Isaiah raced to her side, scooped her off the ground, cradled her to his chest, and ran from the two bears.
Heather couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped her lips. She also couldn’t catch her breath. She squeezed her eyes closed and pressed her face against her strange savior. Her injured arm was smashed against Isaiah’s body. She still felt no pain, but she felt the wetness of her blood.
He held her tighter as he slowed his run to a jog and continued away from the fighting grizzlies.
She couldn’t hear them anymore, but she wasn’t sure if she mentally blocked out their battle, if they’d gotten far enough away, or if her ears were simply ringing from stress.
Finally Isaiah slowed. He lifted one hand to brush a lock of her hair off her face and then tucked a finger under her chin to tip her head back. “You okay?”
She opened her eyes to find him staring at her with a furrowed brow. Concern was etched into his stiff facial features.
“Heather?”
“Yeah,” she murmured.
He winced as he leaned her a few inches away from his body to eye her arm. “Fuck.” There was a line of blood on his shirt.
“Sorry. I’m getting blood on you.”
He jerked his gaze back to her face. “Woman, I don’t care about my stupid shirt.”
“Oh.” Then why did he cuss? She wasn’t injured badly enough to die, for heaven’s sake. It was more like a long scratch. Probably didn’t even need stitches.
Isaiah inhaled long and slow, tipping his head back, seemingly staring at a random spot in the distance. Did he nod subtly? His face softened, he swallowed, and then he licked his lips.
Heather watched every nuance of his features. His strong jawline mesmerized her. She wanted to stroke her hand over his beard to see if it was as soft as it looked. His nose was round and slightly off center, indicating he’d undoubtedly broken it at least once. She pictured him in a fist fight and almost smiled. Why the hell is that thought so sexy?
When he lowered his face, she found herself staring into the deepest dark brown eyes she’d ever seen. She couldn’t move. His expression was serious as he stared back. “Fuck,” he repeated.
She flinched.
“Damn. Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. Let’s get you out of the cold.” His gaze roamed down her body until he reached her legs. “Do you have any broken bones?”
“No. Just a sprained ankle.”
He nodded and then started walking again. He held her as if she weighed nothing, and he never for a second breathed heavily from the exertion. Not even while he was running with her.
She peeled her eyes off his face and glanced around. They were no longer on the path. Whoever this man was, he was traipsing through the trees as if the idea weren’t preposterous. She prayed he knew where he was going. After all, he surely knew the mountains well if he’d been sent to rescue her.
She leaned her cheek against his chest again. What else was there to do but let this giant of a man get her to safety?
As she closed her eyes, she allowed herself to inhale his scent and nearly moaned. In a different world, she would be bold enough to burrow her nose into his chest and luxuriate in his strong masculinity. The faint smell of his soap wafted from beneath his shirt. The clean scent of his laundry detergent. But mostly what she inhaled was all Isaiah.
Damn.
Chapter Two
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Isaiah fought the urge to continue shouting that word out loud as he walked. He had already scared her half to death, no doubt. Although she didn’t seem too upset. And her sweet little body was pressed into him tightly.
She was small. Maybe not by normal people’s standards, but compared to his six-foot-five-inch bulk, she was a pixie. About a foot shorter than him, her frame was also tiny. Not that she was weak. He could feel her muscles everywhere she pressed into him. But she was human. And humans were smaller than bear shifters.
As he continued to make his way down the mountain, he noticed how long her hair was and nearly moaned. He was a sucker for long hair. Thick brown locks were pulled back in a ponytail, but chunks had come loose and hung at the sides of her face. Some of the softness was twisted around his fingers at her back. Without thinking, he stroked the lock against his palm before he could stop himself.
Maybe she didn’t notice.
If he hadn’t seen her eyes, he would have expected them to be brown, based on her dark hair and tanned skin. But unfortunately, he had seen them. They were a pale green that reminded him of the hot springs nestled in the nearby mountain ranges. He gritted his teeth, attempting futilely to wipe the vision from his head. Yeah, it would help if he hadn’t seen those either.
