by Riley Storm
High House Ursa
The Box Set (Books 1-5)
By Riley Storm
High House Ursa
Copyright© 2019 Riley Storm
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may reproduced in any form or by any electronic means, without written permission from the author. The sole exception is for the use of brief quotations in a book review. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
This book is a work of fiction. 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.
All sexual activities depicted occur between consenting characters 18 years or older who are not blood related.
Edited by Annie J
Cover Designs by Kasmit Covers
Contents
Bearing Secrets
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
Epilogue
Furever Loyal
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
Epilogue
Mated to the Enemy
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
Shifting Alliances
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
Epilogue
Blood Bearon
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
Epilogue
Bearing Secrets
1
His House was in shambles.
Everywhere in the building, warriors and soldiers of High House Ursa battled one another in a senseless display of violence. The guns and other instruments of modern destruction had been put aside as the shifters descended into an orgy of personalized killing, fighting for supremacy. Debris flaked down from the ceiling, shaken loose by yet another tremendous collision nearby.
Kirell crept forward, making an insignificant amount of noise for someone his size. Behind him came a pair of figures, the trio little more than shadows in the darkened maze of hallways. The power had been one of the first things to go when the traitors had turned on the unsuspecting members of his House.
Ursidae Manor had been attacked before, and it would be again in the future; Kirell was positive of that. It was the way of things. What he and everyone else loyal to the throne had never expected, though, was that the attack would come from within. They weren’t ready for it, and the surprise had been complete.
“Which way?” Kellas hissed from behind Kirell when they arrived at an intersection of hallways.
The giant house was home to several hundred members of House Ursa, and it had the size to go along with it. Kirell thought quickly, then made a decision. Left. Toward the Throne Room.
“To the Queen,” he replied, peeking around the corner to ensure there was nobody waiting for them. There was no argument from the pair that was with him, not that he’d expected one. With the King dead, the Queen was now the ruler of High House Ursa, and Kirell would lay down his life before one traitor ever got near her.
If they haven’t already.
Pushing the dark thought from his brain, he and the men loyal to the proper way jogged down the hallway, moving as fast as they could without giving themselves away. Somewhere nearby, a beast howled in pain, a bear that had been struck a mortal blow. Whether foe or friend, Kirell didn’t know. He lowered his head and kept running, knowing his men would be right next to him.
“I can’t believe so many have been tempted into this lunacy,” Kellas muttered as they went, jumping over the corpse of a massive polar bear slumped against the wall.
Kirell ignored the comment, just the same as he ignored the squishy feeling of the carpet underfoot, wet with the freshly-spilled blood. The polar bear was Korne—or, had been. It was his corpse, and yet another friend that Kirell wouldn’t see once
it was all over. He wondered idly if Korne had been loyal, or a traitor? He decided it didn’t matter.
All that mattered was linking up with the Queen’s guards and protecting her until the rebellion—he would not give it legitimacy by calling it a civil war—was under control.
Kirell had total faith that more men would remain loyal than turn traitor.
The side hallway they had been taking came to an end in a T-junction. The ceiling here was a good four feet—or more—higher, the walls decorated with tapestries and paintings depicting the glorious history of High House Ursa. Kirell knew that if he walked long enough, he would come to images showing the founding of the House, so many centuries ago.
It doesn’t matter; there’s no time for a history lesson. If we don’t save the Queen, there will be no more history to write. You are making it right now.
The Grand Hallway was an impressive sight, one that never failed to impress, no matter how many times he’d walked along it. Now, however, he had no time to dawdle. The sounds of battle were close. He could hear the crash of something heavy striking wood, followed by shouts and muffled noises.
They were already at the door.
Without speaking, the trio launched themselves out into the Grand Hallway and at the cluster of traitors trying to break their way through the heavy doors protecting the Throne Room. They ran silently, trying to close as much distance as possible before they were spotted.
One of the traitors must have heard them, however, for he turned and shouted a warning. It was almost too late; Kirell and his men were nearly upon them.
