Don't Shoot...I'm a Werebear

by Angelique Voisen

  Chapter Four

  Zack

  The rumbling howl from the other side of the bank stirred the trees, which practically caused the ground to vibrate. My prize, thirty inches and twelve pounds, thrashed on my hook, eager to get free, but I refused to let go. Fuck. Fishing and camping out alone in the woods served as my sole reprieve, the one good thing I had going in my life.

  After Hank sent the divorce papers I couldn’t sign, I’d poured my energies into my job at the auto repair shop. I needed a break, one stress-free afternoon alone, mind amply distracted by fish and nature.

  Seething, I bared my teeth at the intrusion, nearly losing my bladder. The largest fucking grizzly I’ve ever seen ran out between two trees, beady eyes mad, foam forming at the muzzle. What did one do when faced with an imminent danger, one clearly feral and out-of-control bear?

  Dropping the line and my hard-earned fish, I waded out of the water. Didn’t matter my hasty retreat would further enrage the bear and catch its attention. I’d seen the look in the monster’s eyes. Playing dead wouldn’t fly with this nasty piece of work. It let out another roar. Did I imagine a note of frustration there?

  “Don’t think about the bear, bastard. Get the gun,” I muttered to myself.

  One step, became two. The current weighed me down. Bare feet touching dirt, I let out a small hiss of triumph. Not out of the frying pan yet. I half ran, half stumbled to where I’d left my pack.

  First rule of camping my father taught me? Never go without the necessary supplies—that included a hunting rifle in case of emergencies like these. Then again, in all my years out here, I’d never been attacked by a bear. Out of breath, I plucked my dad’s Remington 798 rifle, spinning for an aim. The Remington felt solid in my hands, steady.

  I expected to come up close and personal with my attacker—not this. The grizzly fell over, face-first into the water, paws scrambling. The salmon I caught and lost, hook still embedded into its mouth, leapt in the air, to the limits of the line. What the fuck? Did I imagine the bear going after it?

  The animal tangled his left hand into the line, other claws cutting it, setting the fish loose. Letting out a wounded cry, the beast fell on its furry ass in the water. Then its black merciless eyes turned to me, huddled on the bank, gun in hand. It dragged itself out of the water, one arm still looped with my line, looking less dangerous and more pathetic by the second.

  “Don’t come any closer, or I’m shooting your furry ass.”

  Didn’t know why I gave the bear a warning either. Was I starting to turn delusional, or did understanding, human intelligence, flash through those eyes I once thought soulless? Jesus Christ. I didn’t imagine it, but the animal looked more terrified of me than I of it. The bear lumbered close, reaching the bank now.

  “Bear, I’m not warning you again.”

  A hysterical laugh slipped from my lips. What the fuck was I doing, trying to reason with a bear? Shoot first. Save my hide. Ask questions later.

  The silly bear didn’t stop, inches away from me now. My hands started to tremble. Odd, I never missed my target at the shooting range. Fear ran down my spine. My heart beat painfully against my chest. I bit on my lower lip so hard it bled. Bad move. The bear must have scented the blood. Rising on its hind legs, I saw dirt caked on its hindquarters. Dry leaves and twigs clung to it. In some areas, I saw patches of blood.

  Fuck, Zack. Not the best time to feel pity for an animal capable of ripping me literally apart.

  It spread its paws wide, a strange human gesture, almost one of surrender. Ebony claws glinted under the sun. This creature wasn’t my friend, despite how I looked. I needed to take the shot, get the hell out of here, or risk going insane. It must be all that afternoon sun getting to my head, or getting another copy of the divorce papers that morning in the mailbox. I could still see the note attached on top of the papers, with Hank’s crisp scroll, telling me to stop fucking around.

  Then, a bear had to come along and ruin a perfectly good afternoon.

  Fuck this. I took off the safety.

  The bear growled.

  “Last chance, bear. Go away and leave me to my peace.”

  It was certain. I’d gone off the rails now.

  The bear didn’t stop coming. Inches stood between us. I aimed at its chest. Sentimentality and pity made me angle the shoot slightly to the left. I pulled the trigger. The gun roared. The bear let out an agonizing scream, hauntingly human. The animal reeled and I scrambled backwards, unable to take another shot. The bright red spot on the beast’s shoulder looked stark against its brown fur.

