Kodiak Moment: An Alpha Werebear Paranormal Shifter Romance (The Arcadia Knights Book 2)

by Olivia Gayle

  She laid the double-barreled shotgun across her arm, checking to make sure it was loaded before locking it back together with a snap. She kept the muzzle pointed low, ready if she needed it but not unsafe. Buster had stopped just outside the wood pen, barking furiously at something Meredith couldn’t see. Approaching carefully, she raised the shotgun to her shoulder just as a figure appeared on the far side of the cattle.

  The animals scattered and Meredith pointed the gun at the suddenly familiar man coming towards her. “You have some nerve showing up after so long.”

  Logan stopped, his eyes on Meredith’s and not the gun, not saying anything. Meredith took a moment to study him, partly annoyed with what she saw. The man was naked as a jaybird but seemed completely unashamed about the fact. His golden hair was longer than she remembered, covering the tips of his ears in light wisps, and he still look like he’d stepped out of some gym’s catalogue. The man was all muscle, always had been, and it seemed time hadn’t changed that.

  Damn. His face hadn’t aged a day. No lines or wrinkles marred the complexion, no grey hairs anywhere atop his head. He was as magnificent as the day he’d walked into her cabin nearly fifteen years prior.

  He’d told her that would happen, that she’d age and he wouldn’t. Seeing it so blatantly evident however was like a slap in the face, when she knew from looking in a mirror that time hadn’t been nearly as graceful to her.

  “What do you need?”

  Still he wouldn’t answer, just staring at her with those inscrutable golden eyes. When he’d been with her, they’d been a deep brown, not this light. She would have sworn on that fact.

  Logan Tucker was a hard man to forget.

  Meredith’s eyes turned to the bundle he was carrying against his chest. “What’s that?” she said even as she recognized clothes and a pair of black boots.

  “My mate.”

  Well. Meredith lowered the gun so it pointed to the ground, blowing out a breath. She looked away, then sighed again and rested the butt of the shotgun on the ground, examining the girl. The woman wasn’t tiny, that much Meredith could see, but then, Logan had never liked smaller women.

  Her face was hidden against the man’s shoulder, and Meredith could tell from the possessive hold around her that the girl was important to him in a way Meredith herself had never been. Jealousy was an arrow through her heart, there and gone again but leaving a bitter, weeping trail.

  What was done, was done and no point in rehashing old arguments.

  She grunted, letting the muzzle of the shotgun point down to the ground, cradling it against her elbow and side. “Come on in, I’ve got coffee already brewing.”

  * * *

  Somebody was hammering on the wall right by Abby’s head.

  She pressed her eyes shut, but that didn’t make the sound go away. If anything, it only made the headache throbbing behind her eyes worse.

  Wherever she was laying on was filled with strong smells, most of which she couldn’t identify. Sweet, sour, earthy - it was like an assault on Abby’s senses every time she drew breath. She could almost taste the air, which was just weird.

  Groaning, she grabbed the pillow from beneath her head and jammed it over her head, trying to muffle the hammering.

  Nope.

  The pillow smelled funny too, as did the sheets. Curious, and without opening her eyes, Abby gave it a cautious sniff. There was soap or detergent, mixed with the barest hints of a salty, sweat-like tang. Her wrist was nearby, holding the pillow firmly against her ear, and she had the distinct impression the same smell was coming from her own body.

  Okay. Weird was becoming an understatement.

  Abby had never had a really good sense of smell. While it had always been a mixed bag as failings went (farts and smelly things weren’t a problem, but she’d never really been able to smell flowers), it was something she knew about herself. Things like that couldn’t change overnight, or over…

  Wait a minute. How long have I been in this bed?

  And where the heck was she anyway? Abby popped one eye open cautiously, then the other, and surveyed the room.

  Wow. She’d seen broom closets bigger than this.