“FOR THE QUEEN!” he shouted, surging forward with an extra burst of speed.
Kirell’s men echoed his cry, and they leapt upon the traitors with a ferocity borne from fury at the betrayal of their House, of all that they held dear. Blood flew, spattering the walls and ruining the ancient pictures. Men screamed. Bones broke.
Ursidae died.
It pained Kirell to put down members of his House. For so long, they’d struggled to maintain their numbers, and now he was helping the humans out, committing their savagery for them.
Yet he had no choice. As a soldier, a guard of the House, it was his job to protect it, and Kirell didn’t shirk from any task. As he fought, his body changed.
Brown fur turned black as blood matted it down; it continued sprouting along his arms, the limbs themselves thickening. Fingers became claws. His jaw reshaped itself one jerky movement at a time, jutting forward just in time for him to latch his powerful jaws around the throat of his opponent and tear it free in a welter of blood.
Outnumbered, the trio fought like berserkers of old, giving in fully to the battle lust singing through their bodies. Kirell didn’t feel any of the wounds inflicted upon him, though he could see the blood flying from his body as he was pushed back by the weight of numbers. They were up against twice their number, and though they were all soldiers in the house guard, so were their enemies.
Kirell pushed any thought of defeat from his mind and fought on like a crazed beast. Slashing and biting, he felt the blood drip from his jaws, the tangy taste of iron filling all his taste buds as he dug into his enemy over and over again.
They weren’t enough. Karre fell, and Kellas was hurt. A moment later, Kirell was the only one left on his feet as his remaining soldier staggered and fell.
“I’ll hold them off!” Kellas roared, letting himself complete the change while Kirell tried to defend him.
The half-man, half-bear creature disappeared as Kellas bulked up, his limbs jerking and readjusting themselves, the painful process completing itself a few seconds later. Nothing about this process was smooth or pleasing to watch, but nobody was going to argue with the end result.
Almost two-tons of furious grizzly bear launched itself at the traitors, scattering them like bowling pins. Eager to join in the fray, Kirell used the distraction to let himself complete his own change.
Agony flooded his body but he clamped down on it immediately, welcoming the pain, embracing it as he became the instrument of war that the now dead Captain Kven had trained him to be. Two decades of harsh drilling had turned him into the perfect combination of a grizzly bear’s strength, size and speed—all paired with a human intellect.
Kirell wasn’t sure why none of the traitors had shifted before he’d arrived, but he wasn’t about to give them the option. He fell upon the survivors like a hawk stooping on its prey, tearing into them. His jaw snapped closed, bones crunching. With a savage shake of his head, he ripped the arm right off his nearest foe.
The man screamed, a shrill sound that faded quickly as blood fountained up from the mangled stump, arteries pulsing it into the air as they drained it from the rest of his body. Kirell wasn’t about to let him recover, and a moment later, a paw the size of a human head slapped the man in the face. The traitor was dead in a heartbeat as his neck snapped; he went flying into the wall where he crumpled some drywall and then lay still, half his face ripped away.
Ew, Kirell thought, shaking his paw to rid it of the rubbery skin still attached to his claws.
The battle was nearly over now. Two of the traitors tried to shift, but that took precious time, and neither he nor Kellas was overly inclined to give it to them. This wasn’t some ritual battle. This was war, and he was giving no mercy.
When the last corpse collapsed to the ground with a wheeze, then and only then did Kirell take stock of himself. He was hurt, but not as bad as Kellas. The other shifter would live, but he was done in the fight.
Gritting his teeth against the pain Kirell forced himself to return to his human form. Almost immediately, fatigue swept over him, but he ignored that as well. Now was not the time to be tired, despite the fierce fighting he’d been a part of.
“Let us in!” he shouted, hammering on the door. “They are dead.”
A small hole in the wall opened, revealing a grate, and—on the other side—the grim face of one of the Queen’s Own.
“They’re dead,” he said tiredly, waving a hand at the corpses. “My man is badly wounded.”
“Nobody gets in or out,” the guard said coldly.
