Green Bearets: Luther (A Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance) (Base Camp Bears Book 1)

by Amelia Jade

  Green Bearets:

  Luther

  Base Camp Bears #1

  By Amelia Jade

  Green Bearets: Luther

  Copyright @ 2017 by Amelia Jade

  First Electronic Publication: January 2017

  Amelia Jade

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  All sexual activities depicted occur between consenting characters 18 years or older who are not blood related.

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  Green Bearets: Luther

  Chapter One

  Luther

  Snow crunched underfoot, the icy top layer breaking apart as his big booted feet mercilessly plowed through it, not caring about its pristine nature.

  The snow was still coming down, a mixture of big flakes and wet ones, combining upon the ground to create a hard covering to the softness underneath. His big brown utility boots made quick work of it though, easily carrying him over the mildly slippery surfaces with ease.

  He supposed that his extra bulk helped with that as well, ensuring that everything compacted beneath him to create enough for his feet to grip. At a hair over six and a half feet tall and weighing close to three hundred pounds of pure muscle, moving through uneven terrain hardly impeded his progress. Now that he was on city streets, untouched by most humans as they were in the storm, he could have been walking on water for all it mattered.

  Ahead the road angled off to the right, while the century-old brick buildings on the left gave way to a large park in the center of the city. Majestic pines and colossal oaks reached skyward like miniature skyscrapers, a stark contrast to their metal and glass siblings on either side. Lights decorated them at this time of year, dozens of strings all connected together in a beautiful display that sparkled with color in the winter night.

  Snow settled amongst the trees as well, lending a picturesque look to it, devoid as the park was of most travelers. The temperature had dropped—not that the huge man noticed it—and with the sky opening up overhead, most of the city’s residents had gone searching for warmer quarters.

  He wandered through the clumps of trees, admiring the festive display with a little smile. He’d never been to Cloud Lake in the wintertime, at least not around the holidays, and it seemed the small human settlement took it to heart. All the windows and doors of shops he passed were decorated with lights, pictures of animals, candy canes, and more. Wreaths dotted most every door and red bows hung from the rest. Big men in red suits were everywhere, and the few people he did cross paths with were all smiles with greetings of “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays.”

  The contagiousness of it all meant he couldn’t help but be swept up into it, his deep voice bellying a “Ho Ho Ho” for a family as their children stared up at him in awe. The three little ones squealed in delight and he heard them chattering to their parents about how they’d met Santa, and this was the best Christmas yet, but where was his red suit?

  The smile on his face grew as he listened to the parents happily try to answer the question, while still trying to direct their anxious charges toward home, wherever that might be.

  Home.

  Now there was a thought. He’d thought he’d finally found his home. That he’d made it, achieved what it was he’d set out to do so long ago it seemed.

  And then less than six months later, he’d been unceremoniously dumped. “It wasn’t our fault,” they’d claimed. He knew deep down, in that pit of logic that betrayed any attempt at a good rage, that they were right. It hadn’t been their fault in the slightest. He’d been unlucky, and they’d been following orders. They didn’t want to do it to him, or the dozens of others who’d received the same message. But their political masters had decreed that costs must be cut, and as one of the new guys, he was one of the first to go.

  His jolly mood dropped away, and he grumbled something less than savory. Ahead, a flashing neon light indicated his destination.

  The Poached Arm.

  The name made no sense, but the décor was exactly what he preferred in a watering hole. Old, dingy, in a basement, and people who minded their own damn business. He proceeded down the wide stairs that led to the entrance, stepping to the side at the landing on the bottom as two men and their dates emerged, looking slightly worse for wear. The quartet wished him a Merry Christmas as they drunkenly stumbled their way up the stairs.

  “Merry Christmas,” he replied, his deep voice rumbling through the air.

  But they had forgotten about him the instant they’d wished him a Merry Christmas, and none of them even turned around when he spoke. He clamped down on the flash of anger that followed at the dismissal, reminding himself that they were rather inebriated, and the fact that they had bothered to say anything to him in the first place was enough. After all, wasn’t this a time for forgiveness?

  His thick fingers closed around the handle of the door, and he pulled open the solid wood panel and strode inside, boots clomping on the ground to dislodge the snow and ice stuck to them so that he didn’t track it any further. No bouncer stood near the doorway to greet him. This wasn’t the sort of establishment where underage people frequented. Or if they did, they were of the type that people didn’t care.

  He wasn’t sure what it was about this particular bar, and why he’d come back here, but he had. The instant his feet had crossed over the invisible line marking the border of Cloud Lake, he’d felt an intangible pull guiding him back.

