Bucking Bearback (BBW Shifter Cowboy Western Romance) (Bear Ranchers Book 5)

by Becca Fanning

Another wolf howled, off to the other side this time.

  The men all around the campfire began backing up, readying their weapons and picking up burning sticks from the campfire.

  “Easy men. Just some doggies out for a stroll. I don’t want no one runnin’ off half cocked!” Lanky Jack said.

  “What if theys constable dogs?” Hoppy said, terror showing in his eyes. He had a long knife in one hand, held out in front of him. “What if they found us, boss? I can’t hang! I can’t!” Hoppy fled, running off into the dark forest.

  “Get the fuck back here you idiot!” Lanky Jack screamed.

  All heads snapped towards where Hoppy ran off to as screams reached us. Then they were cut short.

  “Any other man thinks to flee, cut ‘em in half, Wally.” Jack said, his eyes trying to pierce the darkness beyond the campfire.

  Winchester cocked the hammers on his carriage gun back and held it at the ready.

  Then I realized I wasn’t being guarded anymore. I thought to flee into the woods, but I’d surely enjoy a fate to match Hoppy’s. And I didn’t even have a knife. If I were lucky the wolves wouldn’t play with me too much before going for my throat.

  Instead, I quietly slunk back and crawled to hide under a wagon near the fire. I heard soft crunches of sticks slowly pad their way towards the fire.

  Breaking through the edge of the forest, a massive gray wolf calmly walked towards the group of men. It’s muzzle was wet, slickened red with blood. All the men turned to face it, their weapons at the ready.

  Winchester brought his gun up to his shoulder and leveled the barrel at the wolf. “Brr Brr Wrrf!” he said.

  He didn’t say anything else. A massive wooden cudgel slammed into him from the side. Then I saw part of the arm that held it! My God, it belonged to no man of this earth! Thick as a tree limb and covered in hair thick as fur. He must stand nearly two men high!

  Winchester went flying, crashing far off into the dark woods. One of the other men near the campfire picked up the rifle he’d dropped and spun to face the huge monster. He shot from the hip, the carriage gun spewing flame and lead in a wide arc.

  The creature that dispatched Winchester was hit and flew backwards.

  “Don’t tarry boys! Dispatch the bastard!” Jack said as his men moved to smash the downed beast with swords and hammers.

  A scream from their rear froze them. The wolf everyone had forgotten had hamstrung another of their number, who was now crawling on hands and knees. A bandit near the wolf lifted an iron hammer and brought it down to smash the wolf’s skull in.

  I’ve never been given cause to think my own eyes would lie to me, but I watched as this wolf changed into a man! The hammer landed between the now naked man’s feet. He struck out with a hand and crushed the bandit’s throat. He calmly walked past the dying man, his lithe muscled body seemingly untouched by the cold.

  “Tis devil magic!” Lanky Jack said, “Flee, bastards, lest there is a righteous one amongst ye!”

  With that, the bandits scattered like bugs beneath a stone. The man ran after them, and further off in the woods the sounds of screams came again and again.

  I was frozen in place, not knowing what I’d seen. I began praying, beseeching the Lord to send an angel to protect me. I thought to flee off into the woods in the other direction, but I knew wolves would be able to track my scent.

  Before I could make up my mind, I heard footsteps coming back to the fire. Two men walked up to the fire and squatted in front of it. One was the naked man who was the wolf. He was very tall, broad of shoulder and had a hard body that bespoke hard labor. He had scraggly gray hair held back by a ribbon. Squatting, his manhood hung low. Thick and long, it nearly stirred the leaves on the forest floor.

  The other man carried a large club, etched with runes that seemed to glow blue. He was wearing a wool sash and kilt. His brown hair hung around his shoulders. He was wounded, blood dripping down his leg. I realized that he must be the one shot by the gun.

  “I’m getting slower,” the brown haired one said with a grimace. His hand pressed against his side where the gun had wounded him.

  “Aye, we all are,” the gray haired one replied. He reached over to pick up the gun where it lay. “But it’s just lead.”

  “This time, Wynn. Won’ always be like that. Soon as word gets out, next time it’ll be silver,” the brown haired one said.

  “No need to be so hangface all the time. This was a good hunt,” the gray haired one said, standing and stretching. His muscles rippled in the light from the dying campfire, and I could see a body lined with old scars.

  “Ye sit round chattin’ like women,” a voice suddenly said from close beside me. “Might as well bring another knitter to the party,” he said as the wagon I was hidden under was lifted off me and went toppling end over end.