“They’re dead,” Kirell’s flat voice replied. “We killed them.”
“How do we know you’re not traitors?”
“Go suck your mothers dick, Khove,” Kirell spat. “You know me better than that.”
The guard thought about it, but before he could respond, his eyes flicked past Kirell and down the hallway.
Turning slowly, he saw more bears enter the hallway from another passage. At their head was none other than Captain Kven.
“Captain?” he said, speaking in disbelief. All the earlier reports had said that Kven was dead, one of the first to fall to the traitorous swine.
His eyes narrowed. Something wasn’t right here.
“Kirell,” Kellas called from where he sat on the floor, back propped up against the wall. “Why do you look so worried? I’ll take the ones on the right, you take the ones on the left. We got this.” The wounded grizzly-shifter pushed himself to his feet, staying upright as much from sheer willpower as from being able to lean against the wall.
“Yeah.” That was what was bothering him; Kven and the others weren’t approaching like those come to rescue their Queen.
They were striding up like victors about to break down the castle walls.
“Kven,” he spat, preparing to change once more.
“Captain Kven.”
Kirell laughed in the man’s face, spitting blood at the traitor. “You are pathetic. Not worthy of the title you once held, you coward.”
“I am not a coward! She is the coward!” Kven screamed, pointing at the door. “That miserable wretch poisoned our King’s mind, turned him into a pathetic excuse for the warrior he once was. She wanted nothing more than peace, when we could easily have swept the Canis from power!”
Kirell rolled his eyes. High House Canis had never been in power; the wolves had played second fiddle to the bears of Ursa
for over a century now, since the last culling by the humans. “You are a traitor,” he repeated, emphasizing the word. “A traitor.”
Antagonizing the quite possible leader of the rebellion probably wasn’t his smartest move, but just then, Kirell didn’t care. There were seven of them, including Kven, and only one seemed to have any injuries. That, compared to his own battered and bruised body and Kellas who could barely keep on his feet? It was no contest.
Killing Kven would be the only satisfaction, and the sole outcome that would be feasible. Kirell would sacrifice himself for that in a heartbeat.
Without their leader, it was likely the rest would run. The Queen’s Own, her bodyguards—they could hunt down the rest. All he had to do was strike a mortal blow against the former Captain.
Squaring off against the traitors, he let the change come over him. This time, he embraced the pain, savoring it, luxuriating in it.
It was the last time he would ever experience it.
2
Kven flicked his finger and the lackeys with him streamed forward.
Oh come on.
Coward seemed more appropriate than ever. Kirell couldn’t believe his former mentor would turn against the rest of the House like that, but the evidence was right in front of his eyes. Better that he’d actually been dead.
“Move to the side.”
Kirell jerked as the voice spoke through the door behind him. Glancing over at Kellas, he jerked his head toward the wall, giving demonstration to his point. They moved to the side and then he shuffled forward as well, making it look like they were going to try and pincer the oncoming attackers.
No sooner were they out of the way than the doors swung open with alarming speed. Four members of the Queen’s Own strode forward. Kirell blinked as they fired the weapons in their hands; the rifles cracked, but when the projectiles hit the attackers, they didn’t simply bore into the skin like normal bullets.
They exploded upon contact, sprinkling the attackers with tiny bits of depleted uranium.
Almost immediately, the four hit attackers collapsed, their bear shapes roiling and bubbling from underneath their skin as the bullets’ radiation went to war with the DNA of the shifter.
The rifles cracked again, and the remaining two went down as well. Kirell grinned and went forward. The effects were temporary; perhaps thirty seconds was all he had.
But it was more than enough time to finish off Kven.
The leader of the traitors was staring in horror at his men, sprawled out on the ground in front of him, screaming in pain as the flecks tried to burn their way through the thick fur of the bears.
Kirell hit him like an out-of-control semi-truck. The ex-Captain, still in his human form, flew through the air like a sack of potatoes, landing limp-boned nearly thirty feet away. Kirell came up to him, ignoring the pain in his feet from the uranium dust he’d gotten on the underside of his paws.
