The bear whined, and she froze.
The massive animal heaved itself up and forward. Even as she watched, the flattened coyote was shifting back into a naked man. He was out cold. A quick glance toward the wall told her the other shifter was now human, too, wearing nothing but the ragged T-shirt collar.
The bear took a step toward her.
She trembled with the need to run but running prey excited predator shifters. She couldn’t help the whimper of fear that escaped her.
More not-magic brushed her senses, this time like a velvety soft blanket against her skin.
In an instant, the bear became a fully clothed man wearing jeans and a V-necked T-shirt over a hundred yards of muscles. Mr. Broad Shoulders himself.
Of course, the hottest man on Earth would turn out to be a shifter.
“Are you hurt?” His tone matched his worried expression. Even his voice made her want to step closer so he could whisper in her ear.
“No, I’m fine.” Her baby took that moment to kick, and she winced.
He took one small step forward. “You’re in pain.”
“It’ll go away.” She darted her gaze away for a moment to look for her helmet. “Thank you for helping me.” She kept her eyes on him as she took a trial step away, to see how he reacted. When he did nothing but stand there, with worry tightening his wide, kissable mouth, she moved slowly toward her helmet, watching him the whole time. Her makeshift magic-powered pipe needed recharging, so she slid it into the pocket of her cargo pants before bending over to pick up the helmet.
He cleared his throat. “Could I, er, buy you a cup of coffee?” His tone almost sounded shy.
Yes, yes, yes, sang her body, suddenly flush with raging hormones. She almost swayed toward him.
No, no, no, shouted her rational brain, the one that had plans. The first and only time she’d listened to her body, she’d ended up pregnant and an unwilling captive of a feline-shifter pride.
“Thanks, but I’m already running late.” She sidled toward the asphalt edge of the parking lot. It felt wrong to move away from him, but her situation made anything between them impossible. “I’m truly grateful for what you did.” She tilted her head toward the men lying in the alley. “Shifting in public like that means they’re fur-brained fatheads. Neither of us should be here when they wake up.”
“Let me at least walk you to wherever your bike is parked.” He pointed a thumb toward the convenience store’s back door. “They may have buddies.”
She hesitated, then sighed. “Okay. Thanks.” She should have thought of that. Asshole shifters always had buddies.
She stepped up onto the asphalt. He put his hands in his pockets and rounded his shoulders, as if trying to make himself look harmless. He failed miserably, because it drew attention to his low-slung jeans and made her wonder what he’d look like without them. She’d bet her motorcycle he’d look a damn sight better than two scrawny coyotes.
They walked quietly together as the parking lot’s lights blinked on. His mother must have brought him up right, because he matched his stride to hers and kept a respectful distance. She allowed herself the secret, impossible fantasy that he was her man and she was his woman.
“Do you have someone you can call?” He glanced at her stomach, then away. “A mate, maybe?”
“No, thank God. I’ve had quite enough of shifters for a while.” Realizing what she’d said, she added hastily, “Present company excepted.”
He shrugged one shoulder, but his mouth twitched with humor. It gave her the wild impulse to do whatever it took to see him really smile, because she just knew he’d be stunning. And she shouldn’t be having those thoughts. She was a total basket case.
The sun dipped to touch the highest mountains to the west just as they arrived at her motorcycle. It looked lonely, standing by itself.
She shook off the fantasy, then looked up into his beautiful coppery eyes. “Thank you again.”
“I was thinking.” He tightened his hands into fists in his pockets, making his arm muscles bulge. “My semi only has half a load in the trailer. I could put your bike in there and take you someplace safe for the night.”
She shook her head. “That’s a gracious offer, but I need to keep moving.” She zipped up the jacket to prevent it from flapping in the wind and turned the kerchief at her neck around, so she could pull it up over her mouth to protect against road dust.
His eyes darkened. “If you’re in trouble, maybe I can help.”