  Looking down at me was another Scotsman, wearing the same pattern sash and kilt as the brown-haired man. His short blonde hair was parted down the middle, and his green eyes looked down on me like dinner. His one hand grabbed my arm and threw me towards the campfire. “Looks like they left their whore,”

  “I’m no whore, you demons!” I spat back, standing up to face the three of them. I looked down at my filthy sodden undergarments, now little better than rags.

  “I ne’er knew bandits to employ a scullery maid. Or perhaps you’re their wetnurse?” the brown-haired one asked.

  “Be still, Doanald,” the one called Wynn said, “As you say, ma’am. As you say.”

  “She hid well! Could have gotten the drop on the two of you,” the young blonde one said, puffing his chest a bit. He dropped a long length of fabric next to the campfire.

  Wynn bent over and picked it up, wrapping it around himself to form his own sash and kilt to match his brethren. “Aye, Samwell, a foul scent amongst this group hid hers,” he said. “And we are not demons, milady.”

  “Then what type of black magic runs through your veins? Monsters, the lot of you!” I said, my eyes scanning the ground.

  “Ye dare call us monsters, English cunny peddler!” blonde Samwell said, stepping closer to me.

  “That’s enough, Samwell,” Wynn said, staring at the younger man.

  Amid the leaves I saw a small cheese knife, delicate and embossed with flowers. I knelt down to wipe grime from the bottom of my shawl and grabbed hold of the tiny knife.

  “I’ll not stand by while a whore servicing English rapists and cut-throats calls us monsters,” Samwell said, suddenly inches from me. His hands come up to grab my throat. He did not squeeze though. “Were I a monster, this’d be the last thing ye saw, whore.”

  “And if I were less of a lady, beast,” I said, bringing the small knife up to the soft flesh of his throat, “this would be the last thing you saw!”

  Where the knife blade touched his throat, the skin began to bubble and sizzle. Samwell howled in pain and fell away, grabbing his throat. The face that spun back to glare at me was light fur and long fangs. Without a word he leapt at me, long claws extended to rend my flesh.

  He was knocked sideways by a furry gray blur, inches from reaching me. A deep guttural growl came from Wynn, who now stood between me and Samwell. Except now Wynn was over seven feet tall, a wolf standing on two hind legs!

  Samwell stood to match Wynn in height, the two massive wolfmen staring each other down. Fangs bared, Samwell backed down, looking away as his fur retracted and he shrunk back to his human form.

  Wynn followed suit, straightening his sash before turning around to face me. “You should be careful with that,” he said, pointing at my small cheese knife. “We do not respond kindly to silver.”

  “Whoa boyo, she gave ye a nice little shavin’ nick!” Doanald said, clapping Samwell on the back and laughing at the younger man’s expense.

  Samwell shot him an embarassed glance.

  “What are you?” I asked, exhausted.

  “We be nightmares, lass. Someone else’s nightmares,” Doanald said, chuckling.

  “
We’re three men of the Linneigh Clan,” Wynn said, seemingly expecting me to recognize the name.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of your family,” I admitted.

  “Hmph!” Samwell said, kneeling next to the fire.

  “Tis alright, we’re far from Scotland. And your words do not wound us, our own pride does.” Wynn said, looking down. “Please sit at the fire. You must be freezing.”

  I slumped down next to the fire between Wynn and Doanald. I didn’t care that Samwell was cursing me under his breath. I didn’t care that I was alone in the dark woods with three wolfmen. I just cared about the warmth from the fire and how it brought feeling back to my fingers and toes.

  Doanald picked up something from next to the fire and tossed it over to me. It was half a roasted rabbit, leftovers from the bandits. I was famished, but I looked down at the creature sorrowfully.

  “Not hungry?” Wynn asked.

  “I am, but I do not have a fork,” I said quietly.

  Doanald raised his eyebrows and looked at Wynn. “I dunna think she was their whore,” he said.

  Wynn grunted and stood, walking over towards the overturned wagon. He poked around a moment in the mess and came back with a small cracked plate and a fork. He handed them to me with a smile.

  The gesture was so kind, I smiled back. I couldn’t help myself. Soon I was enjoying the rabbit as a lady would. “Are all men of the Linneigh Clan…like you?”

  “Nay,” Doanald said, “they have smaller cocks!”

  Doanald and Wynn laughed heatily, even Samwell couldn’t supress his grin. Their laughing intensified when they saw the color of my cheeks.

  “No, you drollard,” I chastised Doanald, “I meant…are they all…wolves?”

  “Nay, lass. My cousin is a donkey. Wynn’s sister is a pony!” Doanald said.

  “What is your name?” Wynn asked.

  “I’m Claire Lawry,” I said.

  “Claire, we are men of the Linneigh Clan, but we are also Lycan,” Wynn said, “It’s an affliction, a curse. We don’t know who cursed us, but we know there are others. Some curses have advantages: this one is no different.”