  The animal’s face twisted in fear and fury. Not a good combination in my estimation. I did what cowards do best. I turned on my heel and ran. I could make it back to my truck in record time. Get on the phone and call the park ranger. They might be able to help the wounded bear.

  I realized I left my bag with the bear, but I could come back for it later.

  Another cry came from somewhere behind me. I froze, unable to take another step.

  Don’t you dare turn your head, Zack.

  I craned my neck. Between clusters of trees, I caught sight of the thrashing bear on the ground. He was hard to miss. I clutched my rifle, considering, torn between running out and returning.

  “Fuck me, but I’m a glutton for punishment.” I headed back to the bear. Nothing about today made sense. Maybe I should see a therapist. Let the shrink figure out if I possessed clinical depression, harbored suicidal thoughts, anything to explain what made me return to the bear.

  I saved my own skin. Nothing wrong with that, but why did I feel so bad?

  Back on the bank now, the bear hadn’t seen me. It stopped moving and lay on its back, looking like an enormous furry rug. I would have thought it dead, if not for the rise and fall of its chest. My footsteps finally drew its attention. He turned his head, regarding me.

  “Steady, big guy.” I walked to my bag, and slowly pulled out a first aid kit. No sudden movements, I reminded myself. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  I wasn’t a vet. Knew nuts about animals, so what the hell was I thinking? The bear drew its mouth back, revealing sharp canines. I was struck by how white they were. Shouldn’t his teeth be more stained with yellow? Christ. I really was going insane. This bear didn’t act the way normal bears should.

  “See? I’m putting away my rifle.” I clicked the safety on and tucked the gun in the bag. The bear flattened his ears. How I knew it was a he, and not a she, I didn’t know. Did bears simply flop there calmly, when a threat approached them?

  Cautiously, I approached him, kit in hand. The bear didn’t move a muscle, but I felt his gaze on me. I knelt beside him and combed my fingers through the soft fur of his underbelly. Didn’t know why I did that either.

  “Good bear. Brave bear.”

  If the guys back at the auto repair shop heard me now, I’d never hear the end of their jokes. I opened the latch of the kit, but a huge paw pushed it away.

  “Hey,” I protested.

  The bear moved, practically blurred. Before I could process what happened, he leapt at me, reversing our positions. My back hit the dirt. Tiny rocks bit into my shirt and skin and the bear breathed down on me, caging me with its body. It took me a second to figure out what was wrong with this picture. Shutting my eyes, I expected claws and teeth on me in a second.

  It served me right for toying with a vicious predator of nature, except this bear had been clumsy. Did I dare I say it—cute, even.

  Nothing happened. I stole a peek, drawing in sharp breath at the sharp canines flashing at me.

  The bear’s fur started to disappear.

  “Oh … fuck.”

  I didn’t need to be a genius to figure it out. This wasn’t a normal bear, but a shifter. I’d lived with the supernatural all my life and none of them went bonkers the way this guy had. Anger clouded me. What kind of game did this bastard think he was playing? I fisted my hands to my sides, wishing I had my gun so I could shoot this m
iserable excuse of a shifter again. Not in the head, but maybe I could aim for another non-lethal part of his body.

  “You conniving prick.” The words rolled out of my mouth before I could stop them. I had plenty of ammunition to unleash, but when a fucking gorgeous man replaced the bear, I couldn’t speak.

  Much sexier covered in dirt and blood, the rest of his massive body I noticed, was coated in a thin sheen of sweat. I swallowed. Standing, he must have been at least six-foot and possessed not an inch of fat on him. Taut muscles gleamed back at me. He placed powerful arms either side of my head, my fishing line and rod still tangled into his left one, drawing blood … but he didn’t seem to care.

  A face made of rough angles but passably handsome, stared back at me. He kept his dark brown hair short, but a lock of hair fell across his forehead. The most impressive feature I saw? His eyes—green laced with gold. No human possessed eyes like that.