  Everything about her surroundings screamed rustic. The walls were logs, piled one on top of the other. They weren’t smooth like some of the higher end log cabins she’d seen; these still had bark on them in places, and looked hand-scraped. There wasn’t much room to stand up; enough for the bed and for the door to open, and that was it. The tiny bed was the only piece of furniture, and if not for the sun streaming through the window there would be no light.

  It was actually kind of cool, but Abby would probably appreciate it better if she had more information.

  Sitting up, she looked around the tiny room, then down at her bedding. The flannel sheets were threadbare and well-used. Several thin blankets separated them from a down comforter that was a dingy grey and no longer fluffy, but smelled clean.

  Smelled. Seriously, this was just too weird. It was as if everything exuded a trail that led straight to her nose.

  The nose that had never worked right.

  That hammering started up again, and Abby winced. The sound was coming from somewhere outside, and sitting up on her knees, she peeked out the tiny window atop her twin bed.

  A black bird with a white face and red comb peered back at her for a moment, then went back to jabbing at the cabin walls with its beak.

  Through the window, Abby heard the sound of steps on the pale tundra grass outside. Then a woman appeared, wielding a long broom in her hands like a bat. “Shoo,” she said, jabbing the straw end toward the bird. “Go on, get.”

  Her arrival startled Abby, who jerked back from the window. The bird flew off, and the stranger’s attention turned to Abby. Cool grey eyes assessed the younger woman, then with a harrumph the older woman turned back the way she came, stomping around the house.

  So that was the cabin’s owner. Yeah, this wasn’t awkward at all.

  Abby could almost track the woman’s footsteps around the small cabin, even through the walls. The whole deal was beginning to freak her out; either the acoustics in this room were incredible or…

  Or what?

  Maybe it was time to go find out.

  She was on her feet already when a door outside the bedroom opened. The woman’s voice drifted through the door. “Might as well come out now. We need to talk.”

  The brusque tone to the older woman’s tones set Abby on edge. Something was wrong; Abby knew it, and she was afraid to find out what that problem was. She pushed open her door with some trepidation, stepping out of the tiny bedroom.

  “Good to see you up and about. I’m Meredith by the way.”

  The main living area wasn’t that big either, enough for a rustic kitchen and a sitting area. The woman who’d scared off the woodpecker outside was moving around the living space, unloading cans from a box on the counter. She was tall, her blonde hair streaked with grey. Lines, both from age and long exposure to sun, etched her face, her skin weathered to almost leather. Her lips were thin, compressed with few lines around them as if she never smiled.

  The cabin had a lived-in feel to it, the wood old and grey. Most of the accessories seemed utilitarian, simple but effective. The small couch was covered with a sheet, but Abby could see holes in the old upholstery. It smelled of wet dog and mud, two smells Abby never thought she’d be able to identify from this distance.

  “What’s going on with me?”

  The words were blurted out before Abby could even think about it. It was the only question to which she wanted an answer; all else would come in time, but she had to know what was going on. Everything had a smell; even from several feet away, she could see the individual fibers of the couch stuffing poking through a hole.

  ‘Trippy’ didn’t begin to describe how she was feeling.

  Meredith paused, staring across the small shack at Abby. “You don’t know,” she asked, voice heavy with disbelief and annoyance th
at didn’t seem directed at Abby.

  She shook her head, frowning. “Last thing I remember was running from a bear, then going down a small cliff.”

  The older woman just stared at Abby, then let out a round of cursing that might have blistered the ears of a sailor. “You mean that arrogant asshole left you here and didn’t tell you anything?”

  “What am I supposed to know? Tell me what’s going on, please!”

  Lips that were already thin pursed even more, almost disappearing on the wrinkled faced. Finally, Meredith sighed. “Honey, you’re turning into a werewolf.”

  Say WHAT?

  Chapter 5

  The snares Meredith sent him to check hadn’t caught much, just a couple rabbits, but the deer he’d startled and brought down would be more than enough for three people.

  It didn’t occur to him until he was less than a mile from the cabin to wash up after cleaning out the carcass. The bear in him didn’t care - it had spent years digging in to its kills and eating its fill without any cares - but the human side of Logan said his mate might.