Between her hair and her eyes, he was a goner.
As if you hadn’t already fallen for the women by her scent alone before setting eyes on her.
What he needed to do was stop focusing on how damn sexy she was and deal with the much larger problem he had on his hands. That fucker, Jack Tarben, clawed her. The repercussions of such an act were monumental. For both Jack and Heather.
Isaiah had no idea the last time a shifter had attacked a human, but it wasn’t in his lifetime. It was strictly forbidden. The Arcadian Council would have no choice but to enforce the law, which would mean Jack would be exiled from his pack and the entire territory, at the very least.
And still, that was nothing compared to what would happen to Heather. Her world was about to turn upside down, and she had no idea. She didn’t ask for this. It took every ounce of strength Isaiah had to rein in his control and not lose it.
His blood boiled with rage under the exterior calm he forced for Heather’s sake.
Thank God his brother, Wyatt, had shown up when he did. Considering the posture Jack was exhibiting, Isaiah had no doubt the man intended to attack Heather when he wandered onto the path. He would have scented her. He also would have scented Isaiah. Why hadn’t he remained hidden?
There was no call for his defiant stance and attack. If Wyatt hadn’t bounded out of the woods precisely when he did, Isaiah would have been forced to shift and fight Jack in bear form. The act would have kept Heather safe, but it also would have revealed their existence.
Keeping their species a secret from Heather was now shot to shit anyway.
Fuck.
Isaiah’s mind continued to race through possible reasons for Jack’s fucked-up decision to attack. Yes, Isaiah had wandered onto Tarben land to rescue the woman, but it had been unavoidable and completely out of his control. Not a reason to attack. And never a reason to attack a human.
Isaiah had grimaced when he realized what trail Heather had taken the day before. It was the one and only trail in the area that wove back and forth across the divide between Arthur land and Tarben land. Isaiah had needed to take that path to find a missing hiker two times prior to today. Both times he’d done so knowing full well he risked the wrath of the other pack, but hoping they would be reasonable under the circumstances.
After all, he hadn’t been maliciously plundering on Tarben land. He’d simply been providing a humanitarian service.
But some of the Tarbens were hardheaded.
Then again, his own pack was equally as hardheaded when it came to the stupid territory and the century-old treaty that demanded neither pack loiter on the property of the other.
Today was the first time someone had approached him from the Tarben pack and challenged him. Had Jack approached Isaiah to confront him over territory? Or had the man been there for a more nefarious reason that involved Heather? That possibility made Isaiah shudder.
Another curious piece of the puzzle was that Jack hadn’t responded to any communication from either Isaiah or Wyatt. The man completely ignored all verbal and telepathic attempts at discussion. He’d growled and attacked as though he were simply a wild bear instead of a grizzly shifter.
Stubborn fucker was going to regret his actions today.
Fuck.
Isaiah was stuck on that
one word. And it was warranted.
Attacking a human was number two under the “Thou Shalt Nots” of the Arcadian bears. Turning a human was number one. Unfortunately, that was exactly what Jack had done by intentionally breaking Heather’s skin with his claw.
The unsuspecting sprite of a woman currently curled against Isaiah’s chest had no idea she was about to become a bear shifter against her will.
∙•∙
Heather tried to focus on anything but the pain radiating up her leg from her ankle and the sting finally making itself known on her arm. As her adrenaline high eased, she felt the discomfort of both.
How long was it going to take to get down the mountain? She needed to be patient. She had hiked about three miles up. It would take a while to get back down. An hour? Although she had no idea what sort of direct route Isaiah was taking, and it did seem that, completely undaunted by her added weight, he was making fast progress.
But it had only been about fifteen minutes.
Suddenly, he stepped into a clearing, and she swore she heard him sigh as he gave her an extra squeeze.