He was making this so hard. “If I were in trouble, it would be horribly unfair of me to drag you into it, after you kicked coyote-shifter ass for me.” She fished the key out of her pocket and put it in the ignition.
“I wouldn’t mind.” His resolute expression hinted at stubborn determination. He glanced to her stomach again. “You shouldn’t be unprotected.”
She appreciated his tact. He’d obviously figured out she was pregnant. Shifters could scent that kind of thing immediately. The coyotes should have noticed, but they’d been too drunk on high-test booze and shifter-mate lust.
“I shouldn’t be a lot of things, but here I am.” An absurd thought crossed her mind, and her eyes went wide. “Oh my God! The name of the shifter you sat on was Wiley. You sat on Wiley Coyote!” She almost doubled over with laughter. It felt like forever since she’d found anything to laugh about.
His wide grin was every bit as sexy as the rest of him. “He must hate those cartoons.”
Still chuckling, she undid the helmet’s strap. “I’ll remember seeing that for the rest of my life.” She hoped he’d think she meant his bear form sitting on the coyote, and not his amazing smile that would be etched in her memory forever.
She dusted off the faceplate on her pants, relieved to find it not even scratched. She pulled the helmet on and secured the strap under her chin.
He pulled his wallet out and handed her a card. “This is me. That number is for a cellular phone that’s in my rig. If you ever need me to sit on someone, or you just want to talk, I hope you’ll call me.”
She took the card and read the top line out loud. “Trevor Hammond Independent Trucking.” She put the card safely in the zippered pocket over her chest. “I’m Jackie Breton, by the way. Well, Jacqueline, but only my mother and my former boss called me that.” That was another life, one she could never go back to. She pulled out her gloves and put them on.
“Nice to meet you, Jackie.” He stepped back. He looked as deeply unhappy as she felt, but that didn’t make much sense. He was a big, strong, healthy bear shifter, with wicked-long claws and magic, not an almost powerless, pregnant, terrified human on the run.
She straddled her bike and rocked it forward, letting the motion close the kickstand. She started the engine, gunned the hand throttle enough to make a slow circle, then straightened out and headed for the parking lot’s exit. She briefly lifted one hand and waved in case Trevor was still watching.
She liked the sound of his name. Hell, she liked the sound of everything about him, not to mention wanting to rub herself over every inch of him, even though she hadn’t been force-changed into a feline. If her life ever got normal again, maybe she would call him.
She shook her head. Her life was not Last of the Mohicans, with her handsome savior telling her to stay alive and promising that no matter where she went, he would find her. It was more like Marked for Death, where she’d be lucky to survive the vindictive people after her.
She squared her shoulders and got back to her plan. It was her best shot at staying alive. Probably her only shot.
2
Trevor Hammond didn’t think of himself as a violent man, but at that moment, with the woman his bear insisted was his true mate leaving him in a dwindling dust cloud, he wanted to go back behind the store and kick more drunk-coyote ass.
He could not have screwed up the first meeting with his mate any more if he’d tried. If he was honest, he had to admit he’d doubted he’d ever find a mate, considering his bear was one of a
kind. Aunt Straya, who had raised him, had always told him to trust in the moon goddess, and be ready, but who would ever expect to run into his entirely human mate in an all-night truck stop known for its shifter customers?
He’d tracked a tantalizing smell and almost bowled her over with his carelessness. Then her overwhelmingly nuanced and fascinating scent had lit up every cell in his body. Mate, his bear had growled, then ordered him to lick her and claim her right there in the lunch-meat aisle. His human side pointed out she was likely already mated, since she was pregnant and carrying the daughter of some sort of feline shifter. His bear countered that she didn’t have a mate bond or smell mated, and no shifter would willingly leave his pregnant mate unprotected. And while he was arguing with himself, and hadn’t even gotten out a coherent sentence, the tall, diffident woman had left him.
