I Dream of Grizzly: A Werebear Shifter and Witch Romance (The Protectors Quick Bites Book 2)

by Keira Blackwood

  The postal box up ahead read 201.

  “We’re here.” I swung the truck into the driveway of an old house and parked behind a sedan.

  “Looks like she’s home,” Valerie said. “That’s her car.”

  “Great, you wait here. Wafflick, you check the car then circle around back. I’ll take the front.” I shut off the headlights and grabbed the keys, then opened the door and climbed out.

  “Oh, hell no,” Valerie stormed over to me. “I didn’t come all this way to be left in the truck. I’m staying with you.”

  I hated to admit it, but it had been easier with Wafflick sitting between us. Here, she was too close, and there was no buffer. I looked Valerie in her gorgeous clover eyes. Mine.

  I shook the thought.

  “We don’t know what we’re going to find in there,” I said. “It could be dangerous.” The thought of her in harm’s way made my chest ache and started a fire deep down, a flame of anger. I didn’t like it. Better if Valerie just stayed out of trouble.

  “But it’s okay for Joey to go alone?” Valerie asked.

  “Joey is expenda—an experienced agent.” It was clearly a lie, but I didn’t care.

  Wafflick slammed my truck door too hard and smiled wide like the idiot that he was. “Aw, thanks, Deck. I do have experience, just not in the field. Training though, that was vigorous.”

  With that he headed over to the sedan, crouched down in the shadows and held his hands together in front of him, as if he had a gun and we were about to raid the place. Tribunal agents were permitted to carry sidearms, but I didn’t trust either of us with a weapon, for different reasons. Me, I was bound to shoot him just to get him to shut up. Wafflick was just as likely to shoot himself in incompetence, or worse, me, as he was to use the weapon responsibly.

  I headed toward the house.

  I wouldn’t stop Valerie from following me, I didn’t think I could without restraining her, but I wouldn’t wait for her either.

  Halfway up the sidewalk to the front door she caught up with me. I could feel her resentful stare on the side of my head, but I refused to look.

  The house was dark, the porch light wasn’t on, and there was no light visible through the closed curtains, which wasn’t really a surprise at three in the morning. There were no sounds coming from inside, either. Again, not surprising.

  The only noises to be heard were Wafflick’s clumsy footsteps as he made his way to the back of the house, and Valerie’s breathing next to me. Her sweet scent enveloped me, and made it damned hard to focus on anything but the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

  I forced my attention forward and peered through the window.

  There was a velvet sofa and rocking chair by a darkened fireplace, a framed piece of fabric stitched with the words ‘Home Sweet Home,’ and lace draped over little tables—nothing awry.

  I checked the door—locked. Great, I could use the chance to expend some energy.

  Valerie had her nose to the glass of the other window.

  “Stand back,” I said. “I’m going to shift and break down the door.”

  I lifted the hem of my shirt up over my head, then reached for my fly.

  Valerie’s eyes went wide as she looked me over.

  “Whoa, keep your pants on, big guy.” Her eyes lingered on my bare chest, and the scent of her desire betrayed her words.

  I could throw her against the door, take her here, now. I could claim her body and soul, but I wouldn’t. She deserved better. I didn’t have to know her to realize the truth of the matter.

  She crouched down next to the doormat, reached beneath, and produced a silver key. “See? Not everything has to be all grr grr.”

  As she unlocked the door, I said nothing and pulled my shirt back on. Better not to destroy the door, anyway.

  As soon as we stepped into the living room, I knew. My bear thrashed inside of me—there was a stillness to the air and the scent of death.

  There was a human corpse in the house, very fresh.

  “Ms. Albright?” Valerie called as she walked toward the kitchen.

  “Valerie, wait.” But I was too late. She turned the corner and gave a small shriek of surprise. I jogged to catch up.