  “Why…why are you here?” I asked, trying to control my shivering.

  “We’re here to find someone. Doanald’s sister,” Wynn said, looking at his friend.

  The big shaggy haired man’s smile faded, the first time I saw that happen. His face held sadness deeply, sinking into every crowfoot and frown line. It was not a face that should be sad. “Aye,” he said, “but we will find her soon. She’s…someone’s guest in a village nearby.”

  “Aye, we will settle that score,” Samwell said, looking into the fire.

  “But what do we do with her?” Doanald asked Wynn, referring to me.

  “Hmmm…” Wynn considered the situation.

  “I…I can come with you,” I said. As soon as I said it, I knew it to be true.

  “Nay, lass. You’ll no come with us. It’s too dangerous. You belong back with your family,” Wynn said.

  “My family sold me into a marriage to a man who will one day either kill me or torture me and then kill me. To return to them, I will be no better off than I was with those bandits,” I said, tears coming to my eyes.

  “Your own family would do that to you?” Samwell said, aghast.

  In fact, all three men looked at me aghast.

  “It is to be my lot in this life, sacrificed so that my father and brother may have better business fortunes,” I said, ashamed. I was surprised when Wynn stood over me, his hand reaching down to pull my chin up.

  “You’ll not be treated like that any longer,” he said.

  “Wynn, what are you doing?” Doanald said, little mirth in him any longer.

  “I’m making a decision, Doanald. Do ye challenge it?” Wynn said calmly, still looking down at me.

  I couldn’t tear my eyes from his. Like blue stars, they bore through my being and saw me like no one else ever had. His firm hand holding my chin bespoke security, comfort and something else. Something I’d never felt before.

  Doanald appraised the two of us, “Nay, I do no challenge you. You lead this pack, an I would no have it otherwise.”

  Samwell watched us also, his earlier rage transformed into something else. Heat still burned in his eyes, but they now traveled down my body, lingering at my ample breasts and my scandalously bared legs. He licked his lips, a beastial affectation.

  Through the cold night, under a bright moon and in these primal woods, something inside me stirred. I could smell Wynn, and I wanted more. His woody scent, his hot hand, the length that hung under his kilt. In my nethers, an ember of lust was smoking, threatening to consume me. Some strange part of me made me turn my head and bite his hand.

  Doanald bellowed a laugh, “Oh Pack Leader, ye have a biter on your hands! You’ll have to teach that pup some manners.”

  “We have a long day tomorrow,” Wynn said, looking down at me, his hand held out of range, “Get some rest.”

  All four of us curled up around the fire. I had made a small sleeping pad out of some cloth around the wagon. I watched as the men all unwound their sashes and kilts, one impossibly long length of green wool that could also double as a bed and cover.

  Try as I might, I could not sleep. One always pictured the woods as dark and quiet. Dark they are, quiet they are not! Small creatures scurried about, owls hooted and even the wind blew through the trees.

  Quickly the fire died down, and the true cold of the night crept in. I lay, trying not to chatter my teeth too loudly, but eventually I couldn’t take it any longer. I chastised myself as I crawled slowly over toward Wynn’s sleeping form.

  The moonlight cast a cool blue light over the camp. I looked over at the prone bodies of Doanald and Samwell. Their snores were deep, much like their sleep.

  Looking back to Wynn, I saw his blue eyes looking right at me. I must have shivered at that point, because his hand lifted the side of his blanket in offer. The last part of my modesty died as I scurried to lie next to the tall naked man. I was not sure how I should share this tight space with him, but his arm sliding under my neck made his chest a natural pillow.

  I took in his scent for the second time that evening. This time, much more intimately, I breathed in deeply. Pine, smoke from the campfire and his own primal musk: I took it all in with relish.

  I was a virgin, this much was true, but I was no prude. I merely acted in a way required by my station in society. Those chains now destroyed, freed from a fate that was torture just to contemplate, I was eager to take charge of my fate going forward.

  “Thoughts stir in you,” Wynn said, quietly.

  “Do you mind a woman who has thoughts?” I asked playfully.

  He let out a quiet laugh, “Nay, but this is a time for sleeping.”

  “Is that all you Linneigh men do at night?” I asked. I kissed the small part of his hand I had bitten before.

  Wynn’s chest reverberated with a deep, gutteral growl. I’d heard him growl before, but that was out of anger. This sound held some of the same passion, but there was no anger in it. It was something more akin to hunger. Lust.

  I took one of his fingers in my mouth and sucked upon it. I’d heard the maids on the estate talk to one another about how they’d use their mouths on their men.