And to top it off, instead of going after her, he’d retreated to the back alley to get control of himself and come up with an approach that wouldn’t scare the life out of her. Because the second and third things he’d finally noticed were the sour taste of her fear and the submissive body language. Someone had conditioned his proud, strong, stunningly beautiful mate into outward displays of obeisance. He’d paced off his anger in the alley behind the dumpsters while racking his brain for something better to say to her than “Wanna see my truck?”
To his shame, he hadn’t immediately noticed that the problem in the alley involved her. Shifters often went out back to scuffle. Otto, the owner, fined or banned anyone who disturbed the peace inside, and no one wanted to be gored or stomped by an oversized, pissed-off Texas-longhorn bull shifter.
All it took was for a woman’s voice to shout “No” for his bear to take control and shift. Thank the goddess his magic took care of his clothes. His bear had recognized what his human part should have, the presence of his mate. He bounded toward the trouble in time to see her use a magic weapon on the attacker, and another coyote joining the attack.
He roared his rage and brought the fight to them. Two drunks were no match for a mad bear defending his mate. They were lucky he hadn’t maimed or killed them. He’d managed to gain enough control to warn his bear that the deaths would scare his mate even more than she already was. And then he’d had to let her ride off on her motorcycle alone, or he’d be as bad as the mangy coyotes.
The only good things that came out of their first meeting were that he now knew her name, he’d found out she really was unmated despite being pregnant with a shifter baby, and she’d taken his card.
But he could feel in the depths of his soul, through the potential connection already forming between them, she was in deadly trouble and needed his help. Which she wouldn’t take, because she didn’t know or trust him, and she deeply disliked shifters.
He couldn’t say he was fond of them, either, at that moment. Humans with shifter-mate potential were meant to be wooed and cherished, since they helped ensure the longevity and genetic diversity of all shifter species, even whatever kind of bear his was. Jackie was so much more than the door prize for lame-ass wolf wannabes, or the catnip play toy of whatever lowlife feline had gotten her pregnant and abandoned her.
He went back into the truck stop long enough to warn them about the naked numbskulls out back and buy extra food, then he climbed into the cab of his rig and pulled out his Nebraska maps. He’d worked long hours to pay off the bank loan on his truck six months before. And since it also served as his home, he’d been using his more recent profits to trick it out with improvements and creature comforts.
The best investment had been the built-in cellular phone, which paid for itself in making him much faster at responding to hauling opportunities and notifying shippers about delays. Rural coverage was nonexistent, but big cities were putting up cell towers every day. Now he was doubly thankful, because it was his only mundane-world connection to Jackie.
He didn’t know how to use his spotty magic to tell him anything about her, other than it felt like she was headed due east, probably on Interstate 80 toward Nebraska. Now he wished he’d practiced with his magic more diligently, like his aunt had nagged him about, instead of only using it for small tricks to win bar bets.
His half-load was furniture, and wasn’t due for three days, but it was bad for business to drive due east when his destination was supposed to be north. He figured he could be one day late, but then he’d have to give up the load to someone else. There would always be another load, but there might never be another mate.
He drove to the I-80 entrance ramp and headed toward Nebraska. Night fell fast once he got beyond the city lights of Cheyenne, and past the stench of the refineries east of town. He had no idea how humans tolerated it, except that in Wyoming, oil was gold.
Every motorcycle he saw made his bear surge forward, but the rider was never the brown jacket and flaming-skull helmet he was looking for. He wished he’d asked where she was going. Motorcycles traveled faster than his truck but took a lot more active attention. Truckers drove long hours, but bikers fatigued more quickly. He hadn’t missed the faint shadows under her beautiful brown eyes.
He usually listened to music while he drove, but he was too worried about Jackie, and too worried about horrible possibilities. For the first time in his thirty-six years, he had something to lose that meant more to him than anything, and it terrified him. Maybe she and the father of her baby hadn’t parted willingly, and he was searching for her to claim her as his mate. Maybe whatever she was running from was more than one bear could handle. Maybe he’d make a rotten mate because he was so very young compared to other shifters, who lived centuries. Maybe she’d never get over her prejudice against shifters.