She twisted her head around again to see an amazing log home right in her line of sight. What the hell? She had thought them to be in the middle of nowhere. It shocked her to see a house. Maybe Isaiah had carried her longer than she thought.
Not to mention, this wasn’t some simple log cabin retreat for hunting. It was an enormous, luxurious ranch. The outside was intentionally rustic with rough logs seemingly haphazardly piled high to make the walls. She knew better. The inside would be spectacular and far from rustic. The only other color was the occasional dark green paint that coated the trim around the front porch as well as the columns that held up the ceiling.
It was nestled in a clearing among the trees in a way that it would be hard to find. In fact, she felt certain someone would almost have to stumble upon the cabin or know exactly where it was. And the view. Stunning. She glanced past the cabin to see mountain peaks extending for miles. It would be an amazing sight in every season of the year.
If her damn ankle wasn’t twisted, she would jump out of Isaiah’s arms and rush to the front of the house to explore. It was that marvelous.
“Whose home is this?” she asked, grateful for its presence wherever they were, while assuming Isaiah must know the owners, based on the way he was so determinedly approaching.
“My parents’.”
She jerked her gaze back to him. “Your parents own this?”
He frowned. “Yes. Why is that weird?”
She felt a heated flush rise over her cheeks. Why was it strange? “I guess it’s not. Not any more than the coincidence of it even existing so close to where I spent the night freezing my ass off.”
For the first time since he’d stepped into her space, he almost smiled. The subtle lift of the corners of his mouth might have gone unnoticed at a glance, but she’d seen the softening of his brow, the way the worry lines between his eyes smoothed, the tiny divots in his cheeks suggesting he would have gorgeous dimples if he ever let his lips turn up into a full-fledged grin.
As Isaiah stepped onto the porch, the front door flew open, the screen door squeaking on its hinges. Isaiah climbed the four steps that led to the entrance while Heather tipped her head again to see who was exiting the house.
“Oh dear.” The woman who spoke had to be Isaiah’s mother. She had similar features—the same nose, although hers had never been broken, the same furrowed brow, and the same intense brown eyes. She was also tall. Nearly six feet.
“Did you think I was kidding?” Isaiah asked as he pushed past his mother to enter the house.
What the hell did that mean? He acted as though he’d phoned ahead to let her know he was bringing a wounded guest.
Heather didn’t have time to ponder the strange statement further, though. She was too busy taking in the house, which was indeed as spectacular inside as she expected.
She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer indoor lighting. The sun had been so bright, she needed a minute to focus. By the time she could examine the space, Isaiah had already trudged through the living room and into the kitchen.
Shocking her, he set her on the kitchen island, steadying her with both hands at her waist for a moment. “You okay? You’re not going to fall over are you?”
She placed both hands on the tile at her sides and shook her head. “I’m fine.”
The woman who had held the door open for her rushed to her side. “You poor thing. Oh my goodness.” Her face was full of worry and concern as she lifted her gaze to meet Heather’s. She set a hand on Heather’s cheek. “I’m Rosanne.”
“Heather. Thank you for…” she trailed off as Isaiah lifted her foot, pain shooting through her ankle. She winced.
He glanced at her face. “You sure it’s not broken?”
“I don’t think so. I twisted it. It’s probably a bad sprain.”
He eased it back down carefully. “You’ll need ice.” He turned his focus to her arm, taking a hold of her forearm and turning her wrist to better assess the cuts.
Rosanne set a hand on Isaiah’s biceps. “Son…”
“Mom, no. Not yet,” he muttered.
She pursed her lips, glanced at Heather, and then away.
“Where’s Dad?”
“At the brewery. He’s on his way.”
“You talk to Wyatt yet?”
“Yeah. He’s on his way too.”
Isaiah lifted his gaze back to Heather’s. “We need to clean up these cuts. Your shirt is ruined. You mind if I cut it off above the claw marks?” He flinched as he spoke those last words.