  With his lethal gaze on mine, my cock stirred in my jeans. Scratch that. This stranger’s eyes weren’t the most impressive part of him. Daring to look down, I felt his erection pressing against my stomach, long and thick. I turned my attention back to his face, drawn to his mouth, his tempting and kissable lips. I imagined a powerful shifter like him didn’t kiss, didn’t do sweet or gentle. He saw, took and conquered.

  Lowering his head, his pink tongue slipped out, lashing at the side of my neck. My pulse raced. His tongue was slick, warm like the heat that emanated from his body, but not unpleasant. I suppressed an involuntary shiver.

  The bastard broke the spell when he let out a laugh. I narrowed my eyes. What the hell did the fucker have to laugh about? I saw him at his worst, stumbling after the fish and me like a complete idiot. I had nothing to fear from this man.

  “Get off me.” A partial lie, I didn’t want him to leave, but I couldn’t say that out loud.

  Just when I thought he was incapable of speech, he spoke. “No.”

  I pushed at his chest. My punch didn’t do much against solid muscle.

  “I can’t believe I came back for you after what you did.”

  He growled, a sound more animal than human, reminding me he could still turn furry and tear me to shreds. “I’m tired, lost and hungry.”

  “Boo for you. Now get off me.”

  “My bear caught wind of your scent. I followed you here. What’s your name?”

  “Zack.” I didn’t know why I gave my name instead. Shoving at him didn’t help. It felt like pushing against a brick wall. Defeated for now, I returned the question. “It’s only polite you return the favor.”

  “Barry Smithson.”

  I raised my eyebrows. I knew the Smithsons. Married couple of twenty years, Mary liked to knit and I’d serviced John’s car for years. Both happened to be part of the local were-bear clan but I’d never heard them mention a son. A nephew they took in, yes, one who moved to the city the moment he turned eighteen.

  “So, what’s this? Are you the prodigal bear returning to his hometown?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  Fuck. Was I actually flirting, while this sexy but crazy man straddled me, looking unsure if he wanted to fuck me or have a nice conversation? Not good. My gaze moved to his injured shoulder. I should get Barry to a hospital. Not my fault he’d reacted like a wild animal and chased me down. Anger seeped into me. I shouldn’t feel so guilty for shooting him.

  “Not voluntarily. I came back here to get in touch with my inner bear and win back my man.” A laugh escaped Barry’s mouth, the sound jarring and harsh.

  I tried recalling all the conversations with John and Mary. Did they ever mention their nephew not being completely right in the head? John said the cub they raised had been distant, sullen and anti-social. That was about it.

  “Judging from what happened, you aren’t making much progress.”

  Barry regarded me, pupils more gold than green. I remembered reading somewhere a shifter’s eyes turned completely yellow when intense emotions got the better of them. Should I be more worried?

  “I have one consolation prize.”

  “What? An injured shoulder and one very annoyed human who would, given the chance, shoot your furry ass again?” I suggested sweetly.

  Barry shook his head. “It looks like this trip isn’t wasted, because I found you, Zack. Fate has a sense of fucking humor after all. The universe drew us together.”

  Baffled, I stared at him. Barry looked like he believed his own words. Was he really delusional then?

  “Excuse me, but nothing drew us together. This isn’t destiny. You stumbled into me because you wanted my catch.”

  Not looking discouraged one bit, Barry continued, as if he hadn’t heard my words, “You’re the one I’ve been searching for all my life, Zack. Hamish isn’t my soulmate. You are.”

  Uncomprehending, I stared at him. What did Barry expect me to say? He looked and spoke like a character right out of one of the gay erotic paranormal romance stories I secretly loved reading under my covers. If that were true, shouldn’t he be the one rescuing me?

  This had to be some kind of trick or cruel joke, but Barry met my gaze, unflinching. On second thought, Barry didn’t look like the kind of guy who chose and rehearsed his lines. The expressions on his face looked too genuine, too intense to be pretense. A guy like Barry let his heart show on his face. He’d make for a poor actor.

  Too bad I was the same.

  “You’re fucking insane.”