The ringing of his cellular phone nearly made him leap out of his seat. He reduced his speed and pulled into the right lane, then answered the call using the hands-free speakers he and an electrician friend had rigged.
“Trevor, what are you doing?”
“Aunt Straya? Are you okay?” She disliked phones in general, and only used them for emergencies.
“That’s what I called to ask you.” Cellular phones were a modern miracle, but they made everyone sound like they were in the bottom of a well. “Auris came pounding on my door, wailing about signs and portents. I thought she’d been sampling the fairy moondew again, but she’s sober as a judge.” No one knew what Auris was running from, and she was more than a bit of a drama queen, but his aunt didn’t discriminate against the lost and unwanted who found their way into her woods.
“What did she say?” asked Trevor.
“That you and your mate need to find sanctuary before the full moon, or your blood will paint the canyons. What’s this about a mate, and why do I have to hear it from Auris?” To his aunt, the news about a mate would be much more important than the threat on his life.
He suppressed a frustrated noise. “It’s complicated.” He told her about the disastrous first meeting and what little he knew.
“You always did pick the hardest path up the mountain.” Trevor rolled his eyes. He preferred peace and quiet, but the fates seemed to have other plans for him. “Best you get yourself and your woman to Kotoyeesinay as soon as you can. Ask for sanctuary the moment you cross the glade’s border. The elves will hear you.”
“I will.”
“Bring her here, afterward. I want to meet the woman who has your measure.”
Trevor gave an audible growl. “I will not. You’ll show her your photo album, and she’ll laugh at me the rest of my life.”
“You need laughter. Drive safe.” As usual, when his aunt was done talking, she simply hung up.
Kotoyeesinay was west, behind him, high in the Rocky Mountains near the Wyoming border with Colorado. He’d been there several times, but not for a few years. He remembered the sharply winding canyon road that seemed to take far longer than it should for the distance shown on the map. Elven glade magic, he guessed.
The call he’d been hoping for came through thirty minutes later, though not the way he expecte
d.
“Is this Mr. Hammond?” an older man’s voice queried.
“Yes.” Dispatchers didn’t usually call at nine-thirty at night.
“The wife and I have a young lady here at the house. She took a bad tumble on her motorbike. Won’t let me call the police or an ambulance, but she said I could call you.”
Trevor dawdled in closing up the back of his trailer, to make sure the old rancher made it safely down the driveway to his front yard. Only the moon lit the landscape, and humans didn’t have good night vision. Trevor pretended he needed the man’s help lifting the bike into the trailer, because while he could have done it easily, it was too heavy for a normal man, even one of Trevor’s human size and build.
He climbed into the cab and shut the door, then slid the saddlebags he’d taken off her bike into the storage area behind her seat. “How are you holding up?”
He’d bundled her into the passenger seat first, as carefully as he could. The whole left side of her was one big bruise, and her knee had swollen to twice its normal size.
He’d parked on the farm road where she’d dumped her bike and gotten pinned under it. She’d been lucky the rancher found her. It was probably bad of Trevor to enjoy carrying her from the rancher’s house to his truck. His anxious, angry bear was easier to soothe when taking in her scent with every breath.
Jackie gave him a crooked smile. “I’ve had better days.”
“I’ll bet.” He wanted to take her to the nearest hospital. His bear wanted to take her to a cave and protect her while she healed. “What do you want to do?”
“Is my motorcycle drivable?”
“I don’t know much about bikes.” Inspired, he added, “But I know someone who does. He lives in a small town called Kotoyeesinay, in south Wyoming.” Trevor was pretty sure Shepherd, some type of ogre mix, and seven feet tall, would still be there. He didn’t fit in with the outside modern world very well.
She shook her head. “That’s the wrong direction. I need to get to Chicago.”
Shifter Mate Magic: Ice Age Shifters Book 1 Page 2
