by T. S. Joyce
“What about your duffle bag?”
“My jacket is in my duffle bag.”
Great, a task, a job, anything that kept him from staring at the red drops of blood that she really was painting the snow with. The bear was watching her hungrily.
He jogged back to the passenger’s seat and grabbed the first duffle bag he found out of the back, unzipped it, and rifled through it for exactly one second before he realized the entire thing was full of lingerie. She liked red, see-through lace. Okay that was really hot.
One of the crows above cawed, and the others joined in with an ugly chorus.
Danger, danger, danger.
Right, stop touching her under-things and move. He tossed that duffle bag down onto the floorboard and grabbed the next one, unzipped it, and found about a dozen pairs of jeans and nothing else that was useful.
Humans were the worst.
Fuck it, if the jacket wasn’t in the third duffle bag she could just freeze to death. He gripped the handle of a fine leather bag and yanked stupid Billie out of the front seat and stomped toward the woman.
She was army crawling now. Geez, these things really were helpless.
“With a c-c-can-do attitude, you can d-d-do anything,” she slurred through her shivers.
Okay, that was enough. He leaned down and scooped her up around her waist. He carried her like a limp noodle to the tree, over it, and to the truck. She was giggling. Giggling. The creature thought it was funny that he was dragging her useless fragile carcass through the snow. Human women were psychotic.
“You have lots of muscles. I scooped snow into my shirt.”
“Amazing story. Why don’t we just play the quiet game on the way to the hospital.”
“I smoked weed once, and this is what it felt like.”
Just ignore her. Just ignore her.
“Being high felt all fuzzy and blurry, but there was less bleeding and more hunger for Taco Bell.”
Just get her to the hospital and ditch her weird ass at the front door. Aux leaned over her to buckle her up, and the horrid woman petted him.
Petted.
Him.
On the head.
Yes, he had a beanie and a jacket hood on, but he’d felt her pat him and he wasn’t amused at all. He was a grizzly bear shifter—one of the last of his kind and capable of killing whole villages in one night. He didn’t need friendly pets like he was some fuckin’ poodle trotting down the street.
“Ma’am, please don’t touch me anymore.”
“You sure wear a lot of layers. I know it’s cold out but—”
Slam!
He shut the door so hard the tow truck rocked. He glared at her through the window the entire time he walked around the front of his truck and dragged Billie’s cord through the snow on purpose.
When he opened his driver’s side door, he tossed the duffle bag in the back and held up her stupid blow dryer. “Touch me again, and I will chuck this out the window. Understood? That’s the rule of the truck.”
“That’s the rule of the truck,” she mimicked him in the most annoying voice he’d ever heard.
Maybe letting her die would be the most humane thing to do.
“My head hurts a lot,” she said, resting back on the seat. Her shoulders sagged. Her big green eyes looked worried.
Indeed, the human sure was bleeding a lot.
“You need to put pressure on that,” he growled and pointed to the gash on her forehead. “And your nose is broke.”
Her eyes flew open even wider and she lurched up in her seat. She yanked the visor down and her mouth fell open. She pulled open his too, over the steering wheel, and scoffed. “Where are your visor mirrors?”
“I don’t have mirrors.”
“Who doesn’t have mirrors in their truck?”
“I don’t, because I don’t need to check my fuckin’ mascara, lady.” He put her blow dryer in her lap and started the engine while she went to work hand-rolling her snow-covered window down. A layer of snow fell directly into her lap but she didn’t seem to care about that. She was too busy studying herself in the side-view mirror.
When she dragged her attention back to him, she had her hands covering her nose. “My nose is broken!”
“I already said that,” he grumbled, easing the truck back toward the way he came. “Put pressure on your head. You’re stinking up the truck like blood.”
“This is a dream. I’m having a dream right now. This is a nightmare. Franklin! My nose is completely crooked!”
He glanced at her and then back at the blizzard in front of them. “Well, you probably lived off your looks too long anyhow. Now you can grow some personality.”
Her mouth fell open and she blinked hard, and then something awful happened. Something horrifically, terribly, unacceptably, horrendously awful happened.
The creature started crying.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“You’re the rudest man I’ve ever met. I almost died in that wreck, and I don’t feel good, and my boyfriend broke up with me to move to California with a girl named Tiffany Bunsen. Like the burner. Like the Bunsen burners we used in science class in eighth grade. And she’s perfect, Franklin!”
“Who the hell is Franklin?”
“That’s what I’m calling you, because you’re a stranger who hasn’t given me one word of comfort and you haven’t introduced yourself, so until you do, you are Franklin. I’m having a week from hell, and now my nose is pointing this way.” She jammed her finger out the front window.
It actually was pointing that way. And it did sound like kind of a bad week.
“I’m not the man for this job,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.
“What job?” she asked.
“I’m not supposed to touch you!”
“Okay, no one asked you to touch me, you creepo.”
But he’d already made up his mind to do this, to reset her nose. Why? Because it was a good half an hour drive to the little medical clinic in town in this kind of weather, and another hour at least to the hospital, and he didn’t know jack-squat about human healing, but if it were him? His nose would be crooked like that forever if he left it alone for thirty minutes.