  Barry flinched at the words. Despite his physical appearance, he didn’t look like a man who could easily take emotional blows. How anyone could take advantage of such a misunderstood sweet soul I couldn’t comprehend, but he wasn’t defenseless. One wrong move or word and Barry could still reduce me to tiny bite-sized pieces, but I also knew never in a million years would he hurt me. How I came to that conclusion however, eluded me.

  “Fucked-up—I’ve been called that. Sad excuse of a were-bear, too obsessive- compulsive and downright too socially awkward to function.”

  Bitterness punctured his words, the expression on his face, raw and pained. I didn’t figure him for a guy who sounded used to rejection. Barry started out lethal, turned clumsy and silly and finally looked like a wounded animal that needed a hug. I locked my arms around his waist, and gave him a tight embrace. While I harbored sincere intentions, closing the inch of space between us turned out to be a mistake, a kind of explosive revelation.

  His bare flesh touched my clothes. I sucked in a breath. Now his body caged mine, preventing escape, but what worried me even more had been the fact I didn’t want to let go. I froze when I felt his tongue lashing out at my racing pulse, drawing lazy circles. Once he withdrew his canines, Barry could deliver a bite and he could end my life. Worse, if he dragged his mouth lower, to the spot between my shoulder and neck, Barry could make me his forever.

  I knew about mating marks from an old lover, a lone werewolf who’d only been interested in being fuck-buddies. He broke my heart, moved on to his next conquest, but not before leaving his stamp on my body. Always a submissive in the bedroom, I’d worn his marks with pride for days, before the painful realization sunk in—he wasn’t coming back.

  “Don’t you feel that, Zack? This electricity between us shouldn’t be contained. Give in to me,” Barry whispered against my ear.

  He set his teeth against my earlobe, biting down. I groaned, aware of his dick, curving against my belly. Remembering old hurts and wounds, I practiced restraint. I pulled away. As if sensing my reluctance, he drew away, although I could see it hurt him. Both of us had gotten our hearts broken before. Consoling each other and taking this to another level—what would it hurt?

  What was it about this were-bear that made me think and react in unexpected ways? Strangers didn’t react like this to each other.

  “Kiss me.” It took me a second to realize the command unexpectedly came from my lips, but too late to take the words back. I looked into his eyes and waited.

  Chapter Five

  Barry


  Kiss me, Zack said. None of Zack’s actions made any sense. First, he shot me and then came back for me. One moment he acted pissed, the next he made impossible demands. No. A kiss wasn’t too much to ask, considering the weight of the words I dropped on him. Zack could pretend as much as he liked, but I knew he wanted me the same way I did him. Should I tell him, how I could hear his galloping heartbeats or his lungs drawing painfully for breath?

  His pupils dilated and his mouth parted, as if expecting me to deliver. Smiling, feeling more confident than I’d been in months, years even, I claimed Zack’s lips. Not in the mood for chaste kisses, I took his mouth the way I’d fuck him later on, with tongues and teeth. I caught his bottom lip, sucking, not expecting him to respond. Zack yielded against me, sweetly, perfectly.

  Judging by the smell of arousal that flooded his system, I knew he’d been made perfectly for me. Without needing to ask, I prodded my tongue between his lips and he opened them wide, so I could thrust my tongue down his throat. When I slept most nights alone, I’d never imagined any of this—explosive kisses enough to make me hard in seconds, or this heat kindling between our bodies.

  It felt odd too, not entirely unpleasant, to not be thinking of Hamish.

  I pulled away, giving Zack time to regain his breathing. Fuck, but the sight of his swollen lips nearly drove me to the edge…but I held myself back.

  “Jesus,” Zack muttered.

  Was that a good or bad sign?

  “One more time, please.”

  Please. I liked that word on his lips. After all of the attitude he’d shown me, who knew Zack was capable of pleading? I understood him a little better now. Not entirely, but enough. When I looked into his eyes, I saw bits of myself reflected there. Both of us had been hurt before. Too wary to trust again––but I could change that.

  Grinning, I complied, this time slowing it down. I couldn’t recall the last time I took my time kissing another man. Zack locked his arms around my neck, grinding his body against mine, doing wonders for my hard-on. It annoyed the hell out of me he still had his clothes on. Grabbing a handful of his flannel shirt, I jerked, the sound of tearing fabric startling him.