by Meg Ripley
"Hi, boys," she said happily.
Remy climbed up onto the stool beside her and Damian patted her hip until she got up and let him sit down so he could pull her down to sit between his legs.
"Did you have a good ride, gentlemen?" Patrick asked and both of the guys laughed. Patrick reddened and struggled to come up with more words, "I mean on your horses. Your horses! You are cowboys, right? I mean… that's what cowboys do. You ride…horses. I'm going on break."
They were still laughing as Patrick scurried away from the bar. Nixie intertwined her fingers with Remy's and turned to kiss Damian on the cheek, nestling back against him contentedly.
"Hi, Nixie."
A familiar voice broke the comfortable, happy moment. She turned to see Bryan standing a few feet away.
"Hello, Bryan," she said icily.
She held Remy's hand a little tighter and felt Damian tighten his grip on her protectively.
"I see you still come here on Friday nights," he said awkwardly.
As if you didn't know that and didn't come here the last two weeks expressly for that reason.
"Every Friday," she confirmed.
Bryan reddened slightly and he shifted uncomfortably.
"Yeah," he said, "I heard. I wanted to say I'm sorry about the whole party thing last week. I should have picked a better place. Um, speaking of that… can I talk to you for a minute?"
Nixie stared at him blankly. For the first time, she really felt nothing for him. There was no sadness, no anger, no frustration. She honestly hadn't thought about him for a single second in the last week and it was an amazing feeling.
"Go ahead. Talk."
Bryan shifted again, his expression becoming more and more agitated with each passing second. She could see his eyes jumping back and forth between her hips tucked between Damian's thighs and her hand holding Remy's.
"I've been thinking a lot about everything that happened and I…Do we really have to talk about this right here?"
Nixie nodded.
"Yes. I'm done doing things on your terms, Bryan. If you want to talk to me, it's going to be right here, right now."
He gave a deep sigh.
"Fine," he said, "The day after the party I found out that Angela has been sleeping with my best man."
Nixie fought to withhold the triumphant laugh that was building in her chest.
"That's so sad for you," she said, trying to sound as genuine as possible.
"Yeah, well, it got me thinking. Maybe I was too quick about everything. I just got so wrapped up that I made a really stupid decision ending things with you the way I did and maybe we could have another chance."
Both of the men holding her tensed, but Nixie rubbed their hard, jeans-covered thighs soothingly, her body already tingling at the thought of how those thighs felt without the jeans covering them. She gave each a deep, connecting kiss before turning back to Bryan with a smile
"I'm sorry, Bryan, but that's just not going to happen. You see, while you thought you were celebrating finding 'the one', I was absolutely celebrating finding my two."
THE END
Sneak Peek of Ranger Knox: Shifter Nation – Werebears Of Acadia, Book 1 By Meg Ripley
I’m pledged--as every shifter is--to keeping our kind and its history a secret.
Because of my role as head ranger at Acadia National Park, as well as the Alpha of my clan, I have the responsibility of making sure no outsiders know about the real reason why our park came to be. Hannah, a journalist who's been snooping around doing research for an exposé, is most definitely an outsider, no matter how much the ursine part of my brain keeps insisting that she should belong to me.
She should be mine. Except she’s not a bear--she’s not any kind of shifter. How could I want her? Is it possible that a human...could be my mate?
And how will I keep her from unraveling the mystery that has kept us safe from the public eye for generations?
Chapter 1 – Hannah
I pull into the spot where my Airbnb host said I could leave my car and look around me. It’s my first time in Bar Harbor, and though my surroundings look more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen on the Travel Channel, I’m not here to admire the foliage: I have an ulterior motive. Sure, the magazine could force me to use my vacation time, but they couldn’t keep me from writing while I did.
I’ve been trying to work my way up to a full-time editorial position with New World for about a year, and when HR told me that I had to either take my vacation time or lose it, I hatched a plan to work on something while I was away. The magazine has its one-thousandth issue coming out in a month, and I figured--I hoped--that an exposé on the controversial history behind the National Park Service would put me in a better position to get ahead. So, I scheduled my vacation time and booked an Airbnb in Bar Harbor, a quaint little tourist town right outside of Maine’s Acadia National Park, and started to plan my research.
I’d gotten the idea from a piece I’d read recently, which delved into how the National Park Service came into existence. Of course, there had always been green spaces that rich people bought up and set aside as conservation areas, but there was something in the article about the founders--something I couldn’t put my finger on--that struck me as a little odd. Aside from that, I’d come across these wacko conspiracy theory websites claiming the national parks were actually set up for some kind of nefarious purpose. The theories I’d read speculated they were being used as reserves for fossil fuels or gold and other precious metals; the most interesting and least likely to be true theory was that the lands had been set aside by freemasons and other occult groups in power for the sake of performing secret ceremonies.
I grab my laptop case and backpack off the passenger seat and check my phone to make sure I’m on time. Mary, the woman whose house I’m staying in, seems to be a fairly accommodating host, based on the messages we’ve been exchanging, anyway. Her place is more accessible than the hotels in Bar Harbor, and considering it’s the height of foliage season, much cheaper. I lock my car out of habit, even though I can’t imagine anyone on the sleepy little street stealing from me.