He slammed on his brakes and glided to a stop.
“What are you doing?” she asked, alarm in her voice as he yanked his gloves off.
“I need you to be very still.”
“What are you doing?” she asked again, louder as she leaned back against the still open window frame.
“I’m fixing your ugly nose.”
“Is it really bad? Is it ugly?” she yelped. “Do you even know how to do that?”
He hated how terrified she looked. “I’m very good at first aid. I can fix it.”
“So…you’re a doctor?”
“Sure.” He lunged over the console at her.
He did it quick. He’d already studied the break, already knew what it would feel like in his hands. He’d reset a hundred broken bones on himself before his fast healing froze them into place. He pinned her and reset her nose so fast, he would only be a blur to her. He was back in his seat before the small crunch could even register to the little human’s brain.
Belatedly, she yelled, “Ooooww,” holding her nose. “What have you—”
“Look at it quick before the swelling kicks in.”
She hung part-way out the window and studied her nose in the sideview mirror. “OMG!”
“What’s OMG mean?”
“It means oh my gosh! It’s straight again! It’s straight! It still looks a little rough. I’m bleeding a lot, Franklin. I’m bleeding.”
“Yep.” He eased onto the gas and maneuvered onto the icy road once again. “There is a medical clinic in town. We’ll be there soon. Just put pressure on your forehead.”
“With what?”
He gestured to the glove compartment. “Should be some napkins in there.”
“I’m going to be all right, aren’t I?” she asked
.
“Yep.”
“What about my car? Should I call the police for insurance?”
“Whatever you want.”
“It’s probably totaled, right?”
“Lady, I already told you the rule of the truck. Just sit there, zip the lips, and let me drive.” He squinted into the heavy falling snow. His vision was ten times better than the human in his front seat, but the snow was making it hard for even him to see, and it was coming down harder by the second.
He got two solid minutes of silence before she said in a little voice, “I talk more when I’m scared.”
“You don’t have to be scared of me. I am counting down until I can dump your ass off in front of the medical center.”
“I’m not scared of you. You pulled me out of my truck. And took a tree off of it.” She frowned and stared out the window with a faraway look. Softer, she said, “Did you pull that tree off my car?”
“No,” he growled out.
“But…”
Shit. He could see her putting the pieces together as she sat there holding a wad of napkins to her forehead.
“But the tree wasn’t on my car anymore. It wasn’t pinning me down when you shoved my seat back. It wasn’t there when I was trying to get to your truck. And I heard…I heard…”
“You probably heard a lot of weird shit, lady. Pretty sure you have a concussion.”
“There was an animal’s roar and then the tree was off my car.”
“Cool, so you’re concussed and crazy.” No, no, no.
“I don’t feel good,” she whispered shakily.
The napkins were turning red. Not good.
“Gwen.”
“What?” he asked.
“If something happens to me, my name is Gwen. The password on my phone is 101010 and you should call Tabby in my contacts. She’s my best friend. She’ll know what to do.”
“Stop talking like that. You’re fine.”
“But I really don’t feel fine.” She was slurring her words.
He barely saw the tree in the road in time to lock up his brakes. He flung his hand in front of her chest to keep her in place as they skidded sideways. His truck hit the fallen tree, but it wasn’t bad. The impact was just enough to break off his side mirror and rocked them up on two wheels before they settled back onto the road.
Oh no. No, no, no. This was the only way back into town. He was strong, but not enough for a tree this size, in this weather, with no grip on the icy road. He would need his chainsaw and some time.
This girl was bleeding too much. Head wounds did that—just bled awful and for no good reason. She didn’t have the kind of time he needed to clear this huge pine.
Dump her. Go home.
“Stop it,” he told his inner grizzly.
“W-what?” she asked. Her head was flopped back on the head rest and she was fighting to keep her eyes open.
“You can’t go to sleep,” he told her. “If you have a concussion, I need you awake for a little bit.”
“I’m just really tired.” She spoke so softly he could barely hear her over the roaring wind outside.
And that was the moment she killed him.
There were rules. Rules that couldn’t ever, ever be broken. Rules set in place because he and his brothers had a job to do.
They were going to kill him for the decision he had to make.
Aux could get to his cabin up in the woods from here. He could get her to warmth and safety and medical supplies, but it would come at the cost of his life.
He was yelling at her to stay awake, but the girl…Gwen…wasn’t even putting pressure on her forehead anymore. The bloody napkin was limp in her hand on her thigh, and she was out cold in the seat.
Aux hit the gas and aimed his tow truck for a road nobody traveled but him.
His brothers would kill him for this, but he didn’t have a choice.
They had to end him.
It was the rule.
Chapter Three
The sound of gunfire woke her.
Gunfire?
Gwen sat up in bed and froze when she saw the room. It was painted dark gray with white trim, and the ceiling was vaulted and adorned with maple-stained wooden rafters. The dresser was simple, a lighter shade of gray then the walls with a large mirror hanging over it. She could see herself clearly in the reflection.
She was sporting a large, clean white bandage over her forehead and two very obvious black eyes. A butterfly bandage stretched across her swollen nose.