“No,” she whispered. There was something going on she didn’t understand. She was also afraid to ask. Instinct told her she wasn’t going to like the answer.
Isaiah tugged the sleeve of her jacket and eased it off her arm. While he worked it off the rest of her torso, Rosanne rushed across the room and returned with a pair of serious scissors. What did she usually use those for? Lord.
Being incredibly considerate and careful, Isaiah cut straight up the sleeve under her arm to avoid the cuts and then around in a circle near her shoulder. The sleeve fell away, leaving a clearer view of the two long lines that ran up her biceps, perfect gouges in her skin that were no longer bleeding but looked angry and red.
Isaiah leaned down to examine the marks, holding her wrist in a gentle way that made her fight to avoid squirming. He was so damn…sexy. And the way he handled her made her mouth drier by the minute. She found herself staring at him more closely now that her eyes had adjusted to the indoor lighting and she was no longer in imminent danger of death.
Although she needed to remember her danger was partially caused by his peculiar actions when confronted with that fucking huge bear.
“We need to clean these up.” He set her hand on her thigh and turned toward the sink to flip on the water, testing it with one hand while he grabbed a container of liquid soap.
Rosanne still held her lips tightly closed, but she tugged open a drawer and removed a wash cloth and a dish towel. She handed the cloth to Isaiah, who squirted a line of soap on it and then held it under the water.
“This is going to sting a bit,” he stated as he set the warm wet cloth on her arm above her elbow and eased it up to her shoulder.
Heather gritted her teeth. Sting was an understatement. But she braced herself and allowed him to wash the scratches. He returned to the sink three times to rinse out the washcloth and make sure he had all the soap off her.
When he was done, she was relieved to see that the two marks were not as bad as she feared. Deep scratches, but not in danger of bleeding or needing stitches. “She needs an antibiotic ointment,” Isaiah said to his mother.
“Honey…”
He stiffened. “Mom. I said don’t. Do we have any or not?” His voice rose.
She pursed her lips yet again and nodded. As she left the room, the front door opened again and voices carried through the giant living roo
m to the kitchen. Seconds later, two men stepped into the space. No. Not really men. More like human examples of the overuse of steroids. Holy hell.
The older man, who must have been Isaiah’s father, was three inches taller than Isaiah. At least six eight. And the other man, whom she assumed was Isaiah’s brother, was only an inch shorter than his dad. What did these people eat?
Whatever they had been discussing ended abruptly when they spotted Heather on the counter.
“Shit,” the younger man stated.
Heather winced at the strange reaction. Every person she encountered seemed perturbed. In addition, she noticed Wyatt had several scratches on his right arm and even a line down his face that looked similar to hers but faded, as if he’d been in a fight several days ago.
The older man rushed across the room and came up to her side. He grabbed her arm with far less finesse than his son and lifted it to the light. “Damnit.”
“Did you assholes think I was fucking kidding?” Isaiah asked.
Heather’s eyes shot wide. Her confusion was growing incrementally, and the sharp words coming from Isaiah’s mouth were jarring, to say the least.
The older man lifted his gaze to glance at Isaiah, and then he turned toward Heather, his face softening marginally. “I’m Bernard, Isaiah’s father.” He pointed to her other side. “That’s Wyatt. But you already met him.”
She drew her eyes together. When the hell would she have met him?
Wyatt shook his head. “Nope. Dad. We have not met.”
Isaiah rolled his eyes. “Would you two step back? Give her some freaking space. You’re going to suffocate her.”
Bernard slowly released her arm while he turned toward Isaiah. “Son…”
“Don’t start. I don’t want to hear it.”
“But, Isaiah. What are you thinking?”
“I’m not thinking anything. I’m thinking we need to clean up these wounds and let Heather call her parents. They must be worried sick.”
Bernard stared at his son for several seconds and then slowly nodded.
Grizzly Mountain (Arcadian Bears Book 1) Page 2