It’s chillier than I thought it would be, so I hurry up to the front door of the little house, pulling my denim jacket tight around me. I knock on the door and wait, fidgeting as I look around. Maine is one of those places that’s stunning when you’re looking at it in pictures or video, but if you’re standing outside in late September, it’s chilly and damp, making it hard to appreciate the beauty of the yellow, orange, and red leaves on the trees.
“You must be Hannah!” Mary looks like someone’s mom: gray-streaked chestnut hair, wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, wearing a matching pink sweatsuit with 80s-era floral appliques stitched on the chest and pant legs. “Quick, come inside, dear; it’s getting cold out there.”
I follow her through the door and make small talk about my drive up as she gives me a tour of the house. The kitchen has plenty of cast iron and a gas-powered stove--according to Mary, it’s more reliable than electric in the winters. Mary leads me upstairs to my room, explaining about the bathroom and how she got a tankless, gas-powered water heater installed so that she’d never have to wait for hot water.
She shows me to the guest room, giving me the chance to unpack and get settled, but instead, I pull out my laptop and search for the Acadia National Park website. I chose it as the place for my work-cation because Acadia was one of the first national parks established by the NPS; I’d hoped it would be a good place to start.
I look over the material I’ve already assembled about the park, thinking about how I’ll kick off my investigation. Well, the first thing to do would be to get there and check the place out, I decide as I examine the maps of the area. Mary’s place is about two miles away--close enough that, in theory, I could walk there, but if I did, I may not have enough energy left to explore the place. It’s taken me all day to get up to Maine and it’s already late afternoon; I should probably wait until the morning, but
if I want to get a real feel for the place, I’m going to need to check it out when there aren’t as many visitors there. I change into some warmer clothes--a thicker pair of jeans, a turtleneck sweater and a beanie--and I tell Mary that I’m off to run some errands.
I get back into my car and pull up the directions to the park. I’ve got about another hour or so before it’s too dark to really see, but I’ve got a heavy flashlight with me, so I’m not too worried.
As I pull into the park a few minutes later, I fumble through the glove compartment in search of the one-week pass I’d ordered online before my trip and hand it to the ranger at the gate. I take a second look and have to admit he’s pretty hot; he fills out that uniform really well with those broad shoulders of his. His deep brown hair and beard are cut short, and he’s got strikingly bright green eyes.
“Just to let you know, the visitor center is closed for the day, but the park is open twenty-four hours,” he tells me. “If you need any help, there are signs posted just about everywhere telling you how to get in touch with the rangers.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, taking back my visitor pass. Maybe I can interview him about Acadia, or at least get an official quote.
“I’m on duty for the rest of night, so I’ll be checking to make sure that everyone gets out. If you plan on staying late, give me a call up here at the gate and I’ll keep folks from coming after you to make sure you’re not dead or lost,” he says with a little smile.
I grin back at him. “That seems normal,” I say, not quite sarcastic. “Give me the number, and I’ll be sure to let you know that I’m okay.” I program the number into my phone and the ranger passes me through the gate, heading back to the warmth of the guard house while I pull forward.
I don’t see many cars in the lot, but that makes sense; it’s starting to get dark, and it’s chilly, too--enough so that I’m glad I thought to change into warmer clothes. I grab my flashlight and make sure I’ve got my phone and a few other things in my purse, and climb out of the car.
As I’m walking towards one of the hiking trails, I have to admit, the park is genuinely beautiful. It’s almost the end of the foliage season, and I could see why outdoorsy people would come to the park at the peak of it. I step onto the path and breathe in the scent of dried leaves, loamy soil, and the shoreline, trying to get a feel for everything around me.
I start wandering, falling into a kind of rhythm that helps me to think. It’ll be easier to get more intel when it’s daylight, but as night begins to fall around me, there’s something about the quiet of the place that makes it a little easier to understand why people might conjure up all these bizarre theories.
Right then, something shifts in the air, and I get the sense that I’m being watched, but I can’t see anyone when I look around to prove it to myself. Even though I’ve been a journalist for a few years, I’ve never really been in any kind of dangerous situation before; there’s no reason anyone would be after me, anyway. Right?
The deeper I get into the wooded areas around the hiking trail, the more the eerie feeling starts to weigh on me. Maybe it’s just campers or rangers working, but a primal part of me feels like there’s something else at play.
Something predatory.
I try to remain calm by reminding myself there aren’t all that many predators in this area; black bears and coyotes are out here, but they’re shy, and I have to assume they’re not all that interested in attacking humans.
“Shake it off, they’re more afraid of you than you are of them,” I tell myself, looking around. I realize that I’m on a loop, and decide that instead of branching off onto one of the more remote trails, I’ll just move ahead and make my way back to the parking lot.
Just then, I hear the distinct sound of a stick breaking behind me, followed by what sounds like a growl.
My heart starts pounding in my chest. “Probably just a coyote going after a rabbit or something,” I tell myself as I start to move a little faster on the path, trying to get back to my car as quickly as possible.