“Ugh, I look like roadkill.”
Pow!
Another gunshot echoed through the house. She yelped and covered her ears, like that would save her. “H-hello?”
“Go back to sleep, everything’s fine,” came a deep, rough voice outside of her window.
“Franklin?”
“The name’s not Franklin, lady.”
“Uuuum, I thought you were taking me to the medical center?”
“A tree fell and blocked our road back to town. I’ll take you back as soon as I get the tree removed. Until then, just sit tight in there. Food and drinks are in the kitchen. Don’t poke around too much. I don’t like people in my den.”
“Your den?” she asked.
“I said my home,” he barked out. “Open your ears.”
She felt stung by the impatience in his voice. “You’re kind of rude sometimes,” she called, squinting at the window. All she could see was falling snow outside.
She pushed the blankets aside, kicked out of her high heels, and padded across the soft carpet to the window. There was a wraparound porch and a rocking chair set up right beside the window. Growly Man was standing on the edge of the porch, aiming a gun at the sky.
She squinted and could barely make out something through the snow. Vultures?
Boom!
She startled hard at the deafening blast of the gun.
“What in the hillbilly hell are you doing?” she demanded as she scrambled to lift open the window. “Are you shooting the birds?”
The man didn’t even turn around, just busied himself loading more bullets into his rifle. “No. I’m shooting at them.” How could a man’s voice sound that gritty? “Killing them would be even worse luck. They don’t know that though. For all they know, I’m aiming to kill. I just need them to go anywhere but here.”
The window groaned and released its death grip on the window sill.
The man tossed a frown at her over his shoulder. “Don’t touch anything.”
His eyes were a really strange color. He was wearing a black bandana over the bottom half of his face and had a black beanie pulled down low over his eyes. A thick winter jacket covered his massive frame. The hood had been pulled up, hiding him even further. All she could see were those churning silver eyes.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she told him, and then pointed a finger out and poked the window sill just because he’d told her not to.
His eyes narrowed to angry little silver slits. He turned back around, cocked the rifle, and aimed it back at the sky.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“Lady, I’m trying to save your life and mine. Why don’t you go talk to your pet blow dryer and leave me alone?”
“Billie doesn’t talk back. You’re more interesting. Do you have Cheez-Its?” she asked.
“I don’t know what those are, so the answer is no.”
Gwen gasped in shock. “You don’t know what the best cheese crackers in the universe are?”
“I checked your vision and reflexes, and I don’t think you have a concussion, but just in case, why don’t you just lay in bed and be quiet. Rest is the cure for you, Miss. And silence is the cure for me.” His voice was kind of sexy. It was all deep and snarly and grumpy.
She zipped her lips, then unzipped them when she thought of one more thing to say. “Will my face heal up normal? I mean will I look okay?”
“You are the vainest creature I’ve ever met.”
“
That was really mean when you told me to grow a personality.”
“I meant it.”
Gwen pursed her lips and studied the gargantuan man. He was ankle deep in snow, studying the sky, holding his rifle at his hip. His legs were splayed, and were clearly long and powerful.
“Your voice sounds hot, but you are probably a three under all those layers. Why else would you cover yourself completely?” Yeah, she’d taken a shot, and also dangled a challenge. Come on, stranger. Pull that mask down and show me your face.
“A three?” he asked in a dead voice. He tossed her a silver-eyed glance. “Try a one, lady. Trust me, you don’t want me pulling down my mask. I’m going to work.”
“Work where? It’s a blizzard out there.”
“On my farm. Anywhere away from you. Just…stay inside,” he said as he trudged away into the snow and disappeared from sight.
“You have a farm?” she called out. “I was supposed to be on a dude ranch right now! You got horses?”
There was no answer. None at all.
Okay. Gwen looked around the room. How long had she slept? Her cell phone was plugged in and sitting on the end table. Okay, so he wasn’t trying to kidnap her. Kidnappers didn’t give their victims their cell phones. Or bandage them up. Gwen leaned over the dresser mirror and peeled back the bandage on her forehead with a hiss of pain. Five perfect stitches held her skin together. Huh. Okay, kidnappers probably didn’t doctor their victims either. She studied her nose from every angle. It looked straight, just swollen. Her black eyes were pretty gnarly.
Her phone said it was eleven-sixteen. In the morning! Geez, she’d been asleep for a whole day. There was no reception on her phone. When she tried to text Tabby, the message gave an immediate response of ‘failed to send.’ Crap. She tried to call out, but there were zero bars and she couldn’t even get the call to connect long enough to ring once.
Okay, that made her a little nervous.
But the man seemed to want nothing to do with her. He’d given her his bed and set her purse, duffle bag, and Billie at the end of it. And he was staying out of the house. To give her space? If so, that was thoughtful. Or maybe he was lulling her into being comfortable before he went serial killer on her. Gwen rifled through her duffle bag. Ooooh, he’d grabbed a good one! This one had three pair of leggings, brand-new snow boots with the tag still on them, her make-up bag, three sweaters, and a box of love letters the ex-who-shall-not-be-named had given her over the years. She’d brought them to burn them.