  Valerie fell to her knees beside the body of an older woman. A coffee maker and shattered coffee pot were lying next to the woman’s head, and the black power cord was wrapped around her neck, gripped tightly in her unmoving hands.

  Valerie wept softly, silently, and turned away from me.

  It was as if she wanted to hide her vulnerability. There was no shame in crying over a lost friend. I knew that well.

  I knelt down next to her and touched her for the first time, rubbing my hand across her shoulders. “Valerie, I’m sorry.”

  She wiped her face.

  “I’m fine, Deckard.”

  Her scent told me that was a lie.

  “In the back of my mind,” she continued, “I knew we might find her like this. Now we need to find the bastard who did this to her.”

  “I don’t think there’s a bastard to find this time. Look at her hands,” I said.

  Valerie sniffled and looked down.

  I touched her shoulder again. “I hate to say it, but I think Ms. Albright did this to herself.”

  “No, no she would never—” Valerie paused, seeming to doubt herself. “But how?”

  “Sometimes life’s too much for people.”

  “No, I mean physically. If she used her bare hands and didn’t attach the cord to anything, she’d pass out before she’d die.”

  “She probably hit her head when she fell.” I understood what Valerie was going through. I’d had several old friends punch out early. It was always hard to make sense of it.

  I could tell Valerie wasn’t convinced, but she’d come around eventually.

  “Come on,” I said, standing up and offering her my hand. “Let’s look for the journal.”

  She took my hand and pulled herself up. She stared into my eyes and I felt a spark. It was an unfamiliar feeling of excitement, a thrill just by holding her hand, just by knowing she was looking at me.

  “I’ll check upstairs.” Valerie pulled her hand away.

  I hated that I wished we’d had even a moment longer for that contact. I hated it because I couldn’t let her in. I hated it because I wanted to more than anything.

  “I’ll search down here.” I went back into the living room and rifled through drawers and under cushions. When I was sure Valerie was upstairs and busy, I went back to check Ms. Albright’s body. It wasn’t necessary to wait for Valerie to leave, but doing so allowed me to spare her from seeing her friend examined as a corpse.

  There was no blood on the back of the skull from impact with the floor, no scent or sign that anyone else had been here. But the cord around her neck had been pulled so hard there were worse marks left than I’d expected. The journal wasn’t in her jacket pockets. There was only a set of keys and something small and smooth.

  I pulled out a glass marble, the size of a penny, and held it in my palm. It was cool to the touch, with black smoke swirling inside, and a long crack through the center.

  My head spun and my stomach clenched. I’d seen this before.

  Images flooded my head, of violence, of rage, of blood. Everyone else had died, and only I remained.

  “I didn’t find anything up—”

  I turned and looked at Valerie. Her eyes were wide, her mouth gaping.

  “What?” I asked. “What is it?”

  “Where did you find that?” She closed her mouth, but her big green eyes were fixed on my palm.

  “In her pocket.”

  Valerie covered her mouth with her hands, turned for the door, and raced outside.

  “Valerie?”

  I followed her, and found her sitting in the truck staring down at her hands. Her face was pale and her shoulders were hunched. The spark of fire in her was gone, and I wished I could have spared her the hurt she felt.

  I climbed
in beside her and waited for her to speak.

  “I know what that thing is. I know how she could have killed herself even after she was unconscious.” She met my gaze, and I was stunned all over again by her beauty. Her thick brown hair framed her oval face, her green eyes cast a spell with just one look, and her full lips begged to be kissed. At least when they weren’t pursed.

  “Okay,” I said, unsure how else to respond.

  “I have to get home. I have to talk to my dad.”

  She was so small, yet her presence dimmed the world around her. Even in the worst of times, she was a source of light, and I was helplessly drawn to her.

  I forced myself to look away, started the engine and began driving.

  “That thing...it’s a dream orb,” Valerie said. “It controls people.”

  Controls people. Memories of Springport filled my thoughts, and with them, a sense of dread.