  A familiar face looked up from a table near the back. He frowned in surprise, not having expected to see anyone he knew here. Despite the oddity, he decided that perhaps this was why he’d decided to come here. Maybe it wasn’t a night for drinking alone after all.

  He made his way through the bar, ignoring the glances directed his way as snow drifted off his dark gray T-shirt. Most of the patrons knew what that, combined with his impressive size, meant. They also knew better than to mess with him, but he could still hear it in their mind.

  Shifter.

  Even in a place like this, which he knew was frequented by those from his homeland, they still stood out like sore thumbs. The clientele for the most part accepted them, and gave them very little trouble. Why would they, after all? The human beer they served wasn’t potent enough to get him drunk, unless he had a lot of it, and to his knowledge, they always paid their tabs promptly.

  But despite the good working relationship, there was always an undercurrent of dissatisfaction, even perhaps one of fear. It irked him, because he meant them no harm, and he wouldn’t
bother with any of them unless they did something he viewed as wrong.

  “Aksel,” he said by way of greeting, sliding into the near side of the booth occupied by the other shifter.

  It would be a stretch to call them friends, but they certainly were not enemies. Simply put, the two had seen each other enough to know their names, but had never been in the same place at the same time long enough to become friends. Perhaps, he thought, that was going to change this night over several glasses of sweet amber nectar.

  “Luther,” the other man said, raising the glass in front of him in salute.

  Perhaps glass was the wrong term, he mused. The humans called them pitchers, after all, but to get drunk on human brew, Luther knew he would need to use them as single-fill glasses.

  “I’ll have what he’s having,” he rumbled as someone stopped in front of the booth. He didn’t bother looking up.

  “Sure thing,” a sweet, happy voice said, its tone completely at odds with the rest of the bar.

  Against his will Luther felt his head snap up. He swallowed hard as his eyes were locked with a set of hazel orbs that were already challenging him. Yet despite that, he couldn’t look away. She was beautiful, he realized. Her delicate-looking face was framed by long tresses of reddish-brown hair that seemed to shine even in the low light of the bar.

  Two rows of perfect teeth flashed at him as she arched an eyebrow. It took Luther a moment to realize she was speaking to him.

  “I’m sorry, pardon?” he asked, shaking his head and blinking rapidly, trying to focus on what was going on, and not the stunning beauty of his waitress.

  He felt his bear stir inside of him, the animal intrigued by his human mind’s sudden incoherence.

  Not now, he pleaded, mentally focusing his will and keeping the beast trapped within him.

  The strain on his mind served to help snap the world around him back into focus, and this time he heard the waitress speak, her voice flowing over him like water from a mountain stream, fresh from winter’s thaw.

  “I said, is there anything else?” He detected a slight hint of challenge in her voice, as if daring him to say something inappropriate.

  Luther almost frowned. He had no intentions of being rude to this woman, so why was she treating him like he was scum?

  “No,” he said firmly, trying to make it clear he wasn’t trying to be crass by staring at her.

  Something flashed behind her eyes at his reply, and they darkened slightly as she turned away.

  “Don’t you have a way with the ladies,” Aksel commented into his drink as the waitress moved away, her shoulders rigid.

  “I’m not sure what I did,” he replied, eyebrows still furrowed together in confusion as he replayed the entire conversation.

  “Seriously?” Aksel asked, setting his pitcher down in surprise.

  “What’d I miss?” Luther asked, looking at the other bear shifter for an explanation.

  “Perhaps it was the way you stared at her for so long, and then forced her to repeat herself because you didn’t hear her the first time since you were eyeing her up and down.”

  Luther felt his jaw drop. “I did not look her up and down!” he protested. “I was staring, yes. She’s gorgeous, and…” he trailed off. “But I couldn’t even tell you what she looked like from the neck down,” he said a minute later, having replayed his memory a dozen times.

  “Are you smitten already?” Aksel teased, laughing as he lifted the pitcher and took a long sip, a solid quarter of the liquid disappearing as he did.

  “Perhaps,” Luther said, glancing toward the bar where the waitress had gone. She was out of his line of sight, unfortunately, but she would return, he knew that.

  Then he shook his head once more, feeling his bear shake itself out in his mind and return to the mental cave that housed his other half. He imagined it circling several times before it lay down and went back to sleep, unneeded at this time.

  “So,” Aksel said, setting the now-empty pitcher on the table between them. “What brings you here?”

  “Same as you,” Luther said, his attention still focused on the bar, desperate to get another glimpse of the intriguing woman. “Drinking away the sorrows of being shit-canned by the motherfucking politicians.”

  “Amen to that,” Aksel said, his own deep voice echoing through the bar, drawing several stares. A curl of his lip sent most of them back to their own drinks. “I still can’t believe it,” he raged, sitting back heavily into the booth.