  He stopped by a stream, setting the deer carefully on the gravel and kneeling down to wash the blood from his arms and clothes. Being furless except on his face and head was still somewhat odd; he’d been a bear for so long, it was still how he identified.

  Even the old clothes Meredith had given him didn’t feel right. They were Logan’s, even if his scent had worn off over the decade since he’d last visited the northern woman. Moths had nibbled small holes along the seams so it didn’t keep the cold out, but Shifters had a much higher tolerance to weather than humans so it didn’t bother him.

  Truth be told, he wore them more for human modesty, although there was little chance of running into any other humans in this area to be modest about. Meredith didn’t count as she’d seen him naked before, but his mate might take offense so he kept them on, ignoring the way they itched.

  Around him, the sounds of the arctic wilderness passed by, and he kept close track of everything his nose and ears picked up. As the bear, he’d had no real enemies, nobody to mess with his food or give him any problems. As a human, however, the wilderness might not be as forgiving. No predators larger than a fox were nearby however, so he washed up quickly before shouldering the deer and starting back through the woods. If his steps were a little quick, it was only because he was eager to be by his mate’s side again.

  His mate. Still hard for him to get used to that concept. The bear was at peace with the whole thing, while the man… His human side didn’t know what to think, so focused on the matter at hand. Like getting the meat back to the women before it spoiled.

  Logan was nearing the cabin when he heard the shrill voice of women arguing. He could smell his mate’s distress even from this distance, and picked up his pace, sprinting the last few hundred yards. He got to the edge of the clearing outside the cabin just as the front door burst open.

  “Lady, you are certifiable!”

  He skidded to a halt, staring as a girl with reddish-brown hair stomped out of the building. Every muscle was tense, her footsteps closer to stomps. She stopped maybe thirty feet from the door, her hands going to her hips as she surveyed the forest there. “And where am I anyway?”

  Meredith appeared in the doorway, looking as pissed off as Logan had ever seen her. “Fine,” she yelled after the other girl, “I’m trying to help you understand what’s going on and you stomp off.”

  “I’m not stomping,” the girl muttered, more to herself than the older woman behind her. “I appreciate your helping me, but what you’re saying is, is…”

  “What, crazy? Mad? Insane?” Meredith laughed humorlessly. “Boy, where have I heard that before? Oh yeah, I said it when I found our boy over there until he proved me wrong!”

  She spun to confront Meredith’s words, and stopped and stared when she noticed Logan watching them.

  Logan felt her gaze like a punch to the gut. He watched her eyes grow round and lips part as she blinked owlishly at him, and felt his cock stir inside the old jeans. The wind shifted, bringing with it the smell of her arousal, and between one second and the next, he was hard.

  Just like that.

  He almost forgot himself, forgot where he was, until he heard Meredith’s angry laugh. “Oh yeah, and this is your mate.”

  Frustration and jealousy wafted off of her, and Logan cursed inwardly. His lips drew back in a snarl as his gaze shifted to the older woman. Dammit, this was why he’d stopped coming to her cabin all those years ago, why he’d left the woman alone. She’d grown possessive, even when he’d been very clear that all he wanted was companionship. But when she’d suggested he stay with her and share her life, Logan had known he’d let their dalliance go on too long.

  He’d hoped time had mellowed those emotions, but apparently she still carried enough of a torch to try and sabotage Logan’s relationship with his mate. Which he would never allow.

  Meredith staggered back a step, obviously recognizing the anger and danger in his gaze, and thankfully clammed up. His mate, however, was distracted by the words, and now was looking between the two of them suspiciously. Logan’s heart constricted and, buying him a moment to think, he carefully set the deer carcass and string of rabbits on the ground.

  Logan was out of practice stringing words together; it had been several seasons since he’d last been in human form, and speaking had never been his strong suit. The silence that had worked while he was a bear was obviously backfiring in the human world. Panic curdled in his heart as the silence stretched.