  “Wait.” Valerie placed her hand on my arm. Her touch anchored me to the present. “Stop the truck.”

  “Why?”

  “Did we just leave Joey on the back porch?”

  Chapter Five

  Valerie

  “Uh oh, he looks grumpy.” Joey pointed through the dash toward my father, who was waiting on the porch for us. “He’s going to be even more pissed once we tell him we didn’t find the book and that his lady friend is dead.”

  “That’s his normal face,” I said. “And she wasn’t his lady friend, just a friend.”

  “A friend who’s a lady. Lady-friend.” Joey smiled.

  Deckard ground his teeth together.

  The first shreds of morning light peeked between the mountains on the horizon, and with that light the weight of the night hit me. My brain was in a fog and my limbs were heavy—I was exhausted.

  I opened the door and climbed out of the truck.

  “Well, he won’t be mad at me, I scoured that back deck, top to bottom, three times,” Joey said.

  Deckard slammed his door shut.

  My father crossed the lawn to meet us.

  “Did you find her?” he asked.

  “Oh yeah we did,” Joey said. “She was—”

  Deckard elbowed him in the side.

  I took a step forward toward my dad, and my insides twisted. I needed to tell him, and I hated that I had to say the words. “She’s dead.”

  He pulled me in to his chest and held me. Cynthia Albright hadn’t been my friend, or his. She’d been my mom’s, a remnant of her life that we’d lost, like so many others.

  I felt the tears well at the corner of my eyes, but I refused to shed them. It wouldn’t bring Ms. Albright, or my mother, back.

  My father let me go and turned to Deckard.

  “How did it happen?” he asked. “And did you recover the journal?”

  We’d shared our allotted sweet family moment, and now it was over. We were back to me getting overlooked, again.

  “With this.” I held the orb up in front of my father’s face, forcing his attention to me. “And no, we did not recover the journal.”

  “A dream orb?” My father took the orb and rolled it between his fingers. Likely he had the same questions I did. Who was wielding dream magic and what did they want with my mother’s journal?

  Dad looked to Deckard and Joey. “The two of you...will stay here while you complete your report.” I could hear the hesitation in his words. If they were here, they might find out about Mom. But if they were here, he could watch them.

  “That sounds just dandy,” Joey said.

  “We couldn’t,” Deckard said.

  “I insist.” My father and Deckard had a macho staring contest, like the first to blink was less of a man.

  “The nearest hotel’s an hour away,” I said, and touched Deckard’s arm.

  He shot his attention to me, and I pulled my hand away.

  Under his gaze, I felt the heat of my body rise, and I tried not to let my nervousness or excitement show.

  Deckard nodded. “Okay, we’ll stay.”

  “Roger, Clara, show our guests to their rooms,” my father said.

  I blinked hard and shook my head. There they were, the black-haired, blue-eyed twins.

  I hadn’t even realized they were around. I seemed to be having a difficult time acknowledging anyone else’s existence while Deckard looked at me.

  My breathing quickened under his gaze, and my pulse sped.

  For a second, I could have sworn he almost smiled. Then he turned and headed up toward the house.

  I watched him go, enjoying the way his back and tight ass flexed while he moved.

  My father cleared his throat.

  “Do they know about your mother?” he asked.

  That she was dead? How would they? “No.”

  “Good. Do they have any leads as to why anyone would want your mother’s journal?”

  “Not that I could tell. But the big guy isn’t much of a talker.”

  “I want you to be especially careful, Valerie.” My father put his hands on my shoulders. There was concern in his eyes, enough to make me worry. “Humans are more vulnerable to these kinds of magics. I can’t risk you being controlled. I can’t risk losing you.”

  My heart broke a little more at his words.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’ll stay here in the pack house until this is over. I don’t even want you to leave for groceries or a trip into town. It’s for your own—”

  “I won’t,” I said. “You need me to watch the Tribunal. Who else would you send?”

  “Clara, or one of the others once they return.”