  “Compared to two years ago, border patrols are less than an eighth of what they were. An eighth,” Luther said, his mind on the conversation but his eyes elsewhere. “It’s so ridiculous it defies description. If the humans knew, they could be slipping any number of people into Cadia.” His voice dropped several octaves as he spoke that last part, ending low enough that only Aksel and his supernatural hearing would be able to make out the individual words.

  “If the rumors of trouble with the other shifter enclaves are true, we could end up in a world of hurt,” Aksel responded, his voice just as soft, practically drowned out by the background chatter of the bar.

  “Indeed. Sounds like a perfect reason to drink,” Luther said, a smile creasing his lips.

  At the bar, the woman had come back into his line of sight.

  ***

  Allix

  She finished filling the two pitchers, but hesitated as she went to pick them up and saw how shaky her hands were.

  It had all started with the newcomer. The way he’d turned his head to look at her when she’d spoken, his vivid green eyes pinning her to the spot with a look so intense she felt like he was trying to read her mind or something. Only her automatic defenses had saved her, firing off a line that had managed to bring both of them back to reality.

  The worst part was, it wasn’t the first time that one had been in her bar either. Not less than three weeks earlier he’d made an appearance. That time he’d sat in a different section, and Nikki had served him. The blonde server had tried all evening to basically prostitute herself to the big shifter, but with no luck. Eventually she’d caved and let another man pay for her services for the evening.

  Allix only remembered because she’d smirked at the fact that somebody had finally denied Nikki’s advances. That never happened in this joint, and Allix had committed the man’s face to memory, wondering why he’d been so adamantly against the idea. Most of the shifters who came in here hoped they could get Nikki. She was tall, thin, with medium-sized tits that she showed off well.

  Any man would be happy to have her for an evening, Allix thought.

  Except him.

  Yes, there was something different about that one, and she wasn’t referring to the fact that he was a shifter. Feeling slightly more calm, she snatched up the two pitchers and made her way back around the curved bar, toward their table in the far corner.

  The beer began to slosh precipitously as she rounded the slight arch and he came into view. His head was turned to face her, and she found herself inadvertently staring right at him, even as he gazed at her.

  Her job forced Allix to continue her course toward their table, though she was desperate to break off and go somewhere else. Anywhere else. His eyes continued to track her every movement though, almost unashamed in his directness, to the point where she couldn’t help but wonder if he was even aware of what he was doing.

  “Here you go,” she said, the pitchers hitting the table a little harder than intended, spilling a small amount of beer over the side as she awkwardly set them down.

  “Thank you,” the original shifter said when his companion failed to speak up at all.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, her gaze still fixated on the newcomer, who hadn’t stopped looking at her even for a minute. “Just, ah, get my attention if you need anything else, otherwise I’ll come back when those are almost empty, okay?”

  “Of course,” the shifter who was staring said rather bluntly.

  Allix swayed back slightly a
t his somewhat brusque mannerism, the words snapping her out of the spell as she turned and walked toward the next set of tables she was serving to see if they needed anything.

  That was weird. He looks at me so boldly, but yet not crassly. But when he speaks it’s like he’s trying to get rid of me as fast as he can.

  The interaction was replaying in her head as she passed one table, and because of it, one of the men at it was able to slide his hand up her leg and across her rear before she reacted, a very un-Allix type of move. Normally she shut down that sort of attention before the hand had moved more than an inch or two.

  Now she whirled, her fingers a flat blade as she sharply knocked the offending hand from her body, not holding back. The impact ran up her arm, numbing it slightly, but she didn’t care. The man who it belonged to yanked his hand back, yelping slightly and rubbing where she’d made contact.

  “What was that for?” he asked, his voice slightly slurred. He held up a wad of cash in his other hand. “I was going to pay.”

  Allix sneered at him. “I’m not for hire. I’ll send someone over for you though,” she told him, her voice dripping sarcasm.

  The man reddened in the face, his anger at being snubbed getting the better of him because of his drunken state. “I don’t want them,” he spat. “I want you. What’s the matter, afraid you’ll have too much of a good time?” he said, his eyebrows bouncing suggestively.

  “I told you, I’m not for hire,” she replied firmly.

  The drunk extended his arm slowly, waving the bundle of bills in front of her, as if trying to tempt Allix to reconsider her offer. “C’mon sweetie, I’m sure we can work something out.”

  “Absolutely not,” she told him. “Now, can I get you anything to eat or drink?”

  He opened his mouth and she slammed a hand down on the table. “Do not make that comment,” she told him in a calm, collected voice. “You will regret it, I promise you.”

  The man’s jaw snapped closed as something in her tone got through to whatever was left of his functioning brain.