you’ve ever done’. You click on it, enter your Paypal address and your home address, and they send you a t-shirt and a ticket for the match. Then you send them a selfie of you wearing it at the match and they send you $200. And you get more money if you record yourself singing the song they send you the lyrics for.” Braxton tapped on the link in the ad and saw that what the human was saying seemed to be true.

  “But who does it come from?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know. It’s anonymous. Look.” Braxton’s eyes glazed over as the man showed him something. He didn’t know what it was, but he took his word for it, seeing as he was evidently way too scared to lie.

  “And you’re saying that lots of people have received these ads?” the man gulped.

  “I don’t know for sure, but from the number of people here, I’d say so.”

  “You’ve never been to a wrestling match before? And you have no personal animosity toward the Broken Hill Bears?” Braxton demanded, looking at him very hard.

  “That’s what I said,” the man replied, a trace of attitude returning. Braxton’s bear let off a roar before he could stop it. The man screamed and clapped both hands over his mouth, then scooted right into the space between the dumpster and the wall, like a rat trying to force itself into a hole.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” he whimpered. “I just did it for the money, I swear.” Braxton snorted a breath out through his nostrils, satisfied that he wasn’t going to get any more out of him. He lunged forward, clamped one hand around his throat and lifted him off the ground again, pinning him against the wall.

  “You’re not going to mention to anyone that I spoke to you, are you?”

  “No,” the man choked out.

  “You’re going to forget this ever happened?”

  “Yes.” He opened his hand and the man crumpled onto the ground, looking up at him wide-eyed. He was very large for a human, and evidently freaked that Braxton had lifted him so easily. Braxton removed his pocketbook from his jeans and fished out $200, throwing it at the pathetic excuse for a human being.

  “There’s your money. Now, go home, and don’t think about doing anything like that again.”

  “Okay,” the man croaked. Braxton turned on his heel and left him there, cowering in a pathetic, piss-stained heap.

  He let out a snarl as he headed back into the venue. This was very bad news. It was way more than a few t-shirts being handed out. It was a carefully orchestrated attack on the Broken Hill Bears, and he needed time to figure out how to deal with it. His bear growled and pawed at the ground, ready to kill every single one of those t-shirt wearing humans. The hateful chants were getting louder and louder, and there were more insulting banners. And then he focused his attention on the ring. Rocco, his Alpha’s young brother, was badly bloodied. He’d taken a blow that had opened up a cut above his eyebrow and it was bleeding into his eye, obscuring his vision. He was also bleeding from the nose and there were gashes on his ribcage. What the hell? As Braxton watched in horror, he stumbled back against the ropes, letting his opponent pummel him.

  “Get up!” he hissed. He glanced up at the timer. There was nine seconds of the round left. Nine seconds of Rocco barely being able to fend off a series of blows. He looked like someone else; a much weaker and younger fighter.

  As the bell rang, Braxton sprinted down the steps that led to the ring, closest to the corner where Rocco was sitting on a stool receiving treatment from his crew. Then he came up short, obstructed by the bulletproof glass.

  “Damn it!” he yelled. There was no way of getting past it without the audience figuring out that he was a shifter. Instead, he hammered on the glass, until Ryker, his clan mate turned his head, pausing with the bloodied sponge he’d been using to treat Rocco’s injuries in his hand. His jaw dropped at the sight of him, but Braxton put a finger to his lips, then he made a cutting motion with his hand. They needed to call it. He couldn’t have Rocco being beaten to a pulp. And Xander would kill him when he found out that he’d let it happen. Ryker said something into Rocco’s ear, and Rocco turned to look at Braxton. His face looked even worse up close – heavily bruised and one of his eyes swollen almost shut. Braxton urgently repeated the cutting motion. But Rocco shrugged and shook his head. Eventually, he turned back to his crew and they continued to patch him up.

  The bell rang, and Rocco seemed to recover some of his usual spirit, landing several punches. But it wasn’t enough; he was too badly wounded. And then, half way through the round, his opponent knocked him right out. The boos and jeers started up again, and Braxton clamped down hard on his bear, watching, waiting until Rocco was conscious and up on his feet again. As soon as he was being led out of the ring, Rocco stormed out of the venue as well. This was the absolute worst. Rocco had never been KO’d before, and there was no way that he should’ve been beaten like that. It didn’t make any sense. He needed to get back into the shifter side of the venue so he could speak to him and find out what had happened.

  He was walking quickly, so focused on his thoughts that he didn’t notice the female human in front of him. The first thing he heard was a loud ‘hey!” and the second was two soft breasts pressing against his ribcage. He instinctively reached out and caught the tiny human body before she fell, dimly registering that she was trembling violently between his hands, like a bird, and that her scent was sweet, fresh, and surprisingly arousing. And then he was hit with a shock of recognition as he found himself looking down in a familiar pair of blazing hazel eyes. I know this human. Her auburn hair was loose this time, and it flowed past her shoulders, the sun making it glow like a crimson halo. Her cherry-pink lips were parted in an O of surprise, and she was wearing a bright pink t-shirt. In fact, it was so bright that it made his eyes hurt. And he was no expert on fashion, but it seemed to clash badly with her hair color. But the most surprising thing was that on the t-shirt, written in bold white script, were the words “I can help you. I meant what I said. Call me on 414-837-6014”.

  His bear let off a deep, rumbling purr.

  4

  One hour earlier

  Neve Vincent’s satnav told her that she had arrived at the venue. She narrowed her eyes as she peered at Brooks Sporting and Events Stadium. It didn’t look promising, but that was kind of in keeping with the whole town. Even though it was only a county over from where she grew up, she’d never head of Brooks until she discovered that the bears were fighting there.

  She parked her car in the dusty lot a
nd tugged on the hem of her t-shirt, looking at the upside-down lettering doubtfully. She’d chosen the brightest color t-shirt she could find. It looked awful against her hair, but the more attention-grabbing it was, the better, she reasoned. And then she’d sent it off to have the lettering printed onto it. Now she was going to walk into the venue, try to get a good seat close to the ring, and hope that Braxton would see her. That was it. That was her plan. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the best she’d been able to come up with. Ever since she’d decided that she needed to speak to him again, to convince him that he needed to take legal advice, she hadn’t been able to let the idea drop. At times it had seemed like a crazy thing to do, especially as he’d been so dead set against it, but she knew she was right. And when she knew she was right, she wasn’t the kind of woman to give in. Her self-belief had already gotten her through college and law school, and she wasn’t about to abandon it now.

  But that didn’t mean that she wasn’t terrified at the prospect of speaking to him again. Her hand shook as she clunked the door of her rusty old car shut and locked it. She was about as nervous as she’d been when she was taking the final paper of her law exams. Shading her eyes from the sun, she located the entrance to the venue, then she flicked her hair back from her face and strode across the lot, clutching the ticket that she couldn’t afford to buy. It had cost her two hours’ wage at the diner where she was now working. But she had a funny feeling that if she didn’t even try to see Braxton tonight, then she’d always regret it. As she passed into the venue, the rich, spicy scent of shifters hit her nostrils, and her tummy tingled with excitement. At least a tiny part of the reason why she was making such a big effort was because she wanted another opportunity to be close to that big, sexy bear.