  “And if the threat is from inside the house? What if I’m more vulnerable here anyway? I’m going, and you know it’s the right thing to do.”

  His concern melted and he smiled down at me. “Fine, you win.”

  We started walking toward the door, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say the look he had on his face was pride.

  The rich scents of garlic and marinara carried up the stairs and drew me from my room.

  It was dinner time, or close to it, and I hadn’t seen Deckard since we’d gotten here. I’d considered knocking on his door a few times, but thought better of it and gave him space.

  He’d have to come out to eat...wouldn’t he?

  Halfway down the first flight, I heard Joey’s voice carrying from the second floor living room.

  “Did you just say your mom’s name is Agatha?”

  “Yep.” The second voice belonged to Roger.

  “That’s my mom’s name, too! We should be best friends,” Joey said.

  “Best friends for life, man. How do you like your coffee?” Roger asked.

  “Coffee? I take it with hot chocolate and no coffee.”

  Both laughed.

  “Me, too.”

  The two of them were so alike, maybe they were long lost brothers. Either way, I was glad they amused each other. Everyone deserved to find happiness where they could.

  “So how many shifters live in this mansion?” Joey asked. “I haven’t really seen many people around.”

  “Thirty-seven at the moment, but most of the pack’s away on retreat.”

  I figured they might need a reminder about dinner, so I stopped on the landing and headed across the open living room toward the fireplace where they were sprawled across the sectional.

  “So, Mrs. Carlisle is leading the trip?” Joey asked.

  I froze.

  “Mrs. Carlisle? There’s been no Mrs. Carlisle for, what, ten years?” Roger said.

  Fuck.

  “What?” Joey looked confused. Confused was good. I could handle this. I had to.

  “Hey, it’s time for dinner guys.” I forced a smile as I clenched my hands around the top of the sofa.

  “Wait…” Joey’s brows knitted together as he looked down at his hands.

  “Don’t you smell the spaghetti? I bet it’s going to be good.”

  “I smell it, and I love spaghetti!” Roger jumped up from the couch. “Bu
t Rosa told me not to come looking for food before it’s time.”

  His shoulders hung in defeat.

  “Lucky you, it’s time,” I said.

  “Come on, Joey, we get to eat.” Roger beamed, and gave Joey a playful punch in the shoulder.

  “Okay.” Joey shrugged.

  The two of them headed down the stairs.

  I let out a deep breath and relaxed my clenched fists. I’d done it, at least for now. Victory by distraction.

  Except something was still off. I could feel the weight of a gaze still lingering on me.

  I turned, and there was Deckard, standing in the hall, staring right at me.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  His arms were crossed as he leaned his shoulder against the wall. I hated that I noticed the way his biceps bulged when he held his arms like that. I hated that his smoldering gaze made my insides melt. I hated that I felt a compulsion to rub my fingers through his beard. Most of all, I hated that I was thinking about anything but the problem at hand.

  Maybe dinner was enough of a distraction to stop Joey from asking questions, maybe it was enough to change topics and he’d forget. But the same wouldn’t work on Deckard.

  “Hey,” I said, and shifted my feet like an idiot.

  “Hi, Valerie.” That voice. Damn that deep, sexy voice.

  I stared into his gorgeous hazel eyes and searched for words.

  His gaze heated. I felt bare, like we were there in the field outside. Like his hands were all over me, like I could feel his breath on my neck as he commanded me to tell him my name.

  “Can I ask you something?” He spoke and I was listening, kind of.

  I tried to push back the memories. What he said next was important. No way he hadn’t heard what Roger had said about my mother, and if Deckard told the Tribunal that she was gone, they’d take everything away.

  “Was it real?” Deckard asked.

  “What?”

  “The dream. I swear it was you.”

  I was frozen, stunned, and praying like hell he wasn’t talking about the same dream I had.

  “The dream with the snakes?”

  His lips curled up in a hot-as-hell grin.