I hear something else, something I can’t even name; a sound I don’t even know the word for, and that’s enough to make me launch into a steady jog. It’s dark, and though my flashlight is shaking uncontrollably in my hand, there’s still enough light for me to see the path ahead of me. I hear more movement behind me, and despite telling myself that it’s probably nothing, or that I’m just overreacting to the darkness and the creepy silence of the woods, I start sprinting outright.
“Get her!”
That is something I absolutely can’t mistake for being some coyote or bobcat going after prey in the underbrush. I can’t be certain it’s directed at me, but it seems like the best idea is to just get the hell out of there as fast as I can, no matter who it’s actually directed at.
I nearly make it to the trail’s entrance when I hear the heavy footfalls right behind me, faster than I would have imagined possible, and I stumble over some uneven patch of the trail and land on the damp ground below with a thud.
“Fuck!” I mutter, struggling to get back on my feet to flee. I can’t lie to myself for a second longer; there’s someone--or something--chasing me, and I need to get to my car. What the hell ever possessed me to think it was a good idea to visit this park and hike these trails alone at night?
Chapter 2 - Knox
Some of those new assholes are chasing after a park visitor!
The words ring out in my brain almost like a shout, and I recognize the mental “voice” of one of the members of my clan, Cassidy Powers. I put her on trail duty for the night, and when I reach out to her mind, I can place her close to one of the easier hiking paths.
I’ve been waiting for those bastards to do something I can call them out on for the last three weeks. Since Acadia is neutral territory for shifters, I can’t kick them out--even as an Alpha--unless I have good reason to, and catching them committing a crime should be reason enough. I start heading in the direction I can feel Cassidy’s signal coming from, and I keep my ears open for any hint of what the pricks might be doing.
I slow down a bit once I get onto the right trail, taking a few moments to catch my breath. Just ahead of me, I catch the tail end of one of them running along the trail. My heart beats faster in my chest for reasons that have nothing to do with running and I growl to myself, thinking of how I’d like to call those fucking pissants out formally and take them down.
Instead, I have to deal with the situation at hand. I vaguely catch the scent of a human female overlaid by the mark of the four bears chasing her. If these guys are going after a human park visitor, that’s a big problem, and one I’m going to have to take care of as neatly as possible. They didn’t even bother shifting into their bear forms; at least if they had, I could publicly dismiss it as a random wildlife incursion.
As I pursue the group and their prey, I start thinking of how I’m going to handle brushing this incident aside. There was some chick from a magazine calling the park a week or so before, and based on her questioning, I have a feeling she was priming the pump to uncover some things that are better left alone. And if word gets out that there’s been an attack on someone visiting the park, there’s no way she’ll keep it out of whatever bullshit article she’s working on.
I catch up to the group just before the entrance to the trails, and I hear the woman, who’s now shouting.
“Don’t think you’re going to get anything from me--not without a goddamn fight!”
I can’t help but be a bit impressed by her feisty spirit, and as I try to sneak up on them, I catch little glimpses of her as they follow her deeper into the woods. I assume they’re probably planning to steal whatever valuables she’s got on her--or maybe, do worse.
The woman must have taken some kind of self-defense classes; she stopped running and is now kicking and throwing punches, turning her head to bite as viciously as any cornered animal would, making it tough for her would-be attackers to get what they want from her.
“Let’s
take her to the campsite. Knock her out, Kevin.”
“What the fuck? This was supposed to be a quick grab, Shawn. Let’s just get her purse and get out of here, man. Right, Harris? Jamie?”
Shawn leers at the woman, “Yeah, but she’s a hot little piece…”
I let them hear me approach, crunching hard on some underbrush and sticks to announce myself.
“You have two seconds to get the hell out of here,” I say, letting the Alpha growl reverberate through my voice. There’s one benefit to these interlopers not being part of my clan: they couldn’t hear me coming, since they aren’t tuned into the same telepathic channel.
“Oh, shit,” I hear one of them mutter.
“Uh, we were just helping this young lady find her way back to her car,” Jamie stammers, but he knows I’m not buying any of his bullshit.
“Did I stutter?” I get in his face and roar, “Get the fuck out of here. Now!”
Shawn, their Alpha, tries to posture a bit, but after a moment, with a low growl, they slink away into the woods. In the distance, I recognize the faint sounds of them shifting into their bear forms as they proceed to lumber off and sulk.
My focus shifts to the next priority: taking care of the woman, who is now sitting on a nearby boulder.
“You okay? I tried to get here before they could do anything,” I say.
“Just got a good scare,” she says. I move closer to her and see that she’s managed to hold onto her purse; points for that, I guess. During the chase, I’d been too obsessed with getting to her before the outsiders could do anything, but now that we’re close--and the adrenaline is starting to ebb out of my system--I can actually appreciate the scent of her; it reminds me of lavender honey, fresh out of a hive deep in the woods, and I recognize it as the scent of the visitor I’d just given the office phone number to an hour or so ago. I inhale once again; my mouth begins to water, but as I start to pick up on the sharper smell of her fear and anger, I have to remind myself she was almost the victim of an attack; one that could jeopardize the secrecy of Acadia.