  “Are you the one that saved me from the bear?”

  Her voice washed over him, and every muscle in his body relaxed. He heard the suspicion there, but also the curiosity. But before he could form the words, someone else spoke for him. “Honey, that IS the bear.”

  If Meredith had been within his reach, he would have made sure she kept quiet. Across the open area, his mate’s scowl deepened, and she gave the older woman a disbelieving stare. Body language was something that Logan was good at reading, and he perked up. She thought the older woman was crazy. He could play off of that. “Yes. I saved your life.” Which was technically true. He took a cautious step toward her. “My name is Logan.”

  * * *

  Abby stared at the newcomer, fighting with every contrary bone in her body not to run straight at him and throw herself into his arms.

  Everything in her wholeheartedly approved of this man except her brain. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why she wanted to run into his arms and never let go.

  Okay, maybe she could kind of see the appeal. He had the look of a sexy lumberjack, with the old jeans and red-and-white long-sleeved flannel shirt that did nothing to hide the bulge of muscles in his chest and arms. It certainly wasn’t his face, because she couldn’t see anything there except for a nose and eyes. The long hair atop his head was a light brown, but the beard that covered most of his features was bright red. It was epic enough to make any hipster jealous but, from the unkempt appearance, seemed to be more the real thing than the groomed bits Abby was used to seeing.

  He was probably the first real mountain man Abby had met, but that didn’t explain why she suddenly wanted to jump his bones.

  “I’m Abby,” she said, still frowning at him. Was he Meredith’s husband, partner, or whatever? Was he as crazy as the other woman?

  Logan nodded to her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.

  He was watching her placidly, not doing anything particularly provocative, but she almost wished he would if only to have someone to fight without seeming like a bitch. If she was being honest, it was her own reaction that was pissing her off, and she clung to that anger to keep her rooted in place.

  “So, do you think I’m a werewolf too?”

  He cocked his head, just watching her. “What do you think?”

  His scent had changed again, but Abby had no idea what that fact even meant. She let out a loud groan and rolled her eyes. “I think I can hea
r just about any and everything around me, including that woman’s heartbeat. I can smell you from here, and that scent keeps changing slightly as if it’s following emotions. Which makes no sense, because before today, I couldn’t even smell freaking flowers!”

  Her voice had risen to shrill levels. Abby clamped her mouth shut and took a couple deep breaths. Frustration, both at herself and this unknown, weird-ass situation, threatened to bubble over. “Now I’ve got this old lady…”

  “Hey!”

  “…telling me that I’m a werewolf, or shape-changer, or shifter or something, and I don’t know what to think because something is obviously wrong with me. Then I freaking look at you and want to jump your bones like one of those little dogs that humps everyone’s leg.”

  His lips didn’t so much as twitch, but the tiny lines that appeared beside his eyes was Abby’s only hint how her words amused him. Face flaming, Abby shut her mouth again, gritting her teeth together in frustration.

  Beside her, Meredith threw up her hands in frustration. “Fine, if you won’t believe me, just talk to him. I’m washing my hands of the both of you.”

  Abby whirled on her, needing an outlet for her frustration, just as something moved in the woods nearby. A new smell, kind of like wet dog, filled her senses from nearby, then a black wolf appeared from around the cabin. Before she could even react to its presence, it reared up oddly on its hind legs. Limbs alternately shrank or elongated, fur receded, and the features of the creature’s head shifted, all within the blink of an eye. Then a dark-haired man with crystal blue eyes was standing naked before them, looking from one person to another.

  “Did someone forget to invite me to the soiree?”

  Abby staggered back a couple steps, leaning back against the cabin wall. A loud grumble, similar to that of a pissed-off bear, came from across the yard, and she looked to see Logan stalking across toward the newcomer. He seemed to grow with each step, the threadbare shirt he wore bulging along his arms and shoulders, then tearing at the seams. Thick fur, too much to be human, rippled along his arms as he raced toward the newcomer.